Boom. That's the last sound they hear. Or rather, they are often dead before they even hear the gunshot. That's how I prefer my work is done. Quick and clean, dead instantly. Then, I slip into the shadows, unseen. Now, just because I run after my kills doesn’t mean I’m unable to fight. I’ve had a tussle or two in my time as a young assassin. When you’re being paid top dollar to kill those your client wants gone, you have to make sure you’re prepared for everything. And pay well it does.

  The alarm clock rings, the sound traveling across the room to assault my sleeping ears.

  “Why didn’t I put the damn thing closer to bed?” I mutter as I sit up, tossing the grey sheets aside. “Oh right, it’s to make me actually get out of bed and get on with my life.” I pick up my phone from my desk and slam my hand down on the alarm, shutting it up. My room is fairly nice, with carpeted floors, a balcony hanging over my backyard, a bathroom attached, a desk, and a king size bed. Speaking of bathrooms, I should get a shower before going to school. I don’t exactly need school since I make enough money as is with my kills, but my parents would have wanted me to finish it. Well, they likely wouldn’t have approved of my choice of work, but who does? Anyway, I discard my underwear into a large bin in the corner of the room before firing up the shower. After getting in and beginning to was myself off, I contemplate what to do next. I look down at my phone (which I don’t think should be in the shower but also don’t really care) and check my emails. 7:04 AM. Tuesday, March 14th, 2045. 2 new hits. I file away the locations and information as extra homework. My phone begins to buzz. New call. I answer it.

  “Hey Jake, you wanna walk to school with me?” A male voice sounds from the phone.

  “Yeah, sure, just met me outside my house at 7:50, alright?” I say, speaking more cheerfully then I actually feel. I have a hard time feeling things towards other people. This guy though, Marco is his name, I would call him almost a friend. He certainly calls me a friend. I have a hard time reciprocating those feelings, though. I try, and I guess thats what matters.

  “Sounds good.” Marco says. “See you then.”

  “Yep, see you.” I say, then hang up the phone. After finishing up in the shower, I dry myself off. I have a list of chores to do after all.

  I start by getting dressed and making my bed. Grey sweatpants, red t-shirt, black hoodie. I live up north, so it’s a bit chilly at this time of year. I can ignore it pretty easily, though. It’d be hard to pull off an assignment if I couldn’t shrug off a little snow.

  Next, I eat breakfast. 2 egg bites I prepared last saturday. I make short work of them and wash it down with orange juice, then put the dishes in the sink. I turn and leave the kitchen, making my way back upstairs to my bedroom to complete the third task. Weapons maintenance.

  I pull the matress off my bed, revealing a hidden compartment where a sniper rifle is located, disassembled and folded up. Beside it, a simple black mask with red streaks running all across it, no two lines touching. It looks as if you couldn’t see through it, but when I put it up against my face, I can see quite fine. The mask goes into my black school backpack in the bottom compartment. The gun, I bring over to the bathroom sink and begin to clean with a special rag and cleaner.

  After finishing cleaning, I look up at the mirror for a moment. What I see is a 16 year old boy with deep, dead looking red eyes, short, straight black hair that looks almost messy, and light, tanned skin, with a single long burn scar along his right cheek and going down his neck. The boy, no, I, smiled.

  “Another day.” I sigh. I fold up the gun again, sliding the individual components into different parts of my backpack. The individual pieces all look like different things. 3 pieces are attacked like decorations, one of them looks like a calculator, another just a weird piece of metal. Nobody would guess what it actually is. Good.

  I turn from the bathroom and make my way downstairs. Checking the time, I seem to have a few minutes. I was about to relax on the couch for a few minutes when I hear a knock on the door. Opening the door, I see 2 people I expected to see, early as always.

  “Well, well, well.” I open the door to let the two in. Marco and Becca, both classmates of mine. Marco grins as he walks in the front door, looking around the large, lightly decorated home.

  “Your house is still so nice.” He says, grinning. He had dark green eyes, which scanned the room over. His hair is curly and black, slightly muscular. His skin tilted towards the brown side. Becca’s skin was far lighter, almost pale, with long blonde hair and bright blue eyes. Her frame is far too slender for how much she eats.

  “Where do you keep the orange juice?” She made herself at home in my kitchen, filling herself a cup of orange juice. This is half the reason I even keep orange juice.

  “Stop being a raccoon.” Marco says, sitting down on one of two couches in front of the tv.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  “Well, I’m the cutest raccoon there ever was.” Becca shoots back, grinning between chugs of orange juice.

  “Have you not eaten?” I ask, sitting down beside Marco.

  “Nope, haven’t eaten a thing.” Becca says certainly.

  “She was eating toast while we walked here.” Marco pointed out.

  “You snitch.” She frowned at him.

  “Just take an egg bite and then lets go.” I say, standing back up.

  “Aww, we just got back here.” Marco frowns as Becca grabs an egg bite from a container.

  “Too bad, it’s my house, not yours.” I smile, happy to drag them out of my house and on our way to school.

  <{(0)}>

  “Hey Jake, what’s that thing on your back?” Marco asks, pointing at a piece on my backpack.

  “A scope.” I say simply, not lying. “It’s used on snipers.”

  “Oh, thats cool.” Becca says, looking over at it as we walk down the sidewalk. The school can be seen ahead, maybe 5 minutes away. We still have to cross the highway. I can’t help but smile as I walk. I feel slightly more alive with these two. It lets me ignore the pit I feel every now and then.

