[TO BE REWRITTEN] LEGENDS NEVER DIE {Trollhunters/Young Justice}

85 UNKNOWN 85

[A/N: Before we start, just in case someone forgot: I'm a heartless bitch. :) ]

THE MAN STUDIED the street with narrowed eyes, surveying the world around him. His loyalty had been called into question and he had to put those murmurs to bed and quickly if he wanted to avoid being killed. He swiftly moved down the street, his head on a swivel, looking for trouble. Which was, honestly, anyone. This was a small town, just because it had been over fifteen years didn't mean someone wouldn't recognize him. He knew he looked like both his sons quite a bit, though his eyes were brown, a color most people he met were sure at one point held a warmth like none other, but they were now colder than the vacuum of space, and many felt that he would be far less intimidating if he had blue eyes like his ex-wife did. Such things the teen at the counter of the small motel couldn't help think.

"I need a room."

It only took ten minutes for him to manage to get the room, and he managed to make the teen so flustered and afraid that the teen didn't even notice that he didn't fill out some of the spaces.

Such as his name.

He made his way to his temporary living space with purpose, knowing that the faster he completed his mission the faster he could leave, and with it a chapter of his life that he had always disliked behind. He threw his case on the bed and began unpacking the weapons inside. He assembled the glock with a methodical speed only formed from years of practice; clicking the safety on, he hid it in the holster hidden by his jacket. He moved on to the knives, strapping one to his ankle, another hidden in the waistband of his pants. He then began assembling a rifle, checking the mag clip as he when.

Two bullets. Both glowed green, crafted from Kryptonite with a metal core.

Two bullets for two marks that needed to be handled with extreme caution and two pistol clips for any witnesses or... problems.

He pulled his suit jacket away from his chest, pulling from his pocket a photo of his sons.

His targets.