The Hooded Figure

A hooded figure stood silently as the rain pounded upon the pavement and his umbrella. He stood emotionless and leaned against the brick wall in the alley-way, waiting. The tall man had an oval, and rather prosaic, shaped head. His blood-red eyes gleamed lividly in the darkness and the faint light from the only streetlamp illuminated the x-shaped scar on the left side of his head. He was a tanned man with a shocking flash of bright, messy orange hair covered by the hood of his pitch-black jacket. He had a sharp, eagle-like nose that curved intelligently at the tip.

Eventually, the bus he had been waiting for arrived and he closed the umbrella, allowing the familiar coldness of rain to send shivers down his spine. This was the last time he would allow himself to wait for his victim like this. The man slid into the back-most bench of the empty bus as the tired, plump driver started the engine. This will be the last night for you the man thought, cracking a smile; a smile that revealed his razor-sharp, pearly-white teeth and the single golden tooth that aligned with his scar.

The bus creaked as it stopped. The hooded figure took slow, lenient steps off the bus, his true excitement and fire unrevealed. He had arrived at a large, modern house. Large strokes of pearly white had painted the once shabby, grey warehouse with broken windows and secret entrances.

This was it. The night he had planned for years, had betted everything on. Whether he lost or won, he knew for certain that this would be his last night. The large, heavy droplets splattered soothingly on his messy hair. Instead of ringing the high-tech doorbell, he took long strides towards the back of the house.

He had once called this… location his home but that had changed years ago. Yet, he still knew every corner, room and passageway by heart and had studied the purpose of each and every room from afar. He now knew, by heart, the routine if its inhabitant on every 5th Thursday in September.

The man moved his bony, once-petite fingers across the stainless wall, eventually finding what he wanted. After the warehouse had shutdown, all sorts of secret entries were installed, and this one had been his favorite since he was a boy.

He slipped inside and experienced feet carried him silently and accurately along passages and staircases, until he reached the room he had designated as the bedroom. The single inhabitant was due to arrive in the room in but 10 minutes.

He was counting on the pounding rain and darkness of the night to dilate the senses and ability of his victim. Humans, being diurnal creatures, are designed to be awake and active when it is brighter and most people are thus sleepy when it is pouring outside.

Though his victim had accomplished many activities during the dark, these years of ‘simple living’, as the man put it, should have dulled his senses. There were also many reasons the darkness was the hooded figure’s friend, mainly because red eyes saw best in dim light.

Just as the hooded figure, who was hidden in a closet, had gone over his scheme one last time, the door opened and his victim entered. He observed nothing unusual in the dim light, and so the hooded figure leapt out of the closet, locked the door, and brandished his precious blade. The blade was worn with age and had stains from age-old adventures too painful to remember. Despite its condition, it was the most precious thing to the hooded man.

His victim turned around, but when he saw who it was, he smirked. He was dressed in velvety pyjamas, fancy shoes, and thick golden glasses. He was a short, wide man with slick blonde hair and beady, piercing blue eyes that had once smiled brightly and led the way for many.

Both the victim and the hooded figure had slick hair, the first from expensive hair gel and the other from the cold, harsh rain. Despite the paths they had taken and the situations they had encountered, here they were again, in the warehouse where everything began, both to inevitably meet the same end.

“Oh. I see you still have my little gift. Hmm… Perhaps this would be a good time to return it to me. After all, you’re not supposed to murder someone with their own gift” The victim spoke, gently pulling out a matching blade from his pyjama pocket.

“Shut up Jacob. It doesn’t matter how I kill you; it only matters that I do kill you” The hooded figure spat, red eyes gleaming in the dimness.

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that if I were you, Gustaf”.

The two lunged at each other, blades clashing electrically in the dim light. Using techniques that mirrored each other perfectly, they knocked eachother’s blades to the floor, kicking them away in sync. From blades they went to fists, rolling across the hard, wooden floor.

“You betrayed us” Jacob said, grabbing Gustaf’s throat.

“You turned the organization into the very thing it was against! You and the rogue members even used the same name and symbol!” Gustaf replied, gripping the arms around his throat and kicking.

“Actually, the symbol is red now. The same red as your eyes and our naïve customers’ blood” Jacob said, smirking. He had gotten up now, fists raised.

That, at least, was one thing Jacob hadn’t lied about. The two of them had been recruited by an organization as children and had trained, in that very house, to get rid of gangs and large-scale scams. Hell, Jacob had even written a haiku about it.

That very haiku had given him a brilliant idea to get money – and fame, be it with the wrong people. He had rounded up other members who liked his idea and had created a plot to secretly destroy the organization. Gustaf was the only one remaining.

Their plot? To fill the hearts of naïve customers with hope; hope for a better life for a relatively cheap price. They would give them a supposedly amazing offer, backed up by supposedly real evidence and their customers, brimming with hope and joy, clicked on it to get supposedly amazing information and experiences.

The result? None of them made a profit or got any results. The little they might have made was kept by Jacob as ‘interest payment’. Still more and more had people kept signing up, Jacob’s illusion of greatness scamming more and more people, making him more and more profit.

Whoever he had scammed that day, would be the last person he would ever use and make a profit off of. Gustaf was going to make sure of it.

“Do you really think you can win?” Jacob taunted. “Even if you kill me, there are still dozens of agents operating. Making money gives me the greatest pleasure of all, but seeing you fail will be almost as good”.

“Actually” Gustaf began “I already took care of everyone else. You might not have noticed anything off though. It happened just last night and since our lovely police force likes to take its time with such things, it probably won’t be reported for another few days. But they’ll be under arrest soon enough. Don’t worry”.

Jacob’s eyes widened. How could it even be possible for him to lose to Gustaf, who had been so small and timid when they were kids? The reason, most likely, was the betrayal of Jacob, his most trusted friend. Betreyal is horrible on its own but when you are betraying someone for something they can never believe in or absolutely hate, its near unforgivable.

Jacob growled and flung himself at Gustaf, who dodged. They went back and forth at each other, until Gustaf finally managed to send Jacob flying into the wall, knocking him unconcious. “Okay” he huffed, taking handcuffs out of his pocket. He was never planning on murdering him; his blade was just his lucky charm.

He snapped the handcuffs onto Jacob and pulled him to his feet. Even in the dim light he could see Jacob smirking in his sleep. Gustaf paused. Could it be that there was still at least one other person I had no information about? He searched the house, eyeing Jacob carefully every 2 seconds.

“No” he muttered when a found a document, handwritten in almost unreadable heiroglyphics that were supposed to be the English alphabet. There were still 2 people at large and he couldn’t let them get away. With their boss to be stowed away in prison in the next 7 minutes and the warehouse full of possible clues, Gustaf would find them. He had to.