Conundrum

Chapter 5: The Last Of The Real Ones

      Even at ungodly hours of the night, D.A offices were never quiet. The ADAO was no exception. Whispered conversations alleviated the silence of the office, and the sound of the coffee machine was a constant background noise to the occupants. It was never quiet, but always reserved during the graveyard shift; almost everyone working had seemingly permanent bloodshot eyes and were hunched over their desks typing away at the computers placed not five inches from their faces. Only four lights, one in each corner of the small office, lit up the building. The only other sources of light came from the running computers lining the back wall. There was no need to use much light with so few people working, and if the building was well lit, it would just become a beacon for thieves.

They rarely got up from their seats anyway, so there was no need to see around them.

      The computerized mask whirred as it focused on the main target. Sharpshooter's eyes narrowed as he watched the head D.A snatch a cup of coffee from the counter and turn back to his office, looking energized as ever. The masked superhero wondered why he needed the coffee.

      The head D. A, Lotor, wrapped both hands around the steaming cup as he maneuvered past each desk to the back of the building; his hips swaying to a beat only he could hear. His platinum hair was tied back in a tight bun, and not a single hair was out of place. And the black suit pants and jacket he wore complemented his hard-earned muscles and the lavender purple tie draped over his chest matched the color of his eyeshadow. The mask's glasses zoomed in on their own accord, wanting to scan and commit the D. A's face to its artificial memory.

      Lotor's lips were drawn in a look of amusement, like he was going against the world alone and he was winning. The man looked so awake and presentable at three in the morning; clear lip gloss made his lips glint in the odd light, a faint unnatural flush to his cheeks made his cheekbones stand out more than they already did, and his already long eyelashes were volumized by the black mascara he always wore.

      Sharpshooter sighed and hopped off the small deli he frequented. He'd been camped out on that roof for more than an hour, watching and waiting for the perfect opportunity to carry out his mission and he was ready to get home and take a hot bath. The bitter cold that night had seeped into his very bones. However, he was able to easily get up and down from the roof. That was all thanks to his flexibility the cold couldn't rob from him. For that he was grateful, he couldn't count how many times his ass had been saved with his unbelievable ability to bend and twist his body. The looks on the crooks' faces whenever he dodged a seemingly unavoidable weapon was always priceless.

      By no means was his flexibility supernatural; it was just the product of 13 years of gymnastics his sister forced him into and got him hooked to. Sticking close to the shadows the streetlights provided, Sharpshooter slipped into the back alley of the D.A office. He avoided any windows as he maneuvered past overfilled trash bins and abandoned furniture.

      He was just about to peek into the head D. A's office window when the yowl of a stray cat destroyed the overwhelming silence of the street. The superhero almost blew his cover when he nearly slammed his head into the glass. He was already wanted by the police, there was no need for him to make their job easier by exposing himself trying to break into one of their offices.

      So, instead of screaming 'Holy Shit' like he wanted to, he just muttered a few curses before slowly bringing himself eye level to the glass, barely exposing any of his face, and watched the D. A move around his room. It was dark, just like the rest of the office. Sharpshooter, bewildered, wondered if the other man had super-vision. He waited for a solid minute outside the window, watching Lotor set his coffee on the counter and put away various files throughout the room.