Some say that the first time a person kills another, they learn something about themselves. Not morality. Not honor. Not about the inherent evil of mankind or their capability. They learn whether they can sleep the night after or they can't.

However, life is never so simple. Nothing is ever so black and white. Even those who can't sleep may not regret a single thing they did, even if the memory will haunt them for life. As for those who can sleep, well there is plenty to talk about.

There are those who can sleep peacefully, knowing that they had done the right thing. The righteous ones, the ones who followed the way of the world saw fit and are commended for their efforts. Those who sleep peaceful nights knowing that what they did was completely justified and necessary.

And then, there are those who sleep and dream. They dream not of those they have killed but of those they have yet to kill and trained their mind and eyes to kill.

Some group them all as psychopaths, those who are insane and turn into serial killers with no remorse and no purpose. However, that was not always true. There was a difference between a psychopath and a high-functioning sociopath after all. One of them does not allow themselves to get caught.

There was a figure hooded in black who has killed and been killed. There was a man who dreamt of faces of the living, those who he vowed to get his vengeance on. There was a man with a purpose, conviction, and emotions that make his more powerful than any killers in the world.

When the scent of gunfire and blood reached him, the man called Reaper would come to meet the icy eyes of a man who was like him. Eyes who dreamt of death and is a harbinger of death. However, there would be something different.

Some say that to truly understand someone, a person must fight them. But they need not go so far. If the battle is true, then it only took a glance of the eye to understand the opponent. Even the world's best poker player could not hide their true intention and purpose when their eyes gleamed with the desire to kill.

Desire. Now that was a strong word. There are many desires. Yet the desire to kill was the only one that others can feel the best. The tingling on one's neck or the slash of pressure against one's body as they feel the intent of the blade to find them. The best of the best honed this sense, reacting before their opponents even struck. Only then could they learn to hide it.

The man who stood in front of Reaper was one of such man. He knew not what the stranger wanted nor how he was going to attack. All he saw in the man's eyes was the conviction that he would accomplish the task he came to do.

That, and the hardened nature of eyes who have seen Death, greeted him with a warm smile, and offered to help him with his job. This was a man who dreamt not of his nemesis but spent his life training every moment for survival. The scarred body and face of someone who experienced danger firsthand while training himself every other moment. And the mind of someone who continued to train even as he slept.

"What is your business here?"

The stranger blinked and looked around him, raising an eyebrow as if he had been greeted with a nonsensical question unworthy of his time. However, he replied regardless, his expression unchanging as his eyes remained focused on his objective.

"You. I was wondering how many more of these I would have to carve through. You people sure love your minions. At least give them some useful weapons for once. I get bored of using my gun now and then. Life is rough for mercenaries everywhere isn't it."

The stranger held twin pistols that did not stand out besides flawless their onyx paint. Well, the butt of the gun was not, indicating that more than a few heads had gotten bashed in on the way here but overall, it was rather unscratched.

Talon was going to have to seriously up their recruit training after all. Well, they were a mercenary organization at best. Such funding was better spent on resources for the council and mission assets for the main strike team.

"Well, here I am. What is it that you want?"

The man's expression changed from its neutral stoic state to an annoyed state of disbelief. That was the only answer he felt fitting before he raised his pistols and fired.

In the world of mercenaries, life and death did not have anything to do with chivalry. As such, the man had no obligation to wait for Reaper to draw his guns. That was accepted. What the man was probably not accepting was for Reaper to phase into a cloud of smoke and flowed right past the bullets.

In a world of hard-light construction, resurrection from the dead, and a literal talking gorilla scientist, people didn't live through war by being shocked and calling bullshit on everything. The bullets kept flying toward Reaper until there were no more.

The shadow moved quickly forward toward the next cover, shotgun raised in wait for the man to peek from his. The twin pistols came from the other side, raining yet more bullets down toward Reaper.

An expert knew how to count bullets. With Reaper, it was clear whenever he threw his shotguns away that he ran out of bullets. With the stranger, Reaper counted 13 shots per pistol, totaling in 26 shots.

Another cover was taken and Reaper peeked around the side to fire his shotgun directly at where he thought the man was. However, he had already moved. A volley from the side forced Reaper into his wraith form once more, evading death as he found cover.

Most people make the mistake of never looking up. No matter how many games and movies are released about assassinations from above, they never did. However, as Reaper descended upon the man, he was forced in wraith form as bullets ascended from below.

16.

The mist descended onto the ground, the man rolling out of the way and preemptively firing at the center where the figure would appear.

10.

Reaper spun to the side of the tall metal beam, firing his shotgun at the man's location and forcing him to roll out of the way.

4.

Reaper quickly advanced, his energy draining but the fact not showing on him as he wraith formed to close the gap and dropped his empty shotguns behind him.

0.

The last four shots rang out as Reaper dodged them expertly, throwing his fist at the figure wearing light synthetic chest armor and combat pants. There was no trace of flair or bad attempts at camouflage to be found on the man who knew what his capabilities were and what the mission needed from him.

The man's fist ripped through a cloud of black mist where Reaper's face had been, making him grit his teeth and turn around quickly with an elbow. Reaper pinned him up close, gripping his armor by the neck and cracking it with ease.

Bang.

Reaper's eyes widened as the man smirked, a bullet ripping through the black armor and into Reaper's torso. However, a quick strike to his neck left him gasping for air even as he was thrown to the ground.

A black shotgun was aimed at his face as his hand was painfully kicked to remove his other pistol. This was all accompanied with a boot on his chest as he tried to get back up for another chance to fight, making him freeze and his eyes stained with disgust and indignation.

"That's enough."

A booming voice in the near distance made Reaper pause and look behind him, though never moving his foot away. Out of the bottom corner of his hazy vision, he could see a broad dark-skinned man approaching, wearing an unmistakable gauntlet on his right hand.

"Mister Nyx. I've heard much about you. Well, not really. Only a bit in prison, but not much beyond inmates with a grudge for being caught."

The man did not crouch next to Nyx. Instead, he simply stood high above, blocking the sun as Nyx gazed up at him. Akande then smiled and offered a hand.

"Considering that you managed to singlehandedly put a bullet in Reaper here and your reputation with dealing with other powerful individuals, I have a proposal that may interest you. It's not one you can't refuse. Of course, the result of refusing would be death but that's besides the point. You do have the choice."

"Join us, or die."

Nyx blinked up at the man towering above him. His glance was then gazed up at the sky. It was an important question of course. He had asked himself that many times in his life. Many of them were recently too.

However, he was not a man without a purpose in life. Despite having many reasons to refuse, betraying his employer was not one of them. What was an employer to a freelancing mercenary?

"You know. It's hard to say yes when you have someone stepping on your lungs."

Reaper stared down at Nyx, renewing the pressure of his foot before Akande laughed and tapped his shoulder. Only then did the boot get removed, allowing Nyx to get a full breath and a chance to prop himself up with a painful grunt.

"Welcome to Talon. Refer to me by Akande and that's all you'll need to know about us. From now on, we'll make sure you have plenty of work to do."

Nyx simply stood up and gazed at the thoroughly scratched paint of his pistols with a sigh. He picked them up and dropped the magazine, one with an extra bullet remaining. He would not need to reload it anymore for the day.

And so, began his new story.