Chapter Three: Hunters:
-Los Angeles, California-
A man about forty-two years old walked out to his car. This had to be in the early hours of the morning at best. It took him about six minutes to get out of the bedroom. The man’s head was too filled up with left over booze to sort out his thoughts. He about hit his face coming down the stairs. Right now, he fumbled with his keys in the doorway.
“Damn it,” the man muttered to himself. He found the right key. The tip when into the tip of the lock.
The man fell to the ground beside his car. A bullet to the back of the head. A man in a black coat walked up to the body. He reached down to the body and pulled out his wallet. The man in black pulled out his id. He clicked his tongue.
“Damn it!” the man shouted. He looked down at the body. Welp, that was another failure. The man pulled out his phone.
“Hello, it’s not him. Now?” he asked. The conversation didn’t have to last long.
“Yes. Understood. I will be right there,” the man said. He hung up the phone. The man in black looked down at the body. That would be his second failure. Back to square one.
The man spread his great white wings and flew up into the sky.
The body would be found hours later. They would assume it was an execution-style hit. Just something to keep the police preoccupied.