I didn't need my scope to see my target turn into the hallway in the building adjacent to the window I was 'cleaning' next to.
The mission file stated that the client wanted the kill to be as discreet as possible – until the body was found, that is. This meant that I was going in closer than I usually preferred to reduce the likelihood of a civilian spotting me or my bullet. I didn't like getting close to my targets because it meant that I was going to have to wear a disguise.
I wore a wig of straight brown hair, and I paired it with some brown contacts and a cleaner's outfit I managed to procure during my first outing for this mission.
I checked the room before moving to the door and locking it, tying the hair of my wig back. I dug my partially disassembled sniper rifle out of my cleaner's cart and my hands flew in practiced movements as I pieced it together, screwing a silencer on the end.
He walked cockily, as though he had all the time within a world that he owned. It was a rather presumptuous attitude for him to take considering that he was only embezzling funds from a medium-sized company, with their business deals ranging only in the lower millions. This man wasn't even smart, flaunting his money and acting so obnoxiously that his secretary hired an assassin to end his career.
I slid into position, uncovering my scope to see him about to turn into an office before a red-headed worker quickly moved into the man's path, his movements frantic and panicking. My eyes narrowed as the target remained in the hallway, trying to get around the worker who was shuffling to continuously block the man's path.
With no clear shot, I waited until the worker was moving to sidestep, torso leaning to one side as he continued blocking my target.
I fired, the bullet blasting through both men as they fell down. The redhead fell on top of my target, but I didn't watch any more as I slid away from the window and disassembled my rifle again.
It was simple to store the rifle, slip out of the building unnoticed, and shove both the gun and disguise into a duffel bag before climbing the staircase of a parking garage, making my way towards a locked camo green SUV.
The taillights flashed as Thanatos unlocked the car, and I didn't turn around to look at him until I had placed my duffel in the trunk.
His hair was a tangle of bright red curls, and his green eyes hinted towards a common Irish genetic combination. A combination where five million other people would fit the description. His dress shirt was a bit bloodied and ripped a bit below his right ribs, his simple slacks and loafers making it out of the conflict unscathed.
"Well, thanks for not going for the heart, but did I have to fall onto him?" Thanatos complained, huffing as he untucked his white dress shirt and pulled it off, the white long-sleeved tee beneath ripped in the same location.
I slid into the passenger's seat as he got behind the wheel, tossing the ruined shirt into the back.
"You were between me and the target." I remarked simply.
He started the car and pulled out, making his way down the parking garage towards the pay booth. "How else was I supposed to stall him for a few minutes. He tried to wave me off in the first few seconds!"
We didn't talk anymore after that, Thanatos focusing on the road as I let my mind go blank as I watched the late-night traffic out of the window. I surprised myself by falling asleep in the car for a few hours, waking up when the sun started to rise over the city our base was located in. Not New York, New York, but just outside of it. Something about Thanatos – most likely something from our soul-bond – made me subconsciously relax in his presence.
"Good morning," he greeted, "It's probably cold by now, but that's for you."
He was pointing to a bag from a fast-food restaurant, and I opened it to find some breakfast items wrapped in greasy wax paper. Digging a little further into the bag produced packets of my preferred condiment, and I started eating.
The city was calm, just starting to stir from its gentle slumber. Those who operated in the night made their commutes home, while those who prepared for the morning rush scurried into place. Thanatos calmly drove through the city, pulling into the thin side-street that led to our underground parking garage and cruising into the half-empty parking area.
He parked and got out, and I took the extra minute to pick up my trash before getting out myself. He had opened the trunk again, moving my duffel to one side so that he could access his stash of extra shirts. He had both hands on the floor of his trunk, leaning slightly forwards.
I stopped with a sharp intake of breath.
It wasn't because he had taken off his shirt and was now half-naked in front of me. It wasn't because I could now see his muscular physique. I had exposure to both of those sights from my training.
I stopped because of the patchwork of lethal scars across his back.
I laid my hand on his spine, fingers tracing one of the two circular scars centered around his heart. There was another gunshot scar below his right ribs, and few scattered cut marks across his lower back. Stretching across his shoulders was a starfield of smaller, circular scars, faded through time but standing alone across his shoulders.
"Thanatos..." My voice trailed off as he straightened, one hand gripping the side of the trunk opening.
I had seen people covered in scars before, but never someone with so many identifiable scars from gunshot wounds and fatal injuries. Every scar belonged to an injury that would easily be fatal. Just how many times had he died?
"Yeah." He said simply. "Those two are from you."
I slid my hand down to the scar he received only a few hours ago, still angry and red, but completely sealed up and healed. I traced one of the long slashes across his lower back, some clean, some irregular and jagged. They were layered over each other, new covering old covering even older.
"Those are from before I met you. After I ran away."
He ran away? From what? From who?
I traced the network across his shoulders, the faint scars almost completely healed. The pattern was consistent with semi-automatic weapons' fire, and they were easily the oldest scars I could see.
"And that's why I ran away. A drive-by shooting targeted against my mother and I." His voice was small, but carefully even. "My aspect isn't hereditary."
"I'm sorry for your loss." My own voice was soft, the words leaving my lips for the first time in my life. I was never sorry for death, especially those I caused, but I could see how the death of his mother affected Thanatos, even if I didn't know the whole story.
He looked over his shoulder at me, his eyes warm and deep and bearing as many emotional scars as those that covered his back. A dark history and years of working on his own were reflected in the depths of his irises, showing through his contacts. The expression of loneliness from keeping everyone around him at an arm's reach. I knew the look because I saw it in my own eyes.
But there was a new emotion, one I had seen in my own face when I was younger. The hope of having someone whom you knew you could trust, someone who would protect you as much as you protected them.
"Thank you."
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