Coded: Ricochet

I have had no time in my life to fall in love. The word, in fact, is practically meaningless to me. Some may think it is sad, but I see it as protection. If I have no one to love then I am protected,
as are they. My life is dangerous and lonely. Not my choice, it's just a lousy throw of the dice. I had closed myself off from the world, until I met him. He was the one that changed everything. The one man that made me question everything I'd once believed about love.

Jason "Ricochet" James. He is a hired gun. Apparently he has no more than the clothes on his back. His money is spent quickly, meaning that he is always eager to work for anyone willing to pay a large sum. What better profession than mercenary. I like to think of myself above the level of hired killer, though I have on occasion, killed for money. I value lives that deserve it. He values nothing but green bills between his fingers. Jason "Ricochet" James. He never misses, he always gets his man. Relentless, merciless, dangerous. I was meant to stop him from assassinating a corporate fat man. That was my job. I always do my job well. At least the two of us have a certain work ethic.
I am offered only pictures of my enemy. The men I am working for have nothing more than that. There were no files on him, no video images, no personal accounts, just blurry pictures. I was working with morons. I have to overlook this fact, however, because I have to find Ricochet quickly. He works fast. I work faster.
It does not take me long to pick up his trail. Either he is extremely sloppy or arrogant; no matter what one will be his downfall. He leaves behind a clear paper trail for me to follow. He sets himself up like a bright beacon in the darkness. It is exactly twelve forty-five at night when I find him. Perched on a roof on the building across from where his target sleeps. I pause, looking him over, trying to grasp whether he could pose as any kind of challenge. He is tall and muscular. His arms are scarred and marked with tattoos. His clothing are baggy, most likely to conceal weapons. I decide to play it safe.
Quietly as possible I make my way around him. He is too distracted with an itch on his person to notice me. I remove my bo staff from my back and stalk slowly behind him. I am like a shadow. Soundless, delicate and lethal. In a split second he is on the ground. He has the mouth of a sailor. I can't stand cussing. I show him this distaste by smacking him across the face several times. My boot connects with his gut and he gasps, winded. I pin him to the ground and remove a switchblade from his own pocket. I hold it to his throat. I tell him to talk before I make sure he can never speak again. He is arrogant. He tries to get out from under me; I slam the butt of the knife into his chest and he lies still. I warn him. He's trying my patience. He grins at me provocatively and makes a crud comment about our position. I raise my fist again and the smile falls from his face. He begins to talk. He tells me everything I need to know. He "agrees" to put off the assassination. Once I pay him a thousand dollars.
I let him up and he dusts himself off. I turn to leave but he catches my arm. Viciously, I pull my arm away and he grabs me around the waist, pulling me in close to him. He wants to know if we will ever meet under better circumstances next time. I stare at him and choose a new tactic. I play coy. I pull myself even closer to him, I lean in as though I mean to kiss him. He closes his eyes and tilts his head. I cannot help but grin as I push myself away from him, so hard he stumbles backwards. I drop backwards off the roof and shut my eyes for a quiet second. I think about our closeness. When my eyes open I am crouched on the ground, my body working without me. I don't let myself look back up to the roof. I turn and run.

Jason "Ricochet" James. I was told to stop him from killing a man. I did. That was the first time I met the man. It was the first time I'd fallen in love. I can't believe it myself. I knew I would see him again. It was meant. I loved him...and when I saw him again I would kill him.

Coded: Saviour

I have never thought of myself as a saviour, not even after the events that occurred over the last few days. I am not someone that aids the weak on a regular basis. It is not in my nature. On occasion, however, I have found some kindness in my heart that leads me to feel compassion for others. On this particular "mission" I believe I saved the soul of an innocent because I was greedy. I wanted to have that which I'd never had in my life. Not that I can remember. I wanted that sweet innocence. I craved it.
 
