The man looked around anxiously, wincing at the rain that fell on his head. He pulled his collar up, his breath showing up in the chilly night sky. "I wonder if they're even coming" he thought. A young person stepped out of the shadows,  unrecognizable. He shivered suddenly. Under the mask, they smiled. They held out a hand silently and he shook his head.

"No, you don't do the job, you don't get the dough."

They smirked at the weakness in his voice, and the New York accent. Strange, for a jailer. The masked person sighed and nodded and the guard visibly relaxed.

He turned his head and waved three other guards approached. Two of them were guards, wearing the familiar Gotham Prison uniform, the third wore the stereotypical orange jumper and had his hands tied behind his back and blindfolded.

They shoved the third man to his knees and went back to wherever they came from. The figure slowly bent down and ripped off the blindfold, the prisoner looked up in confusion and a little bit of nervousness. He took the outstretched hand and stood up warily. He towered over them but looked down in hope, maybe this person would save him. They leaned close, pressing against his body. He watched the masked lips move.
"Tell me, what have you done? Why are you here?" He stammered to answer, trusting them.

"I-I stole. From an old lady. "

"What else have you done?" he licked his lips hungrily, a pink sheen creeping onto his skin from the proximity.

" The boy, her grandson"

"What did you do?" the voice was low and throaty, his eyes flickered off to the side.

" I touched him. " Their lip curled in disgust, hidden beneath the soft material that covered their identity. The blade slid out from their sleeve, the man didn't seem to notice. The guards watched in horror but also in awe. The prisoner, the one the mysterious assassin held close to had been unruly, back talking the guards, they'd tried to beat sense into him but he persisted. The figure backed away a tiny bit and he let out a soft pleading noise.

"Pathetic" the assassin thought.

The guard turned his head as the prisoner slumped to the ground, his throat slit, and bleeding heavily. There was a beep from the murderer's phone. 20,000 American dollars uploaded to the account instantly with a pleasant ding. The murderer smiled, money could buy happiness after all. The blood splattered blade made its way back into its hold and the guard shook his head, looking down at the body. "Man, you are one cold-hearted son of a gun."

The assassin enjoyed seeing his fear when he heard their laughter. It was even better seeing the fear in his eyes when another blade struck his chest, skewering his heart.