  “Hey, wanna come over to my place after school? My mom’s making pizza.” Marco offers. I feel a twinge as he mentions his mother.

  “Ooh, I’m all in!” Becca grins.

  “Trash panda.” I say, smiling.

  “Oh, shut it you. Are you coming?” Becca asks.

  “No, I… actually, sure. But I can’t stay for long, I’ll be working late tonight.” I say, nodding.

  “Great!” Marco beams, practically overjoyed. I don’t tend to join these events. I do my work almost every day. I make a solid hundred grand every bullet, and I have let loose a lot of bullets. Not a single one wasn’t lethal. Not that they need to know that.

  “Say, Becca, your birthday is coming up next week. What would you like?” I ask as we get close to the school doors.

  “Hm… maybe one of those demonic spirit tree books. I’m on book three right now.” Becca says after a moment.

  “Anything else?” I ask, flipping through my wallet before tucking it back into my pocket.

  “A new keyboard would be nice, though I wouldn’t ask that of you. Keyboards are stupid expensive.”

  “As is everything with anything to do with a screen.” Marco points out dryly.

  “No need to worry about price. I… have the money to spare.” I smile. “Now let's head to class.”

  <{(0)}>

  Marco’s house is a bit smaller then my own, though they make up with it for the size of their yard. A long, square-ish shaped backyard with gardens lining the fence, and trees along one side. Marco’s mom spends a frankly unhealthy amount of time tending to her gardens, though I suppose she has the time, since her husband is away during the day for work and Marco lives within walking distance of his weekend taekwan-do classes. One one side of the backyard, tables are set, filled to the brim with many, many different dishes of which the guests pick at. On the other side of the garden, minigames like washer toss and spikeball are set up. Me, Marco and Becca sit in chairs, just watching as the around 20 guests gorge themselves and engage in conversation. Well, me and Marco watch. Becca, though sitting with us, certainly participates in the gorging. Her big paper plate is filled up with different foods. Can’t say I blame her this time. Marco’s family can COOK. I’m enjoying these shotgun shells that his uncle made. The food, not the ammunition. Shotguns suck at assasination, so I don’t use them.

  “Thanks for coming for once.” Marco says, leaning back in his lawn chair. I chuckle and take another bite of the shells.

  “I can stay another 20 minutes. Anyone wanna play washer toss?”

  “Hell no. You have the aim of a hawk.” Marco immediately shoots down my hopes.

  “A hawk on steroids, more like.” Becca comments between bites of shrimp skewers. “You look all skinny in those hoodies, but you have muscles to make hippos turn around. Seriously, what’s your secret? Drugs?”

  “Nah, I just use the equipment in the garage every other night. After getting into the shape you want, its not as hard to maintain as long as you keep active.” I shrug.

  “Well, I’m gonna go challenge Jericho to some spikeball. You guys wanna come?” Marco asks, gesturing to a boy 2 years older on the other side of the yard.

  “I’m game.” Becca stands up, setting her plate down on her chair.

  “I think I’ll just grab a donut and head out.” I say with an apologetic smile. “Can’t put off work for too long.”

  “Yeah.” Marco looks at me for a moment, concerned. “Look dude, don’t burn yourself out, ok? We’re here for you.”

  “Thanks.” I say, giving him a practiced easy smile. Before he can get another word in, I slip into the crowd. It’s not the first time he has said it. I’ve gotten better at my reactions. However, I can’t control how it makes me feel. I run from the emotion. I can’t let myself get too connected to anyone. That way, if I loose them, it doesn’t hurt too much.

  I grab my backpack as I leave. I had come here separate from Marco and Becca with my motorcycle. That way, I could leave and head straight to my job. Opening my phone, I look over the information. I’m being payed well for this one. Seems the building is well guarded. Too bad they have some glaring openings I can exploit. I see a viable escape route. I start up my motorcycle, put the helmet on, and take off. After I exit the intersection I slide a film over my license plate, making it so that nobody can catch it with a picture or speedometer. Turning off the main road, I make my way towards the location. A mansion 10 minutes out of the city along the lake.

  I reach into the bag and pull out that black mask. I slip it on from underneath the helmet. Time to go to work.

  Name:Snowstorm

  Level:50/150

  Age:16

  Titles:Frostbreaker, knowledgeer, study master, Tier 2 evolution, Humanify FREEZE

  Strength:150

  Durability:150

  Speed:150

  Stamina:150

  Intelligence:172.5

  Essence:1,009

  Class:Frostbane boxer(Epic)

  Soul weapon:Frostbane gauntlets

  Species:Frostwing demi-wyvern

  Skills: Heat vision(low)Uncommon, Greater enhanced intelligence(medium)Rare, Enhanced knowledge intake(medium)Uncommon, cold resistance(high)Rare, photographic memory(Medium)Rare, swimming(low)Common, split thought(Low)Rare, body temperature reduction(Medium)Uncommon, ice mana manipulation(medium)Rare, Mind magic affinity(Medium)Uncommon, heat shift foundation(Low)Uncommon

  Techniques:Swimming(D), Mana manipulation(C), Mind mana manipulation(D), Ice mana manipulation(C), Mana claws(C), Ice spear(C), Iceout(D), Icicle hail(D), Mind bridge(D), Ice mana barrier(C), Heat shift(D), Mana bolt(D), Mana sense(D), Mind mana manipulation(D), Illusion mana manipulation(E)

  Mutations: Knowledge intake stomach(B), Multi-Mind system(A)