For a home in a neighbourhood as lavish as the one he was currently in, Jackson found it rather easy to get in. One would often assume that the doors of an influential politician would have an alarm system, or even a two-key mechanism at worst, yet the thick mahogany door he had picked opened with almost no resistance. He had no reason to complain however, given that any of these defences may have ruined his little assignment. Jackson had opened the door to find himself in a dark hallway leading to a well-furnished kitchen, the pale walls and laminate floor being in pristine condition though lacking distinct charm. He slowly made his way down the corridor, listening intently for any noise that might signal that the house occupants were awake.

Infiltrating any location at night had its advantages and disadvantages. People slept at night, which made them rather vulnerable and prone to harm if something were to happen. However, the night also had a habit of being an excellent vessel for noise which would be problematic if he decided that a glass needed a good knocking-over. Jackson slowly made his way through the kitchen and prepared to ascend the stairs when a movement in the shadows caught his attention. It was nothing more than simply the flickering of the streetlights outside, and perhaps a small dose of paranoia. In fact, the streetlights outside tended to flicker quite a lot from what he observed, which was another source of doubt about the validity of prestige these sectors advertised. The second floor of the house consisted of two wooden doors, one on the left and one on the right. It was just as clean as the first, though a painting or two on the walls would help with the extreme case of blandness everywhere.

"Target is on the left side"

A whisper came from his earpiece; it was his contractor. Though Jackson preferred completing these ordeals alone, the old bastard on the other side insisted on tagging along virtually, even going as far as to promise double the price if he saw the target expire. He slowly opened the door, twisting the round handle as gently as he could. There they were, a man possibly in his late 30's and a woman in her early 20's, both soundly asleep. He slowly approached them, making as little sound as he could, and slowly reached for his back. There, just where his back ended and rear began, lay a long combat knife in a horizontal sheath. It resembled the length of a short sword, totalling to about that of a forearm. The blade was completely black, moderately thin and incredibly sharp. He unsheathed it from its casing, twirled it in his hand and slowly leaned over the male target. The plan was to align the blade so that in a single long swing it would slit the throats of both the man and the woman. The blade was sharp enough, he made sure of it, and the distance between their necks meant that it would be a quite comfortable and easy to execute strike. He pulled the knife as close to the target's neck as he could, and sharply pulled to the right. The blade glided across the first target's neck, killing him instantly, however as it cut through the woman's neck she managed to give out a short gurgle.
Fuck.

It wasn't much noise though, so he decided to consider his position uncompromised. Looking back at the two corpses, the thin line that ran across their necks began to part. Small beads of blood started appearing along the cut, and quickly more of the crimson liquid followed. It was like the trickle of a dam before someone finally opened the floodgates. The liquid seeped downwards on their bed, slowly but surely making its way across the soft fabric. The bounty hunter picked up a clean portion of the bedsheets and wiped the blade, though the material it was made from couldn't rust, he didn't exactly want deposits of stale blood accumulating in his sheath.

"Well done Mr. Jackson, I will transfer your rewards to you shortly, quite the clean kill you had there!"

Something irked him though, it was another sound coming from the opposite room. The description of the house told him that there were three occupants, and so far, he had only dealt with two. An incredibly small part of him had hoped not to do this, that the noise wouldn't bring their attention. But ultimately it didn't matter.

"Mom? Dad? Are you Okay?"

Jackson gently grabbed the pillow from below the deceased woman's head, her hair clutching at it as a desperate attempt to stop him from following through with his next actions. He made his way out of the room, still holding the pillow which was surprisingly unstained, and opened the doors to meet the object of his interest.
A little girl sat up from her bed, clutching a tangerine bear plush, now looking up to him with wide eyes.

"Who are you? Where's Mom? Where's Dad?"

She clutched her bear tighter, the fur protruding from in-between her little fingers. She was maybe ten at most, if the observer was generous and easily fooled by height. Jackson took a step forward, but hesitated, seeing how she recoiled at his movements.
"Hello, little one"
He knew what he should have sounded like; gentle, reassuring. But in his limited expertise in speaking to children, or even other people in general, he had no idea how to accomplish this. He took a small breath and continued.

