Los Angeles, a sprawling metropolis that dwarfs many other cities in both population and size.
The starry skies above shone back, filled with lights at the great city below.
Between the fumes and pollution, the star-filled sky shone right back at the many lights of the advertisement boards and skyscrapers that littered that vast expanse of land.
A place that had once been well-known for its beauty was now nothing more than a joke among both its citizens and those beyond.
Once it was considered the sunny upside of a country, housing one of its most profitable and 'important' industries... Entertainment.
A cesspool of corruption and filth, some would call it an all-consuming pit of tar.
And within that filth was where Markus found himself, every day of his life.
Was he one of the many victims of it? Bound to be taken advantage of constantly for the smallest of roles, for even the smallest glimmer of success?
No.
Within that city, he was more of a whisper than anything. His name was not known, and he didn't strive for his name to be known, yet anyone who meant anything knew it far too well.
Who was he? Well, he was one of the event coordinators for a rather large gala, which every big celebrity frequented.
His appearance was that of a 6.3 ft Tall blond man, with a lean and athletic build, not hidden at all by the rather form-fitting and tidy white suit which he commonly wore, which accentuated his royal blue eyes perfectly.
His hair was always the same, swept backwards, always upkept. He had learned to do it himself, as he needed his appearance to be good at all times.
That was his public image, clean and tidy, perfect in every sense of the word. Entirely too perfect.
And that was a rather good reflection of his actual night job... Cleaning up after others.
"P-please let me go..." The blindfolded man in front of him had certainly seen better days.
He had once been a rather high-ranking government official, a member of the DEA even, but he was corrupt, much like everyone else in that city, he sold the confiscated drugs to celebrities at a high markup.
But that was not why he was strapped to a chair in a random warehouse now.
No, it was because rumours started about him wanting to tattle about what he saw at certain parties of certain celebrities.
Some had seen his gaze looking a bit uneasy as he left a part one night, and that was enough.
"Don't bother begging."
And the man sent to deal with him was none other than Markus... The most well-known 'husher' in the industry.
After all, such a prolific place needed a way to keep its secrets. People like Markus were that way.
Torture, gathering blackmail, silencing victims, getting rid of annoyances. They did everything to cover up whatever the hell their employers did. And they got paid a lot for it.
Markus was a special case, though. Most 'hushers' were half-assed mercenaries who re-profiled to that profession after learning how well it paid.
Many were sloppy, hence why a lot of scandals still made their way to the public.
But Markus was different.
He had yet to fail at stifling an incident even once. His 100% success rate made him highly desirable; many tried to have him on call, too, but he didn't really care for that.
He took whatever job paid the most at the time, which made everyone bid for him in a way. It maximised his profits, and that was all he cared about.
"P-please, there were so many chi-"
"Look, dude, I don't care. Even if you go and blow the whistle, nothing will change. Do you even know what people were present at that party?"
"B-but if I can just say their names, then it'd all be-"
"Their names would just be erased from the record. They have more money than the rest of the world combined. There would just be some idiots taking the fall, then those kids will likely die too, to cover up loose ends. It's better if you just shut up."
Markus was wholly unsympathetic to the man's plight. He had seen it all before.
To him, his rich employers were not anything other than scum. But he didn't care. They had power, they had money, so he played along.
Right now, his task was simple. It had been to confirm his suspicion that the man would tattle. And that was now all but confirmed after just speaking to him.
Whatever he had seen, he was too haunted by it to keep it hidden. And that only meant one thing.
'It's a bad ending for you as well...'
Markus sighed as he picked up one of the surgical knives nicely displayed on a table nearby. He let the light reflect off of it for a moment, landing in the man's scared eyes.
His next move was the very definition of practised and perfect. He sliced the man's neck, severing his carotid artery from behind, letting the blood spill all over the plastic tarp that he had laid out on the ground.
"Your silence will be appreciated..." Markus sighed, shaking his head as he looked the dying man in the eye one last time.
He always made sure to observe the light of his victims leave thier eyes. He always made sure that the job was done cleanly.
After it was fully confirmed, he didn't bother to start cleaning up, he instead slowly reached onto the table, picking up a flip phone and dialling a number.
"Warehouse Number 9, just one." He didn't wait for any answer from the other side; he just broke the phone in half and threw it in the puddle of blood that was still forming on the ground.
