Don't fear the Reaper

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The rain poured thick and heavy, raindrops lashing down and pooling on the cobblestones. The streetlights dimly illuminated the dark haired man who walked along a narrow alleyway. Rumours in the city spoke of him in fearful tones. The mere touch of his fingertips ushered in your death. He killed without remorse and without repercussion, vanishing like a shadow into the night without a trace.

Since the beginning, his life was without mercy. So he learned to kill without mercy. Tonight, he was hunting his latest target, a politician by the name of Osbourne. All he needed was a name and a face. He knew not of the sins of his target. All he knew was the money that awaited him once he completed the task. One million dollars in cold hard cash.

Osbourne hurried along, clutching an umbrella, his coattails flying as the wind and rain whipped against his face. Currently, unaware of the death that would await him as he turned the corner. His scream was smothered by a hand while his face crumbled and disintegrated. His hands scrabbling for purchase and his eyes panic-stricken. There was nothing he could do as his skin sloughed off his hands and the life left his eyes. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. The man who was once named Osbourne was no more, merely dust scattered in the wind and a pile of clothes left on the floor. A short whispered prayer left the lips of his killer. Brushing off his clothes, the man who went by Wither left the alley and disappeared into the crowd.

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