In these late hours of darkness, children are wishing for their hearts desires on the twinkling stars dotting the nighttime sky, before eventually saying their prayers and going into a deep sleep.  Their minds not caring about their seemingly safe surroundings.

The moon that normally would accompany these stars, is hiding behind the dark clouds of the evening. The dotting lights of the city diminishing as stores finally close for the late hours of the night; allowing the darkness to consume their area of property.

Overall, it was a good time for mischief.

Prowling in the cover of darkness, a cargo truck navigates its way down a hardly used dirt road. The dry dirt kicks up behind the vehicle like a smokescreen trying to conceal someone running away.  Trees surround the truck on either side of it, not allowing an easy escape, but giving the vehicle more invisibility from unwanted eyes.  A building comes into view and the cargo truck stops in front of a gate.  An electrical fence topped with barbed wire runs on either side of the gate, blocking the way into the building. 

Without skipping a beat a man in the passenger seat jumps out.  A black ski mask covers his face, helping to hide the fact that he was there.  He runs to the back of the cargo truck and swings the heavy trunk doors open.  Immediately releasing more masked-men from the vehicle that contained them.  The men jump out with guns held firmly in their hands, ready to fire at any potential threat.  Their feet hitting the ground almost noiselessly as they run to the gate and skillfully unlock the obstacle, like it was nothing more than a lid for a cookie jar.  A low rumble emerges from the gate as it opens and the cargo truck drives through.

The men left behind at the gate follow the truck with a rhythmic movement to their steps.

One, two.

One, two.

One, two...

Even though the gate and the seclusion of the building was giving off an impression of importance, their wasn't any further security: no viable guards, and no cameras that could be seen. The building didn't seem abandoned either, judging by its well-maintained appearance:  no dirt plagued the outskirts of the building, no broken windows, a well-kept roof, and the relatively new keypad right beside the front door.

As soon as the driver backs the cargo truck into the loading dock, one of the masked men starts pushing a code into the keypad.  With a successful click the front door announces that it's unlocked, the lights lining the ceiling flicker on as the masked man cautiously takes a step inside.

A few men follow the first inside the building. Watching out for anything that might be a risk to their safety.

A few seconds pass, before the loading dock door closest to the cargo truck opens with a rumble. Within a minute, half of the trained men in black polyester ski-masks and black attire were roaming around the factory grounds, with light machine guns ready to fire on their patrol; while the other half were starting to gather heavy brown boxes to load into the cargo truck.  Everyone was working like a well-oiled machine.

A problem with machines is that if one-part malfunctions, almost everything shuts down.

Nearby, the cool night air swims around a silhouetted figure as they watch the unknowing hired help. The darkness cast by the trees shields their body from any light coming off the tinkling stars, and a hood hangs over their eyes like a widow attending their husbands funeral.  Smoothly the figure dips their head down towards the ground, averting their eyes from the scene playing out in front of them.

Timing is everything.

Muscles loosen, and the dry dirt beneath the figure's feet doesn't make a sound as they start running towards the warehouse.

The darkness begins to engulf them as they get closer to the warehouse. Like the nighttime shadows cast by the moon, they become the darkness that plagues a young child's bedroom. They slip through the men watching the gate like they were invisible, and rush across the ground all the way to the warehouse. As soon as the first masked man comes into site - doing his rounds - they stop in a shadowed area by the building, waiting for the man to pass. They watch him go by without giving them a second look, and they follow him.

Their new form camouflages itself with the masked man's own shadow. They follow him step for step until they come to the loading dock doors. Like the plague searching for new prey, they shift to the shadows cast by a group of henchmen entering the warehouse to get more brown cardboard packages.

The inside of the warehouse was decorated with machinery and tons of boxes. The boxes were gathered on multiple rows of shelves, stretching from one end of the warehouse to the other. Unlike the robbers there, the figure ignores it all; not interested in any of the mysterious treasures hidden inside the cheap packaging. The group of men venture deeper, and deeper into the warehouse, not realizing the extra being following them.

After a short while, the men come to a small pile of boxes that speckle the back of the building. A man with a clean-shaven face approaches the gang of men, his mask pulled up and sitting like a regular winter hat on top of his head. He stands confidently before the group of masked men, unbeknownst of the figure hiding in their shadows. Like a predator the figure maneuvers its way over to a bit of darkness cast from a stack of cardboard boxes, peeking out like a tiger hiding in tall grass.

"Take those boxes and load them up." The man with the shaven face demands while gesturing to a small pile of boxes lying on the ground. He taps his silver wristwatch with two gloved fingers and continues, "We're leaving in exactly two minutes."

