The first one is now dead. A red light flashes through the windows of the dark room, illuminating the silhouette of a man, huddled in a corner. His co-worker lays spreadeagled on the ground, his blood splattered along the wall showing the struggle he had put up before he had been brutally murdered. A knife sticks out of his chest, his mouth is open in a silent scream and his eyes stare unseeingly at the wall. His blood pools onto the tiled floor, staining it scarlet.

The other man is still living, still breathing but he knows it isn't going to be that way for long. He had witnessed his friend fighting for his life, heard the pitiful begging and pain filled screams, but that hadn't stopped the killer. He whimpers in despair; he is living on borrowed time.

The killer himself leans on the only door in the room, dressed all in black, his long, dark hair shields away his face and identity. The only things visible are his eyes; cold and black, devoid of guilt and sympathy and instead are filled with grim acceptance. If he were to be caught-which was nigh on impossible- there would be no evidence to prove that he was the murderer, as not a drop of blood had spilled on him.

The man in the corner rocks himself, back and forth, hugging his knees to his chest. The blood from the dead man stains his hands. He knows he is next, and that he will not survive tonight; there is no escape. The man prays to a god he is not sure exists, that his family would be spared of the horrible fate that was sure to meet him. To know that his wife, son and daughter were home, waiting for him made silent tears roll down his sweat covered face.

The killer left his place by the door and starts to walk to his next victim. Another whimper from the grieving man fills the room as the red light pulses again, this time catching the metal of the cruel looking knife in the killer's hands. The blood still on the blade appears to glow in the dark like liquid ruby.

Taking the final step, the killer reaches the man and bends down. His long, calloused fingers close around the man's neck and he lifts him off the ground. He brings the knife up to the man's exposed neck, but he pauses and cocks his head to the side, as he had seen something in the man's eyes. Past the naked fear that lies there, he sees the man's soul; everything regrated in his life just by simply looking through his eyes.

"Please…make it quick…" the man manages to choke out. The killer nods quickly before swiftly slitting the man's throat. Blood spurts out from the mortal wound, and the killer watches as the man gargles, drowning in his own blood. When the light dies in his eyes, the man in black drops him with a soft thud. His blood, along with his life, drains away from him and the killer now knows he is truly dead.

The killer spins on his heel and walks out the room, leaving a trail of blood behind him.

Walking through the deserted corridor of the abandoned laboratory, the killer speaks into the small microphone on his wrist, "The targets have been taken care of, Director…the bodies won't be found for several hours at least. I'm heading back to base."

His voice is sleek and smooth, and he speaks so calmly that he could have been talking about the weather for all the damage he has done.

"Good job, Agent Nichols," an authoritative voice drifts out of the watch, "That's that case closed and you have done very well…But you have another assignment. Get your ass back here now. You will be debriefed on your next mission when you return."

The agent smirks silently. He knows exactly what his boss is talking about; the government has a few loose ends to tie up and he is more than happy to accept it. He is already wanted in fourteen countries around the world for espionage and murder, and regardless whether he had a target or not, he had to stay on the move.

'So, who is the government annoyed at now?'

The voice from the watch gives a static laugh before replying, "You're as ready as always, Fang…The target is a girl, around your age. She is a threat to us…for political reasons…"

He nods listlessly to himself. Of course the director would talk up such an easy mission. A young girl, more often than not, was an easy kill and the ones he had met in the past had done nothing to prove otherwise. Some had resisted longer than others, but they all eventually gave up. Yup, this was going to be a piece of cake.

"Sure, director. Who's the target?"

The voice in the watch pauses, as though the person is collecting their thoughts. Only two words come from the watch now, but they are said coldly and with more than enough venom to kill...

"Maximum Ride"