The sun, shining high in the sky, is a pure symbol of shining blamelessness. The sun, moving its reddening mass below the darkening horizon, is both beautiful and promising of a new sunrise in a few hours. The sun, hidden from all eyes, blocked off from providing its comforting warmth, is not seen at night. In its place falls the darkness, the bane of watchfulness, a time to be hidden and secure. The darkness is the element of secrecy. The darkness is the root of all wrongdoing. The darkness, sun retreating, always comes.
The night was deep. The moon had not yet risen. A few lamps glowed with amazing electric power. None of their light touched this stretch of wall. A watchful guard might have seen a dark hump slowly rise over the wall then lowering itself to the ground, gracefully bridging the defenses of the NCR. No guard was that watchful. None believed the rumors of an evilly dark man with designs for their city. Life had been quiet lately. Peace does nothing to sharpen awareness. Awareness is the only defense against the expert silent death.
There is no rest for those with duty to undertake. I am the shadow that you see move, but is silent at a second glace. I am the shadow that you do not trust. I am the shadow who is your undoing. There are many shadows in NCR tonight.
Windows, even old and ones, do not creek when carefully opened. A shadow slipped into the house, its black coat rustling only slightly. Everything was quiet, not even the soundest sleeper was snoring on this night. Room by room, shadows by shadows, light step by light step, the darkness moved through darkness into the master bedroom. Alone on an old bed lay an aged man under a worn blanket. The dark man slipped into the room and stood out of sight in a corner, hidden by shadow. He stood and waited. His breathing soon matched the rhythm of the old man. The moon slowly rose over the horizon. Soon, light crept into the high window. A circle of silver moonlight began to creep across the floor. It lent enough light to see the dark man step out of his shadow. Passing the moon's circle, light flashed off a silver blade barely showing out of his long sleeve. The man crossed the room to the old man.
A harsh noise from the moonlit gloom awakened the old man, whose first waking moment was with a knife pressed to his throat. He opened his mouth to cry out, but an increased pressure at his neck shut his mouth quickly. By the light of the moon, the old rancher could barely see a dark shape bending over his bed. He could not see a face, only shocks of unkempt hair. A voice, cold as steel, came out of the darkness.
"Hold, old man. I'm here to kill you." Westin could almost see a sneer behind the mask of long hair. "Very powerful people have hired me. They want you dead, old man. Do you know why?" The dark figure paused in his nearly silent, one-sided discussion. "Because you're a stubborn old coot. You seem to make enemies in your choices, no matter how good they may seem." The dark head turned down, and said in a mockingly caring voice, "Don't you know to be more careful?"
Suddenly, the knife was lifted, disappearing into the black sleeve. The dark figure stood straight up. He chuckled softly. "You need to find more friends, old man. Life is too...costly to waste on your work alone. It's a part of the Truth." The darkness spun around, his coat swirled about his ankles. "Remember, old man," he said over his shoulder, "the sun will bake your bones, but the darkness was more forgiving tonight." Before Westin could blink, the dark mystery had dissolved back into the shadows and was gone.
The force-field guard was silently sitting at her post. It was a long night. The moon never gave enough light--and she was a morning person. The night always frightened her. Suddenly, she heard a noise behind her. Quickly jumping up and turning, the police guard looked around wildly, swinging her rifle. Nothing. She looked down, and jumped. Only a piece of paper on the ground. She picked it up, reading to herself as she rose back to her position. "Please admit this individual unconditionally into the city, by order of the Council on behalf of the New California Rangers." It was signed by the eight council members.
I am the night that does not end. I am the end that brings the night. There is no denying the Truth. The message must go to the wastes. And the wastes must accept it. There is nothing else that can matter.