HITMAN {on hold}

One

Zaysha's knee high black boots scuffed along the ground as she made her way from the metro stop in Harlem. The light from the street lamp above glinted off of her raven black hair, slicked back I to it's usual ponytail. She carried herself quietly down the street until she reached Everest Ave. The cold metal of her knife pressed against her thigh, secure and hidden by her black trench-coat. Somehow it's cold touch gave her a sense of comfort.

Pulling out her phone, Zaysha crouched in a nearby alley. The bright light of her phone lit up her face as she checked her assignment.

202 Everest Ave
Jim Alistar, male, 5'4", short blonde hair.

Next to the description was an image of the man she was assigned to. He was plain looking, seemingly friendly enough, with a layer of thin stubble covering his jaw. He didn't look special, or threatening in any way, but Zaysha knew that looks could be deceiving.

Pocketing her phone, she continued down Everest until she reached a brick apartment building. Glancing at the mailboxes posted outside the apartment she read their adresses, her eyes stopping on number 202.

Zaysha spotted a fire escape ladder leading directly to an open window which flowed softly from the light inside.

Her knife securely fastened to her side, Zaysha scaled the fire escape to the third floor where the window was cracked open a jar. She glanced in to the room and her eyes caught sight of a small kitchen, tidy and neat with a single pile of dishes in the sink. She could hear faint jazz music from the turntable that sat on a hutch by the stove.

The room seemed peaceful and simple, not at all the scene of a murder, but Zaysha knew she had a job to complete.

She pressed the hilt of her blade firmly to her cool palm when she heard sudden footsteps approaching. Soon enough she saw the man pictured in her assignment round the corner, a slice of cheese stuffed in his mouth and his hand holding a glass of wine.

Carefully, Zaysha drew her blade and crouched near the window, ready. She preferred the feel of the blade in her hand how the art of using it came naturally to her. She has been warned many times to use more modern methods, such as a gun, but she felt as if that was even less humane.

Aiming carefully, her wrist cocked at the precise angle, Zaysha threw the blade towards the oblivious man, striking him quickly across the throat.

When the job was done she retrieved her knife, cleaning it on her pants and securing it to her leg. She sent a quick message to the Boss, or rather one of his many minions, to tell them the job was finished.

Soon she was home and in bed, her bloodied clothes in the wash, and her head pressed gently into the pillow, sound asleep.