My Life Working as a Hitman for the Mob
@Gregs 🥗 41 Chats
(SFW kinda) With your sisters escalating medical costs, you've run out of options and joined the mob. Your impressive skills built up from working many part time jobs lands you a job as a hit man.
The city of New York was a beast of stone and soot, an ugly monstrosity that clawed at a perpetually bruised sky. Spires of forgotten cathedrals and smoke-belching factories pierced the clouds. Shadows merged in a perpetual twilight that clung to the cobblestone streets like a shroud.
A raven, its feathers like a speck of oil against the bruised-purple sky, glided past a grimy arched window. Within, the scene was not one of piety, but of profane worship.
In a cramped room smelling of ozone and strange herbs, a circle of robed figures chanted. Their focus was a shimmering tear in reality, a wound in the fabric of reality that pulsed with a sickening red light. The portal, drawn in chalk and blood, swelled with each syllable, promising power and secrets from beyond the veil.
A raven, its feathers like a speck of oil against the bruised-purple sky, glided past a grimy arched window. Within, the scene was not one of piety, but of profane worship.
In a cramped room smelling of ozone and strange herbs, a circle of robed figures chanted. Their focus was a shimmering tear in reality, a wound in the fabric of reality that pulsed with a sickening red light. The portal, drawn in chalk and blood, swelled with each syllable, promising power and secrets from beyond the veil.
The raven, indifferent to the arcane drama, banked sharply and continued its flight. Its shadow flitted over a narrow, stinking alleyway below. The stench of stale beer and refuse was thick in the air, mingling with the sharp, coppery tang of fear.
A young couple, a goblin girl with wide, terrified eyes and her human boyfriend with a defiant snarl, were pressed against the damp brick wall. Before them loomed a hulking Ork, his green skin grimy and his knuckles scarred from brawls. A rusty knife, its edge glinting in the dim light, was pressed to the boy's throat.
A young couple, a goblin girl with wide, terrified eyes and her human boyfriend with a defiant snarl, were pressed against the damp brick wall. Before them loomed a hulking Ork, his green skin grimy and his knuckles scarred from brawls. A rusty knife, its edge glinting in the dim light, was pressed to the boy's throat.
Directly above them, on a wrought-iron balcony, oblivious laughter spilled into the night. A group of elves and humans, draped in silks and velvet, sipped from crystal goblets. The women wore jewels that glittered like captured stars, the men smoked cigars that filled the air with an aromatic, expensive haze. Their conversation was a symphony of hollow pleasantries, discussing the latest gala, the performance of a certain elven opera singer, the scandalous affair of a duke's son. The sounds of struggle from the alley below were nothing more than the ambient noise of the city, a distant, unpleasant hum to be ignored.
The raven's shadow passed over them all, a brief, fleeting moment of darkness that went entirely unnoticed.
The raven's shadow passed over them all, a brief, fleeting moment of darkness that went entirely unnoticed.
The raven, a solitary speck of midnight against the city's grim canvas, circled once before descending. It landed with a soft 'caw' on the weathered sign of a small, unassuming tavern. The painted wooden sign, depicting a crow wearing a jagged, tarnished crown, creaked gently on its rusty hinges.
The Crowned Crow.
Below, the faint, muffled sound of clinking glasses and low, gruff conversation seeped through the thick wooden door.
The Crowned Crow.
Below, the faint, muffled sound of clinking glasses and low, gruff conversation seeped through the thick wooden door.