The Shadow Rose

As soon as she had begun to uneasily drift off, Bristol was jolted awake by another one. Clenching her jaw tightly in annoyance, she lay there for a minute, letting the beeping go on for a bit longer while she glared at the low ceiling. She understood the job was arduous, but this was outright ridiculous. Missing out on sleep this long was having its effects. Micro-sleep dominated daytime. But in a way, it was better. The nightmares would come back if she slept.

She untangled herself from the plain sheets, stifling a yawn and standing up. She turned off the update alarm. Just one more mission and she'd be done for a good few hours. Or so she hoped. It would be their fault if she ended up collapsing at some point. She rearranged her hair back into a ponytail before she pulled on the dark suit. It was tight fitting, which proved to be quite useful. The top used to be a v-neck, as it pleased her superiors more. She burned it and beat up the man who decided she would wear it. They settled for a top that came to her neck from there on. She had always insisted, even from the beginning, that she was strictly a business parter, not someone to be meddled with.

As soon as she shut down the alarm, the information popped up in a hologram in front of her. Sex: Male. Age: 68. Eye color: Dark brown. Hair color: Dark brown. Ethnicity: Italian. Name: Nico di Angelo.

That was as far as her knowledge went for the missions. The bare essentials. It was fine with her, though they were probably keeping something important away from her. That was fine with her too. She swiped her hand her through the hologram to dissolve it and grabbed the black mask from her nightstand. Everything related to the job was concealed in some way. The update alarm was disguised as an old alarm clock, the mask folded itself into a stress ball, et cetera. Bristol stood in front of the mirror, unfolding the mask and applying it to her face. Soon, she was fully equipped and ready. A taser, gun, and gloves at her side and knives ready to be charged with electricity, set on fire, or used normally. They lined the insides of her sleeves, ankles, and her waistline. Standard weapons. It would have been too attention attracting to bring along her larger weapons. With a simple code, she pulled up her window. A sharp looking icicle dangled from the edge of the roof, but it wouldn't fall anytime soon.

Bristol took a few steps back for momentum, then ran at the window, jumping through and landing with a somersault on the icy ground. It was a painful landing for two reasons: she went hands-first, so she ended up with shards of ice impaled into her hands, and the ground was harder due to the thick layer of ice covering it. She quickly stood up, ignoring the shooting pain and bruises that were beginning to form. She had already made too much noise cracking the ice. Without glancing back, she hastily slipped on her gloves and soundlessly jogged past all of the houses. No one dared to linger awake at this hour, that was for sure, especially not in this area. She passed through the dark neighborhoods, the only lights illuminating them being the street lights/cameras that floated above and watched over to spot any curfew-breakers. They picked up color, which was the mistake that the engineers made. They didn't pick up black, devoid of color.

The houses were perfect. Artificial grass that behaved like real grass except it stayed short, little white picket fences, middle aged parents, the whole deal. Bristol had kicked down her fence and replaced the 'grass' with beautiful daffodils and zinnias. Or at least, they were beautiful daffodils and zinnias. She hadn't bothered to water them for a few months now. She felt that putting in those flowers was enough gardening for a lifetime.

Soon enough, she was past the boring houses. She was at the border of the sect now. She pulled up a mental map of the city to find the nearest alleyway to duck into without being found. The city was very simply built. There were the East and West Sectors, with the corporation buildings, factories, stores, and facilities sandwiched in the middle. Most places were built similarly.

Bristol lived on the inner edge of the West Sect, which wasn't convenient for once. The information told her that di Angelo was located in the East. Drug smugglers had recently been caught dealing around the East Sect, so security would be tighter. That would be a mild annoyance, but likely not much more. It didn't matter; as long as the deed was done within the next few hours, they'd pay her. Or at least, if everything went well. It wasn't as if a 68 year old man would be able to fight back much anyway. Age was a terrible factor for reflexes. She would have him down in a few seconds, no doubt.

When she was near the edge of the middle, she pressed her back to the wall of one of the buildings that made up the alley. Her breath was visible in the cold that chilled her to the bone. Bristol pulled out her taser. There was no point in killing guards. It would attract officials, who even she knew weren't people to set off.

The building her back was pressed against was a depressing hunk of grey stone, with a few grimy windows. Most of the buildings in the city were similar; devoid of color and creativity. They were easy to build but didn't offer very good work spaces. Yet they somehow managed to make almost everything people consumed. Bristol had once snuck into one out of curiosity, but there was nothing in it, not even tables or chairs to sit at. No machinery, either, just empty shells. She had almost gotten caught too, so she hadn't gotten to visiting a different one.

The doctors thought she had a job. She did, it just wasn't a job she could tell anyone about. She told them that she worked night shifts as a guard, which they bought easily and let go of quickly. She made far more money doing this than being a lowly guard. Of course, it required her to drop everything when the time came, but it wasn't much of a problem most of the time. She had no hobbies nor did she relax, which made the job perfect for her, as they insisted.

