The guards staggered around, trying to find their way out. Alex dived in quickly in the midst of the smoke. A flurry of three swift strikes perfectly landed on his opponent. With each strike the sound of hissing could be heard along with the smell of cooked flesh. His slashes did not leave a single spot of blood on the ground. The first guard fell instantly onto the ground with a thud. The second followed shortly after.
His aim was so precise and quick that it was difficult to follow with the naked eye. The smoke settled, and the final guard stepped forward. He raised his rifle and pointed it at Alex. Alex stepped in quickly, dodging under the raised rifle. With the butt end of his sword, he smashed it upwards against the rifle, making the guard lose his hold on it. The rifle clattered onto the ground.
In a couple of steps, Alex struck like a snake and slit his throat. With the last guard dead on the ground, he stashed his sword back into its sheath. Not a single stain of blood was left on the ground or his sword. His special-order customized sword used the latest technology to make this possible.
He stepped over the dead, keeping his hand on his katana's grip. Entering through the door, he saw an old man sitting in his executive desk with his hands together, with his back turned from the door.
The room was filled with hero figurines and shelves of books. It reminded him of a boy's room with the amount of comic book heroes displayed neatly in cases. Some of the boxes weren't even open. There was everything from collectible antique superheroes to the newest popular hero figurines, all of them in mint condition. All the wall space not taken up by shelves was covered in superhero posters from blockbuster hits. He could not stop himself from looking around, here and there seeing his favorite villains and heroes.
But Alex would not let himself be distracted. He slinked forward with light steps, encroaching upon his prey.
"Welcome," Mr. Johnson called out. He slowly turned his chair and faced Alex. Alex was upon him in seconds, his sword tip against Mr. Johnson's heart.
"Please, put your sword down. I have been expecting you."
Alex did not budge.
"Your client informed me that you would be arriving here shortly. I'm impressed that you bypassed the security without setting off a single alarm. Though having Mrs. Kim's men create a distraction was not expected. Was that your plan?" Mr. Johnson asked far too calmly.
"No." Alex could not deny that he too did not expect that to happen.
"Then how could this be? I did not expect them to come here tonight. For them to have arrived thirty minutes after I sent my men to kill Mrs. Kim…" Mr. Johnson tapped his finger on the edge of his chair. "Could it be that they have failed? But that's not possible. They would have arrived twenty minutes ago. Just at the exact same time, her men arrived as well."
Mr. Johnson, unfazed by the sword, was deep in thought.
"It doesn't matter to me. What time is it?" Alex asked.
"3:27 am."
Alex let out a small grumble of annoyance. "Six minutes left. That's way too much time."
"I'm guessing that is my time of death." Mr. Johnson didn't seem upset by the thought. "I'm glad you have come to kill me tonight. This restless feud will finally be over." Mr. Johnson sighed with relief, and a gloom settled over him.
"It seems you have accepted your death. Why?" Alex had found few people with such a mindset, and this was one of those rare cases. It fascinated him.
"I am tired of this long war between two families. This strife was never supposed to last. I can't see the end anymore." Mr. Johnson heaved a heavy sigh as if his life had left him. His eyes were full of sorrow and he slouched forward. The sword tip pierced the tip of his neck, drawing a drop of blood.
"Until I had heard about your group." Mr. Johnson eyes brightened with life. "This reign will finally be over. I shall take everything back with me and end this wretched quarrel between our families. No more of my seed or hers will ever continue this legacy. It ends today."
"So you mean you've hired us to slaughter both your entire families?" said Alex.
"Yes." Mr. Johnson slightly nodded his head. "Mrs. Kim had agreed to follow through with this plan. We have stayed in this life following our family business, quarrels, and hatred. We were lovers once, but our lives were harshly pulled apart by our war-torn families. We tried to bring peace between two families for many years, but everything has failed. Even reaching to the top of our family business did not stop the hatred between the two, but instead it fueled it ten times more." His voice wavered and he began to choke up. His tears fell like small diamonds.
