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<div style="margin:auto;
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font-size: 13px;">Thunder. <br/>
<br/>
It clapped so loudly most men would have shaken in their boots, rattling against the aged glass windows. A spattering of rain descended, blanketing his already-dampened trench coat, which grew heavier as the continual settling of water droplets across his shoulders grew. A hood perched over his head, shadowing his gaze and creating a veil of anonymity as he stalked through the back alleys at a godly hour of the morning. Perhaps if he had a normal job, aspirations, and a desire to function like a <i>normal </i>human being, he'd be tucked into bed, cursing away the military flashbacks that plagued his dreams far too often.<br/>
<br/>
Yet, there he was. Splashing through puddles that had quickly collected water, in a back alley, at two in the morning, soaking wet and on a mission.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Jason Henderson.</i><br/>
<br/>
The name had dominated his thoughts and stolen his attention for days. Ever since his boss had placed a target on his back. Ryke was a man forged by determination, and strength, with a mind of steel and hands that were stained with blood. He had never given himself a title, but he knew he was the most reliable and capable hitman within The Black River group. Always tasked with the most difficult targets, preying on those who wronged them. Even if all they had done was glance sideways at them whilst walking across the street. As soon as a name was uttered from his boss's lips, they only had days left.<br/>
<br/>
The thunder sounded again, this time quieter in the distance, indicating the storm was rolling out of the city. From what he remembered of Australia, he couldn't quite picture it raining as much as it did in the United Kingdom.<br/>
<br/>
Ryke had done his research. Spent hours hunched over the computer, digging up all he could find out about Jason Henderson. Word on the street suggested he was involved with The Comanches, another local, rival group that weaseled their way through the city like vermin. A new associate, still going through his initiation process. He'd caused a ruckus at a popular bar in town, Harold's, and groped one of the barmaids -- unfortunately for Jason, one of which happened to be a highly respected member of The Black River's sister.<br/>
<br/>
Sometimes it didn't take much for someone to end up on Ryke's hit list. Either way, he didn't care. A job was a job, and revenge was a dish best-served cold.<br/>
<br/>
The target didn't appear to be all that intelligent. Constantly posting updates on his social media accounts, some of which had locations tagged. <i>None </i>of them used a VPN or hid his IP address. Though, Ryke didn't even need to dig that far. Only two months ago, Jason Henderson had posted a photo to his social media, standing outside of a property that had a sold sticker plastered across a sale sign. The idiot didn't even blank out the address on the sign as they posed in front of the facade, a proud smile curved across his and his girlfriend's lips.<br/>
<br/>
Which is what lead him to the back alley. It would have reeked of trash should it not rained, instead a pungent dampness emitted from the gently flowing water across the cobblestone. Unit 6 on lot number 15. Verdant hues swept over the mailboxes. Unit 3... unit 4... unit 5... His eyes veered toward the quaint brick building that had a chipped, gold-painted '6' nailed to the building.<br/>
<br/>
Hushed, urgent muttering became audible as Ryke breezed forwards toward the house of interest. Nestled deep within his trench coat pockets, a Beretta M9 pistol sat comfortably. His fingertips skimmed over the cool metal, which began to warm under his careful touch. A pistol he'd used and loved during the military. Upon release, it had proven somewhat difficult to find a replica, but being involved with The Black River had its perks. They were able to track down anything with the connections they'd made.<br/>
<br/>
A man stood outside of unit six, pacing across a small patch of grass that was likely a communal space. He spoke into the phone pressed against his ear, seemingly on edge and no doubt stressed by the conversation he was engaged in. Wet hair clung to his face, and beads of water settled at the tip of his nose, consistently dripping onto the woolen jumper he wore. Ryke halted, steering himself towards the shadows as he observed the male in his state of unrest, cross-checking the description of the man against the features he could make out under the dim streetlights. It was undoubtedly, Jason Henderson.<br/>
<br/>
Casual steps carried Ryke forward, toward the man. It gained his attention, causing curious eyes to flicker towards him as his pacing was interrupted, finding a stillness as he studied the figure adorned in a trench coat, very few other features discernable.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey, whadda you want?" Jason hissed, scowling as he lowered the phone. The expression he displayed was far from intimidating. In fact, he looked more like a wet puppy than anything.<br/>
<br/>
"Jason Henderson?" Ryke enquired, fingers still fiddling with the gun in his pocket. Thankfully, his predatory gaze was hidden by the masking of the shadows.<br/>
<br/>
"Yeah, what're you? A debt collector?" He scoffed.<br/>
<br/>
"Close enough," Ryke replied, pulling the pistol from his pocket. With perfect precision and unmatchable speed, the barrel of the gun was directed in line with Jason's forehead. A sinking of his finger against the trigger expelled a bullet from the weapon, planting itself between his newest victim's eyes. The silencer at the end of the pistol would provided some privacy, failing to alert and wake the neighborhood.<br/>
<br/>
The body dropped to the ground with a thud, his limbs flailing as he crumpled into a heap. Blood pooled from the site of injury, tangling with the rainwater, and continued to flow down the street and into several stormwater drains. Ryke pocketed the pistol, slipping a pair of latex gloves onto his hands as he crouched to roll the body onto his back. Voices continued to bubble from the phone, to which he ended the call. He made haste to pop out the sim card from the phone, placing the small chip into his pocket. Perhaps there'd be something useful on there.<br/>
<br/>
Lifeless eyes stared up at him. The final expression plastered across his face was far from fear; edged towards shock or surprise. Ryke's expression remained blank as he observed the body. <i>Definitely dead. </i>The gun wasn't registered, therefore he was far from concerned that the police would track him down via the bullets used. <br/>
<br/>
Satisfied that the job was complete, Ryke rose to his feet, peeling off the gloves before he retrieved his personal phone. Fingers searched for his boss's contact, before placing the phone to his ear. The dial tone sounded twice before the line opened. He was met with silence on the other end of the line.<br/>
<br/>
"It's done," Ryke announced. A breath followed his statement before the call ended. <br/>
<br/>
Just another day in paradise.<br/>
<br/>
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