Aaron
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He stalked the streets, his black coat rippling in wind. Everyone who saw him retreated within their homes, fear shining in their eyes.

Or rather the dirty, broken-down shacks they passed off as homes. A thick layer of dust coated everything, turned to mud by the rain that came down in sheets.

Aaron's eyes searched the buildings, his black armor reflecting the glow of the dim yellow streetlights. He was looking for citizen 10,032, who like so many others was marked for death.

Down here you got a tattoo when you were born, a number displayed on your arm. Every four to eight years a Census was held. They scanned your tattoo, logging you.

If your number was above 10,000, the allowed population of this sorry place, you were Condemned and he and his team were sent after you and any other Condemned who refused to be peacefully terminated.

You knew you were destined to die the day you were born.

A life for a life. He thought, entering a dark hallway.

Aaron drew his pistol, not sure what to expect. Sometimes they struggled, sometimes they begged, sometimes they did nothing.

He bore more scars than anyone truly knew, but he couldn't die. Not yet. Every life he took gave him more years to live, making him immortal.

He bore no tattoo, no mark of death. He was the shadow in the night, the man everyone feared. He was the Angel of Death, promising that blood would be spilled with every step he took.

Outside his men searched every home, checking tattoos, killing the Condemned they found hiding. He stood on the lattice-patterned metal, listening, watching.

He turned his head, hearing a faint sound, but when he didn't hear it again he moved on.

He was searching for a very specific person, and would kill anyone who got in his way. Another person would fill the gap anyway. These people weren't immortal.

Aaron locked eyes with a frightened woman, his eyes sliding to the tattoo she had. It marked her as citizen 9,990.

She was safe, for now. Things may change.

He walked past her and he saw the relief in her eyes. Even those with tattoos showing they were safe didn't know if they were truly out of danger.

If you were caught helping the Rebels you would be terminated and another would take your place.

The Captain tapped his wristband, looking at the hologram of the person he was looking for. A man in his forties or there about, a scar crisscrossing his face. The Condemned's residence showed up next, showing him where he needed to go.

Aaron reached the Condemn's home, not bothering to knock. Aaron locked eyes with the man, his eyes sliding to the tattoo. The man cowered in the corner of his home, eyes wide, tears slipping down his face.

The tattoo matched and he knew he had the right person. The man blubbered something as Aaron unholstered his pistol, a plea to spare his life. He paid no attention, he had heard the same plea hundreds of times before.

"You have been Condemned and marked for death," he stated, reciting the lines he had said day after day after day.

"I didn't do anything wrong!" Cried the man, terror burning bright in his eyes.

"I'm just trying to live!"

Aaron smirked, his eyes cold.

A delusion of life.

He raised the pistol, aiming it at the man's head.

"You refused to be terminated peacefully and have been hunted down. Your time is up, there is no extension of life."

"No wait! I have a family-"

His sentence was cut off as the shot rang through the night, rain bouncing off the metal above his head. The man's body slid to the floor, his face still frozen in a desperate plea.

Aaron tapped his wristband again and input the information on his target, marking him as deceased.

That would get him paid in both money and years to live, adding to his already long lifespan. Everyone else from the Upper District benefitted from the kills he and his team made.

Aaron turned away from where the man lay, walking back out into the rain.

His boots splashed in the mud, kicking aside lost treasures and trash alike. They were one and the same.

"Move out!" Aaron called, signaling to his men.

"Yes, sir." They chorused, moving like shadows in the night.

Around him the Lower District lay deathly quiet, every person hiding, hoping they weren't found. Aaron had killed the man he was tasked to terminate and had collected some others along the way.

The payout would be good and he wouldn't miss his girlfriend's performance that night. She had excepted the fact that he wasn't always home in time for those things.

After all hunting down those who needed to die wasn't an easy job. With his men behind him the Captain stalked out of the alleyway, out onto the street.

He slid into the driver's seat of his ship, a sleek black design with the word POLICE emblazoned in gold across both sides.

His four other trusted men got into the one behind him and the rest were behind them. The people of the Lower District had nicknamed him and his squad The Death Squad.

They were the most elite of the police forces, and they would live the longest. Aaron himself was nicknamed The Angel of Death.

They knew when his shadow graced their doorstep they had run out of time. There was no escaping him once he found you. You wouldn't escape the dark embrace of his wings, the quick kiss of death.

He had lost count of the lives he and taken, and he would continue to do so for a very very long time.

Aaron lifted off, rising above the once magnificent buildings now no more than ruins. Rain lashed the windshield, the clouds roiling, lightning lancing across the sky.

He rose higher and higher and suddenly he broke through the clouds.

Moonlight painted them soft purple-white, the flash of lightning illuminating them. It was beautiful and never ceased to steal his breath.

He turned to the city floating in the sky, sleek black skyscrapers soaring into a star-speckled canvas. Lights illuminated the streets, ships flew between them, ferrying passengers from place to place.

Aaron flew between the two tallest buildings and landed near the station, going in and getting changed from his armor to regular, casual clothes.

His shift was over and he needed to get home quickly. He had a date and he had to be ready.