The Dark Prologue

It was black. Pitch black. The wind was rustling the leaves nearby, but no other sound was to be heard. Not tonight. This was his night. His only chance to prove himself. The sensation of cold steel on his hands; the sensation of immenant death. He caressed the smooth, cool surface of his semi-auto nine millimeter; his constant companion. Tonight, they would work together yet again. Always differant, yet always the same. Nothing ever changed, he is what he is. What is he? He is The Dark.



104 SYCAMORE LANE
He crept carefully through the back yard, careful not to desturb anything. This had to be done with no trace left. He approached the door of the house. Locked. No matter, he pulled out his reproduced key and unlocked the door. So much for security. He paused-nothing to be heard inside, except the sound of the deep, rythmic breathing of a person deep in sleep. All the better. He approached he bedroom door cautiously, gun ready in his hand. He passed through and spotted the subject, the target lying in bed sleeping peacefully. Not for long. He placed his weapon to the head of his target and pulled the trigger. No sound but the soft phwt of a silenced weapon. No remorse, no guilt, no feeling whatsoever. He is The Dark, and this is what he does. The slow, rythmic breathing ceased with a long, slow exhale.

TO BE CONTINUED...