A man dressed in black robes stood in front of the remains of a mid-sized shop. Somehow, its windows were safe from destruction, unlike the building itself, reflecting his image.
At first, his face appeared devoid of emotion, but now it seemed brighter, as though he had discovered a newfound sense of purpose in life.
His odd eyes stared at his own reflection, and it stared back at him with intensity. A few seconds later, his eyes relaxed.
His long, unkempt hair danced in the wind as he pulled the hood. His hair color was like two separate worlds — one half was white, while the other half was black — much like his eyes, although the light was absent in one of them.
"Boss!"
Boss.
He was called 'Boss' by his comrades because none knew his name even though the groups had been together for years.
It was not like the others didn't care about his name. But, they had given up on guessing his blurred and censored name.
