This is a brand new experience for me as I am writing with an OC character courtesy of CrazyStonerStories (thanks again!). Please enjoy and leave a review!

It is cold, dark and raining when my target finally appears. He had entered the swanky hotel, a real nice place done up in white and gold with curly letters and five proud stars over the wide glass doors, for his business meeting with his cronies over four hours ago and I'd been watching the windows that whole time, watching the shadows move as the men in suits shook hands and laughed over whatever they had just agreed. I wasn't in the most comfortable position as I laid on my front on the sloping roof of another nearby building, rain pouring over me like a freezing shower and making my fingers feel numb but I wasn't going to move. I had spent a while tracking this guy and honestly, this was nothing new to me. He was going to get what was coming to him, no matter what the elements threw at me.

He was standing on the front steps, under a little ledge that protected him from the worst of the downpour as he made a phone call with a blank face. He looked like any typical businessman; wrinkly skin like parchment, small eyes like coal, hair like a puddle of oil ready to slip from his scalp and a moustache like a fine toothcomb on his upper lip. His name is Ronald L Sharp and he's one of the big names at a company called Grancheva Steel, a sister company of the contractors that built the Gotham Hotel. I grit my teeth in the darkness and wriggle a little to adjust my grip on my M24 sniper rifle, remembering everything my father taught me. This guy is probably one of the most corrupt people working right now, in charge of a lot of money that seems to vanish into thin air, money swiped from under the noses of the workers they employ, money that could have helped them in their times of need. I'm really going to enjoy this.

I can hear a flurry of voices behind me but one voice slices through them all. "Looks like you finally found him then," The familiar, drawling, exasperated monotone tells me. I can feel the shadow on my shoulder and in my mind, I picture him twiddling his long fingers like white piano keys over each other. "It took you long enough."

"Cut it out, will you?" I say as I ready myself. "I'm on it already." I hear him chuckling as I focus back on my target who is still talking on the phone. He has this big smile on his face, he must be talking to a woman and he's going to get laid. I wonder who it is-his wife, his mistress or the lingerie model he has recently been visiting without the knowledge of the other two. I know this because of the voices behind me, the souls of the dead who track down my targets and tell me everything I need to know about them plus a few little details I don't. I don't get to pick my targets, they do and I just pull the trigger. I spend my days in the company of the dead and as for Death himself? He's the one who's eagerly leaning over my shoulder, sort of like a little angel/demon type of scenario but I haven't figured out which one he is yet.

"Are you going to do it yet?" He muses next to my ear, a bit of amusement creeping into his voice as my target moves a step forwards to hold out his hand and test the rain. "You have a perfect kill shot."

"I don't want a perfect kill shot." I say and I can almost hear his smile. The voices behind me go silent as I steady myself. I know exactly where I'm aiming; a little spot just to the left of his heart, enough to kill him but it will take a few minutes. Just what I want.

As he moves backwards and puts his weight back on his heel, I fire. The rifle bucks in my hands like it's doing a celebration dance and I can smell the raw scent of its grease. In that moment, it's like a part of me, another limb as we do our deadly work. His body is knocked back into the wall, almost propped up against it as he cries out and writhes in pain, his hands pressed to his chest in a feeble effort to stop the bleeding. Red runs down his chest in an almost luminous colour. It is so bright it looks almost like paint, not real at all. The moment the bullet enters him, I'm up and scaling down the building, making my way across the road and over to him whilst Death follows me without a word.

The dying man's eyes latch onto me as I approach him and they widen when they see the gun I'm swinging by my side in a relaxed manner. My other gun, a classic M1911A1, is slung across my back, he can probably catch it peeping over my shoulder. I know what his eyes are seeing; a tall skinny youth who looks like he should be in a hospital. I know I look sickly. My skin is bone white and almost looks stretched over my bones, my eyes are light brown but sunken into my head like my skull is trying to reclaim them, my frame is gaunt like I'm a skeleton already. My hair is black and scruffy but he won't see that under my black balaclava that's emblazoned with a skull. No, all he will see of my face are my eyes piecing into his own and my mouth as it twists into a smile. He already knows who I am, the whole city does, even if anyone who has seen me in the flesh hasn't lived long afterwards.

"K-kain…" He gasps out in horror as I crouch in front of him. I'm grinning now, I can't help it. There's an immense satisfaction in my work, ridding the world of corrupt creatures like him who only want power and money. They don't care how many people they have to step on to get there and so I don't care when I step on them and grind them into the dirt a little bit.

"That's my name, don't wear it out." I say and his expression only gets more fearful. Death is treading on the hem of his coat and he can probably see him now, it shouldn't be too much longer. The scarlet stream from his chest is thinning and the light is fading from his eyes. His jaw moves but no sound comes out. He is beyond that now and his last words were my name. Fitting really.

I stand back up and turn my back as Death does his work. I have no interest in how he collects his souls or what he does to them. That's his business not mine. That's how we work, him and I. He does his thing and I do mine.

"You don't have much time." He tells me a little urgently once he's finished. The body on the ground is now just a powerless shell, like a fine clock without a battery to make it tick. "The police will be here soon and then the Titans. We have to go."

"What if I don't want to?" I say, turning back to face him in all his black smoky glory. I hold up my rifle and inspect it, my eyes blazing. "What can they do to me? I can communicate with the dead, for pity's sake, I'm not afraid of them."

I walk away briskly down the dark street, the rain still pounding at my body in thick wet sheets like I'm being slapped repeatedly. Nobody is watching, not even the moon as I leave the scene. The buildings rise up either side of me but I keep my gaze straight ahead as the voices begin to bubble back up. Behind me I hear Death sigh as he follows me, keeping a little distance as we stride away but not so much that I can't hear him when he next quietly speaks.

"Maybe you should be."