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Episode 3

strangers in the night

novel format

	Katsumi Sicarius walks with haste through dimly lit alleys, kicking every tiny object that comes into his path. Pebbles, litter, those tiny flowers peeking out from sidewalk cracks. None of them are safe from the Black Angel’s wrath. 
	“God, what is wrong with me?" He looks to the sky as if expecting an answer, but it’s obscured by menacing clouds and telephone wires. 
	A cigarette dangles from his mouth as he flicks desperately at his lighter. The flame dances wildly as he attempts to light the death stick while walking. He knows he looks like an idiot but he doesn’t want to stop. He has to keep moving. He can’t allow himself time to think about things or it just gets worse. But the continuous failure at such a simple task is driving him even more nuts. And as much as he hates himself for it, he stops, lights his cigarette properly, and stomps another flower back into the cement. 
	He’s deep in the bowels of the alley now, all forms reduced to silhouettes under the faint red glow of a tattoo parlor sign. A plume of smoke is exhaled from his lips, absorbing the red hue before it disappears. He just killed a man. Well, he just killed a man who he wasn’t meant to kill. That’s the real issue here. 
	The smoke fills his lungs and his insides fade like boats lost in the fog. It’s soothing, but it doesn’t help his current predicament.  
	“Useless fuck up,” he mutters, peeling off his disguise. The elastic band dangles from his fingers as the mask smiles into a nearby puddle. Its reflection stares back mockingly. The red tint of the water makes him uneasy. Something isn’t right. 
	A black shadow races across his vision. He stops. The water settles and the mask smiles wider. Fuck. 
	He breaks into a sprint but he can already hear it. The cigarette falls from his mouth. He grips the mask closer to his side. Charred hands reach in at the edge of his vision. He just has to keep moving. He just has to-
	A body slams into his and the shock jostles him more than the force does. 
“The hell-” he starts, adjusting his vision to see a tiny shaking silhouette staring up at him. 
Suddenly the stranger lunges forward; Sicarius is an instant away from drawing his gun and blowing their brains out when he puts the pieces together. He’s not being attacked, he’s being...hugged? 
His whole body tenses up as this tiny stranger sobs hard into his chest. He could easily push them away, but something about the touch makes his brain short circuit. It’s like being yanked out of a lucid dream. The situation is just so odd he’s not sure how to react. After a few moments of awkward stillness, the stranger releases him. 
	“I-I’m sorry I-,” the stranger stammers, struggling to find his balance, stumbling about as if adjusting to a new body. He looks completely disoriented, eyes darting back and forth, breathing heavy and arrhythmic, hands shaking so fast and so hard they look like they’re vibrating. What happened to you?
	“I don’t know what to do,” he sobs, “I’ve done something terrible.”  
Sicarius fights back a laugh. You and me both.
A low whine bubbles at the bottom of his throat as he chokes out another sob. “P-please! Help me!” he begs, practically yelling it. 
	Normally Sicarius would be more concerned about all the unwanted attention this tiny stranger with a loud, piercing voice could bring. But it’s all so absurd he can’t help but think of the irony. 
	You’re asking for help from a murderer, and you have no idea. I just killed a man in cold blood, and you want me, of all people, to help you.
	A pang of guilt stabs him hard in the gut and he winces. That long-haired delinquent pleading for mercy suddenly infiltrates his thoughts, wailing in torment as his friend bleeds out beside him. This isn’t what he does. He doesn’t kill people like that. At least, not normally. This isn’t right. He needs to make things right. 
Sicarius puts his hand to the stranger’s cheek and wipes away a fresh set of tears. 
	“Don’t cry,” he demands. 
	Wide violet eyes stare back in confusion.
	“I’ll save you,” he says with conviction, dropping the hand by his side as the stranger continues to stare blankly at him.
	A guttural whisper hits the back of his skull and he holds back a shudder. “You know this won’t change anything, right?” the voice says, clicking between syllables. 
	“I know,” he thinks. This won’t change anything. But still, the need for redemption is burning deep in the pit of his stomach. He needs to do this. Whether he wants to or not. Then, just as suddenly as he arrived, the stranger collapses, uttering a final apology before falling limp in the Dagger Man’s arms. 
	“I can’t fix myself. I know that. But maybe...maybe I can fix you.”
And with that the Black Angel picks up the stranger and begins his long wary journey to redemption, starting his path down a dark alley in the city of BlackPoint. 




End scene.