Hidden Value

The Job

   In a barren park, a man sat alone on a bench. It had become a routine to him; wake up, work, eat, sit on the bench, drink until all but his name is forgotten to him.
   Mindless routines can have a harsh and damaging impact on those who create them. It can push them into a spiral destined to reach depression. Much like a black hole, there is no escape.
   Routines can also make you predictable.
   The man on the bench was alone as far as his shattered and splintered mind was concerned. The reality of the situation was far more daunting.
   Hidden in plain sight, they were everywhere.
   A flash.
   A dart.
   Nothing more. Nothing that would draw attention.
   This situation had been planned and strategised for optimal results. There was no getting this wrong.
   Stood on the edge of rooftops that surrounded the park, leaning on the breeze alone, they lay in wait for the exact time to come. Anything could upset the fragile balance between stealth and death. Adrenaline would cause them to shake and jitter but their confidence held them still. Their hearts pounded at the thought of the cost for failure, the idea of the reward for success calmed their nerves.
   Most among the rooftops were unaware of the purpose behind the seemingly pointless mission. Those who knew wished they didn't. The motivations was so twisted and cruel, so vein that they expected that even The Devil would even turn away in distain.
   All the lives spent like coppers to get to this point. Such a waste. All for a man so worthless he shouldn't even be graced with the title of man.
   This "man" had not a friend in the world nor family to confide in. No penny to his name yet manages to drink the sorrows he caused and blamed on others away. It made no sense.
   He was a "man" that would not be missed.
   At last, the time came.
   Time to move. Without a nod, without a whisper, shadows moved with instinct and skill. Making less noise than a falling feather, they closed in.
   First, a bag over his head. No one to catch if no one was seen.
   Next, a swift punch to the throat. The "man" whispered a scream. He already knew he was as good as dead. A bunny caught in the headlights on a road.
   Then, a rope to bind his hands. Resistance was futile but they knew the "man" would try.
   Finally, a van to cart them away. The "man" may see the destination but he would never be able to find his way home.
   All done in the space of twenty-seven seconds.
   In twenty-seven seconds, a "man" was stolen. Wiped off the face of the Earth for reasons neither God nor The Devil would taint themselves in knowing.
   The shadows would revive their reward for a job well done. No man would have to lose their life today.
   A "man" with absolutely nothing was taken in seconds and left so little behind it begged the question of if he ever really existed.
   Only an empty bottle of vodka and a urine-soaked bench could testify for that.
   That was all I've pieced together of this case so far. This "man" allegedly had no one. No one I could find, anyway. Yet some anonymous person was willing to pay a fat stack of notes for his safe return.