Number 347

            He leaned on the edge of the building. His brown hair hung down in his black eyes as he searched the grounds. No one would be able to see him. It was pitch black outside--midnight, and no one was out. He had stood on the edge of that building countless times. Sometimes to relax and think, and sometimes to watch the people, but this time he was waiting. Waiting quietly in the shadows where no one could see him.

         Suddenly, a noise caught him by surprise. It came from behind him, in the street. He craned his neck around and looked below to see a girl running-her shadow passing in and out of the street lamps. He was going to ignore her and keep waiting when a group of men appeared from around the corner, chasing her.

         He thought about leaving her alone, but then heaved a sigh.

“Dammit, I can’t just let her get hurt,” he grunted, and then jumped down into the alleyway, twenty stories from where he had been standing. Jumping from that high was nothing to him, and he landed agilely; barely splashing in the puddles that covered the stone ground. He was about to run into the street, when the girl frantically ran down the alley without even seeming to notice him. He quickly hid behind a dumpster, confused. 'Shit, I hope she didn’t see me jump.’ He thought. ‘And why would she run down an alley if she was being chased? This is a dead end...'

         It wasn’t long before the group of men rushed down the same alley. They were all large and built, wearing ripped shirts and jeans. They looked like the type of men that hung out in biker bars; the type of men that you knew to stay away from, and they looked recognizable. He remembered reading about them in the paper. This gang was wanted for raping and killing three teenage girls. Anger cursed through his veins at the thought that such disgusting human beings were near him. He was not going to let this girl get raped too.

         He jumped behind the men and pulled a dagger out from his belt. The girl was crying, and they were closing in on her. Suddenly, there was a whistle of metal flying through the air and the dagger found the back of one of the mens’ heads. The man's fall to the ground was a shock to the rest of the gang. Quickly, They all turned around to see who had thrown the dagger.

              "Who the hell are you," asked a large hairy man who seemed to be the leader since he stepped in front.

          “I’m called Lance,” he said and took out another dagger. “Not that you’ll need to know, since you’ll be dead within thirty seconds.”

         The men laughed and took out guns.

         “You’re outnumbered, and we have real weapons,” the leader said with a vicious grin and held up his revolver.

         Lance stood there, with a calm smile and twirled the dagger in his hand. “Shoot then,” he urged them.

         The men hesitated at his calm composure, but then let their guns ring. The girl screamed and ducked down as bangs echoed off the walls. Dogs began barking and a few lights turned on in the nearby apartments, but no one could see them-they were shrouded in shadow. Soon the shooting stopped, and the group of men were smiling, satisfied, until they saw Lance standing in the same position as he was before, except with a bunch of bullets at his feet.

         “H-he can stop bullets?!” one of the men gasped.

         “No you fool,” the leader grumbled. “He b-blocked them with his dagger... I think.”

         Their eyes widened in fear.

         “Who the hell are you?” the leader shouted again.

         Lance frowned. “I already told you. I’m Lance, and that’s all you’ll ever know,” he said and then threw his dagger in a circular motion, slicing all of the men’s throats in one throw, and then catching the dagger again by the hilt.

         They all fell at the same time, splashing in the grimy puddles as blood seeped into the cracks. The girl stared at the dead men horrified and then looked up at Lance, her eyes filled with fear and anger.

         “Are you okay?” he asked her and walked over. She was a thin girl with a delicate look about her. Her green eyes narrowed at him and her short black hair blew in her face as wind gusted down the alley.

         She frowned, walked up to him and then kicked him in the shin.

         Lance bit his lip at the unexpected pain. “Ah, jeez what’s your problem?” he moaned and grabbed his leg. “I just saved your life.” 'This is girl is crazy,' he thought to himself.

         “You didn’t have to kill them. Plus, I can take care of myself,” she said and crossed her arms in front of her brown overcoat.

         Lance straightened up and crossed his arms too. “And how exactly were you going to get rid of them?” he asked.

         She grinned and pulled out a pistol from behind her coat pocket. “Unlike them, I don’t miss,” she said and then raised the gun to Lance.

         Lance groaned. 'I should have just done what I should have been doing, and not go save some ungrateful girl.' “What are you doing? Put the gun down. Little girls shouldn’t play with those,” he said.

         She glared at him. “I’m not a little girl. I’m nineteen.”

         “Fine,” he said and put his hands in his pockets. “Shouldn’t you be thanking me? I did just help you.”

         “Thanks,” she said and didn’t lower the gun. “But you’re dangerous. Step out into the light.” She began walking forward, and he backed up until he was under the light of a street lamp. Her eyes searched his face for a few moments and then she lowered her gun.

         “Sorry,” she muttered. “I thought you were someone else...”

         He raised his eyebrows. “Who?” he asked curiously.

         She ignored his question. “I’m Ava. You said you were Lance, right?” she asked and held out her hand to shake.

         He stared at her hand, deciding whether or not he should shake it, and then he looked at her face. He was surprised to see that she was actually pretty cute, and there was definitely a look of confidence on her face that wasn’t there before, when she was pretending to be helpless with the group of men. 'That’s right. She was pretending... The whole time she had a gun. She went into the dead end to get them trapped,' he thought to himself. 'She was going to fight them. But why?' He wondered.

