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An icy breeze ruffled Flash Vector’s hair, and he smoothed it back as he continued skating. In his head, he was going over the orders he’d received earlier, but this kind of mission was his specialty.
Go, eliminate the target, and then disappear without a trace. A fairly simple job for an assassin like him.
A boy who lived on the streets and had a younger brother to take care of couldn’t aspire to anything beyond mere survival; the opportunity presented itself, and he seized it without hesitation. His brother would never find out where the money he put on the table came from.
His brother dreamed of becoming the best boxer in the world, so he decided to protect that dream; if he had to get his hands dirty to make it come true… then so be it.
He’d been given an envelope containing everything he needed to minimize communication while the job was being carried out; the most important details were his next target’s information and location. One more turn and he’d be there; he quickened his pace.
He arrived at the venue, leaning against a corner to catch his breath after the trip, slowly watching as limousines pulled up, bringing guests who stepped out decked out from head to toe in jewelry, with no concern for modesty. The most likely place for the worst sort of people to gather. He hid all his things in a spot where he could easily reach them on his way out and headed for the entrance.
He looked around, realizing he had arrived at a mansion where a masquerade ball was to be held. He put on his mask and took a few steps toward the entrance, clutching an invitation—which he had altered before coming—and showed it to a guard standing there before proceeding inside.
Inside, everything was supremely elegant: curtains draped in the corners revealed stained-glass windows that let in streaks of moonlight, a polished marble floor, a chandelier hanging from the ceiling, and countless decorations that cost more than his life. In the center of the ballroom, the guests were chatting and laughing; there were tables with hors d’oeuvres, enormous sculptures of seraphim, and in one corner, a podium with a microphone in the center.
He tried to blend in with the crowd without saying a single word; a soft tinkling sound caused the room to fall silent as a man stepped up to the podium.
His target for the night: Count Blastrain. For a moment, he was aware of the blade tucked into a strap on his thigh.
The information he’d been given indicated that there was a criminal gang in this part of the territory that wanted him out of the way for who-knows-what kind of business, without the count getting involved. The sum of money they were offering him was too good to be true.
Coincidentally, the count was the organizer of this event—a man in his thirties whose expression was hard to read behind his mask, but who spoke with a friendly voice as he offered a few words of welcome before opening the dance to a round of applause. He couldn’t kill him right there with so many witnesses; he’d have to wait a while. Stealth was his forte.
He approached a table of hors d’oeuvres silently, lifting his mask slightly to bring the hors d’oeuvres to his mouth—since he was there, he had to take advantage of the opportunity.
The music changed, and people began heading out onto the dance floor in pairs. Their figures moved with such practiced grace, spreading out across the ballroom in perfect sync.
Flash Vector had moved to a corner, watching everything unfold with his arms crossed. If that was what they called entertainment… then rich people were boring.
“Don’t you think this evening is charming?” Standing beside him was the count, considerably taller than he was, forcing him to look up; he couldn’t say exactly when the count had approached him.
Flash Vector remained silent, hoping the count would realize he wasn’t interested in conversation. That man had no idea that the person he was speaking to would end his life by the end of the night.
“Oh, silent? I can’t blame you… being mysterious is a rather attractive quality”
A rather attractive quality…? ATTRACTIVE!?
He frowned, knowing the man couldn’t see him, but of course, the count continued as he held out his hand.
“Will you dance this piece with me? … Don't worry, If you don’t know how to dance, I’ll be happy to teach you.” Flash Vector rolled his eyes, placing his hand in the other man’s and muttering a reply.
Blastrain led him over to where everyone was gathered; the people there made room for them, and with great patience, Blastrain explained everything to him step by step. At first, he followed along awkwardly and even stepped on Blastrain’s foot, but slowly they found a comfortable rhythm. They moved forward carefully and danced a couple of rounds.
The guests began to leave the dance floor while the two of them remained right in the center, feeling the stares burning into them despite the fabric covering their eyes beneath their masks. Flash Vector felt himself turn pale under all the attention focused on them.
They were sinking into a bubble where it was just the two of them—a kind of illusion that shattered the moment the music ended. Blastrain took him by the waist and pulled him close, bowing to the audience cheering them on. He would have liked them to stay like that until the sunrise.
“Stay after the event is over,” the count whispered in his ear. Flash Vector managed to nod, still spellbound; he certainly had the urge to run away, but hey, if they were left alone, it would be a little easier. Blastrain stepped away from him, patting his shoulder, and went back to the event, while the crowd returned to the dance floor.
Two hours had passed by the time people began to leave, and the mansion eventually emptied out. The doors slammed shut as the host beckoned him over with a finger from the stairs; Flash Vector followed him, trying to appear calm and composed, his hand resting on the delicate banister.
Blastrain gently cupped his chin, then removed his mask before taking off his own. For a moment, Flash Vector felt his pupils tremble.
He was totally and completely screwed—the photo he’d seen earlier didn’t do justice to how handsome he was in person. Those eyes looking at him so warmly… he was so spellbound that when the other man pulled him close to kiss him, he offered no resistance.
He decided to throw his reasoning and plans out the window and return the kiss. The night for the two of them had just begun.
.
.
.
Flash Vector woke up and blinked, trying to fight off sleep, not knowing what time it was, the ache in his body reminding him of where he was and who he was with. Without further delay, he picked up the blade from among his clothes, which were scattered across the floor. He positioned himself on top of the sleeping man, whose naked chest rose and fell calmly.
He could almost feel pity—the key word being almost.
He just had to slide the blade across his throat and it would all be over…
Huh?
His hand wouldn’t move. His brain was sending the command, but his hand remained there, motionless.
He raised the knife above his head. “Come on… it’s just one cut,” he repeated to himself.
Don’t tell me that…
He began to tremble, and his vision was growing blurry.
You can’t do it!
Damn it, he’d grown attached to him. He lowered his arms and head in shame; in his ears and mind, the words and caresses they’d exchanged repeated over and over again like a scratched record.
The sound of distant church bells brought him back to reality.
With a heavy heart, there was only one thing left for him to do. He leaned in close to her face and stole a kiss, then gathered all his clothes, put them on, and fled… like the coward he was. The veil of night covered him as always, recognizing him as one of her own children.
.
.
.
His communicator began to vibrate. He answered without hesitation.
"Flash Vector"
"Hm?"
"You know you were assigned that case with the count? Well… it turns out we had the wrong target. The accurate information will be sent to you soon."
Flash Vector stared into the distance in disbelief—all that drama for… He took a deep breath and let it out.
“Sleep with one eye open.”
“We're sorry for—”
He hung up the call, indignant but pensive; he was going to track down that count again, whatever it takes.