"Can you tell me your name"

She looked at him hesitantly.

"Emily"

"Well, Emily, Mom and Dad are discussing something right now, I'm a friend of your Dad and we were just talking about his job"

He knew he probably didn't sound convincing at all, but for the little girl, this would be just fine enough.

"While they're talking, Emily, would you like for us to chat a little bit?"

She looked at him, still frightened, but slowly nodded. He noticed that her demeanour was calmer now, her shoulders had lowered and became less stiff, and she blinked more often.

"Could you umm, read me a bedtime story? My Mom always reads them when we talk''

He looked around. Her room was relatively small, a single size bed was pushed against the left wall, while two little tables rested on either side each with a small night lamp on them. Pushed against the wall behind him was a bean bag of sorts, while a large shelf connected to the right wall. He noticed the books the girl was talking about, and went up to grab one. When he returned to the side of her bead, she was already under the covers, with her head resting on a single oversized pillow. He opened the book, and just before he uttered his first word she spoke up.

"Why do you have that pillow mister?"

Jackson glanced at his hand, and for a brief moment forgot that he had indeed brought along a pillow.

"Close your eyes, I'll show you"

She looked at him for a second, but did so regardless, closing her eyes and resting her head.

"Jackson?"

He quickly grabbed the pillow and shoved it over her little face, pushing his hand down to the centre where her head was. The little girl immediately began flailing her arms, throwing them as hard as she could at the grown man. Though her efforts died down quickly, not before giving a final push and a muffled noise.

"Jackson, she was a little gi-"

He severed the connection, having received his payment, and looked down on her limp, lifeless body. Children were loud and their screams often alerted everyone nearby, which would prompt unneeded attention to his location. There couldn't be any witnesses. Jackson looked at the book that he had taken. The covers were worn, practically ripped off, and didn't even vaguely allude to what the book could have been about. Ironic.

He had made his way outside, leaving the house the same way he came in, making sure to not touch or move anything. He opened the heavy mahogany doors as quietly as possible, before looking back at the plain corridor, and closing them again. It would take anyone quite some time to find out that the target was dead. From what few things his contractor told him, he could deduce that the target was on a vacation of sorts, and unless they happened to be called in, the only thing giving away their passing away would be the stench of eventually decomposing flesh. And once an investigation occurred, all they would find is a single line across two necks and a sealed airway.
The contract had not been completed yet, as he still needed to pay his employer a visit.

The designated meeting area was an average café in the inner area of the main city. The neighbourhood was on the far edges of the safe area, surrounded by artificial yet still very dense forests. If not for the gigantic concrete walls looming over them, the residents could have even been fooled to believe that they were just living the average American fantasy.
It had occurred to him at some point that a black mask over his face may raise suspicion from the crowd, so unless he found something more discreet than slightly pulling the collars of a cheap jacket up and putting a cap on, he would have to avoid the more public areas.

The walk to the city was uneventful at best, though the silence did give him time to prepare for the inevitable conversation. The border wall surrounding the city was quite small. The word 'wall' was really an over-glorification, as it really only consisted of a chain-link fence and a mildly armed guard, barely paying attention to the boom gate beside him. Johnson passed around the far side of it, giving the guard a neutral 'good night' and a slight tip with the brim of his cap. The guard responded similarly, and immediately shifted his eyes back to the worn magazine in his hands. Jackson walked a couple of metres away from the small outpost before glancing at the guard to see if he had raised any suspicion, which he had not.

The outskirts of the main city consisted of slightly run-down streets and blocky housing. It was in no way a dangerous area though, as in the brightly lit windows he could see families sitting at tables with bright smiles. There was perhaps a celebration of some sort, with a single child sitting at the end of a table with numerous balloons and other decorations around him. Though this sector was often for the poor or middle class, the table was adorned with food and drinks ranging from duck and chicken to berries and cookies. He was sure that the meat was synthesised, ADVENT gave them no choice in the matter when they decided to eliminate anything alive that wasn't needed for their conquest, yet it was shaped and coloured like (from what he had heard) the real thing. The main display on the table however, was not the meat or drinks but a wide cake. It was bright and fluffy, covered in various symbols and words, and had the phrase 'HAPPY B-DAY' stuck to the top of it in big bright-red letters. The joy of that room and the many beside it flowed into the streets, warming the cold night and seeping into dark long abandoned alleyways. Jackson looked at them, and for a brief moment, the boys and his eyes met. They were so bright and full of utter happiness, like nothing he had ever seen before. The boy looked away, chatting excitedly to a woman next to him, his grin stretching from ear to ear. Jackson forced his eyes to look away from the visage, though he had to do it with quite some effort, not being quite sure why it was so hard to do so. Making his way through the suburbs, he finally saw the inner city.

