Treat Me Gently

The stillness of the midnight air made Roxanne nervous. In a way, it weighed down on her like a thick blanket, suffocating her in a dull heat that wrapped around her skin and bled into what little clothing she wore. A small receiver crackled white noise into her ear, then a muted voice.

''Third street is clear all the way to the boulevard, Miss Kochenkov.''

''Good.'' she cooed down to the mic that arced around her cheek and hung delicately before her lips. Even though she tried her hardest to mask it, a soft Russian accent stained her speech. ''Let us keep it that way, gentlemen.'' A volley of agreements from various men chimed in through the receiver. Despite its mild charm and few attractions, Roxanne decided that she thoroughly hated Los Angeles. On a desperate whim she came here to try and help clean the streets of crime, and so far, she had run into nothing but muggings, petty theft, and an attempted rape. To her, these were dull; mere blips on her radar. Oh, how she longed for a nemesis! Someone to pit her powers against. A ruler to measure her true worth as a hero, or at least someone slightly more threatening than a doped up teenager with a pipe.

''Someone on the boulevard, Miss Kochenkov!'' said a younger henchman, making the femme fatale wince at the sudden noise. ''A guy, he's dressed fuckin' weird.'' Roxanne rolled her eyes, beginning a near-silent jog to the location. She really hated this new shipment of hired American muscle. They had no idea what they were doing compared to the highly trained Russian hitmen she had brought with her from home. ''Visual?'' she said simply, turning the corner that would eventually lead her to the soon-to-be-infamous street.

The receiver barked with swear words, loud bangs, and a faint gurgling. Her brown knit in frustration. ''Don't curse, I want a visual.'' she said curtly. A voice, clearly that of a man, could be heard in the background, though no words could be picked out. The speech was reciprocated with more gurgles and sputtering. Fearing the worst, Roxanne quickened her pace. ''All men, fan out and continue the city sweep and turn off your communicators. I'll handle this.'' More agreements were met with a fizzing pop as man after man left the frequency, leaving only the sputtering sound. Whatever was silencing this individual wasn't doing it nicely. ''Hello?'' she said reflexively, but no response comforted the nervous tendril that crept up her spine and burrowed into her thoughts. In her head she pictured any number of things happening to the mortal man, each one more and more violent than the last. The young woman had no particular attachment to this individual, but in the end, his life was her responsibility, one which she took very seriously.

''привет...? Hello?!'' Her feet began to pound against the cement in muffled fear. Even though she desperately wanted to harm her American cronies, the thought of one being murdered was distressing, to say the least. As she made her way closer and closer, a disturbing image swam into view: A large figure in black was choking the young man, his headset laying forgotten on the concrete by their feet as the life slipped out of his eyes. Roxanne gasped, her hands covering her mouth in a mixture of shock and fear.

Once the American was dead, the assailant dropped the body, taking a step back as it succumbed to gravity and crumbled into a pile of useless flesh and clothing. The scene effervesced into her like salt in water, polluting her judgment and confidence. The act was not what frightened her, but rather the look, the feel of it. With a tender step backwards, she advanced toward the safety and anonymity that turning the corner would provide. It wasn't until she tripped and fell backwards that she yelped in fear and pain, striking the concrete and tearing her black stockings.

As the attacker turned to face her, she desperately wished she hadn't told her hitmen to leave the frequency.

It had been a long day filled with the nonstop chatter of Edgar, the crow that insisted on following him everywhere he went, even to the bathroom, and no matter how many time Mister Reaper tried to get rid of him the bird simply came back. It seemed like nothing would get rid of the infernal rat with wings. It was a cool night and almost like always streetlights blinked out as he walked beneath them, something he never understood, although Edgar did insist that it meant a demon was in the area. Could it mean that he was truly evil? All this thought was doing nothing more than making him angry and that was never, not even slightly, a good thing.

“So,” the bird said as he adjusted the fez on his head for the millionth time that day, “you gonna kill someone or not? You’ve sorta been slacking off lately and I can’t let you get by with that. You wanna be the big bad in this place you gotta kill daily.” The bird continued to yammer on but Mister Reaper simply tuned him out though he had to agree. He was in more than the right mood to spill some blood. The next person he came across was not going to be a lucky one.

Then he heard it the sound of someone trying, and failing, to whisper into a device of some kind. A shadow lurked and he quickly leapt upon it, pushing his gun out of the way, hearing the gunshots fill the air. His adrenaline was pumping and he could not get enough. He wanted to hear this man scream and the man would surely scream quite loudly with what the villain had in store for him. Lifting the once armed man up by the neck and positioning him against the wall. “You are not a lucky boy today, are you?” he said in a quiet tone that only the man before him could hear. With speed that would make a lesser man shudder he brought his fist into contact with the man’s chest, breaking at least three ribs from the feel of it. Then he grabbed him by the wrist and with a quick motion, one that he had discovered through years of doing things like this, and broke the arm backwards at the wrist. The man was yelling for all he was worth and Mister Reaper basked in it, feeling as though he could glow with joy. He continued with the man for a time more before he began to move on to more deadly things but he was getting bored now so the villain ended it right there, crushing his wind pipe and dropping him to the ground. He still moved for a time but he would be dead soon and that was all that mattered.

Finally he noticed the person behind him and turned to great her, being in a much better mood now. “Hello, how are you?” his mask was still soaked in the blood of the man on the ground as were his bare hands that he did not even try to cover with gloves. “Nice night isn’t it?” though he might not have appeared it the man knew there was a chance this girl would attack him with something, most likely a gun of some sort, and he was ready for anything she could threw at him to the best of his knowledge. Though simply getting into a fight was not really as much fun as it had been at once so he would gave the girl, the one that was very attractive, a chance to either talk or run. Her choice.