"But this is a senseless slaughtering. What gives you the right to take this any further?"
"Because their anger has reached the tipping point, and my family is driven to the point of murder. I will take all my family's sins with me to the grave so the cycle will be no more. This world does not need more people like us."
"And you are not afraid of death?"
"No. I know what I have done. I have lived a full life. I had many children and grandchildren. My legacy will be no more, but that does not mean anything to me anymore. The cycle will never end if we do not take out every last drop of both our bloodlines. I am tired and weary of this life."
"Your sins are not mine to bear, but I shall make it quick."
"Thank you." Mr. Johnson closed his eyes and rested comfortably on his back.
Alex was surprised this man had planned out this much with his ex-lover, but to commit a family slaughter to take out the root of hatred was on the extreme side. Such things did not happen often, especially for a man and women who had almost everything in the world but each other.
"May I know what your name is?" Mr. Johnson asked.
"BlackStar."
"BlackStar." Mr. Johnson rolled Alex's name with his tongue. "Why have you chosen such a name?"
"For a man who is supposed to die, you ask a lot of questions. Are you finally afraid?"
Mr. Johnson chuckled. His smile was full of sorrow. "I would be lying if I said no. In reality, I do not know what will happen next. Like all men, I wonder what would happen after death. Do I become nothing and become part of the universe, or does the spiritual self-transcend? If not, what will happen to myself? So many questions, so few answers. Each a fascinating dilemma."
"Death is as it stands. An end of life. There is nothing more to hope for," Alex stated with no remorse. "My name was given to me. I did not choose such a name, but if I were to give it a meaning it would be simple. My life is as black as night."
"Why is that?"
"Because I fear nothing and love no one. I have no use for such emotions."
Mr. Johnson's eyes widened. "You say you do not fear nor love? All mankind experiences such emotions; how is it that you have not?"
"Your useless blabbering is going on for too long." Alex clucked his tongue in annoyance and checked his Alive gear for the time. "Only a minute left."
"Please do tell. For a man who is to die, this conversation will go nowhere else. I will take it to my grave, so do not worry."
Alex thought for a moment and considered what the man had said. He was right. Mr. Johnson did not have any escape plan, or a reason to leave this place alive. His death was inevitable. And Alex had so few people to whom he could tell the truth.
"I have lived my whole life sheltered in the organization. Such emotions are considered a liability, not strength. When one has supposedly found a love of his life, it could be used against him. Love is a death sentence. There is no happiness afterwards when one is given such a burden, especially when one has many enemies. It is better to live a life with nothing tying one down and attend only to the most basic of physical needs. No ties, no connections. You become a ghost, the ultimate weapon."
Mr. Johnson stared at Alex. Once again his demeanor changed: his eyes softened and his face relaxed. He gave a warm smile. "Mr. BlackStar."
"BlackStar is fine." Alex cut him short. He did not like the sound of Mr. in his codename. It had an odd ring to it that made him feel a bit funny in the stomach.
"I'm sorry. BlackStar, one day you will find the one place you will call home. When that time arrives, protect it more furiously than you have ever protected anything. If you do not, you will regret it at the end. I know this better than most people, but at the same time I am a very selfish man. I cannot help but to take back what was mine."
"Time is up," Alex said.
"Already? I was enjoying our talk. If there is more to death, then let us meet again. If there is not, may you have good fortune in this life." Mr. Johnson nodded his head. The last words stuck to Alex like glue, and he couldn't help but hesitate.
Good fortune in this life? What an odd thing to say to one's killer. But then he erased all thoughts, and with two quick strikes he slashed Mr. Johnson through the neck and stabbed his heart. With a flick of his sword, he stashed it back into his sheath.
Mr. Johnson eyes widened in shock and stupor, but no blood spilled as he fell face first onto the desk.
