The hitman stood by the bar counter, calmly observing the unusual scene that had unfolded in the black-market speakeasy. He had seen many strange things over the course of his career, but this… well, at least this time he didn't have to do anything if his target became collateral.
Small and slight like children, with four strange, shape-changing appendages curving from each of their backs. Sometimes they were wings, sometimes they were shields, and sometimes they were spider-like spikes that wounded just as effectively as their swords.
Most off-putting, though, were their eyes – in the dim lighting of the bar's auctioning stage, red pinpoints shone through the shadows obscuring their faces.
These creatures were small, yes, but they were also very strong. The wounded patrons that had made the mistake of attacking them were a clear indication – they were more than anyone here could handle.
"Heh," a shaking patron muttered. "I c-called the cops. They'll put you down."
The hitman's immediate thoughts were voiced by the white-clad intruder: "this is an illegal bar," he said. "We're flying winged people. Who's gonna believe you?"
The black-clad intruder cackled somewhat maniacally, then cut the patron in the leg, forcing him to one knee. "We're just having fun," she said, grabbing his collar. "I bet half of you won't even remember what happened here."
Ah, but what had happened…? The hitman closed his eyes for a second. They had smashed through the sun roof in a burst of odorless smoke, stared everyone down with that red glint in their eyes, then attempted to order milk. Why milk? It was strange to think about. Just how old were they?
Somehow, the hitman figured that they didn't know either.
Then the bartender flew into a rage, threatening them with his rifle…
The hitman could tell right away that these inscrutable people were pure-bred warriors who had received intense training, possibly for most of their lives.
As they hopped, dodged, and flew; swung artfully designed swords, and bantered with each other as if this was just a jolly little jaunt, the hitman began to wonder.
What were they? Where did they come from? Why did they exist? He'd never seen anything like them, but…
Somehow, he got the feeling he would never see them again.
The hitman placed his hat low over his head, stepping past the stunned group of people still standing.
Leave if you're leaving, they would always say. If you hesitate, you have already failed. As the mysterious pair vanished into the fog, the hitman also made his exit.
And while police vehicles raced past him to the bar, the hitman pulled out a journal and marked something on his list.
This 'city of dreams'… perhaps it was worth revisiting after all.