Though hardly noticeable from the floor, it was separated from the suburbs by multiple buildings, warehouses and factories, each with their own walls eventually conjoining into one large barricade. It was no doubt intentional, perhaps to keep the rich in the cities calm; to let them know they were separated from the lower class.
Jackson had taken his sweet time making his way over to the café, avoiding crowds where possible. A small dog had barked at him at one point, to which the owner - an old and rather thin lady dressed in a red dress – responded by scolding it in hushed whispers. The loud noise had instinctively made him reach for the blade still sheathed on his back, but he stopped shortly realising the source of the disturbance. He understood the need for a dog. It was a loyal companion capable of hunting, locating targets through scents, and even carrying a bit of weight. What he did not understand however, was how any of these traits could be useful in the middle of a bustling city or how any of these traits could even be attributed to a dog that small. It barely reached past his ankles, let alone stood a chance of tackling him.

He had finally reached the café; it had stood out from the bright neon and bubbly shops around it. The frame and decorations were wooden, and the glass has a slight brown tint to it. Some metal decorations adorned the outside, resembling patterns of flowers and leaves. It had a certain welcoming atmosphere to it, he believed that this was what people meant when they called somewhere 'homey'. He stepped inside and was immediately greeted by someone sitting at a table. It was one of those long tables that faced outwards into the streets, with a line of stools below it. He assumed people used them because it gave them something to look at, as the inside of the place was incredibly still.

"Mr Jackson! How good to see you, come take a seat."

It was his contractor, a short stubby man in his late 40's. His hair was black like coal, though that was hard to notice considering that most of it had fallen out and the ones that remained clinging by the side of his head were littered with grey strands. The man wore a blue suit with white stripes running down it and a red dotted tie, though both were a size too small for him. He sat down next to the man, who immediately engaged in conversation.

"Would you like a drink perhaps? On me! A successful contract should be celebrated!"

Jackson turned to him.

"I am here to discuss the contract. Do not shout my name"

It was almost astounding how indiscreet this man was.

"Ah! Straight to the point, just how I like it."

Jackson, despite wanting to get the conversation over with, had no idea what it would actually be about. The man didn't give him any clues, or rather, he cut the signal off before the man could.
"I just wanted to discuss future..." He paused. "Partnerships between you and me"
The man took a breath. "You see, you are incredibly successful at what you do Mr Jackson. Even with more difficult requests you exceed my expectations spectacularly, and I am sure your previous clients could say likewise. But you see, there is a problem. People don't like you. My 'higher ups' - so to speak – have refused my request to utilise your services!"

What?

"You are not allowed to hire hitmen?"

The fat man sighed.

"No Mr Jackson, I am not allowed to hire you." His face darkened. "Rumours about your rather unorthodox methods have spread. Causing many to believe that you may just let loose and kill someone you shouldn't. Now listen carefully to me Jackson, because I am only going to repeat this once. You are an outlier, inhuman, those of us who hire you are desperate enough to overlook this, but in our eyes you're a freak. Alone, fully masked, silent. Do not misunderstand me, this is not a threat, this is advice. You best lay low for more than a day or two. People have begun to gather hunting teams, because they fear you. You are nothing more than a killing machine to me or anyone around you. Know that when the use for you runs out, the people that were previously willing to keep you around will turn on you." He looked away. "You have been incredibly useful to me Jackson, so let me repay you. Nobody will know where and when we spoke, I will not tell anyone which direction you headed in, and if I am the one who spots you first, I will attempt to persuade my men to hold fire." He stood up and looked at Jackson one last time.
"We best part Mr Jackson, and just so you know, that cap and jacket do not look good on you"
With that, the bald, greasy and short man left the café. Before the waitress could approach him, so did Jackson. The way back 'home' was silent and uneventful, though Jackson did not care. Many thoughts occupied his mind, the hunting parties, the fear, the potential for betrayal. His brain worked on autopilot, the only thing he remembered is how he laid down and closed his eyes, and drifted off to sleep.