He then took off the plastic raincoat that covered his pristine white suit, took off his gloves and slowly straightened his tie.
Outside, his car was waiting for him, and he was not scared of being traced there. There would be no crime scene to study at the end of the day, just yet another missing man, in the middle of LA.
Or, maybe, he would be ruled a suicide. The cleaning agency always picked its poison in that regard. But the matter was taken care of anyway.
As he finally got into his unassuming Honda Odyssey, he sighed and gripped the steering wheel with his ungloved hands.
"I think this should be enough to quietly retire now... That house by the beach sure was damn expensive."
Of course, he would have retired long ago with his pay if it hadn't been for his other monthly expenses, but he got frustrated just thinking about it.
Even worse, he had to go visit a money sink right after the job.
He drove right out of that area, driving for at least an hour before finally reaching his destination.
An extremely large mansion, right on the outskirts of LA, with a great view of the city lights.
A large sign at the gates read 'Goodwill Orphanage'. And it was likely Markus's most expensive purchase.
When he walked in, an old man with a large bald spot and a thick moustache greeted him.
The old man was dressed like a traditional head butler, his gaze was sharp and pointed, and his demeanour was serious at all times.
By his side, two bags were already laid out on the ground, prepared for Markus to just take and leave with.
"Your bags are all ready, sir." His aged voice sounded steady and not fatigued despite the very late hour.
"Good, I will be departing right away. The monthly stipend will continue to come in for the next 50 years. I am going off-grid." Markus sighed, taking off his coat and hanging it up.
He smiled at the butler one last time before taking both bags that had been prepared for him and turned to leave the room, not caring about his coat.
There was no further conversation between the two of them, no words of thanks or gratitude, just cold understanding.
"Have a safe life, Sir..." The old butler only said those words as Markus left the room.
The blonde man couldn't help but run a hand through his hair as soon as he was out of the courtyard of that massive orphanage."
'Jesus, interactions with Harold are always so tiresome...'
The orphanage was one of his personal endeavours. Was it a way for him to repent? Not really.
He had just killed a lot of people, and because of him, plenty of children were left in the care of the system.
He took pity on them, so he built what could only be called a safe haven. He had kept some things in that orphanage, which was why he had paid it a visit.
Two bags filled to the brim with things that Harold had deemed necessary for him to hold onto when he started his new life.
Markus sighed as he walked over to his car and placed both bags in its massive trunk.
Opening one, out of curiosity, he couldn't help but sigh when seeing that it was filled to the brim with letters, likely from the children.
Opening one, it was filled with talk of gratitude, filled with warmth. The next three were the same, and a smile couldn't help but rise on the blonde man's face.
"Hah, that old man... Always the sentimental one." Markus shook his head as he closed the trunk. He couldn't spend the rest of the night reading letters. He had somewhere to get to.
He drove through the outskirts, heading right for the exit road to Los Angeles.
But before he could even blink, a sports car smashed right into the side of his, sending him and his car rolling off the road and into a building.
Markus barely managed to protect his head, as the sturdy car he was in took the brunt of the punishment.
But when the situation finally settled, the blonde man found himself with a large piece of glass stuck into his chest.
There were also several that he could feel on his face and other parts of his body.
He didn't need a mirror to know that he was done for. He could feel the blood rushing out of him.
"Fucking hell..." Looking to the side, he could see who had managed to do him in... A drunk celebrity running a red light.
'Great... Killed by the very bufoons I used to work for...'
The man who had crashed into him also seemed dead, but Markus didn't care at all about that.
He just sighed, blood coming out of his mouth. He wanted to take one last breath of fresh air, to do anything, but the last thing his hands got to do was to rearrange his hair.
It was almost mechanical, inhuman. At that time, nothing else was on his mind besides annoyance.
'Maybe I'll meet some of my associates in hell... If there even is one. I doubt it can be worse than this shithole.'
As he was set to give his last breath before any ambulance even got close to the scene.
The Tar Pit that was LA had claimed another life... But that was not the end of Markus.
No, someone or rather something, had seen his unsatisfying end and decided to pull him away.
"Someone like you will do just fine... Yes..."
An ethereal voice, that was the last thing Markus heard before it all went dark.