You scan your surroundings, waiting for the chance to make that unsuspecting strike — fangs of the fox bursting out from the darkness, the red blossom of death blooming within its jaws. You gaze at me from your shadow refuge with a critical eye, wondering if I am stronger, if I am smarter, if the pain you try to inflict upon me will be inverted. Ever gauging if the odds are in your favor. Because death is your promise and you must keep it. That is the way of an assassin.