Jessie observed his target not quite from distance, but he observed him from across the street, anyway. He counted the paces. He counted what many, or few feet separated them-- he flipped a little (and useless) coin in his palm as he toyed with the idea of distance-- and he gazed on and on in his smiling, and casual way--

Indeed but a stranger.

A harmless, within the walls of the Citadel stranger found right within the part of the city modeled after the times from long ago. He didn’t remember them. He’d not been born in them.

And yet the street that stretched on on his right and left remarkably occurred to him as something fake-- as a replacement for times never to be lived again, allowed to entrench its visitors in the beguiling, in the sick impression of no real badness awaiting beyond the tall, and ivory walls of this place; that death existed at all may have been an impression-- may have been a story one told their misbehaving toddler, anything to get the children to sleep, any kind of a lie to get the eyes shutting.

But these weren’t lies.

And as Jessie observed the oblivious target on, and on, as the day raged hot, and as visions of ivory walls existed permanent, haunting and evil in his eyes, he was contemplating the many lies the city told; the many deaths that the slums offered; the very gruesome, and ugly reality of the world he had seen--

And he should not have seen--

Oh, may he be one of the people here; the rich, the stupid, the ignorant--

Perhaps that was why he had accepted this mission. Barring the fact he’d had no real say, he thought the rich stupid, of course; he thought them arrogant and he found them silly, and helpless but children--

Surely, he looked at his target with very much the same; the spirit of his judgmental thoughts did not leave him as the target moved down the street, and Jessie’s eyes-- blue, as blue, or even bluer than the skies-- watched him go, and Jessie, into at all that, mysteriously smiled.

When he finally tossed the coin into the air-- when he caught it and held it in his palm, and when he started off the spot, perhaps he had finished what mulling he had needed--- perhaps, he had made up his mind, or maybe he had been possessed by a playful, laughing sprite that charmed a truly smile evil across his mouth.

It wouldn’t be a smile really evil, neither evil in the sense of being mean, or hideous--

It was a smile mischievous, promising secrets and adventures--

A smile warm, and a smile made, and intended to be warm.

That made it evil. That the shape of his purpose wasn’t heart-felt, at all.

And yet Jessie crossed the street-- he didn’t attract the attention of the patrolling military, and he wouldn’t. He dodged any vehicles-- which acted as if the world revolved ‘bout, usually.

He fell in line with his target, following a face paces behind until the subject committed, on this kind, gorgeous day, yet another crime:

Peered into another window display--

And Jessie, then, acted at once.

He approached.

He snuck up onto the stranger from behind, and indeed he bumped into him, and pushed chest into a back as if to pin this stranger against the window display--

Then--

“Oh my god!”

Laughing, Jessie backed away.

He looked shocked-- his cheeks were red, and his laughter, while jolly, was also nervous.

But mostly jolly.

“Shit,” he cussed, hand brought up to his mouth, “I thought, I thought-- oh my god I’m so sorry, I confused you with someone and--”

He was laughing. Giddy.

Embarrassed.

His cheeks indeed burning--

And his eyes-- vivaciously-- brimming.