The old man sat behind his desk, cluttered with intricate garniture, a seemingly pleased look on his face, but still scowling. Always scowling, begrudging the world for that terrible day in his youth. It surely must bother him that, whatever chunk he took from his surfeit of money, he would never gain his sight back. He ran his hand down his silk tie as he greeted me, “Gifted one, I hear you have finished your preparations early. Pleasing.” His smooth voice roughened, nearly stumbled upon the word preparations. He was clearly uncomfortable, for whatever reason, this must be his doing, I was sure of it. But then, he was the only human interaction I’d ever had so how would I know? “I worked hard, sir. To please you, sir.” I recited my devoir. “May I ask who is my first target, sir?” He leaned back in his chair and chuckled as he interlocked his fingers. “Excited, are we?” There was a long pause. “It’s all in there.” A manila folder was placed in my hand by a man who’s ebony skin made me look as pale as the papers inside. I wondered if the bigot old man would have the worker put on a list if he knew.