Wraith sat in his late father's - his - apartment and cleaned his gun yet again. The metal sparkled, showing the care that had been put into it. But it also bore the unmistakable signs of beings used. A veteran with the outlook of a new recruit. He shook his head, trying to stop comparing everything he saw using navy lingo. It had been nearly a month since he took up his father's name and continued to work in his stead. So far, there had been a lot of boring jobs, and a few interesting ones as well.

A shuffling sound came from the corridor leading to his door. He didn't even look around. That shuffling step could only belong to the old, rheumatic veteran Mailman. The nickname was every bit official as the man himself, for he had been delivering jobs for the past forty years. Wraith remembered how he used to hide behind his father, fearing that the man was some kind of goblin hybrid.

A card-like sheet of paper was slid through the door. Wraith got up and picked it from the floor. It was to the point, as usual:

Mr.Harry Gordon. 71/4 Berthram Block. The green pasture awaits his flock.

"Jesus, someone just caught Bible lingo," Wraith muttered as he picked up his father's mask and slipped it into his overcoat pocket. Everything he wore was black, to blend in with the darkness. It was almost seven in the evening. Time enough for a leisurely jog to the victim's house. Wraith made a note to himself to buy some milk on the way back.

The house - or rather, shack - was cheerful but worn. Obviously the work of the man's wife. Wraith wondered what the man, a middle ager with a rather owlish face, had done to be awarded this sentence. His wife was a fat, cheerful lady who could never stand still. But their son was contrasting in every way, with brilliantly big eyes and an intelligent face. Wraith sighed. Killing the child would be the hardest part. His hand reached for his gun...

BANG!!

Wraith was blasted off his feet as the building exploded. Head spinning, he barely had time to see a graffitied car roar off into a nearby street. Wincing, he picked himself up and walked over to confirm the deaths of the family. Well, the bomb had done the job. Very cleanly. It would also bring every fat assed cop in town to that scene. Just as he was about to leave, he heard a whimper.

The boy whom he had liked was buried beneath broken planks, his throat and face bloodied. But his eyes still shone clear and they were gently weeping as the boy called out for Mama and Papa. Wraith clenched his fists, staring at the half dead boy for a few seconds. Then, he brought his face very close to the boy's.

"Do you want the pain to go away? Do you want to see Mama and Papa?" he asked.

Despite the pain he must have been feeling, the boy's face shone with pure joy. "Please, mister," he croaked. Wraith didn't wait another second.

He drew his pistol and fired straight at the centre of the kid's forehead. It was mercifully and quickly over for him, as the wounds were fatal. Wraith remained crouched for a few more seconds, with the pathetically dead eyes staring back at him. He closed the boy's eyes with his palm and took off into the dus, with sirens sounding behind him.

Sarcastic humor, and indeed all needed groceries were neglected for the next day.

Aussie after listening approaches the man named mnirem.

Excuse me sir, what is this O.M....GGGGGG word?

please enlighten me.

Sorry, I have just been feeling weird. Saying stange things.

Wraith nodded to Savvy and mnirem. "Thank you."

"Not fun having to clean up a kid after a job. Doesn't set well with the heart."

"Then again, you are Wraith. Your heart is a void."

Wraith looked at MK with hurt.

"Even a void can feel. Or atleast, that is what the Wraith Handybook says."

Very well writen Wraith, i always said you had a gift with writting.

Wraith sniffed around Remo.

"Why brother, I do believe you're drunk. You mean narrating don't you? Thanks," he grinned.

well writen, well narated you still have a gift lol