The Fallen

Seraphina POV:

It’s late at night as I hunch over the roof top zeroing in on my target. A tall lanky built guy with shaggy hair. He looks to be in his mid thirties. A rising player in the underworld. He’s been rising up pretty fast. Enough for someone to want him out of the game completely.

Today he is trying to broker a deal with the infamous Obsidian Triarchy. He’s meeting them at one of their warehouses on the south side.

They are known to be the most feared men in the city. Ruling over it with an iron fist. Ruthless as can be. No one dares to challenge them, and the ones that do usually end up in a grave. 

I closely watch him through my scope walk up to the side of the building. On the outside he looks calm. If you look closely though he is starting to fray. A bead of sweat runs down his forehead just as he turns towards the door. Just as he turns, I turn my safety off and I pull the trigger. It cuts through the air hitting him straight in the temple as he falls to the ground.

I sit my gun down carefully and send an encrypted message to my client.

“Target eliminated”. 

Almost immediately they respond with

“Payment sent. Nice working with you.” 

I make my way over to the body making sure no cameras catch my movements and I dip my fingers in his blood and paint a cracked halo with one wing the other burnt off.

After finishing my signature I hide in the shadows making sure they receive my message. I want them to know that I am close by. 

As soon as they see it they will know “the fallen” is near. My reputation follows me everywhere I go. There hasn’t been a job that I have failed. I was trained half my life to be the killer I am. To make sure every move I make is executed perfectly. 

Fifteen minutes go by and I see three figures exit the warehouse. Followed by multiple men behind them. This must be the Obsidian Triarchy. I can’t make out their faces in the dark but the way the air suddenly shifts I know I am right. 

I grab my things and make my way back to my motorcycle five blocks down. I hop on and start the engine, peeling out into the street heading to current hideout. Another one marked off the list. 

I’ve been in this field of work since I was twelve years old. Bouncing foster home to foster home since I was two I’ve had to learn to protect myself. Every new home I entered seemed to have men who thought they owned and controlled me. Treating me as if I was their property. Selling me off to their friends to use as well. I do not bow to anyone now. The men who used to beat and abuse me now tremble at the mention of my name.

I earned my reputation one body at a time. Thanks to the man that took me in when I was twelve. He trained me to be the weapon nobody seen coming.

Calculated. Cold. Precise.

I will always be thankful for the gifts he gave me.

I’ve never hesitated in the thirteen years on the job. No feeling guilty. No regrets. Just precision.

There has been many people try to take me out. Not one has ever left with their life. The world has made me the killer I am. I show no mercy because none was ever showed to me. I may have fallen but I have always gotten back up.