The men immediately follow his orders and gather the remaining boxes. He looks calmly down at where his wristwatch was strapped firmly around his wrist and takes a couple steps forward while mumbling incoherent words. As he took those couple steps, you could see the authority radiate off his straightened posture as he watched the time tick by. His shoulders hung high like they held no weight, and the atoms in the air around him seemed to obey the unspoken commands coming from him.

The figure hiding in the shadows begins to take their form again, and the lights illuminating the warehouse start to flicker. The man with the watch looks up at the flickering lights as one of his eye's twitch in annoyance. The lights begin to turn of completely, starting from the outskirts of the room down to the middle, until only one remained. The man scoffs and he fishes out a flashlight from one of his pant's pockets.

"Darien Klufski." A masculine voice booms from the darkness now lurking all around the room.

Darien turns all the way around, squinting his eyes while trying to locate anybody that the voice might belong to; but he doesn't see anyone.

If he was bothered at all, he didn't show it.  A dark chuckle emerges from his lips as he clasps his hands behind his back.  "That was a very poor decision." His eyes dart around the area in front of him as he continues, "Personally I wouldn't have said anything, it allows one to keep the element of surprise." He states as his face relaxes.

The dark voice laughs, and the unsettling noise bounces off the four corners of the building.  "Are you so certain that I was the one who made the mistake?"

His lips drop into a small frown, and he rolls his shoulder back.  "You know what, I'm feeling generous today." He says while slowly turning in a full circle.  "So, let me tell you what's going to happen.  If you come out now, I'll kill you quickly and painlessly."  He shrugs his shoulders.  "If not, I'll make sure you suffer."  

He looks around again, but there's only silence. 

His frown deepens and he pulls a pistol out from a gun holster hugging the side of his chest.  He holds the weapon firmly in his hands, waiting for the target to give them self away. "I don't have time for this."  He mutters to himself.

"That's why I'm here." The voice booms again.  Wildly Darian looks around for the source of the voice.  But all he can see is some shelves, boxes, and a lot of darkness.

The figure sinks into the ground like rain forming into a puddle and re-emerges in the darkness on the other side of Darien.

Leaning in close, the figure whispers.  "You're out of time."

His heartbeat speeds up and his nostrils flare.  Quickly he turns around and shoots his gun.  A bullet flies out of the gun and its cartridge clanks against the ground.  The loud bang rings against his ears, but the noise seemed to get swallowed up in the darkness.  Silence quickly follows the gun shot, and Darien furrows his brows.

"You missed." The voice states, a sinister tone embedded into it.  Keeping their head down towards the floor, they step out of the darkness that was shielding them.

Darien's eyes widen upon seeing them step out of the shadows and his jaw clenches.

A black cloak hangs from the figure's body and stretches down to their ankles, with the hood pulled up.  Two black boots peek out from underneath the cloak, and black leather gloves tightly cover their hands.  The darkness that should have stayed behind when they stepped into the light clouds around them, like it was emitting from them as if they were a smoke machine.  The remaining light shining dimly in the warehouse bounces off the scythe blade held tightly in their hands, giving it a glowing effect.

A small smirk graces Darien's face. "And what are you supposed to be?"

The figure lifts their head up to look at him, revealing a white mask that covers the top half of their face, and black markings painted onto the figures bare skin: a skeleton.  A malevolent smile starts to stretch across their face as they begin to step forward.

A shiver runs up Darien's spine and his smirk disappears, "Big mistake." He squeezes the trigger and another loud bang blasts out. A bullet launches at his predator faster then the naked eye could see. It speeds through empty space until it passes through the figure's body like a hot knife through butter, and the darkness surrounding them swishes back like smoke.

Darien's smirk returns and he points his gun at the ground. "It's sad to think that-" He stops speaking as a disquieting laugh erupts from their blood red lips. The figure places the scythe on top of their shoulders, revealing an identical blade facing the opposite way at the end of their weapon.

"That tickled." They finally say, sending more chills up Darien's spine. The smile erases from their face as they start to creep forward.

His brows furrow and in desperation Darien squeezes the pistols trigger again and again, a flurry of bullets shoots out at the figure. All of them passing through their body like they were made of smoke. A clicking sound erupts from the gun as he squeezes the trigger again, revealing that there were no more bullets. He looks down at his gun, and his eyes widen so much that they look like they could fall out. Hopeful, he squeezes the trigger again; but it ends with the same disappointing click. In a last attempt he whips the gun at their head. The pistol hits their face with a thud and drops to the ground, but the perpetrator doesn't even flinch.