A bright light shone right into his eyes. It was pale and harsh, filling in every little corner of his vision, unrelenting and unyielding. He tried to close his eyes, but the white light pierced his eyelids, still so harsh and blinding. Blinking a couple of times helped though, reducing it to a large sphere covering most of his vision, though not all of it.

"Pupil dilatation regular, movement erratic, colour currently green, red pigmentation absent"

He tried to move his arms, but something tied them down. His legs were similar, tied down in a way that he couldn't even lift them from whatever he was on. His whole body was lying against some sort of table, maybe a bed, though if it was one it wasn't incredibly soft.

"Brain activity normal, subject is in mild shock but that should serve as a catalyst for the process"

There were two voices, one male one female. He couldn't tell who was who. All he knew is that he just needed to organise his thoughts and-. Who is He?

"Beginning modification process"

Unbearable pain began to snatch at his head, continuous and constantly strengthening its grasp. It ensnared him, completely blocking any thoughts he had, his body began shaking, attempting to break free from its imprisonment. He tried to scream, to flail, but the voices shut him. His mouth wouldn't open, it felt wired shut. Not physically, but by the presence of the other voices, whoever they were. His vision began to tint red, and then gradually fade. The pain grew to encapsulate him, to replace him, to push what he was behind and take lead.

"Jack"

That voice, sweet and warm. It called out to him, and as he sank, it called. He is Jackson.

"Jack just a little more, I believe in you, do it for me"

"We're losing him!"

"Stop the drill, doctor grab the gel, bring his head up!"

"Jack!"

Jackson gasped sharply. It was another one of those dreams again. Those fucking dreams. He took quick, shallow breaths, and even lifted his mask to uncover his mouth as he did so. He had made his way over to one of his temporary hideouts, though couldn't quite recall making the journey. The young man had set up a small outpost in a cave embedded in a small cliffside. It was surrounded by wild coniferous forests, though he called them so simply out of principle, as the undoubtedly large amounts of alien fauna had probably changed the ecosystem in some way. The tree tops were only slightly taller than the cave, but still concealed the cave from any unwanted visitors while allowing for a general overview of the surrounding area. His usual ordeal would have probably been to get breakfast, be that terrestrial or alien in origin, but the dream had managed to extinguish his appetite.

The bounty hunter only had one thing to do today, and it was to scavenge an abandoned military outpost he had scouted days prior. He recognised that sometimes, in the fulfilment of his contracts, some of his targets were seen as 'unorthodox' for elimination, the pesky man's words had told him this was one of those times. Best lay low for a while as he suggested. Though he himself didn't quite see the problem, the child was arguably the most abundant source of noise in the house, and other civilians often tended to flock to a crying kid. It only made sense to him that he would first calm the little thing, to reduce chances of outburst, and then quickly kill it. His two tasks were to kill and to do so silently, and he completed both flawlessly. He pulled his mask back down, not seeing a valid reason to dwell on yesterday's happenings further.
Time to depart.
He quickly grabbed the few necessities he had left on the floor while he was sleeping: his DMR, a common radio and some rations. It was time to descend into the forest. As he shuffled his way down the steep, though short, slope he thought about his living arrangements. The contracts he accepted had made him incredibly wealthy, so much so that he could achieve a life of utter luxury without even a dent in his bank account. Though in his line of work, especially with his rather socially discriminated methods, killing enough people meant someone was going to get mad. Killing a few more meant that eventually someone was going to spot you, and once that happened, you were hunted. Jackson didn't doubt this for a second, and thus avoided the idea of a stationary living area. In fact, he often avoided cities entirely, purchasing exclusively from less governed and publicly known locations. This ensured both his safety and his anonymity, both of which were arguably more valuable than any currency.

