The wind howled; the rain cascaded and pounded against the ground. Every now and then lightning flashed in the black velvet sky, illuminating a sinister figure, which could be seen, dressed in black and almost camouflaged in the night. The swamp-like earth oozed beneath his feet; like a snake emerging from the mud. A stench of evil seemed to hang in the air around this mysterious man, with his piercing, cold eyes and his bloodless, expressionless face. Occasionally his senses were alerted by a passing car, precariously picking its way through the many deep potholes along the abandoned road on the outskirts of the deserted, crumbling city. Despite so much happening around him, however, he seemed oblivious to it all, such was his fierce determination. He even seemed unfazed when another bolt of lightning flashed dramatically across the night sky and then reached its peak in sound around his pointy ears. As he slowly pulled out a sniper rifle and aimed it at the abandoned house, it became terrifyingly clear what his chilling intentions were. The house he had in his sights was so squalid and miserable that it was difficult to imagine it had ever been inhabited. A macabre sight of plain blocks of dull gray stone from which the remaining paint was peeling met his glassy gazes; the rough walls that supported the roof, with its broken and shattered stone tiles that did not escape his photographic memory, the tall grass and weeds hung across the entrance, almost hiding the worm-eaten front door; his vision was impeccable. Moss covered the slimy steps: he noted it in case he needed to get closer... in the middle of the paper... they were caked in, in the mud. He took some money out of his leather jacket pocket and handed it to the killer, who pocketed it as quickly as he could, as his hands were frozen from being out in the beating wind and howling rain for two whole hours. Now he disassembled the sniper rifle with the skill of a master craftsman and placed it safely in a black leather case. Then he took the shell, wrapped it in paper and threw it into the bin, which contained all sorts of dead animals, such as cats that had eaten the discarded scraps. He put out the twentieth cigarette he had smoked that night and threw that into the trashcan too. Now he slipped out of the alley and headed towards his black convertible car. He threw the leather suitcase into the back seat, started the engine, and then roared off into the night in a puff of smoke...