They stop and look down at the ground, where the gun is lying lazily. They shake their head like a disappointed mother.  "Now that wasn't very nice." They pout, bringing their double-sided scythe down from their shoulders and looking up at their prey once more.

"What are you?" Darien asks more to himself as he turns and starts running away from the danger that was sure to come for him.

The figure lunges forward, and with one swift swing they cut the back of Darien's neck. Blood splatters onto the marble floor of the warehouse, and Darien falls to the ground with a loud thud.

Without hesitation, the figure walks towards the body with their weapon sitting lazily back onto their shoulders. The blade covered with fresh blood was starting to glow a warm orange, and heat radiates from it as the blood starts to burn away. "It didn't have to end this way." The figure mumbles.

The back of the lifeless bodies neck was oozing with thick red blood. The black outfit he was wearing was now absorbing his own warm red goo, like a sponge absorbing water. The killer squats down next to the dead body and sticks two fingers into the pooling blood. The warm blood touches the tips of their leather gloves and continues to pool onto the floor.  They pull their fingers out of the gooey liquid a few moments later, and the red substance sticks between their two fingers like cheap glue. Bringing their fingers up to their nose, they take a sniff of the blood as if they were a bloodhound. They shake their head afterwards and breath out, "How disappointing." They bring their two bloody fingers down and into their mouth. A leather taste follows a metallic one, as they pull their fingers back out of their mouth.  Immediately after, a light blue glow shines through the eye holes in their mask.

A series of images start to play through their mind: a meeting in a dark rundown building, the dealer hiding in the shadows, and a suitcase full of money.

The blue glow disappears as quick as it came, and they let out a huff of frustration. Their lips drop into a small frown, and the orange blade turns into a cool blue.

Another image shoots across their mind: Darien getting shot in the head by an angry older man in a suit.  

They stand back up to their full height and point the blue glowing scythe blade at the corpse. A blue fog pours out of the huge wound on Darien's neck. It contracts, expands, and contracts again as it heads towards the glowing metal blade, it was like the northern lights were putting on a tiny show.

The closer the blue mist gets to the scythe, the louder its cries become; but only the figure could hear it. As soon as the blue essence enters the glowing blade, a cry of pain escapes.  The blade glows the blue color even brighter than before, but only for a moment before going back to its shiny silver.

Time was up for Darien.

Even when it went in reverse.

The blood pooling around his corpse and absorbed into his attire starts to flow back up into his body, like a river going in reverse.  The red liquid lurches its way back into the wound and forces itself back into Darien's veins.  The huge wound on the corpse's neck starts to seal up, the skin around it stretches and bubbles while doing so; until not even a trace of damage could be seen. The figure smiles at their handiwork.

Unlike before, Darien appears to just be sleeping; but no sounds escape his lips, and his chest doesn't rise and fall with the assurance of life.

With a flick of their wrist matter starts to clump together, invisible to the human eye. The figure squeezes their hand into a fist, and a burning orange color shines threw their hand. A few seconds later they open their hand, revealing the matter that they had formed into a silver bullet.

They bring the bullet to their lips and blow on it with the quietest whoosh. Black fog steams out of their mouth and carries the bullet a few inches in front of the figure. More black smog heads over to the corpse laying on the ground, and with no effort it picks the corpse up. The black smog faces the corpse to its killer and stands it upright, so it looks like Darien is standing. The victim and the killer were standing inches away from each other. The bullet almost touching the middle of the body's head. Clicking their tongue, the bullet shoots forward and embeds itself into the dead center of the corpse's skull. Immediately the black smog disperses, and the body drops down to the floor with a thud. Blood trickles down the dead man's face, and his head falls to the side, lifeless. 

The figure bursts into a puff of black smoke. Hovering in the air, and then moving like ash in the wind.

They glide over to the nearest vent and travel through the vents in the warehouse's ceiling. Eventually reaching an exit to the outside of the building and disappearing into the dark of the night. 

A hired hand firmly holding a light machine gun runs into the warehouse, his feet silently hitting the floor. He runs deeper into the warehouse, navigating his way through the simple labyrinth. After rounding a corner, he freezes seeing his boss's body lying on the warehouse's marble floor, shot and soaked in his own blood. Frantically he runs back to the cargo truck, his mind whirring furiously and cautiously as he backtracks his way to the entrance. He quickly exits the building and jumps into the passenger seat of the cargo truck.  "Where's the boss?" The driver asks, a deeper voice compared to the other masked men. 

The masked man that had jumped into the passenger seat shakes his head, and his green eyes flicker with disdain.  "Someone got to him."

The driver nods his head and harshly steps on the gas pedal. The cargo truck's tires squeal before speeding off. Leaving the crime scene behind.

Leaving right on schedule.