THE WORLD RUN DANGER

One

It was the night for the perfect murder.
I surveyed the city of Camilo from my vantage point. Wind gently lapped against me as I faced the night from atop the building. Off to the east, streetlights burned brightly, casting long shadows onto the mansions that adorned the land. With my binoculars, I could see the chandeliers that cost more than an average person makes in a lifetime glistening in the windows of the noble houses. It was Saturday night, a day of partying for the frivolous to bask in their luxuries and forget the outside world around them.
Briefly, I remembered that my life used to be like that, but I shoved those thoughts away as I looked to the west. Camilo was as diverse as it was divided by money and caste. No one dared to stir on the west, in the ghettos and the slums, for fear of the criminals such as me running through the night. You don't want to cross a drunk murderer or an arrogant thief who is lax with controlling his dagger.
Or me. You definitely don't want to cross paths with me.
I stared up at the stars. I knew none of their names, none of the constellations they formed, but what I did know is that they provided the perfect cover of darkness for murder.
With one last glance at the city I now called my home, I scaled down the building with the ease of experience. I was headed to the east side tonight.
A towering wall separated the east side and its noble ladies and lords from the crime infested, poverty run west side. This wall resided on the banks of the River Camilo, even though the fast moving current of the river was protection enough.
The nobles underestimated the cunning and wit of the people from the west. Ignorance was not bliss, as the guards always failed to check what I presumed to be the most obvious spot to sneak in: under the bridge and wall. I laughed in my mind at the nobles' stupidity, as I always did as I approached the bridge.
Even if the guards checked under here, that would be the least of my problems. I had a kill to make and in order to do so, I must cross a fast flowing river known for taking the lives of many who approached it.
The gangs of the west have given up trying to control this access route; the one truce they concede to. Too many have died trying to control it, and the only reason it is used is to fight the one common enemy of all the gangs: nobles.
The passage is actually just a rope stretched out under the bridge, seven and a half feet above the raging waters. There are two ways to cross. Option A is to walk it like a tightrope. Option B is to move across like on a set of monkey bars from a children's playground.
I secured myself to the line, using the same rope I used to scale down the building. I hooked it around my waist, then around the route across the river. With one last look at solid ground, I jumped up and grabbed the line.
I swung my way across, gritting my teeth, ignoring the rapids mere feet below me. One hand after the other. Left hand, then right. A wave of water bashed against the rocks below, soaking me. I grunted and ignored the biting cold.
After what seemed like an eternity, I was mere feet from the opposite shore. I silently cheered and jumped down onto solid rock, my legs grateful to be on land once more.
The next task of getting around a twenty five yard high wall was a lot easier than crossing the river. The Silver Blade Rebellion had made several paths under the wall, using the ancient catacombs of Old Camilo that were underground and long forgotten by most. The naivety of the nobility's guards never ceased to amuse me.
I found the usual path I used to get in, hidden by the oaks that bordered the wall. I rolled away the boulder blocking the entrance and crawled in.