Beta'd by Blackberry Avar.

Big thanks to Blackberry Avar for the help with this first chapter.

A man fled from an alleyway as if the devil himself was chasing him. He very well might have been. Behind him a black figure loped effortlessly, gaining ground with every step that he took. With a scared glance the man looked behind him, only to see that his pursuer was not there. Just to be safe, the man kept running.

Until someone impaled his stomach with a black and red katana. He looked up, only to see blood red, dark eyes staring back at him as the rest of the figure stepped into the light. It was human, having no extra protrusions to mark it as a demon, though they didn't exist.

A full suit of what appeared to be cybernetic armor, complete with black, sleek pauldrons on the shoulders and knees.

Not wanting to die quite yet (or perhaps trying to go out with a bang), the man went for the uppercut. He only hit air, as his assailant had deftly flipped over him, removing the katana embedded in his stomach at the same time and unplugging the wound. The man began to lose blood.

The assassin let out a muffled chuckle and raised his arm. A faint red glow surrounded it just before the citizen was sent flying back, as though he had been pushed by some invisible force, before slamming into the door of a red Mazda, dead on his feet. There was no need to check the kill.

The assassin dropped a canister and a cloud of smoke burst from it until he was completely concealed from view. Then he slipped away.

No one noticed the body, amazingly, until almost an hour later, when a bar hopper walked across the street to his car, having decided that he had had more than he wished to drink. Upon seeing a person leaning dead against his car door he at first didn't see the blood and thought the man was joking, but when he approached him to wake up the joker he stepped in a pool of sticky red liquid.

He called the BPD.

"This is the Berk Police Department, what is your emergency?", the dispatcher asked.

"There's a guy slumped against my car and I think he might be dead." The bar hopper, Nathan, said, trying to fend away the panic.

"What's the address?"

"Um." The man looked up at the street sign, then couldn't help but give a tired laugh. "Shady Street and Shadier Avenue. You'll see it." He sat back onto the street curb.

The dispatcher decided to leave the address at that after he had verified that it was actually real.

"Okay. The police and an ambulance are on the way. Stay calm. Is there anything you can tell me about this man?"

"He looks like he was stabbed, once. And he's been thrown against my car. My door has been crumpled, so he must've been hit pretty hard."

"How long do you think he's been there? This could help the police with their investigations, so answer carefully."

"Not too long. His blood hasn't clotted yet. There's still a little.." and here he winced, "seeping out of the stab wound."

"Okay. Just stay calm and help will be on the way."

"I think I can do that."

Then he began to hear the first sirens approaching.

When the body and the citizen had been loaded up (the man had unfortunately already died by the time of the ambulance's arrival), the deputy detective decided that the citizen was innocent of the crime and was just scared. He still got a fine for being buzzed and intending to drive, although the it was reduced due to the circumstances.

With the murderer still somewhere out there and with the possibility of this kind of thing happening again they could take no chances. The BPD called in the FBI, or its Scandinavian equivalent at least.

After a little forensics they determined that the cause of death was mainly the stab wound, although more blood was lost when the man had been slammed into the car. DNA analysis found nothing, not even latex shavings on the man's clothing. The attacker had not made physical contact with the victim at any point during the attack. This was concerning, as the BPD and its associates had assumed that the man's attacker had used his arms to throw the victim, which was already concerning in and of itself. But this was a whole new can of worms.

Berk, the Present.

"What was the cause of death?", an investigator asked the forensicist, who promptly closed his notepad and looked up.

"The main cause of death was stabbing along with impact damage to the chest and lower back which broke the man's spine. Most of his ribs are broken, along with small fractures in his pelvis and collarbone."

"Was there any other evidence on the scene? DNA perhaps?"

"You know as well as I that there we couldn't find any biological markers within a considerable area, but there's been a new development." The scientist adjusted his glasses. "A black canister was found only twenty feet away from the body. It looks to be a smoke grenade of some kind, though we're not absolutely sure how it works yet. It's quite fascinating really."

"Were there any markings or things like that, you know, serial numbers, anything to distinguish this thing from any other one?"

"We couldn't find any special markings on it, no, but there was a serial number." He turned over the canister. "S. 178. We have no idea what it means or what the S stands for at the moment, there's just not enough evidence for that, but we do have an idea of what its made of."

"What?"

"A very expensive aluminum carbon steel alloy. And the paint is military grade, very resistant to the elements. Finding missing supplies of this stuff isn't going to be easy, but it may be a lead."

"Thanks. That was all I needed to know."

Meanwhile, on top of a skyscraper, the assassin pressed a tiny green button on the back of his helmet. A beacon activated before he leapt off the building and fell before a pair of metallic wings opened from his sides, quickly arresting his fall and bringing him into a quick night glide, weaving between buildings until he felt something grab his back and pull him up.

"What took you so long Shadow. Or should I say, S. 178.", the assassin asked his robotic dragon, feeling rather annoyed.

"The CIA was trying to hack me for their own benefit, as usual. I fended them off with extra firewalls while concealing my nature from them. They get smarter every day it seems. Sometime soon you must upgrade my security protocols. I am not as skilled in coding as you."

"Good.", the assassin grunted. "Take me to the Shadow lands. Low altitude."

"We will be there in 1 hour, 14 minutes and 31 seconds by the time I am finished speaking." The dragon dropped closer to the ground and engaged its boosters.

"Ugh. How many times do I have to remind you to not be so exact?"

"Precision is a necessity, as a certain someone once told me.", said the dragon, and one could've sworn that it was smirking, though he could not see his face.

The assassin only grumbled under his breath.

Shadow and the assassin both landed through a gap in the roof of an abandoned warehouse. Shadow automatically paused and began the process of recharging its batteries without a command. The assassin merely walked on through the chaotic streets of the place.

The shadow lands had once been a populated district jam-packed with honest citizens, but had long since been evacuated due to a raging Ebola epidemic. Since then the officials had never bothered to clean up the place, and it now served as a motley home to gangsters, drug lords and murderers of the worst sort.

Soon he arrived at a bar called the Red Dragon, though when he entered almost all the occupants stopped and gave him a dirty look before going back about their business.

The assassin ignored them and walked into a back room, where a man in the most cliché black trench coat ever was sitting on a chair.

The room was dirty, salty, smelly, and had a few… nondescript odors, but to the assassin it smelled like home.

"I assume you've killed your target, Sleek. Do you have the proof?" The client asked, while lighting a marijuana roll.

"Yes." The exposed assassin nodded his head before showing a holographic display of him killing the man asked for.

"Want a light?"

"No thanks. I don't smoke. It's not good for the lungs."

The client chuckled and put the cigarette to his lips, before drawing a long puff.

"That's good enough. You will find the money in your account. It's coin. I'll have a new target for you in a few days."

"coin?", and here the assassin expressed mild surprise. "That stuff's rare."

"Yep. Business is booming' around here, and I thought I'd make a few investments."

"I prefer gold and silver personally. Not as traceable."

"They still haven't cracked the blockchain though. coin will be a thing for another thirty years. Too bad all the banks failed at making the stuff. Stupid eggheads couldn't even stop two financial crises in only over twenty years."

"Yeah."

"I'll see you around, but I gotta skedaddle pretty soon. There's some unfinished business that needs my attention. See ya Haddock."

And with that he left, not even stopping to tip the bartender. The assassin left not a few minutes later, having paused to imbibe a glass of light liquor.