The music from the café softened as he closed the door behind him. The cool night air blew his long grey hair from his face revealing a face that hardly showed any emotion. Eyes that were cold and grey as he raised them to meet the black sky. There was something about the night that managed to draw his attention. Pitch black like his soul.. but even that had specks of light emulating the stars. Evil, good.. they were just words. No man was truly good or evil, it’s just how the world perceived them.
His life finally had a sense of serenity.. Hiding from the world. But even that didn’t stop some people from finding out his whereabouts, when you lived such an ‘active’ life, hiding tended to be something that was inherently impossible. Young punks trying to climb up the ladder of the crime found a man with a reputation an irresistible target, and for young heroes he was a worthy adversary to be taken prisoner. The villains and heroes of old had a certain amount of respect for each other, and when one retired they let them be. Unfortunately not everyone inherited that trait.
As he made his way through the dark street passing through a dark damp alleyway he was rudely awakened from his line of thought. “You! You killed her!” A man’s voice echoed in-between the walls of the buildings on either side. Hatred, anger.. Emile had heard this type of voice all too often in his life. As he turned his head around his eyes caught a glimmer in the darkness racing towards him. Without second thought he instinctively crouched down while grabbing a metal lid from a trashcan and holding it in front of him as a shield. The knife slammed against the metal ringing through the alleyway and send trembles down his arm. But he was too late to shield his body for the second knife as it cut away the fabric of his coat and sliced the flesh of his shoulder. A grimace appeared on his face as a trickle of blood escaped from the wound. A superficial cut, but the loss of blood was still dangerous. A dark figure faced him, the hatred could clearly be read of his face. There was no denying his skills, the knives had been thrown with more accuracy and speed than he had ever witnessed.
“I’ve killed many” Precise said with a smirk on his face. Anger was a weakness he could exploit if he fuelled it a little. Without time to waste he dashed forward, his hand firmly grasped around the edge of the metal lid aiming for his opponents sternum. Whether or not he was successful he’d roll forward and throw the shield towards the back of his opponents neck while ending in a crouching position, ready to counteract whatever his opponent had planned next.