A young girl clicker her tongue as she walked towards a young man standing close to a shop.
"Master, you've soiled the whole place," she said, looking around. "This place is now a mess."
The young man sighed as he looked around him. "I gave them two choices. Die or scram. I just granted their wishes." He looked around, bodies of men lay there on the ground like animals.
He walked over to a rushing tap and began to wash his bloodied hands. He stared at his hands, a look of irritation on his face.
After washing his hands, the girl came, took out a piece of cloth and began wiping his hands.
"Master, still... You could have just asked me to do it instead of troubling yourself. Now, look what you've done to yourself," the girl said as she carefully wiped her master's hands.
"I know. I just couldn't help it," the young man replied with a helpless look.
The girl frowned slightly and after wiping the young man's hands, she threw the piece of cloth away. "Luckily, I'm always carrying this with me," she smiled and put her hands inside her pocket.
She took out a candy and gave it to him.
"Your favorite peppermint candy. This way, you won't feel irritated again."
The young man took it and opened it before throwing it into his mouth. The candy melted in his mouth, the smell filling his mouth and the air. He exhaled softly, a small smile appearing on his face.
"Thank you, Naya."
Naya smiled brightly. "You're welcome, master."
"Go back home," he said quietly after some time. "Don't wait for me."
Naya's smile faltered for just a second before she nodded, already used to his tone and his habits, already knowing that asking questions would only earn her silence.
"Don't be late," she said instead, trying to sound lighthearted as she took a few steps back.
He did not promise anything. By the time she turned the corner, her footsteps fading into the noise of the street, he was already walking in the opposite direction, hands in his pockets, blood washed away but the faint metallic scent still clinging to his skin.
He stopped before a towering building that scraped the sky, its concrete walls stained with age and neglect. The entrance was deserted, the kind of place people avoided without knowing why.
He made his way inside, climbing stair after stair without hurry, his breathing steady, his mind empty. When he finally reached the top, he pushed the door open and stepped onto the rooftop. The wind greeted him immediately, cool and sharp, tugging at his clothes and hair as if trying to pull him forward. He walked to the edge and stood there, letting the breeze wash over him, pressing against his chest, slipping past his ears, carrying away the noise of the city below.
He pulled out a cigarette and lit it, the flame briefly illuminating his face. The first drag filled his mouth with the familiar taste of peppermint, cool and sharp, cutting through the bitterness of smoke and settling on his tongue like frost. It reminded him of the candy Naya always carried, of the brief calm that followed the sweetness, of the way irritation faded into something dull and manageable.
He exhaled slowly, watching the pale smoke curl and disappear into the air, leaving behind a faint minty scent that mixed with the cold wind. Another drag, another slow breath out, his shoulders relaxing almost imperceptibly.
Leaning slightly forward, he looked down at the ground far below. People moved like ants, cars like crawling insects, the distance turning everything small and meaningless. His eyes stayed fixed there, unblinking, as the peppermint smoke drifted from his lips and vanished into the open sky.
"I am not alone, yet I still feel lonely," he muttered. "I have only one above me, with thousands below me, who fear me, yet..." He paused as he dragged the cigarette. He exhaled. ""…yet none of them truly know me."
The words slipped out with the smoke, light and thin, carried away before they could settle. He took another drag, longer this time, letting the peppermint sting his throat, letting the cold seep into his lungs. The taste grounded him. It was clean, sharp, and honest. Unlike people. Unlike the looks of fear and reverence that followed him wherever he went.
Thousands below him feared his name without ever hearing his voice. They whispered about him in dark corners, painted him as a monster, a devil, a necessary evil. Above him stood only one existence he acknowledged, one presence that judged him without words. And beside him, there was only Naya, smiling, obedient, loyal in a way that made his chest feel tight.
He stared down again, fingers tightening around the cigarette. If he let go, if he leaned just a little more forward, the fall would end everything. The noise. The blood. The endless chase. Death was simple, quiet and tempting.
He scoffed softly and took another drag. "Still thinking about it," he murmured to no one. The ground below remained distant, uncaring. He crushed the cigarette under his shoe, the peppermint scent lingering stubbornly in the air even as the ember died.
Just then, his cell phone rang.
He picked the call without hesitation.
"Meet me now at he usual place. No delay." The call ended. And the young man knew what to do next.
Straightening, he turned away from the edge. "As for death, not today anymore. Maybe, some other time."
He descended the building the same way he had climbed it, unhurried, footsteps steady, expression unreadable. Outside, the city swallowed him whole again. He hailed a cab with a small gesture, sliding into the back seat as the door shut behind him. The driver glanced at him through the mirror for half a second longer than necessary, then looked away, saying nothing. An address was given to the man and the cab drove away.
The ride was quiet. Streetlights bled into one another through the window, neon signs smearing into colors that meant nothing to him. His reflection stared back from the glass, sharp features, calm eyes, a face that looked far too clean, far too composed for the kind of work his hands had done. People often said killers looked like monsters. He had always found that amusing. Monsters were obvious. He was not.
The car slowed and came to a stop.
He stepped out and looked up at the building before him. From the outside, it almost passed as a bar, dim lights glowing behind tinted windows, music humming low enough to be felt more than heard. But it was not a place people came to drink. It was a place they came to forget. Women lingered near the entrance, laughter soft and practiced, eyes sharp beneath painted lashes.
The moment he walked in, attention shifted.
A few of the girls straightened, smiles widening, gazes lingering openly. He was good-looking in a way that felt wrong for a man like him, sharp jaw, calm posture, an air that drew people in without effort. One of them hooked her arm around his casually, another brushed past him close enough to leave behind a trail of perfume. He allowed it, neither encouraging nor resisting, letting them guide him inside.
The counter sat at the far end, polished and clean, a woman standing behind it with eyes that missed nothing. He stepped forward, withdrew his hand from his pocket, and slowly tapped the counter three times.
The woman looked at him, then nodded once.
Without a word, she gestured to one of the girls nearby. The girl's expression shifted instantly, playful warmth replaced by quiet understanding. She nodded back and turned, motioning for him to follow. They walked down a narrow hallway, the sounds of the front fading with each step, replaced by muffled silence.
They stopped at a door.
The girl stepped aside without touching the handle. He reached out, fingers closing around the knob. For a brief moment, he paused, peppermint still faint on his breath, mind already preparing for what came next. Then he opened the door and stepped inside alone.
Inside the dimly lit room sat a man on the couch.
The little light from the candle shone only on one side of the face, displaying a terrifying mark that ran from his left brow down to the corner of his lips.
The man moved, picking a brown envelope and throwing it at the young man.
"You've done well completing your task, Omen Osiris," the man said. "That's your pay."
Omen bent down and picked the envelope. He opened it and looked inside, a huge bundle of money was wrapped inside. His expression didn't change — no excitement, no surprise. Just a blank expression.
Closing the envelope, he faced the man.
"I want to quit."