Florence, the city was a capital of the art world and a capital of crime one. Its lower streets were dangerous and unregulated, left for the poor to travel on. In an alley, alone figure stays in the shadows, voices whisper in its ears, and darkness claws at its shaking form. Nervous eyes darted back and forth, flickering from the light of the city road to the darkness of the alley behind. A voice cut through the clouded darkness of the assassin's mind.
"Move it, Soul, I'd rather not be late to this meeting." Two shadows pass nearby, as a girl and her companion walk past the alley, without so much as a glance down its dark walls.
That voice, it's one I've heard before. I could just, no it will pass, it always does. The assassin stood up on shaky feet and slipped deeper into the alley.
Maka stopped walking. Turning, she looked back at the alley, staring at the black entrance.
"What's wrong Maka, why are you stopped," Soul asked, "I'm all for ditching the meeting, but aren't you the one that wanted to go?"
"Nothing, it must have been my imagination." The girl turned and continued her way. Through the streets of the winding city to two traveled. Till at last, they made it to an ancient building, an old church still vibrantly painted, yet out of place amongst the rest of the city. Maka knocked on the door 8 times before it opened to reveal a young man standing at the door.
"Hey Kid," Maka said, "I'm not late am I?"
"Of course not, you're right on time."