The night of which these events began was two gone. I remember it completely, without flaw. Just as I remember every night. I recall the cool evening breeze on my face. All the smells of the city, each begging for my attention. Each more pungent than the last. The sky was a wide open void of nothingness; the clouds of human exhaust pointing out a bleak future. Blotting out the stars. I close my eyes and listen to the pulse of the city. It is like no other place on Earth. So rarely it beat as one, it's heart shredded. Unhappiness lurks around every corner, people miserable with pathetic lives they wish no longer to lead. They are afraid of change, but welcome mediocrity with foul words. I long for this pathetic nothing.
The moon carves itself into the sky barely bright enough to ebb through the mess of smog. I watch it, heavenly, but only half full. It was time to move. I make my way through the night, over the rooftops. My feet seem to glide soundlessly as though I were dancing on air. I barely lift myself as I swoop over the narrow drops between buildings and through the mess of antennas and air conditioners. I come to a stop near an old elementary school, longing for memories it will never bring. Nostalgia eludes me.
I watch the school in the peaceful lull of the night. It is truly my time. The silence is shattered by a cry from within the school. I stand moment longer. Voices are heard long before I see the shadows exiting the building. They are most likely seventeen or eighteen, judging by their long strides and manner of speech. One is more hesitant to leave than the other, who is hurriedly departing. I watch the two boys with mild interest. The hesitant one yells at his companion and holds his hands up into the light. I see what I need to see. Blood. Fresh.
Without a moment’s hesitation I leap from my perch, my bo staff readied. They don't see me, I am like a shadow as I prepare to strike. The tall gauntly boy with the bloodied hands is the first to go down. With a swift swing of my arm I take out both his knees with a welcomed krak. The other boy screams and the smell of urine fills my nostrils. I do so love the fear I induce. He turns to flee, but is nowhere near fast enough. I swipe his feet from under him. He falls to his hands and knees, but a bo staff to the back makes certain that he lays flat. They won't be up soon.
I turn my attention to the school from which the two immerged. The metal doors are open ajar; I slide in and move cautiously down the hall. A locker door slams shut behind me; I freeze. Looking back slowly I feel my muscles tense. No one was there, merely the wind.
Further down I stop and hold my breath for an instant. There. The unmistakable sound of a sobbing child. I feel the hairs on the back of my neck prick up. The sound bringing back dark memories I'd long since pushed away. My heart nearly splits in two. I was getting weak.
Shaking off the feelings I sweep silently into the large void that was once a gymnasium. The walls are crumbing rumble, the floor chipped and stained, windows smashed. Broken glass covered the floor. I choose my footing carefully so not to make a sound as I approach the small child seated in the middle of the room. He's stained with blood and is holding his right arm. He does not hear me, but senses my presence. Head turning slowly, he sniffs and looks at me with large eyes. I keep my face devoid of emotion and crouch down next to him. Hesitant to give me his arm I pull it from him, removing the option. He screams. I quiet him quickly, covering his mouth with my hand. I am no good with children, but he is soon calm enough. I examine the deep slash in his arm. The thought of the older boys doing his to him makes me want to issue another beating upon them. I am torn between smashing head and helping the child. I take another look at his face. His large round eyes seem to pierce me; my soul.
I scoop the boy up into my arms and take off soundlessly. It is much more difficult to dash through the night with a small child in my arms, but I manage just as I always do. He is silent except for a few small gasps and sniffs. I refuse myself the chance to look down at him again. To reflect in his innocence. I steel myself and push onwards. He needs medical attention. I don't need self pity.
We arrive at a hospital in a matter of minutes. The boy grabs hold of my arm tightly on the final descent into an alley near the front doors. I set him to the ground and send him around the corner, hoping for discretion. I wait a few moments for him to come back. I almost delude myself into thinking he may still round the corner again. Of course he does not.

For one gripping moment I thought I had attained something, some kind of moral. I believed, for that fleeting moment, that I had a purpose. More than choosing the lesser of two evils every time. It felt as though I was reaching out for everything and grasping nothing but air. It is why I don't choose sides. I could not be good and never be evil. The world is not black or white, it is mere shades of grey. Shades all trying to be colours...