Calton Michael was a odd boy. Ever since he was a baby, he was strikingly odd. Not that he could help it, nor was it his mothers fault.
Calton Michael would pick locks and somehow manage to steal guns out of locked cases. It was impossible, his mother had said, for a strange boy such as himself. It didnt make sense, and would never make sense.
Calton Michael would proceed to grow older, until, one year, his mother said, his strange attidue only got worse. Strange things happened to him, his skin would grow paler day by day, and claw marks would appear in his skin. It didnt seem normal, it wasnt normal and Calton knew that. People assumed the worst, he had depression. They assumed, as bad as it seemed, that poor little Calton Michael wanted death. And death wanted him.
Ten years later, Calton Michael was all grown up. He had a small apartment in the bustling state of California. Surprsingly, his job was a youtuber. It was hard, to put makeup on everyday. It was even harder to pretend everything was okay on camera. Everyday, he would cover up the odd scratch marks on his arm with concealer, and everyday he would sigh in the piti ness that is Calton Michael's life.
His life was going by to quickly, he felt. Calton needed more out of life, then to be the goth boy who 'cut' himself and wanted to die. That wasnt the case at all, no one understands him. No one knows what its like to liver forever, no one knows into they become the it.
They become what they most fear.
Calton most feared living.
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The greet light of the scope was all he could see. The measurements filled his vision, and he cocked the gun. It made that clicking noise and Calton licked his dry lips, moistioning them. He looked away from the scope to look around at his surroundings. Trees covered in freshly fallen snow lay behind him, and down, four thousand meters or so, was his target.
Ashen hair shown undernieth the snow hat, and tan skin was only visible in some places. The man, his name was Jason, was a murder. He had just killed to innocent woman, one a mother and the other her child. She was only five years old and blood already stained her pink coat. The man had been muttering something about tainted blood.
Calton shook his head furiously, looking back into the scope. Just when the little black dot was aimed right at his forehead, Calton pulled the small metal trigger that has killed many people before Jason.
It was almost as if everything went in slow motion. One moment, Jason was standing, still staring coldly at the two dead bodies, the next he was one himself.
Calton smiled at his implenmentation. He stood up and brushed the snow off his pants. His belt clinked with weapons and objects that were hard to descirbe. He was a object of destruction.
Calton Michael killed people for a living. He hunted them, sometimes killing them slowly and others fast. It depened on how much he was paid. It was a sadistic job.
One that always ended with cold cases.
Why? You ask.
Well, Calton Michael was supposed to be dead.
+
Warm blood squirted out of the newly open wound as Calton repeatedly stabbed the man. His limp body crumpled, all his weight on Calton's shoulder. When he finished he dropped the dead body, stepping back and admiring his work. Sometimes, only when he had no one to kill, he wondered why he did this with his never ending life.
Then he remembered that his Dna, prints, nothing would ever be found at a crime scene. Calton could drop the bloodied knife right where he was standing, and the dectectives would never find out it was him. His prints would disiengrate upon contact with another human being. It was a weird concept no one understood.