         “Please don’t stare at me like that,” she said abruptly.

         He blushed and looked away. “I wasn’t staring at you like... uh...” He turned around. “I gotta go,” he murmured and began to walk away.

         “Wait,” she called.

         He turned around and looked at her.

         “I’m going to call the police. Don’t you want to be around? They might want to talk to you about saving me and all,” she said.

         He shook his head. “No, I’m not too big on publicity,” he responded, and she looked as if she expected him to say that. Then he began walking away again.

         “Goodbye, Lance,” she said quietly.

         He waved his hand without looking back and then disappeared down a corner.



~*~~*~~*~

         

              “You failed number 347,” said an extremely tall middle aged woman with long black hair and bright red lipstick. She was a strikingly attractive and intimidating looking woman. Her name was Beatrice Roemon and she was the boss of the largest underground mafia. She was also the mayor of the city. Her motto was to keep order through chaos. She thought that as long as she was in control of crime, she was in control of peace. She trained, created and recruited some of the deadliest people alive, and because of that, her mafia organization was legendary- as well as impossible to find. It was called Kryos. No one, except her elite assassins, knew her identity. And one was those assassins was Lance.

           Lance cringed at being called by a number. “Ms. Roemon, please just call me...”

         “Lance, right,” she laughed, but the laugh wasn’t warmhearted- it was mocking. “I can’t believe you named yourself.”

         Lance bit his tongue and forced himself to make eye contact with her. He did not want to seem weak.

         “You were supposed to wait for Hugo Terrence and dispose of him,” she said as if it were the simplest thing in the world. “But he’s still alive, Lance,” she said heatedly and glared at him in a way that almost made it hurt for him to keep eye contact with her.

         “I was waiting, but something... came up,” he explained and then glanced around the room. The room they were in was utterly bare. There were absolutely no windows, no furniture, except for an ornate chair that Ms. Roemon was sitting in, and one door. This was the only room on that floor, and it was the last floor of her mansion. There was only one entrance to this room and only members of Kryos knew where it was.

         Ms. Roemon sighed. “Oh something came up did it?”

         Her question was clearly rhetorical and Lance kept his mouth shut.

         Anger erupted on her face. “Things aren’t allowed to come up when you’re on the job. You need to learn to follow orders! You must learn obedience boy!” she shouted and stood up.

         Lance kept a calm composure even after her shouting. “It won’t happen again. Hugo will be dead by tonight. I promise,” he said earnestly. 

          She sat back down. “I don’t think so, number 347. Even though you are one of my best assassins, I’m going to have to pass this assignment on to someone else. I can’t have you hesitating,” she said.

         “I didn’t hesitate,” Lance insisted.

         She held up her hand. “Even so.” She paused. “Don’t worry. This assignment was only worth $3,000. You’ll get a better payment next time if you finish the job.”

         He sighed and shoved his hands in his pockets.

         “You may leave now,” she said.

         Lance turned around without another word and left. 'I hate that room,' he thought and then headed into the city.

         It was already mid-afternoon, and Lance was starving. He put on his black fedora hat and walked into the busy streets of Pittsburgh. He lived on the strip warehouse district, and every Saturday there were many vendors selling all kinds of food, but he was only interested in one type of food. 

         There were dozens of people milling about; mothers with their whining children, teenagers with ipods and old couples complaining about high prices. Lance kept his head down and tried to blend in with the crowd. There was a small butchery on the edge of the street, and he slipped into it.

         “What can I get ya?” the butcher asked him as Lance walked up to the counter. He wore a dirty apron with blood stains from meat and had a disheveled beard.

         “A pound of steak,” Lance muttered.

         The butcher disappeared for a moment and then returned with a wrapped pound of steak. “Sorry if it’s a little bloody,” he said as he handed the steak to Lance.

         Lance smiled. “That’s okay,” he said and headed out of the shop.

         He just needed to make one more stop before starting for home. As he walked back down the street, he had a strange sense that he was being followed. Without turning his head too much, he glanced behind him. There was a girl a few feet back wearing a brown overcoat, Ava. He easily recognized her from the night before. Her eyes were staring in another direction, but he was sure that she was still watching him. 'Why is she following me,' he wondered. 'It doesn’t matter. I can lose her easily.'

         He sped up and began weaving through the crowd, redoubling and making circles. When he thought he was safe, he sat outside on a chair in a street café. People have tried to follow him before, but he was an expert at getting rid of them. After all, he was no ordinary person.

         “Can I get you anything?” asked a young waitress with a friendly smile.

         “I’ll just have-” he began, but then stopped as soon as he saw Ava only a little bit away, buying a magazine at a newspaper stand. “She doesn’t give up,” he mumbled.

         “What?” the waitress asked confused.

         He stood up. “Er... never mind. I need to go,” he said and then walked casually away from the café.

         'How was she able to follow me after that? There’s no way she’s just some normal girl,' he thought to himself.