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(MARKED FOR DEATH) PROLOGUE
🕑 Added 2025-06-09 12:49:33 +0000 UTCIt was well past dark and, though the wind howled in his ears, the usual white noise of traffic was absent. It was possible the weather had chased most indoors; the city was riding the tail-end of a heatwave that had the government issuing red alerts. During the day, the soaring temperatures—combined with overcrowding—had made it nightmarish to navigate tourist hotspots, and as a result, the Red Cross offering water and first aid to the homeless was a never-ending scene amidst those avoiding direct sunlight.
That same heat now clung to the streets, lingering even under the relative respite of the night, though (fortunately) the beginning of a cool breeze promised an air heavy with rain.
Of course, it was equally possible that the uneasy quiet was due to the whispers and slowly spreading rumours of the mysterious woman in black: Death. She had ruffled quite a few feathers in this little slice of the city in her never-ending hunt for him, and word was that she had even gained the attention of the few criminal elements in the city’s underbelly thanks to her constant harassment. Mobs and crime-rings he could deal with, but Death was a different case. Speaking of which…
He crouched just beside the edge of the rooftop, his body unconsciously shifting in the approximate direction of his mark. Said mark led to the other end of the city, though he could hardly tell where that was in relation to his present location—only that he could see a glossy white strand (of sorts) in his mind’s eye connecting him to an abandoned warehouse, specifically a little room he could hole up in for the night—but it wouldn't matter if he could be found in less than a week again. He had painstakingly gotten rid of every device he owned, and reshuffled his marks around the city countless times, yet, every one of his makeshift safehouses had been eventually harassed by her.
He had to figure out how she kept finding him and stop it or else it would keep happening, and sooner or later, she would finally do as she pleased to him—not that she didn’t already to a degree—but that road led to things like forced indoctrination or death, and judging by who they sent after him, he wagered more on the latter than the former. But that was a digression.
Despite the heat, he had been on the roof for a few hours already, waiting for her to join him. He didn't know if she would find him tonight, didn’t know if she somehow kept a constant watch on him, but she had to have a way of tracking him or something, so he was banking on his luck that she wouldn't think much of his change in MO and resist such a temptation.
It would have been better if he could wait in a cafe or other similar establishments, but being on the ground carried its own set of problems and he couldn't—wouldn’t—risk innocent civilians' lives. Still, what he wouldn't give for an ice cream, or at least some rain, as he absently tugged at his jacket and the sweat-soaked shirt underneath stuck to his skin. He had contemplated ditching the jacket, but frankly, Death was a bitch and the light leather offered a little more protection than the simple cotton of his shirt.
“…not that it could save me from a bullet,” he muttered with a disgusted sigh.
“Is this bravery or stupidity?”
He was startled by the familiar feminine voice, hand automatically reaching for the tactical knife hidden in his jacket as, in one smooth, practised motion, he stood and twisted on his heels. Just its weight would have been a comfort, even if he didn’t end up using it, but the woman was too quick; another weight settled at his side and, as fingers closed around his wrist in an iron grip (preventing him from drawing the blade), his free hand was twisted skillfully and surprisingly gently behind his back. Her body was a hairsbreadth from his, and her stance—one leg positioned close to his—told him she was prepared to sweep his feet from under him.
“Please don't.” Her head leaned in close to his neck, and her voice (powerful yet dangerously soft) seemed to echo hypnotically in his ear, sounding like an eerie whistling melody. Oddly haunting. “I had assumed you wanted to talk, or did you expose yourself in such a manner for another reason?…
He sucked in a breath, catching snatches of scent from her—perspiration, deodorant, and a hint of perfume—and, for a moment, he almost lost himself to the pulse of his blood flowing through his veins and the insistent thump of his heart in his ears, trying to escape the cage of his bones. A heady mix of pleasure and fear. Lovely.
“…To catch me off-guard, maybe?”
She shifted just a little, her thigh brushing his fleetingly. The positioning, close enough to feel her radiating heat and lips on him should he inch further into her hold, would have been mildly erotic if he didn't know it was intentional. She was a seductress, a seasoned black widow playing at being human.
