In Cold Blood

“She’s back,” said the whispers, “The Silver Wolf is back.” The high-roofed hallway cleared, empty, steel-gray, dim, bare. You could hear the people hiding, running away, concealing themselves. She came with her silvery eyes, those eyes that show tint of blue, those frightening eyes, luminescent and intoxicating. Her hair, flecked with blood, streamed behind her, a haze of black mist. The Silver Wolf exerted an aura, royal, aloof; her very presence smothered you. You cannot help but put your hand on your dagger, cautious, expectant. Dangerous, every one of your cells screamed, She’s dangerous! You have a feeling that she can kill you without noise, kill you before you register the pain, and you feel Fear’s frosty fingers raking across your body, raising goose bumps.

She strode down the corridor of Scythes in her solitude and no one addressed nor acknowledged her. She was too different; her metallic, pale eyes, her shadowy hair: marks of a natural born killer. The Silver Wolf, the name itself struck fear into criminals, ravagers, villains. She worked for Progress, the most respected government in 114 years, and was recommended by the Head Director of the branch called Scythes, who is greatly admired for his sense of justice, yet she was still stigmatized as a glass cannon- powerful, beautiful, deadly to both sides.           

Every person, or animal, gave her a wide berth, a twenty foot circle of empty, lonely space. Specks of blood attached themselves in blotches to her assassination attire, black, and flowing, and perfectly pressed, with nary a wrinkle in sight. It’s hard to imagine that just a while ago she was hiding in the shadows of the walls, coiled, eyes on target, invisibly leaping. In the next moment, her target, Gustav Plowith, a long running mastermind criminal, will have hunched over, eyes glazed, throat slit, dead. The Silver Wolf would have left without a hair lost, unfazed, uncaring, her heart cold. This was a true assassin.

Not a sound, a deathly silence, then rustles, breathing. The Silver Wolf trod away, everyone sighed, exhaling the relief of living another day. Her shadow disappeared, and suddenly the dreary, drab corridor bursts to life and colors. People bustled about, carrying documents and water bottles, saying hi left and right. Already they have forgotten the shadowy girl that walked alone, solitary and reserved, already she was a smudge in the back of their minds.

            They have already forgotten the girl with no emotions, they have forgotten the Silver Wolf. It’s their mistake to think that she is just a killer, because she is more, but just not in the way you might think.       

“Isis!” cried a light-haired boy. Tall, muscular yet lithe, his gunmetal hair unkempt but somehow orderly at the same time, his midnight blue eyes clear and full of character, the teen grinned childishly, slumped against the white door frame of Isis’ dormitory. Isis walked toward him, eyes slightly shimmering, skin reflecting the million shards of light from a humble window, a break from the otherwise dim corridors of Scythes.

            “Gray,” Isis nodded, acknowledging him. She drew out her Compound-card from her back pocket and inserted the thin glass shard into a slot in the door. There was a whrrrr sound, a sound of gears turning, mechanisms twirling. A chime sounded and a female voice articulated the words “Welcome back, code name: Silver Wolf. You have finished the assassination of criminal C3859,” and then, with a little pop, the door swung open revealing a simple apartment.

“I suppose you want to come in,” The Silver Wolf said, but the teen had already strutted in and flung himself on the bed. Isis, as if she expected this, closed the door behind her and just slightly sighed, a tiny breath of annoyance.

 “Don’t let me tell you what to do,” recited Isis. Gray had been coming over ever since she was hired by Scythes and quit school, which was a long time ago. Isis, the young prodigy, at least according to Progress, was allowed to skip school, partially due to the fact that she now worked full-time as a government-employed assassin and partially because at the age of twelve she already learned what an ordinary person learned in twenty-eight years, fifty-three days, six hours and nine seconds. As you can see, Progress is always very precise.