It was so dark that she couldn't see anything, even as she squinted. The streetlights always faded out at the borders, because they figured having guards was better. This was something Bristol didn't understand. It only left room for human error. They could just upgrade their cameras practically overnight.

She froze when she heard a guard coming her way. The walls were too slick to climb and she couldn't see any way out. As soon as the guard saw her once, there would be no escape. Bristol would have to inconvenience herself and fight. If only there was another way. She looked around, suddenly wishing for the enhanced eyes of a guard. As the footsteps grew closer, she started feeling around for anything she could hide behind. Her hand shook as a fresh breeze of freezing air blew onto her. Finally, she found the cold metal railing of a ladder. Without looking back, which would lessen her time, she moved swiftly several rungs at a time. The bars were rusty, and she felt as though they could collapse under her weight at any time. She had approximately three seconds to make it up, if the guard continued at the same pace.

Bristol made it, but just in time. She hopped over, ducking beneath the roof's ledge as the footsteps paused, then moved on. Her heart rate began to lower again after beating furiously, but she hurriedly pushed herself up. She walked to the other end of the roof, looking out. There would be no point in going back down, as there were far too many guards. That meant she'd have to jump. A glance at the gap told her the distance was about 4 feet and 5 inches. She told herself it was just like jumping out of her window, and with renewed courage, she stepped back ten feet and ran towards either her death or to the other building.

When she landed, it was lighter than she thought it to be. She expected a crash, but she landed on a cushion. Bristol got off of it immediately and stared at it for a moment. She knelt down, analyzing. Fake leather, dyed black. Probably from a sofa, the style dated to about fifty years in the past. Everything from before the war was supposed to have been destroyed. She frowned. Deciding that there were more important things to be thinking about, she left it alone temporarily and scoured the edges of the building in search of a ladder. The suit was better at handling heat than cold, so it was as though she was standing out there in her undergarments. In four degree weather.

When she came up with nothing, she calculated the height to the ground from where she was. It was a two and a half story jump. She glanced back at the cushion, dragging it over and putting it to more use. Bristol shoved it over the edge, watching it fall to the ground. If she angled herself just right, she'd make it. Taking a deep breath, which didn't do anything but force cold, dry air down her larynx, she took a few steps back again.

Bristol dove over the edge, feeling the icy air rush past her but not feeling all too cold, surprisingly. For a childish few seconds, she imagined she was flying. And then her focus went back to the ground, which was hurtling closer and closer by the second.

She positioned herself as she imagined, like a swimmer diving into a pool. Or at least, the way swimmers dived in the past. People didn't really swim anymore. They didn't really play sports either. Her eyes instinctively shut, and her hands connected with the sofa cushion. To prevent breaking her arms, she pushed up and flipped forward, stumbling but managing to stay standing. So the gymnastic training had come in handy after all. She kicked the cushion out of immediate sight. She thought it might be useful in the future.

Taking a moment to catch her breath, she leaned against the wall. She wiped away the fog on her watch, pushing herself off when she realized she didn't have much time left. Two hours until sunrise, which seemed like a lot, but time always flew on her missions. She sniffled, beginning to jog again. There was a caffeine pill for when she needed energy, but it was her last one. She figured she'd still have enough energy for one last one.

She pulled up the map again, checking to see how far she was from his house. If he wasn't there, it wouldn't be too difficult to track him. She ran faster. It was only another mile or so.
Of the two sectors, the East was certainly the one that suffered more. It was notorious for gangs, fights, and crime. The richer people preferred the West to lull themselves into a false sense of security. Not that Bristol was one of them, it was just that it was more convenient to live there for the assassinations she performed.

She passed houses that looked opposite to the ones on the West Sect. They were mostly abandoned buildings from the war turned into living spaces, housing poor parents with too many children. Disease struck here often, and many couldn't afford doctors. They weren't all that different from what people called 'the homeless' pre-war. Di Angelo lived in a relatively better part of the East, to her luck. She didn't believe in luck, but it seemed like it could be real now.

When she got there, she glanced at the build. The roof was a flat one, and the outer walls were worn, the color of an earthworm wriggling in mud; mostly covered but missing a few spots. The lock was cheap, a basic fingerprinting system. All she had to do was override the system and shut down the alarm. Unfortunately, that was as far as her hacking skills went. It was useful, but some situations forced her to find other ways in aside from the door. When the door swung open, she had to launch herself at it so that it wouldn't make noise by hitting the wall. As soon as she entered, she knew there was something off. The house was plain and humble, with no personality or effort put into it aside from the bare necessities. There was a small and old gas fireplace set into the wall to her left, an armchair in front of it, and an empty bookcase just begging to be filled with books. A closer inspection of the bookcase showed that it wasn't entirely empty. There was a little toy figure, likely dating to before the war. It looked like some sort of deity, maybe a Greek one. The little skull crown on the figure told her it was something related to death. She didn't know what that meant. What kind of old man still played with toys? And why was she coming across so many pre-war items? She walked around. The floorboards were old and creaky, in desperate need of replacement. The walls were in a similar condition. The chair was dotted with many stains. May have had a previous owner. Though the place was rather typical of the East End, there was a strange feeling. A feeling that she didn't belong there. An aura, a power. It began to choke at her, the strange energy wrapping its tendrils around her neck and tightening slowly. She didn't understand what was happening. What was this feeling, the churning in her gut that told her to run even though there was no one there?

