#||raven threads

Never feel sorry for your target. That was the first thing that all hitmen or assassins had to remember whilst on the job. By now it should have almost been an automatic reflex for Lyra not to feel anything—anything at all for the target she was supposed to kill, but somehow, the picture of the little girl with her target on his desk stirred all kinds of irresponsible feelings out of the young hitman for Hydrus, even if that momentary glance at the picture was nothing but just fleeting in the file she had of him.

She knew every part of his work life, right down to his style–reconnaissance, or a little stalking was always needed for killers to know exactly when and how to kill someone, and determine what was the best course of action so far to do it. The male that she had been ordered to kill was a family man, apparently more of a workaholic than a man that cared for his wife and daughter–but that wasn’t what Hydrus had sent her to kill him for. The man had borrowed a huge sum of money from the gang, only for him to not return it. How he had thought to accomplish that and prosper without Hydrus coming after him was yet another wonder itself, but it was a wonder that Lyra couldn’t afford to think about as of now. 

He was already a dead man after all.

Her cold eyes flickered in the night as she watched the office slowly clear out, leaving behind the man that she knew worked overtime almost every night. A simple knife to the throat would do the job, Messy, but predictable. Or honestly, she could simply snipe him from afar–which was her due preference–however, this was more of a stealth operation than that of a sniping one. Lyra blinked as another one of the workers passed by her at her workstation, giving her a curious stare as she smiled up at the other male, a wig hiding her hair and horn rimmed glasses (no degree, of course), making the other laugh sheepishly.

“First night over time?” She nods at the other’s words, turning to her computer, where for the past hour, cowering a little timidly. She had specifically chosen this plain and drab disguise to blend in well enough with the others at the workplace–and true enough, she had been so plain that no one had noticed her.

First triumph of the day! Lyra had crowed internally to herself as she typed gibberish on the computer, the art of using nonsensical words to make it seem like a coherent document of work a skill she never knew she had.

“Well, don’t stay too late. The boss doesn’t like it when others, especially newbies stayed later than him.” She purposely widened her eyes in fear, shrinking back in her seat and bobbing her head rapidly at the other’s words, a quiet smile on her lips as the other male cackled a little too loudly. “I’ll be off then.” 

Its only fifteen minutes after the last person has left that she rises from her seat, moving quietly towards the male’s room. She had been very careful to avoid all the cameras that were working within the office for the entire day, and had been the most successful so far at avoiding them. It had kinda been like a mini game to her, seeing how many cameras that she could avoid being seen on,without actually being caught awkwardly avoiding certain areas. 

The wire between her hands glinted only slightly under the dim white lights, her footfalls silent but steady. She raised a hand, a manilla folder in tucked in hand, face ducked almost shyly in it as she pushed open the doors to the male’s office.

“Leave it on the table.” She silently nodded, moving towards his desk to pass the documents to the male, who was far too absorbed in his work. “What’s this?” She pushes the manilla folder to him with a smile under her disguise. “This isn’t--this--” The male turned white as a sheet, stammering and yammering at the various pictures of him and his family, neatly compiled within the folder.

“We did warn you not to cross us.” The garrote wire extends lightly from her left hand to her right, and a quick wrap of the wires around the male’s neck from the back has him immediately choking and struggling to no avail. Fingers clawed at the neck from where the garrote wire cut off his air supply, the bulky size of the chair that supported his body but left his neck unprotected making it difficult for the male to reach her slender body at the back.

The process was harsh but quick, brutal but efficient, and Lyra pulled the dark mask she had within her attire for the entire day back up her face, swiftly changing in the office out of her clothes as the male’s dead body lay in the chair, eyes wide and hands curved but limp. The wig was stashed within the bin as soon as it was off her head, a sigh of relief bubbling from her lips at the feeling of a cool breeze on her slightly sweaty scalp. She was just out of her pants and about to change into her new ones when the door opened, and instinctively, Lyra went for the gun that she knew had been in the drawer that the male never opened. She had planted one of her guns there in an unforeseen event, much like this one. She cocks the barrel swiftly, eyes cold as she aims her shot at the person about to walk in.