Board Thread:Role Plays/@comment-6975131-20130928221634/@comment-11588669-20130928224455

The door to the shop opened, and a man stepped through. A dark jacket clad his torso, and black pants cover his legs. His feet rest in combat boots, and archaic metal bracers are strapped to his forearms. A sleek case is strapped diagonally down his back, leading from the left shoulder. The strap is adorned with seven throwing knives, each gleaming blade a copy of another. A larger dagger, almost shortsword, is sheathed at his right hip. On the other, a pistol rests in it's holster.

The hood is down, revealing his face to be that of an older teen. Almost a schoolboy. Except for the large scar diagonally across his visage, and the look he wore. It was that of utter detachment. He looks around, taking in the features of the shop.

It was a dingy little place, with old merchandise laying around the aluminum shelves. The dusty counter held up an old cash register, and a sleeping worker manning it. But these were not what he was looking for.

He noticed the way the man's hand lay on his chest. Close to his right armpit, where most likely a pistol lay. The barely noticeble outlines of hidden doorways, where thugs most likely wait. And the door leading to the back, where his target sat in his ill gotten riches.

He wasn't in a regular shop. He was in a blackmailer's hideout.

And he was here to assassinate him.

Nox halfheartedly pokes through the stock on the shelves, but it fools nobody. It's a waiting game, to see who will act first. And Nox won.

The man at the register shot up, hand holding a small SMG. The mercenary already had his out.

A gunshot rang, and blood splattered the wall.