She was Death.
“Alright, alright,” he hedged with a wince, following the unsaid command and unclenching his fingers from the handle of his knife. It fell away from him, leaving him unarmed, yet she didn't release her grip on him. “Can't blame a guy for reacting to your unannounced entrance, and no, I just want to talk.
Eventually, she finally released his hand, but quickly invaded his personal space further, reaching into his jacket and unerringly finding the pocket sewn inside to pull out the other knife. As if she knew exactly where it was all along. She stepped back, and the loud thunk of something metal sinking into the rooftop floor a short distance away sounded.
His mouth fell open. “Seriously?”
“I don't think you need a weapon if you plan on talking.” A stressed pause, punctuated by the graze of her teeth across his earlobes. “Or are you planning on doing more?”
How had she known about his hidden—
He shook his head before he could stumble down that train of thought, and cleared his throat. That was a question for another day.
“Well, I'm glad you finally deigned to grace me with your presence, but couldn't you have done so earlier?” He tugged at his lower lips, only to release it when he realised it made him look nervous—which he was, but he didn't want her to know that—and crossed his arms, even if it drew an involuntary grimace at the feeling of his shirt sticking to his body with his sweat.
She moved away from him—he could no longer feel her body’s heat or her breath on him again—content in giving him space for now, maybe, but he knew it was only illusionary. Sure, his hearing was relied upon more in place of his sight to make sense of the world, but sound was less informative than the ability to see what your opponent was doing and she had already shown she could traverse distances without him noticing. They both knew he was at a serious disadvantage if a fight broke out, and though he could easily escape, he wouldn't do so unless he got what he wanted. This night couldn’t be a waste.
“You already know who I'm working for and why I'm chasing you, and that's all you need to know.”
“Not even close,” he said, shaking his head. “How? How do you keep finding me or my safehouses? I have an idea, but it would be better to hear it straight from the horse’s mouth.”
Her laughter was sharp and abrupt, at odds with her previously established personality. “Do you expect me to just tell you?!”
He made to deny it, though she wasn't exactly lying, but she continued undeterred. “You should be more worried about exposing yourself in public like this.”
He shivered internally, suddenly aware of how he had been out in the open for a while now. Had he even tried to think things through, weighing the pros and cons of his decision to wait for Death on a random rooftop? Or had he dove straight into it once the idea came to his mind? Going by the regret he could feel welling within him, it was definitely the latter. Stupid. Spontaneity should only be reserved for low-risk situations.
“Why? Did something happen?”
“I was sloppy,” her voice was low, almost regretful, “and they have figured out that you are the one constant in all the information I've gathered so far.”
He swallowed back the question and forced himself to appear casual, as if he was unaffected by the admission, but he doubted it worked. For all his practice and experience dealing with those who took advantage of his emotions, like Death, he still wore his heart on his sleeves.
“You are famous, or rather infamous,” she continued. “You’d be surprised by how many people in our business would be willing to cash in on that infamy, especially if you are alone and on the rooftop of a mostly empty building.”
“How many?”
“One. Male. He was about a block or two from you, watching from another rooftop...”
His heart skipped a beat at her words, the feel of it so sharp he could almost taste blood on his tongue. Someone had been keeping tabs on him, most likely, and he had been none the wiser, too caught up in his goal to notice the potential threat—not that he could, without relying heavily on happenstance, as it was a struggle to see even depths and shadows in the night on a good day; it was just one big wall of black dotted by smears of light that he thought were streetlights.
He was careless and acted far too stupid with the calibre of enemies around.
“…I persuaded him to find something more productive to do with his time.”
Oh.
Comments
OnAHiatus
Thank you. I posted more chapters there, so you can read. Comment there
Dragonin
Definitely interesting, I do have a tab open in Royal Roads. I love a character who has an interesting power, and Death is pretty intense already.
OnAHiatus
This is my original fiction, guys. The same one I'm posting on Royal Roads. I think I will also post it here, and will make an announcement about my plans with it later today. Please read and tell me your thoughts. BTW I'm already done writing the book, 33 chapters in all.