Pines and firs now towered above him, with birds of various varieties chirping above his head. He made his way through the forest rather quickly, as his years of outdoor survival meant that he had quite enough experience to traverse rough and concealed terrain. The woods were both a source of safety and danger, as while they weren't often occupied by other humans, ADVENT or resistance, they were often home to alien fauna. A small, brightly coloured vine grasped his ankle, its yellow body outlined with red accents. He yanked his leg, the little weed giving a surprising amount of resistance, though eventually unearthing the damn thing. He had taken quite some time making his way across the forest, even coming across a small waterfall which flowed down into a stream. ADVENT occupation often made water unsafe with the absurd amount of chemicals they disposed of in the oceans, so he often boiled and purified any naturally sourced water. Eventually though, the trees above his head began to thin out, and as the forest ended, a large field presented itself. Though it was already late morning, the sun was still rising, and giving the already golden field an extra layer of shine and radiance. Some could perhaps even consider it beautiful, but those were also foolish enough to not concern themselves with their exposed nature while traversing said field.

He recalled the direction of the military base he was heading to, pulling out a small compass, but as he found his bearings, something caught his eye. A thin, grey pillar of smoke climbed into the sky, not far from the direction he had intended to go in originally.

In his years of scavenging, he had learned that pillars of smoke often meant a battle, either in session or recently completed. This presented the chance for greater scavenging material, and even information, if he was lucky. Seeing how the trip was most likely shorter and more fruitful, he took his chances and headed for the smoke.

It was quite some time before he managed to get to his desired location, though the field was open and he was often left exposed, his worries had vanished after the first twenty minutes of someone not putting a hole in his head. Jackson had eventually arrived at the battlefield; it was a strange sight. One of the sides was the ADVENT, with hundreds of troopers, a few captains and even a muton or two littered around. They were also clearly the losing side, considering that he only managed to find one corpse that didn't belong to the ADVENT. What he found wasn't very helpful though, a somewhat charred carcass with no emblem or identification symbol. In fact the thing didn't even have a weapon with them. It seems that whoever these people were, they were meticulous and liked to cover their tracks. Not as meticulous as him however, considering that he was staring at one of their corpses, still very much alive. He spent some time simply looking around for anything valuable. ADVENT had set up a number of deployable barricades, all of which were destroyed, most of them lining what he proposed was the source of the engagement; a now destroyed small generator. He had been looting quite some time when he came upon an unusual sight.

It was a female viper, behind one of the destroyed barricades. Multiple bullet holes dotted her tail, most still bleeding. Jackson reached to check her vest for anything when he felt something. A slight tingle creeped against his gloved hand, it was almost indistinguishable from wind but it was there. Jackson looked at the viper more carefully and realisation struck, her nostrils were moving. She was alive but unconscious, the former very quickly expiring if she was left alone. The scaly features of her still face were lined with pain and worry, her 'eyebrows' - or rather the muscle beneath them – lowered to her eyes. Her slightly open mouth showed a row of teeth, and her two nostrils rhythmically expanded and shrank along with her breathing. She was very clearly in pain, and the desperation and fear present in her face concerned him. Though he wasn't on the side of either ADVENT or the resistance, people often talked of the aliens as emotionless drones, carrying out any order given to them. Yet this one was desperate. He recalled the conversation between him and the man, the words 'inhuman' and 'freak' floating around his head. He had been called a dozen things before, each worse than the last, but this stuck with him. Perhaps because he knew it was true, he was alone his whole life. It made sense to him why he couldn't pull his eyes away from that table, that family. He envied them, because they had something he didn't.

He also recalled his dream, stuck, silent, pained and scared. He remembered that sweet voice that eased his misery. She reminded him of himself in so many ways. Maybe, just maybe, they could talk. Maybe with her he could obtain what he was deprived of for so long, companionship. Thoughts and doubts slowly entered his mind: she's a viper, she'll kill you, you don't have the resources, this is stupid, but he quickly pushed them away. He looked at the viper one last time, before bending down and hoisting her on his shoulders. She was heavy and his thoughts were the least he had to worry about. With a bleeding viper on his shoulders, a mind full of conflicted thoughts, and aching legs he made his way home.

Inhuman, fuck you. Watch me.