In the middle of a metropolis, people swarmed like ants, thousands of figures marching to their destinations. Skyscrapers pierced the clouds, walling in the crowded streets. The pavement was soaked from the never-ending downfall, yet the hustle continued as normal.

In the center of a crowded sidewalk, however, a man stood motionless. People jostled and swore at him, but he never flinched. In his hand, he held an elegant black smartphone. A pitch-black screen displayed just two words: "He's coming.”

Someone rushed past, knocking his phone to the ground. The man didn't seem to care. He just stared into the mass of people in front of him — his face filled with horror. Then, without warning, he bent, grabbed his phone, and ran, pushing his way through the crowd like a madman. People yelled and cursed, but the man in the brown coat took no more notice than before.

“Not now! I’m so close,” he repeated to himself.

When the crowd thinned, he ducked into an alley to catch his breath. His eyes widened in horror. It was him.

The uniform wasn’t something you could forget. The subtle black coat with the only distinguishing features that would really catch the eye being the white-coloured hood and its sharp peak end, akin to that of a carnivorous bird. The beak’s shadow obscured the majority of the face underneath. All that was visible was a full brown beard.

The brown-coated man dashed into the depths of the alley. He swiftly turned around and ran toward the dark alley. As he ran, he glanced back through the darkness. There was no pursuer, but this haunted him all the more. His pace quickened. At the first crossroads, he turned right without hesitation. Slightly wider and brighter than the last one, this alley ran between rows of high buildings. His shoes were soaked and his lungs burned, but he pushed on. As he ran, something above him caught his eye. Chills snaked down his spine. There, on the edge of the roof, was the white beak. He felt a pair of piercing eyes.

He heard the clatter first. By the time he’d torn himself away from the figure above, he’d tripped over a garbage can and fallen, face-first, into the middle of the alley. A shining blade landed centimeters away from his head. He froze. 

“You are a hard man to find,” a bass voice boomed. “If it wasn't for your internet activity, I would have never been able to locate you.” A pair of pitch-black army boots appeared beside the blade.

The brown-coated man let out a slight sigh. “Why are you doing this?” he asked. “You don't have to do this. I know that you are a good man. I—I didn't do anything wrong. You’re not the type to kill for money or personal gain.”

Silence grew.

“Why?”

The last question echoed in the darkness like a desperate call for help. Yet nobody responded. The man raised his head for a better view of the man in black, though it was hardly necessary. He knew very well whom he was dealing with. Once a man had been marked by him, there was no escape. The brown-coated man rose slowly, proudly. He raised his chin and puffed out his chest. If he had to die, he would do it like a man. He was smiling when he felt the stab of pain in his abdomen.

'As expected,' the man thought. 'He is indeed the best.' The man looked down at his once-brown coat, now a deep shade of crimson. Somehow, without his notice, the assassin had pierced him with a dagger and withdrawn. Only a gaping wound remained.

The man’s last seconds were an eternity. He struggled briefly. Then he fell to the pavement again, dead.

The assassin bent over the body as if to search it. He patted and turned out the pockets, stopping when he discovered the phone. He typed in the passcode, and a gleam of blue light illuminated an average-sized collection of apps. The assassin opened the contacts list, tapping on “Brother.”

"Hey, Jamie! Did something happen?” the phone crackled.

“I haven’t heard from you in ages! You’re lucky I was still—"

“I’m sorry,” the assassin interrupted.

The sound of water droplets filled the alley.

“Why did you do it?” the man raged through the phone. “WHY? WHY DID YOU DO IT? FOR MONEY? ARE YOU THERE, YOU BASTA—”

The assassin tapped the red button, cutting the man’s outrage short. He dropped the phone, turned, and walked away in silence.