"I was waiting for when they'd send you to find me." Bristol whipped around, staring at the man that seemed to have suddenly appeared. Or perhaps she was too caught up trying to figure out what the source of the energy was and she hadn't seen him. The man a little taller than her, long and thin. His clothing was drab; a plain pair of pants and a jacket. But that wasn't what she was focused on. His eyes were a deep brown, ones that seemed to be in a constant state of dread, as though he had endured the worst the world had to offer. His hair was the same as his eyes, with streaks of grey showing in the dim light. He had an olive complexion, Italian for sure. His skin was smooth, with only a few wrinkles. On one of his bony fingers was a silver skull shaped ring. This man had to be Nico di Angelo. The melancholic dread was coming from him, but how did he do it? Was it some sort of poison gas to cause her brain to create delusions? If so, why hadn't she noticed before?

He looked at her simply, waiting for an answer. She looked at him a bit longer before giving him a level look. "How do you know who I am?"

Di Angelo's tone was scarily monotone and flat. "I know the people you work for. They've been after me for a long time, and now they're risking it by sending their top assassin. You don't know who you're killing, why they're being killed, or who you even work for."

Bristol had never once given a thought to whoever came up. As long as she got the money, it didn't matter. Why did Nico di Angelo matter at all to the world? He was a person, like any other, and he would inevitably die anyway. "That's because I don't care. Why does anyone's life matter so much? All we live for is to work and eventually die."

He gazed at her, those eyes of despair swallowing her whole. "We always think death doesn't faze us until someone we hold dear to us dies."

"I don't hold anyone dear to me."

He gave a little smile. It didn't match him at all, and it was in no way genuine. It was unsettling. "You remind me of my younger self. I thought the same, selfish and loathing, until I found the ones I love. You won't understand until you do."

Bristol shook her head. "I'm supposed to be killing you." She didn't understand what he was saying or why. She'd never gotten close to anyone. She was certainly more avoidable than di Angelo, even as sunken as he appeared to be.

"But you won't." He sounded so sure, so certain.

"What makes you say that?"

"I have a friend that'll be here in--" He never got to finish, because before he could, the front door burst open with a bang.

A girl stand at the door. She looked a little younger than Bristol, but no less badass. She was in faded camouflage pants and a tight muscle tee. Her face was covered in numerous scars, and strangely enough, knife gashes seemed to be the most likely cause. However, she still somehow managed to look undeniably beautiful. She was holding a plastic bag, and she began talking immediately. "Sorry, Nico. You know Troy likes to fuck around with orders I place. I gave him a good punch in the stomach, the bitch. Don't worry though, it was all in the name of fun." She was halfway through an embarrassed laugh when she paused and looked at Bristol. In an instant, she had dropped the bag and had something in hand. A sword? How old-fashioned.

The sword slashed directly at her neck. No fun and games then. Two could play that game. Bristol ducked, pulling out a knife from her sleeve and going for a heart stab. The girl shot back. How was it possible for her to be that fast? There was no time to think of that then, she had to stay focused. Especially with the girl's incredible speed and advanced attacks. Even if she had a sword, it worked pretty well for her.

When she missed, the girl tried to grab her leg and make her lose balance. It darted past her hand and attempted a kick at her stomach. Bristol pulled back quickly when she realized it was a trap. She got up, preparing another knife. She aimed this one at her arm, which she successfully managed to get. Without even flinching, the girl pulled the knife out and ran at Bristol, tackling her to the ground and repeatedly punched her in the face. She slowly started getting very dizzy, but she managed to grab a fistful of hair and tug as hard as she could.

She wiped blood away from her nose. The girl grunted, reaching for her sword again and stabbing out at her. Bristol avoided it, but just barely. Her vision was fading in and out, but she ignored it and ran at the girl, a knife in her hand in an instant. If she had fire nearby she would have set it on fire. Unfortunately, the gas fireplace was not on, and it was one of those old ones that took forever to turn on.

When she missed, she was the one who tackled the girl this time. Her gloved fingers dug into the wound in her arm, pressing deep. She writhed in pain this time, but she still managed to try and chop off her head. She ducked, missing the blade, but the hilt hit her right in the back of the head.

Bristol, in one final attempt, weakly threw a knife before she saw a flash of light and heard footsteps. She slumped over, unconscious.

Notes