Alex wasn't too keen on what he was about to do next for Angel. "What sick pleasure does he take by doing something weird to the dead body?" Alex muttered to himself. He pushed Mr. Johnson upright in his chair and closed his eyes. As he was about to move Mr. Johnson, he stopped.
Mr. Johnson's words sounded off in the back of his head, May you have good fortune in this life.
Why? he thought. Why does this annoying man get on my nerves? He did not understand why he could not move his hand any further. A job was a job. It needed to be completed, but he could not move forward. His mind and heart clashed, making it difficult to move.
"Fine." He clasped his hand into a fist and drew it back. So much for his favor. He'd just have to deal with Fallen Angel later.
As he turned to leave, his chronic migraine sent a spike of pain through his head. His hands flew up to massage away the pain, but it didn't help, and he grew angrier. What was with this wretched migraine that would not go away? No medicine quelled it nor made it disappear. It was a constant battle between himself and his migraine. Sometimes he would win, but the majority of the time it would overpower him.
He needed to leave. Staying any longer could make him vulnerable to an attack.
The same odd sulfuric smell from earlier cut through his senses, it was an overpowering his sense of smell and made him have an difficult time breathing. He froze.
He didn't know why, but he did not want to move forward. He felt like he was being watched, but there was nothing around him. There were no cameras, no hidden places for people or animals to hide. For someone to get inside the room without him noticing was truly an accomplishment, but he had sensed whatever it was that was inside the room.
Something did not feel right, even though he could not explain what it was. It was like a curtain of cold shower was spilled on him at this moment. The overbearing smell was moving: it did not stay in one place but instead brushed past him.
His hair stood on end. His hand whipped to where his sheathe was near his jeans. He crouched forward, ready to draw in seconds. Eyes darting from left to right, he looked for the source. Nothing was present. The room was silent.
Once again, he felt something move past him. The same overpowering smell appeared and disappeared behind him, heading towards Mr. Johnson. He did not like where this was going. Turning slowly around, he once more faced Mr. Johnson's body. There was nothing present.
A sharp pain shot through his head, and he reeled back trying to contain it. His eyes throbbed and his senses became disoriented. It took a couple of seconds for him to regain his bearings. Slowly opening his eyes, he saw a blur of three humanoid shadows behind the dead Mr. Johnson.
One shadow being was struggling against the others, trying to flee from the two. One of them grabbed the fleeing shadow from behind and the other one was committing a violent display of attacks upon the struggling silhouette. Each strike viciously found its mark without no remorse. Blow after blow, each attack made a hole in the shadow till the being looked like swiss cheese. He could almost hear the punches connecting.
Alex could not help but stare, wondering what he was seeing. Was the migraine strong enough to make him hallucinate? He'd been sleeping decently enough, so having delusions was unlikely. The more he scrambled for an answer, the more bizarre the situation became. He did not notice that his migraine had gone away.
As it drew back its fist, which seemed now to glow with a fiery flame, the violent shadow knocked into a pen on the desk. With a clatter, the pen rolled off the desk and onto the floor towards Alex, startling him out of his thoughts.
"What the—!" Alex took a quick step backwards, startled like a cat. Cautiously bending forward, he picked up the pen. He could feel the cold harsh metal in between his fingers. There was nothing wrong with the pen, except a couple of nicks here and there. Nothing was out of the ordinary; it was just a regular pen. So how had it been moved by a shadow, an illusion?
Or had it just been gravity? He thought, trying to come up with a solution.
The struggling shadow was almost entirely gone. Only pieces of its upper half remained, and it had ceased moving, looking lifeless, like a paper doll. He couldn't help but stare and watch the whole thing to play out before him.
The shadow that was furiously pummeling the shredded shadow stopped and grabbed the face. An odd high-pitched sound rang in Alex's ears, and they popped as if he'd gone into a high altitude. The shadow with its hand against the opponent's face once again turned fiery black. Flames sprouted forth and burned the opponent to a crisp. The last traces of the suffering shadow disappeared in a wisp of a smoke.