Mischief Devised {Tom}

[tw; violence/death]

Death is nothing more than the final release of the weight everyone holds.

Cy's seen the way tears fall, the way anger burns, or the way silent guilt washes over a face. There's only a second where the truth of a person glitters across their face, even if he's not the type to enjoy it. There was still a need for people like him, wandering across the land trying to solve the trauma of his own past, creating new trauma with the gun hidden away under the belt of his jeans, covered by the leather jacket heavy against his shoulders. Death was inevitable, he was nothing more than a tool of death's.

The scythe waiting to strike away the soul of others.

Only so he could manage some meaningless cash.

His assignment this time was larger than any of the other ones. The dollar sign had made him grow in interest, despite the gut feeling of meeting a man named Flynn. The eyes of a demon, asking him if he will do the final end of a boy, too young to have realized the mistake he made. Greed on the tips of his fingertips before he silently lets the offer fill his ears to the brim. The thought swirling around swiftly mixing together like sugar and tea, until finally he holds a breath and speaks to the man who makes his skin crawl.

"As long as you pay, consider the boy dead."

That's how he's here, waiting in the shadows after the training the boy goes through. Two was nothing like Ten, where the ground is nothing but dry, dusty roads, but here there's a richness to the people. Sticking out like a sore thumb among the hierarchy here. A small moment of waiting as the boy appears in the dark of night. Silently, he walks with the gun in one hand and a blade in the other. Death shrouding them in the thick of a night, so perfect for the truth to be seen upon a face.

The tool of death glistening in the moonlight, until ducking back in the shadows to hide from the sight.

The boy was alone, in the dark of a night. Just like Flynn had said. The only people out here are gone in moments, leaving to their homes where death no longer lurks. A frown upon his face knowing that this boy must be close to the age of his own brother and sister who were now nothing more than ashes in the earth. The quietly feeling of their necklace on his chest, letting himself grow in ease before he speaks softly in a whisper to try and get the kid to notice him.

"Roan Trin."

Silence until the nervous voice echoes across the area.

"H- hello?"

Greed takes over first as the blade comes forward with a swift push of the hilt into his chest, plunging it into the soul of a boy too young to know what was happening. Death would be waiting. Greed was in his veins. He made a deal with the devil. The look in the boy's eyes says it all. Young, innocent, and nothing more than a pawn in this game that this man Flynn is playing. Teeth grinding together as Cy feels his own heartbeat and the guilt set in slightly before he fills his face with a professional seriousness he was meant to have. Voice hoarse in the air as he speaks to this boy.

"Flynn sends his regard, Trin."

Fear.

It's prominent in those eyes.

"Shit! I- I’m sorry!"

He's heard enough of those words to pile up for a lifetime. Everyone was sorry for their mistakes. He was nothing more than a tool. Nothing could stop him now, not the innocence, not the greed, not himself. This would be the end of Roan Trin. A bullet between the eyes. A silence fills him before he whispers to himself more than anything else.

"Shut up already."

Pow. The gun fires as the bullet hits the mark, another death, another deal.

Another deal with a demon complete.

All that was left was to disappear and collect the payment.

No one would know what Cy had done here, after all he was nothing more than a shadow in Two.

Gone with the wind.

A tool of death waiting to be called on again.

Greed in his veins, demons on his brain, and gunpowder in his jeans.

No one would remember Roan Trin.

No one but Cyrus Rabago.