Luna sat in her five-story mansion, going over a list of criminals she'd already 'taken care of'. As she crossed off one after another, the memories of their end came to her head. For some reason, Luna had never had a problem with death, in fact, she felt close to in a strange way, a way she knew no one would ever understand because she didn't even understand it herself. She never knew the real reason she'd become an assassin, maybe that was it.

It wasn't like anyone was going to ask, "Hey, by the way, why did you become an assassin again?" seeing as the only people she usually talked to were . . . unfeeling. 

She didn't like doing a job for any kind of mob boss or criminal, or anyone like that. She tried her very best to stay away from those kinds of people, although it was hard. Mostly, policemen secretly hired her to be a bounty hunter for them or even younger assassins who needed her help.

The rain outside came down in sheets, soaking anyone under it right to the bone. Luna sighed, drawing her red pen across the paper over yet another name. Suddenly, the doorbell rang, scaring her out of her comfortable seat. She jumped up, racing down the hallway to the foyer and then to the front door.

That's funny. Normally they come through the back door. 

She pulled it open, knife strapped to her leg, and squinted into the pouring rain. It took a second before she saw the boy standing right in front of her. Rain droplets cautiously fell onto her fluffy socks, making them hardly damp, as the boy stood shivering in the rain, soaked right to the skin.

He could hardly keep his eyes open, raindrops falling onto his eyelashes, and his jaw quivered. Luna looked him over. If he was dangerous, it wouldn't matter much to me. Besides, she studied his clothes, jeans, and a t-shirt that read Papa Joe's winery and Beer, I have a feeling he means no harm.

His clothes weren't the thing that made Luna invite him in though, it was his face. The visible pain held back through twinkling forest green eyes and thick brown eyebrows. His brown hair looked more black thanks to the heavy rain, pressed against his scalp and face.

Luna led him to one of her living rooms, where a warm fire crackled inside a hearth. He sat right in front of it, still shivering as he rubbed his hands together.

"Why aren't you dressed for this weather?"

To her surprise, he smiled. "I couldn't let them know I was going out."

Luna was used to people asking for questions without actually asking. She said nothing about who them was. Water dripped off the ends of his hair, landing on his already wet lap.

"One moment. Wait here please," she left the room, making her way to her storage area. When she went back to the family room a few minutes later, holding a new set of clothes, the stranger was still there, as if he hadn't ever moved. But she knew people to well to think he hadn't snooped.

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"The picture is of me and my mom in eighth grade. The paperweight is from Alaska and-"

"What are you talking about?"

"I know you snooped."

"No, you think I snooped. I didn't."

She didn't know how she felt about this guy. Secretly, she had felt a little sorry for him, but now she wasn't so sure. She held out the clothes. "Here. Put these on. I'll be right back."

After making sure the doors were closed, and locked, she left the room to get something from her office.

When she returned again, he'd set his wet clothes on the carpet in front of the fireplace and now wore a fresh pair of jeans and a t-shirt. In Luna's hand was a file for a Mr. Brown. He was a very wanted criminal, and she'd been the first to find a lead. 

She sat beside him and handed him the file.

"I'm guessing you're here for this guy?"

After glancing at the pictures inside, the boy's eyebrows knit together and his mouth hung open a little as if he was about to speak.

"No . . . I'm not," he handed the file back to Luna, who couldn't be more confused. "I'm here for a family matter - a personal task. My friend mentioned you, so I looked you up and here you are."

She waited for him to get to the point. He cleared his throat, a smile hiding in his features.

"My uncle and step-dad both drink all the time, like, nonstop. And normally I'm . . . anyway, tonight they're both going to be at my house and my mom's going to be working late so I need you to," he drew a line across his neck.

What was with this guy!? Was he a joke? Did he think she was a joke? But as Luna stared at him, trying to figure him out, her heart sunk a little. He was telling the truth. Of course, he was telling the truth. Not a mob boss, not a policeman, this was a scared little boy who needed help. Sure, by the looks of it, they were the same age, but Luna didn't care. Maybe she cared a little.

"How old are you?" The boy pushed his head back in surprise. "Uh, e-eighteen. Why does that matter?"

She smiled, "Don't worry about it."

Not only were they about the same age, he was one year older than her.

"It's funny, I thought you'd be like, this older lady with a stern look and tightly pulled back hair or something, but you're like, what, seventeen? And you own a mansion!?"

Luna smiled. 

"Anyway, is there an age limit to who you help or something?"

"No- no of course not," she took a deep breath. "I'll help you. When am I coming and where do you live?"

That night, Luna readied herself, putting on her stealth suit and loading herself up with weapons. For some reason, way beyond her, she couldn't stop smiling. Not because of the boy's request - she figured out his name was Robin - but because he was so . . . innocent. Here she was, an infamous assassin who'd lived most of her life used to people fearing her talents and intimidated by her wealth, and then came along a scared kid who'd asked her to kill drunk guys. 

She had her own assortment of motorcycles and chose her quietest one for the job. Strangely enough, Robin didn't live too far away from her mansion, in a small neighborhood with tiny little houses. His was the smallest looking one, with a hole in the roof visible from the outside and an overgrown lawn. 

She didn't know what to think, considering the fact she lived in, well, a mansion.

After parking a little way from the house as not to be seen, she snuck up to the back of the place, adjusting her weaponized watch.

This should be easy. Oh, she had no idea.