A silver-wraith moon hung in the middle of the sky, showering the quiet city below it with gentle streaks of calming moonlight. The stars shone quietly beside it, providing comfort to the weary souls that had just finished their work for the day.
"The moon is quite lovely tonight." a woman with short purple hair whispered in a gentle, yet unnerving voice that the man who sat beside the window didn't mind.
"Is it?" he sighed while making sure the pile of documents he had in his hands was clean, correct, and complete.
"According to the citizens, it would be quite calming to gaze at the moon." the woman informed the man as she quietly walked towards him, looking over the documents behind his back.
"Is that?"
"Names of people who potentially have contracts."
"I see."
The brunette man's face warped into disgust as he continued to read the information the papers had in them.
"Despicable."
"Power does corrupt people.."
"I won't deny that." she nodded and poured the man a cup of black coffee, setting the white porcelain cup near the stack of papers before sitting down on the chair in front of the wooden table where the man sat.
"Thanks.." the man smiled in gratitude and picked up the cup of coffee, "Are your gloves still intact? Do we need to buy a new replacement?"
"They are still fine." she assured the man and presented her hands covered with the black sleek gloves that adorned them.
A small, red flame caught the attention of the purple-haired woman. She silently watched as the man in front of her lit up a cigarette and began to smoke.
"The moon is indeed beautiful." the man gazed out of the window behind him, the moonlight bouncing off the surface of his crimson eyes as he tapped on his cigarette.
Ash slowly began to fall on the cold, dark floor of an alleyway on the opposite side of the city. A man with short red hair and yellow eyes clicked his tongue at the gangsters smoking cigarettes at the far end of the alley.
"Can't believe I always get stuck with this shit..." he complained and placed both of his hands inside the pockets of his jeans.
"Salvatore, have you discovered your target?" a voice from the microphone attached to his ear whispered.
"Not yet, this area of town is dangerous. Why didn't you give me an escort?" he complained in the same quiet voice as he tried his best to avoid the creepy gazes and suspecting stares of those he passed by.
"That would defeat the purpose of a scouting mission."
"Dang it.." Salvatore cursed out loud and picked up his pace, wanting nothing but to end the mission quickly to get out of the gloomy back alleys.
"I really can't see anyone, are you sure the targets are her—"
The sound of a man screaming in agonizing pain caught his attention. He quickly ran towards the noise without delay and arrived just in time to witness an ongoing fight.
"You've trespassed on the wrong turf dawgs." a black man with unruly hair chuckled crazily with creepily wide eyes and blood dripping from the corners of his mouth in a deranged smile.
He held a knife that was covered in blood, playfully spinning it around his fingers as he looked down on the man kneeling in front of him.
"I think I found the targets." Salvatore whispered into his comms as he hid behind a couple of trashcans.
"Commence observation."
"Roger." Salvatore nodded and focused on the fight. His insides churned from the sight of the black man raising his hand high in the air, his yellow orbs shook in fear as the blood-soaked knife glistened under the white spears of moonlight before it came swinging down.
"What the hell!"
Blood sprayed from the gashed cheeks of a man with black hair and ruby-colored eyes. He wore a maid dress that seemed out of place for his personality.
Loud music could be heard playing outside of the dimly lit room with red lights. A black couch with red pillows lay at the center of the room, two old men could be seen sitting on them with subtle smirks plastered on their faces.
"You call that a service you sorry excuse for a man!?" the old man that towered over the man wearing the maid uniform cursed.
"I-I'm sorry!"
"Sorry doesn't excuse your poor service!"
The sound of glass shattering echoed across the room as the drunk old man swung an empty beer bottle on the head of the man wearing a maid dress.
"Hey, hey. You gotta stop that, you'll have to pay for that guy's healthcare.."
"Yeah, besides. We aren't here for simple services."
The ones sitting on the couch chuckled and bumped their fists together.
"Mhmm, you're right." the drunk old man laughed and pulled on the man's hair, forcefully dragging him off of the floor and onto the couch.
The man felt numb, he pitied himself and asked why he was doing this. He could feel the blood dripping from the wound on his forehead and cheeks.
All he could hear was the deafening music and the group of old men's laughter, slowly but surely growing distant as he could hear a deeper voice, almost growling, inside his head.
"Dante..." the voice whispered.
He could feel dread building up inside his chest, but it brought an odd sense of power and warmth, he gazed at the old man who was about to put his hands on his body.
"Use me..."
Screams filled with despair and paralyzing fear echoed inside the room. Blood flowed like a river as a man with an emotionless face and blood-red eyes stood just outside the opened door, an unlit cigarette inside his hands.