[i]Ding.[/i]

[indent]A lattice of interconnected, jointed steel slowly descended, the elevator’s engine rumbling as the chamber slid down the steel cable.[/indent] Near the bottom, the mercenary was impatiently tapping his foot, occasionally glancing at his watch. He was in desperate need of energy; coffee, pills, anything. The latter night having been spent entirely awake, scrawling notes and information on cracked paper, listening to late night talk shows, and pasting various photos and information in documents. His eyelids were heavy and dark, showing signs of fatigue. His hair was disheveled. His suit’s tie was undone, and the blazer’s neat folds crumpled. Luckily, he had finished the night’s daily work a couple of minutes earlier, and he was finally free to take a leisurely stroll to the nearest café available.

[indent]The elevator’s doors opened, sliding by with a slight hiss of steam. In the elevator shaft, a middle-aged man stood, holding a briefcase.[/indent] He wore a lofty, dark pin-striped suit, horn rimmed spectacles and a freshly conditioned chestnut brown sweep of hair. Thomas crossed the car’s threshold and took a place beside the man, tapping the lowest floor. He sighed, watching as the elevator shuddered to life, its age old engine creaking and spewing. The elevator was like an aged, old metallic horse, it’s hooves dulled by wear and tear, and it tended to take it’s time traversing the floors. It could take anywhere between five or ten minutes before it reached its next destination. He sighed, sitting against the elevator’s rusted metal wall, listening as the steel cable began to inch them up the floors.

“Hey! Nice morning, isn’t it?” The suit said, his smile warm and inviting. He adjusted his scarlet tie. “I’m thinking about a trip to the beach after work, you know. The family’d really appreciate it.”

“I’m.. sure.” Tom replied, showing disinterest. “I’m sure they would.”

“I haven’t been travelled anywhere with them in months.” He said, oblivious to Tom’s reluctance to speak. “Work, you know. I haven’t seen you around this building before. My name’s John. Where do you work? What’s your name?”

“My name’s Henry. Henry Schmidt.” Tom lied, adjusting his tie. A thin, cold smile grew on his face. “It’s funny that you mentioned my occupation. I actually work with metahumans.”

[ [i]It was a couple of months ago, he had been assigned by a local gang to assassinate a rival’s gang member. He was to kill the target quickly with no trace. The apparent target’s ability was excellent aim; the man could literally not miss a target if he was truly focusing. It had been a relatively simple manner of cleaning the target. He entered the house in his smog form, sliding through the slit in an open window. Once he was in, he waited until the earlier hours of the morning to strike; once an ample amount of time had passed, he slid into the room, and filled it with a dark, fiery soot. The man had died quietly, quickly, and Tom simply had to siphon the remaining smoke back out of his body to finish the job.[/i] ]

“Metahumans? Hm. It sounds like a pretty dangerous job.” John remarked, chuckling. “I just work with a paper company.”
“Oh, it’s pretty dangerous. I mean, I nearly get killed sometimes.” Thomas replied, tapping his watch. “It’s worth it though for the end, especially for the payout.

“I can imagine how great of a pay it would offer.” John nodded, grinning. “So, you ever get noticed for your work, Henry?”

“Sometimes. But not often.” Tom added. “Not many people know who I am. I usually go by aliases or nicknames. There’s not many people alive that know my full name.”

[ [i]He had once been recognized, out on the streets. He had failed to kill an old, greasy man. He had started to flood the room with smoke, but he was one of the very few that managed to survive, by waking up midway through it. He had caught a brief glimpse of his face before Tom dissipated and retreated. The old man saw him, walking in the streets with a cup of coffee, and had immediately began to run. Tom noticed, unfortunately for him. Tom followed him, ducking between the crowds inconspicuously, trapping the man into a quiet alley. He didn’t bother to waste his powers again. He shot him and dissipated into the sky, a swirling cloud of smoke.[/i] ]

“Ah. I see. So… uh, this whole debate is going on in my office.” John said, the floors slowly passing by. “I mean, people are arguing left and right, talking about metahumans being good and bad or whatever. You have an occupation in metahumans; you know anything about that? Like, which ones to avoid?”

“I don’t really believe in good and evil. It’s subjective.” Tom said, watching the numbers switch. “From their perspective, they could be the good guy. From ours, the bad. I’m neither good nor bad. What I do is my job. But I’d stay away from Elijah Craig and Jaden McFadden. They’re nasty sons of a bitches.”

“Alright. Hey, I think my floor’s coming up!” John exclaimed, watching the elevator shudder to a stop. “It’s been good talking with you, Henry. I suppose I’ll see you around the office sometime.”

“Great.” Tom said, staring at his watch. 

The rest of the elevator ride was spent in silence.