OOC: This post was drummed up and completed per head GM request.
Snow fell lightly in waves onto the already porcelain grounds of Ko-Koro; one such ice crystal, large and lovely, intricately shaped, landed on his tongue; it melted and died without a show or struggle.
His feet did not touch the encrusted ground for much longer. The De-Matoran - who was so ordinary of title he was practically nameless, so common of features he was practically faceless, and of no consequence to our story beyond this particular chapter - had always been a climber. In Le-Wahi, where he was born and bred to adulthood, he had practiced climbing foliage, placing his feet on looped vines; oftentimes he would utilize particularly sturdy knots, or on branches, or even squirrel holes when the bark of the massive trees would fail him. When he was an adolescent, one time he'd used one such squirrel hole and the actual squirrel had taken a massive chunk out of his foot. That was the closest he had ever come to falling; the faceless man never fell.
It must be said of this man that he was no particular intellectual as well, and he possessed no more conscience than your typical Rahi. He had been grown up on his own, an urchin, lord paramount of the intricate spider's web that were the Le-Koro alleyways, and king of nothing but a host of broken bottles and old planks; conscience had always been a failing of lesser kings. He'd been given a fifty-widget piece as a down payment for the atrocity about to unfold in the City of Ice. It was more payment than he'd asked for or wanted; his only request was that he be remembered, for better or worse. The faceless man just wanted someone besides the spiders to know his name.
He never, ever fell; ice was jagged and he was light on his feet, so he put what natural footing he could find to good use, clambering and sneaking his way up the Frostbite Inn with the intimate familiarity only an acolyte of the spiders could truly possess. His opportune moment came in eight minutes, when the Sanctum Guard would change shifts from its day squad to the sentinels who watched over the Target in his hour of rest. From his angle on the Inn's roof he could squint and angle his head right to see the balcony. Shadows, dreams of shapes, glinted in the twilight and made prisms off the ice. It was worth the caution to duck backwards a little. It actually would do the faceless man good, come to think of it; in one of his rare moments of dull brilliance he decided to break off little chunks off the roof and affix them to his hands. The chill was an awful thing, wet and hard and apt to cause shivers, but he only needed them long enough to leap onto another roof. This time, the surface was wooden and well-made, designed to try and keep out chill. No doubt this was a foreigner's home, perhaps a restaurant or a hospital erected by an out-of-towner. That was good; he had more natural cover for his black-and-soot armor as he crouched and observed the events unfolding in the private quarters. His opportune moment came in three and a half minutes.
Below, the Guards were checking the sun, hoping for some inside joke, a private whisper for the shift change. It was almost time.
"Akiri, it's getting dark," warned a small voice, hardly perceptible without his natural Sonic hearing; he had been warned this was 'Jaa,' a simple scribe, a man of words. If possible, no harm comes to Jaa, thought the simple little faceless man. "Is your workload so heavy that rest eludes you, even for a night?"
"Jaa, I've told you. Here, I'm just Matoro," returned a mildly amused voice. It was a weary voice, slightly sagging but proud; Target. "Rest comes some other night, I'm afraid. Tonight, my workload is that heavy."
He and the Target had a minute's head start remaining against the history books. They had fifty seconds. They had forty. They had thirty. They had twenty. Make it look clean. Make it look real. The guards left; when they rounded the corner, out of sight, he knew he had seventy-nine seconds more to act before the new guards came and his chance was blown. This is it. Make it look real.
Even had he not been wearing his glacial climbing spikes, such was his adrenaline that he could well have scaled the walls anyway. Taking a vantage point from the side, ducking low to avoid being caught from the balcony by the corner of a prying eye, he sneaked up to the roof and then swooped in with his legs, like he was on a swing set back home. Back home, there had been no swing sets, not for boys like him, just vines and roots and possibly snakes if he was unlucky. He closed his eyes and vaulted in feet first onto the side of the balcony. He'd made it with fifty four seconds to spare. The spiders would have had closer to fifty-seven. He had to be quicker.
The Target's back was to him, but Jaa saw him; thinking surprisingly quickly and implementing surprising strength for a man of his ability, the faceless killer wrenched the scribe's tablet from him and cracked the Target in the side of the head as he turned around. He fell with a low groan, and Jaa began screaming for the guards, that there was an intruder, that he was going to escape, that something called the Akiri had been attacked. He didn't know anything about an Akiri, just a Target; thinking on his feet for once he wrenched the chisel from the hysterical Jaa and stabbed it through the Target's throat. It gave him no great satisfaction to watch his face go from hurt and surprised to shocked and scared, and he felt bad, like he should reach out and cradle the Target like a wounded Rahi for a minute. The head spider wouldn't have appreciated that, though, so what he did instead was watch the blood on the chisel and the blood on the tablet and the blood from the Target spurt out and land everywhere on the floor and the desk. With a final lurch, he yanked the tool out and the man lay still; spattered in blood and weird wetness from his eyes the faceless man spun around and tossed the tool at Jaa. It hit his palm and left a sickly red spot before landing at his feet.
He had eighteen seconds to run, and he ran. He leaped from the balcony the same way he leaped onto it, and caught hold of a roof edge that he hoisted himself up onto. Everyone else was running, running into doors, running into windows. The one named Jaa was still screaming, hysterically sobbing "It wasn't me, intruder, an intruder came in, Matoro was my friend!"
He didn't know what a Matoro was, but he knew his job was finished. The faceless killer leaped from the roof as far as he could into the snow. He stuck to the shadows, trudging behind and beside buildings for three blocks, ducking out of sight when he had to, avoiding the Matoran running around with snowflake badges like the head spider told him to. He finally made his way into a decrepit old Inn, the Dirty Icicle, and sat down by the fire and warmed himself with a drink and a hot meal, like the head spider told him to. He sat down and slept for a couple hours like the head spider told him to before walking out to his window and observing Ko-Koro.
I did well, he thought, as he put the fifty-widget piece into his mouth just like the head spider told him to. The cold wind picked up and brushed his bare arms and face, and suddenly he shivered, feeling a bit light headed. He brushed it off for a couple seconds before it took hold of him even further, gnawed at his bones, ate away at his reserve of strength. Suddenly the stars looked a little more blurry...
It occurred to him then that he'd forgotten to tell people his name when he'd walked into Ko-Koro; only the spiders had known his name. He made a low little groan and the coin rolled out of his mouth, into a crack between two floorboards, stuck there; his eyes rolled up lightly as he put his hands out onto the windowsill.
He fell gracefully.