The pit-pat of rain beat against roofs and pavements in the background.
For most, the sound of rainfall was calming, even a time to retreat into their thoughts and reflect on their lives.
But sometimes, the rain fell when something terrible had happened, or was about to happen, as though the sky itself were weeping.
To the residents of the suburb, tonight's rain brought only dread and fear, as they prayed to God they wouldn't be caught in the crossfire.
Gunfire erupted in the dead of the rainy night, bullets slamming into walls.
The moment the shooting paused, a head peeked out from behind cover and fired twice, each bullet punching through a skull. The figure ducked back just in time, as bullets shredded the air where he'd been.
Behind the wall, a man with ink-black hair and midnight-dark eyes reloaded his gun, his gaze icy.
He waited, back pressed against the barrier, listening.
Immediately there was a pause, he sprinted, firing six rapid shots, that drilled through six target's brows
Bullets bit at his heels as he sprinted for new cover, one tearing through his shoulder before he made it.
His response to it was as though it didn't happen. He didn't flinch, didn't groan, didn't even hiss.
He listened again as bullets rained down against the new wall, holes and cracks slowly decorating its surface.
Taking a deep gulp of air, he uncorked two smoke grenades and tossed them into the open. Then, he moved out—this time from a direction different than the one he'd come from.
His hands moved with near-mechanical precision. Hidden figures dropped from their hideouts, blood pooling beneath their heads, each marked by a single bullet hole.
He fired through the smallest of gaps with such accuracy that he didn't bother to confirm the kills. He didn't need to.
He didn't need his eyes to see through the smoke. He was already steps ahead of his last position before they had a chance to retaliate.
With machine-like efficiency, he emptied his clips and reloaded just as fast.
When he could no longer hold his breath, he ducked away from the smoke, hiding behind cover as he took deep gulps of air.
Despite his calm exterior, his chest burned with overexertion, each breath stabbing through his lungs.
Suddenly, he made out the sounds of footsteps approaching, and his eyes flashed. Drawing a flick knife from his belt, he waited.
As the first person rounded the corner, he struck, punching them in the nose, throwing off their balance, then slitting their throat in a fluid motion.
He caught the body before it could hit the ground, soaking himself in blood as the figure gurgled, trying and failing to stay alive.
A rain of gunfire tore into the corpse as he used it for cover, firing back while pushing through the chaos.
He tossed the body aside and rolled forward, grabbing another fallen weapon. He fought on, clearing them out one by one.
Finally, he stood still, panting and chest heaving. His wet hair clung to his face, obscuring his eyes, which darted left and right in caution.
He pointed his gun in every direction, reacting to even the smallest noise. But the pouring rain masked all but the loudest of sounds.
It was easier to pick out gunshots than footsteps; those could vanish beneath the storm's roar.
Against enemies of this caliber, even a graveyard wouldn't make them easier to detect. They moved like shadows. Not to him though.
However, his heart pounded harder with every breath as a creeping sense of dread crawled up his spine.
He spun around, gun raised, ready to fire at a moment's notice. His senses strained against the downpour, searching for the slightest clue.
A bullet ripped through his chest, and he fell back, crashing into the rain-soaked ground, his mind going blank.
The sound of staggered footsteps followed moments later; one leg dragging through the puddles like water rushing through a narrow drain.
He coughed blood onto the ground, his body failing fast. The shot had one lung destroyed; the other wasn't far behind.
Still gripping his gun, he forced himself to move.
Two shots rang out. Somewhere nearby, families huddled inside their homes, praying, crying, clutching each other in fear.
Some wept silently, careful not to draw attention, having lost a loved one or more in crossfire.
Silence fell between the two figures.
Then the man on the ground coughed violently, blood flooding his throat and choking him. He rolled to his side, spitting it out, pain wracking his body. His left shoulder had been pulverized by the second shot.
The footsteps stopped just above his head.
He gasped for ragged, futile breath. Only one lung remained, and it was giving up.
Calming himself, he looked up.
Black hair. Blue eyes.
Seeing him, the man on the ground sighed and chuckled faintly. "So... you didn't die?"
The standing man smirked with self-mockery, followed by a quiet laugh. "How could I? You're still alive. You've beaten me in everything else... might as well beat me to dying first too. Don't you think?"
The man on the ground smiled weakly, then coughed. "Yeah... I couldn't imagine anyone else killing me."
The blue-eyed man looked to the sky and let out a soul-shaking sigh.
The full moon still hung valiantly above, undisturbed by storm or darkness.
He looked down at the man on the ground; his greatest rival, his worst enemy... his brother. Maybe even... his only friend?
He shook his head and began to speak.
The dying man listened with the last of his strength, eyes never leaving the one standing over him.
When the blue-eyed man finally fell silent, they sighed together. Their connection was unspoken, raw, and undeniable, it lingered in the rain.
Fated to live as enemies. Fated to die as friends.
A tear slid down the blue-eyed man's cheek, hidden by the rain. He was glad it was raining... at least the bastard wouldn't see his tears, and have the last laugh.
Even if he'd long accepted that this man was more than a brother to him, there was no way he'd ever say it aloud.
_'Someone like him deserved to rot in hell,'_ he thought bitterly. _'But damn it... this someone, is the only one I could ever call... friend.'_
With a sigh he cocked his gun and aimed. The amount of time each of them had sighed this night, was even more than they had spoken to each other in a long while.
Lightning streaked across the sky, as if the heavens themselves were passing judgment.
The dying man looked at him, then closed his eyes in peace.
"So this is how it ends, huh? I really thought I could win."
His heartbeat was faint. Maybe he was already dead.
He thought of her... the one he took as a little sister, yet had betrayed him, and fury surged in his heart. But it was quickly drowned by bitter disdain for himself.
The final shot echoed through the night, drilling a hole through his skull.
"Goodbye... brother," the blue-eyed man whispered, lowering his hand. The gun felt heavier than ever.
Tears streamed down his face.
"See you soon... on the other side."