"This is your target. He's a big time money man, with his hands reaching for man. His name is Square Roe. He has one foot in the gutter and the other is in his own business, the slave trade. So far, he specializes in conditioning slaves, keeping a few for is own, personal use. He kidnaps wealthy children and then raises them. The Rune race has lost many women and children due to his work. Can you do it?" the man asked. He was looking strait at the fifteen year old.

"No," the boy said.

"Why not?" the man demanded.

"He technically hasn't done anything wrong. The slave trading of Runes is perfectly and undoubtedly safe and legal," the boy replied, his voice frightening even.

"This isn't about what's legal or not! This is about what is right! The laws in this place are cruel to those who aren't as 'smart' as we are, those we feel are a threat! We have to help them!" the man cried, slamming his fist onto the table. The boy only shook his head.

"Leave. Send in Jericho," the man said. The boy left, feeling as if he had won the battle between the two.

Five minutes later the door inched open. The man looked up and was not in the least surprised to see his best pupil leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest.

"Viper can't - or rather, won=t - do it, I've gathered that much. What's his problem this time?" the boy asked. He shut the door, making certain it was locked. He switched to leaning on the wall - arms still crossed over his chest.

"Politics is his cover, but we both know he's wary of shedding blood," the old man replied, rubbing his forehead, "Jericho, can you take Viper's target for me?"

"Give me the scoop and we'll see," Jericho replied. He sat down on the chair backwards, leaning on the back of it and putting his chin on his crossed arms.

"Slave trader. Big money man and well liked on the social scale. Square Roe, he's breaching fifty. Cruel and unkind, his sights are set on the wealthy Rune children, and some women of the same race. The women are for himself, the children he conditions and sells. You know as well as I do that the families heritage is passed through the women of the family in Rune tradition. He's attempting to destroy their pasts, in order to destroy their future. Will you do it? Angel?"

"Don't call me that," Jericho spat, his eyes glaring, "I will do it though, for the kids, and the Rune legacy."

"Of course," the man replied nodding, "I would never expect otherwise from you."

"Mission log, mission 997546, codename: Wingless. Control, do you read?" Jericho whispered into the microphone around his neck. It looked like a common cross, something that had come from the planet Earth, a blue watery planet that was some four hundred light years from where Jericho now stood.

"Copy, Wingless. What is your position?" his earring asked.

"Idera D, Phase 4, and Logra A67," Jericho said. He leaned against the wall, hidden within shadows. "Where's the target?"

"What target are you after? Not yours. Yours is in a whole other sector!"

"Signa Reiden. I believe that she is a target as well?" Jericho asked.

"Yes, she is. But she's Heaven's target! Why are you after her?"

"Heaven is pregnant, it's too dangerous for her now - she doesn't want to miscarriage her first. So, I took the job," Jericho explained.

"Sounds like you, Fallen Angel. Okay then, the target is at the end of the corridor that you are right next to. On the left side. In the room that says 'Exit'. It's obviously not an 'Exit'. Good luck, good hunting."

" Right."

Jericho eased down the hallway, keeping out of sight and staying quiet.

Jericho washed his hands in the bathroom. That was the only reason he hated being an assassin, the blood. He never used guns. Occasionally he would strangle his target, but he preferred the steel claws that remained his weapon at all times. Those or his knife. Both had been with him since childhood, although he couldn't remember receiving them.

He walked the halls of the place. By tomorrow, all of these rooms will be empty. The slave girls within them, free. No more whoring for them. He thought, pleased. He exited, whistling. He decided that, instead of getting a speedcar to take him home he would rather walk. So he started walking.

"Walking is a bad idea, Jericho," a voice called out to him. He looked over to see who had spoken. He was almost home, and he was surprised that someone was calling to him so late at night.

"What do you mean, Tox?" he asked, smiling at the girl.

"I mean that you shouldn't be walking at night. You look suspicious enough, with that long hair, and those earrings, and that tattoo. Dressing in black doesn't exactly help either," Toxic said. She smiled at him. "I heard you took a job for Heaven. That was . . . sweet."

Jericho rolled his eyes, "If I was a woman, and I was about to have my first child, and I was six months along, and I was at risk of miscarriage, I would certainly hope that someone would take my job. What Heaven needs now is rest and a Hospital."

"How do you know so much about women, Jericho?" Toxic giggled.

Jericho looked up. A star shot across the sky. He pointed, "Look!" and then it was gone.

"A shooting star. Did you make a wish?" Jericho asked.

Toxic took his hand and nodded, "Mm-hmm. I wished that I could stop being an assassin and learn something knew. I wished that I could be with the one that I love forever. That I could see my family again." A tear escaped her eyes and fell down her cheek.

Jericho wiped the tear away, "Oh, Tox," he said. And he pulled her into a hug.

Another star shot across the sky.

Jericho lay in his bed, in the dormitories of the School, the only home he knew, had ever known. He looked at his ceiling. Long ago, when he was just a young boy, he had bought a package of glow-in-the dark star and planet stickers. He still had one sheet left. From his ceiling a soft green glow shone, all those stars, his own personal galaxy. In his galaxy Toxic was still a happy little girl, her only want was a doll or a teddy bear. Jericho snorted and turned onto his side. Nothing could ever be that way again, and he needed his sleep. He was going to go after his target the following day. He closed his eyes and slept.