Malignant Being

Day 3: Sutton

It was easy work to find the task force bases set up around different parts of the city. Sutton had hoped to spend his time in New York doing something else, maybe even someone else; but the idea of sticking a giant fork in the defense team's plan was too intriguing to resist. They hadn't finished clean up in the city, but they decided to bounce around for a bit and return later on, give the innocents a chance to spend some uninterrupted time with their families.

Sutton grew bored of killing the undercover cops at the control centers and decided to make a quick visit to an old friend before finding something else to capture his interest. Without much work, he fell through the shadows and landed on his feet in front of Mio's grave.

"Right where I left you," he sighed. "Man, if you could see the shit I'm doing now."

Of course, he's met with silence. The cemetery is empty, he could look up and see the several rows of tombstones lining the grass plot of land. He lit a cigarette and looked down at the marble driven into the ground. The man's name had been etched into it, the cleanest headstone in the row.

"Well, now I don't have to worry about getting caught up for killing people. It's literally a nigga's job now."

Again more silence, shit. This was depressing wasn't it. Sutton reached into his pocket and found that he had nothing. Well, that is quite the unfortunate pickle. How did he end up with nothing? Did he not stop before–nope that's right, he saw that he was close to a couple safe houses and decided to clean house. Sutton frowned and decided his next stop would be to get a refill. Couldn't go around murdering people with no way to replenish his strength, that would be incredibly stupid. Sutton prided himself on his ability to weigh out all his options and make the smarter choice but that is still objective within itself.

He stepped through the many rows of headstones, a lit cigarette tipped over his bottom lip. His shoulder is tapped and he turns around abruptly. There is a smaller, darker male standing there; a flat cap is pulled up to expose his partially balding head. He cracks a wide tooth grin and raises a hand in quiet surrender.

"Oh pardon me–Asha?"

"Excuse me? That's not my name."

"Oh, I'm sorry. It's just, you remind me a lot of an old friend of mine."

"Old friend, huh? This old friend of yours, their name is Asha?"

"Yeah, he and I went way back. We lost touch after he started dating some street girl."

Sutton's lip twitched, looking away from the man to pull the cigarette from his lips and ash it away from his suit. He didn't know much about his mother beyond a name and the fact that she loved rock more than she loved her own son. He didn't hold any animosity towards her but, he still was unnerved at how the man's description of her bothered him.

"You ever find out what happened to him?"

"No. It's sad. He and I grew up on the same block. Right there on 147th. I always wondered what happened to him. And you, well, you look an awful lot like him, kid."

Sutton watched the man continue his stride further into the cemetery, turning back to the exit with a final exhale of smoke. Asha. He looked like some man named Asha. Sutton could've killed everyone he walked past, they knew who he was, but it had been made clear that they don't kill unless they want to. It made people treat them like deities, not worshiping them but fearing their wrath. While Sutton liked the violence, he preferred just having some moments to relax. He had already killed enough officers to fill whatever arbitrary quota Xavier or Detroit might pull out of their asses.

He extracted another cigarette and found himself pondering the name Asha yet again. What kinda fucking name is that? Wait, wasn't that the same name as the british chick in Saints Row? There's no way that guy was talking about her. Interesting name. Asha. Sutton stopped walking, pushed some dude into oncoming traffic and shouted,