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# Chapter 2: Kira Rojas

I wake up drenched in sweat, disoriented and struggling to gather my thoughts. Something's different, wrong! The air smells a little perfumy, and my body is a little sticky. I look beside me, and upon seeing the man there, I know exactly what happened. It all comes flooding back to me even more when I notice I'm completely without clothes, and so is he.

Blushing slightly, I slip back into my clothes, cursing myself for letting my guard down. I'm not supposed to get involved with anybody. Emotions make me vulnerable, something I can’t afford in my line of work. Attachment—physical or emotional—is a luxury I can't afford.

Oh, it's still night, I think after take my phone from my pocket and realize that it's just 3 a.m. Good news since it means I can get away unnoticed without having anything else to do with him.

I chastise myself for letting things go so far with someone whose name I don’t even know. I clean myself up without touching him at all, making sure he doesn't notice anything before I walk up to the door. I'm about to leave when I notice it's locked. Fuck. Well, I have a thousand ways to escape a locked room, but the window is my favorite.

Either way, I don't want anyone seeing me walk through the passageway of whatever hotel he had booked, and I don't want to go through the stress of sneaking away either. It's much easier to slither down the walls of the hotel building. I improvise to find ropes, then attach them to the window and descend the wall, muscles tensed for any sound that might give me away.

It's not long before I finally touch ground and then fall into the shadows I'm familiar with, happy for the familiar cold that comes with it. I make my way back to the crypt, damp and cold, the air thick with the scent of decay and rust. "Wow, you're back already," someone says. I frown at him. The son of a bitch is the one who made me do this in the first place.

"Xavier, knock it off," I snap, brushing past him.

"What’s the rush?" he calls after me, his voice dripping with mischief. I quicken my pace, eager to escape his probing eyes. A couple more steps and I'll begin the climb up to my high-rise apartment amidst the rundown shambles of the criminal underground world.

"You can't say you didn't enjoy yourself," he continues in a hopeful tone. Although I intend to just walk past, I find myself stopping momentarily and reconsidering. Despite the anger raging in me for letting myself feel something, I can’t shake the thought that maybe I didn’t do anything wrong. Maybe for once, I deserved it. But the guilt... it’s overwhelming.

I don't respond however, as I resume my walk, maintaining the feisty pace. He doesn't call after me anymore, and I'm glad to finally be left in peace.

I close my eyes on the usual couch and will myself to fall asleep. However, I find myself consumed by thoughts of the stranger I met just some hours ago.

The following days are a blur of training and terse exchanges with Xavier. I throw myself into work, trying to forget the stranger and what he awakened in me. Then, Dante summons me, and I know it's time to get out.

It's been two weeks now and I finally stand before Dante Icarus, leader of the Shadowfang. His eyes are cold, like they always were during training—sharp, calculating, and never merciful. He's called me here, and I assume it's for a good reason, most likely about to give me another mission, another person to be dead before sunrise.

I take in a breath as I watch him go through a couple of files in a neatly arranged folder on his table. The room is rather dark and mysterious, and even though it's hard to see already—at least for normal people—he's wearing dark shades, probably just to add a hint of mystery to himself. I've long grown used to his strange quirks, so I'm not concerned, neither am I annoyed by his keeping me waiting. He's the one who trained me, and discipline was my utmost quality. I could wait here before him for hours before he gives me his mission and not complain.

"I have a target for you," he says, his tone deliberate. I remain standing still like a pillar, watching and waiting. He need only say a name, give an accurate description, and the job is done. With my skills, I'll track him down in an hour and plan the next moves from there.

"He’s from a family with power—wealth, influence," he warns. "His house is a fortress. Guards, security systems, the whole nine yards." I frown at his information, wondering what's the matter this time around, for him to be giving me such detailed intel. It seems like this isn't any ordinary mission. I feel like he's trying to warn me about it without telling me outright that it's going to be dangerous and that I need to be careful. Well, for me to ever hear him say I should be careful is a long shot. He's actually very confident in my abilities. But despite that, I'm pretty sure he doesn't care if I live or die.

He looks up at me slowly. "His name is Luca Romano," he says. "He's just a person like all the others you've killed, so it shouldn't be too difficult if you are meticulous enough." I nod silently and wait for any further instruction. He considers for a moment before handing the file over to me entirely.

I'm a little surprised at all the information in it—he rarely gives me anything more than a verbal description of my target, and I see it as a form of training on how to track the right person, recognize him, and take him down. This time, the instructions are precise; in other words, he's leaving no room for error, even though I'm not known for making one in the first place.

"Even the location is here," I mutter to myself, without knowing the words came out. "Yes," he says, "just in case it's a little difficult for you to track." I look up at him, glaring—not my usual attitude towards my superior, but with his lack of trust in me, I feel offended.

"Just carry out the mission successfully," he says. "I want him dead before tomorrow morning." He raises an eyebrow. "I believe that's enough time for you to prepare."

"It is," I say with a nod, looking at the black and white picture before me. Whoever this man is, one thing's for sure: his fate is set in stone, his death is certain.

Tonight, I prepare diligently, gathering intel from colleagues and plotting my infiltration strategy. I would rather spend my time plotting methods of entering whatever secure facility he's in and breaking myself out than finding blueprints of his building, though I'm capable of doing both.

Three more hours and I'm ready. All my tools are with me, and I have my route mapped out. I memorize the guard shifts down to the minute and prepare my disguises. My first—an oblivious delivery worker—would get me past the outer gates. A stolen ID would cover the second checkpoint, while a janitor’s uniform would grant access to the inner quarters. Just a couple of precautionary measures in case something goes wrong—I'm not so capable that law enforcement wouldn't have anything to start an investigation on, even as I try not to leave traces behind. I need these measures against any uncertainty.

Fully prepared, I start off at exactly 6 o'clock. I spend two entire hours before I get to the location and find out it's just like Dante said. It's huge, in fact an estate, and I'm pretty sure from some of my intel that there's some kind of military barrack inside and a lot of guards and dogs for security.

I watch the guards and pick a target: a short man with an irresponsible appearance. I wait for him to exhibit lousiness, and surely enough, he steps into the shadows to light a cigarette. I approach him then. A playful smile distracts him just long enough for my blade to find its mark. I smile, happy I'm pretty enough to use it as another weapon in my arsenal.

I don't disguise myself as him because they'll find me out soon enough. Instead, I proceed with extreme caution into the building directly, glad for his identity card to bypass any security check. The next 30 minutes go slowly as I walk and stop with thousands of intervals, sneaking slowly and carefully, building up. I find my way up to where I know he's supposed to be. He has his own room. The spies here have given me as much information.

Before long, I find myself there. So far, it's a success. I've only had to kill three people, which is, in fact, a record. I press my back against the wall, gun raised, prepared for a clean shot. He's not here yet, but whenever he enters, he's done for. The door opens, finally, after about an entire hour of wait. I'm not bored, however, or tired. Patience is one of my key qualities so I'm not anxious either.

I level my gun against his head and wait for him to turn around and see me. Yes, that's my fifth rule on Killer101. Always look your target in the eyes before taking them out. I need to sear his face into my memory, because if not I'll feel like a coward. If possible, he should even get a chance to fight me, but if he's not skilled enough, I won't give him the luxury and it won't last long.

I start getting a little frustrated, seeing that he instead starts scrolling through his phone after plopping on his bed. His level of awareness is below zero. How can someone so careless survive in a world like this?

With the more time I spend waiting I start to notice something familiar. 'Don't tell me' I think as a slow inexplicable feeling builds up in my gut. Even before the man turns, my stomach drops. It’s him—the stranger from that night.