He was an assassin, a hired gun, a bad guy. He killed people; government officials, cheating husbands, all kinds of different people. He wasn’t a cheap killer either. His death contracts were worth hundreds of thousands to millions. He was so good at his job, that all the people he murdered had the look of a natural death.
His steps were silent, even the rustle of clothing. He was like a walking ghost. He changed his name every ten years. Not even the people he killed knew his face.
It wasn’t like anyone cared either. His family had been long dead and he barely had any ties to this world. Unless he impregnated one of his one night stands.
The rain had just stopped pouring. Puddles of water were everywhere. Occasionally he would peer into the water that reflected his handsome features.
He hadn’t aged a day since he “died” 75 years previously.
Although, he often wondered who would be the one to kill him. Or if he’d be the person, the only person, to muster up enough courage to kill himself.