The night was a broiling one. The sort of sticky, sweaty night that abrades that last thin barrier between the man and the monster crouched in his soul. He had been observing his prey for the past two tendays, shrouded in shadows, the mental notes piled. That had always been his way, a steady, methodical approach to the work. The middle aged man had been rather busy, with the recent outbreak of a drug epidemic causing an unrest among the populace keeping him away from home for long hours. It was time.
A dark figure moved across the rooftops, landing without a sound once it reached its destination. "Routines..." With an amused thought, nimble fingers placed the picks at an appropriate angle and began their work. It was mesmerizing to a degree, the fluid movements and ease which caused the lock to click. Doors swung open, keen eyes sweeping the entrance for any obstructions or alarms. None. The man was confident, it likely never crossed his mind that the safety of his home would be breached, he was well respected within the community, after all.
Silent steps crossed the entrance, doors closed behind. With swiftness to them, fingers worked their magic once more, setting the lock back in place. It was a rather small apartment, smaller than what one might expect for a man who was an authority figure within the town. The bedroom was tidy, dining room table had some leftovers on it and the kitchen was neat, rarely used from the looks of it. A jar of mint, one of those mental notes sparked. De Oca drank mint tea every night before sleep, soaking it in Oil of Taggit would likely be the easiest coin he's ever made... The stipulations of the contract stated otherwise though, The Sheriff was to meet a violent end.
A small knife, a piece of soaking cloth and a leather holster filled with vials were placed upon the dining table. Fingers trailed over several vials, then he pulled out one out. Slowly... carefully... He was an expert when it came to poisons and alchemy, but even he felt nervous handling the stuff that they provided; Vilestar. The liquid was dark and thick, thick enough for the cloth not to absorb it. A drop of sweat... two, they slid down his cheeks as he coated the small blade in it fully, taking care not to make contact with the vile venom.
De Oca was late, his usual routine broken. Not enough to make him nervous, but just enough to set off those alarms in the back of his head. Eyes continued observing the street, until finally a figure approached. Prey. Vile blade readied, waiting for the doors to open. With a tired step, De Oca sauntered inside, closing the doors behind. Small blade slipped into the sheriff's side, twisting for good measure. The assassin stepped back, into the cover of shadows once more, slick hands drawing twin blades. De Oca drew his weapon, spinning to face the darkness, demanding for the culprit to show himself. It was obvious that his strength was leaving him quickly, vilestar doing its work, sword hand shaking evidently. A slash across his abdomen, another at his sword hand and the blade fell to the floor with a clang. He retreated into the shadows once more, determined to not risk anything as he finishes off his prey. Another slash, and De Oca was on his knees, blood flowing from his open wounds. "Why..." was the only thing the man could utter. He paused, seeming startled by the question. The screams, the questions, the surprise never bothered him, and yet this time, he was compelled to give an answer. "It's just business, old man.", twin blades flashed once more, and his prey was done for, blood covering the floor of the dining hall.
His departure was as silent as his entrance.
(Art borrowed from dem888@deviantart)