Dot

(Five Parts. 6000 words)

One | Two | Three | Four | Five

One

Dot hadn’t always been Dot.

Truth be told, she still wasn’t certain about the name. Her chosen name. She wondered if it was too late to un-choose it. Just because there were no records of changing chosen names among the Inked didn’t mean it was impossible. Then again, all the good ones had long since been taken, and the names of the dead could not be recycled.

Quite the dilemma, Dot thought, taking her chosen position against a rusted light post. Those that passed by didn’t spare her a second glance. She didn’t blame them. Dot was nothing special, nothing like the enhanced women that men fantasized over. Dot didn’t mind – she liked it better this way. The girl before Dot had often lied to herself about such things.

Dot raised her pen to her lips and inhaled sharply, relishing the flavor. She searched through her memories of The Shop as she waited. Despite spending hours there, she hadn’t really thought to look for a rule book. Certainly, there had to be one. The best rules were always written down. Rules that weren’t written down were much harder to enforce.

Wouldn’t it be better if there wasn’t actually a rule book? Then I could do whatever I wanted…

Studying the electronic posters plastered to the wall before her, Dot frowned. It was hard to believe that she had already completed her first contract. She had been certain that it was all a dream, despite the sharp pain that came with her Ink. She was no Lion Fangor White Crow. She certainly wasn’t on par with the legendary Blackheart. She was just…

Well. Dot. At least for now. 

Dot traced the simple mark on her wrist. The white circle contrasted sharply with her black skin. Still, it was nearly impossible to notice unless you knew what to look for. Hardly the mark of a distinguished professional. She wondered if it would be taboo to wear gloves, if she was allowed to conceal the marking.

Dot exhaled, filling the artificial air with smoke. If there are rules, they better be in a book! She wouldn’t allow herself to be excommunicated. Not after all she had been through.

The man who walked between her chosen light post and the colorful wall of posters increased his pace to pass through her timely cloud of smoke. He didn’t notice that she followed him. Despite his apparent ignorance, Dot didn’t take any unnecessary chances. She kept a safe distance from the man, silencing her footsteps, massaging the mark on her wrist in thought.

She wondered how White Crow would handle such a menial task. His work always possessed such flair. There was no question who was responsible when White Crow struck. Her eyes studied the shadowed rooftops above, imagining a winged figure bounding across them. No one had ever said White Crow could fly, but she liked to imagine that he could.

Certainly, he conceals his Ink, she reasoned. He can’t walk around without a shirt.

Or could he? Dot cursed.

“Hey! Watch where you’re going!”

Dot had been of course. The past two nights her target had walked the same street and turned into the same alley. She hadn’t bothered to learn where the man was going. There was no need.

With a sheepish smile, Dot met the man’s eyes and raised her hands innocently. “Sorry, friend. My mind was somewhere else.”

The man returned her expression, his anger suddenly forgotten. Dot thought it funny what the sight of a smiling woman, even one of her menial appearance, could do to a man. She wondered how much more effective the tactic would be if she was actually pretty. Perhaps she could ask Pink Flower … if she ever met her.

Dot didn’t allow the man a chance to extend the interaction. There was no need to ruin the illusion that he found her attractive.

Like a phantom, the white dot rose from her black skin, then shot forward. It entered through the man’s mouth, chipping his teeth before emerging from the back of his skull.

Dot. Simple yet effective. Not to mention distinctive. Her kills would certainly be recognizable.

Now that she thought about it, it was a rather good chosen name.

Dot reclaimed her weapon and continued on her way, not bothering to look back.

Two

Dot was exhausted.

Eyes heavy, she leaned her head against the cool surface of the window and stared into space. Memories of her latest kill lurked in the endless darkness, glimmered among the distant stars. She considered turning away … but didn’t have the energy.

Dot had failed. Well. Nearly failed. She had killed her target. Hadn’t that been the goal?

The kill didn’t bother her. It was the events surrounding it that did. Those before and those after. It was the first time her plan hadn’t worked, the first time she had been forced to improvise. She should have known that it would happen sooner or later. There were a million clever sayings warning her that plans tended to fail.

I’m such an idiot, Dot sighed.

Her thoughts turned to Lion Fang. There was no chance he ever constructed intricate plans. His kills were certified crimes of passion. Probably because he was an animal at heart. She wondered how it would feel to rip out her target’s throat, to disembowel someone with her bare hands.

Could I be an animal? Dot pressed her hand against the foggy window. Her gloved hand. She had covered up the simple mark. Caged it. So much for being an animal…

Dot didn’t bother to turn when someone took the seat beside her. She didn’t need to confirm their identity. No rational person would seek out her company.

“Ever been off-world before?” the man asked.

Dot groaned. She hated small talk. Why couldn’t people just say what they needed to say? No one truly wanted extraneous details. Who cared about other people’s past? What someone thought of the weather? No one. Especially not one of the Inked.

Dot believed that there was no need for pointless conversation. Dot rarely talked.

“Will you at least look at me? Wouldn’t want other people to stare…”

Begrudgingly, Dot abandoned her study of space. Yellow Book had changed his appearance. Again. Who did he think he was – Folding Mirror? She considered asking him why, but she didn’t actually care. There was only reason to speak to Yellow Book.

“Who’s next?” Dot asked, instinctively tugging at the ends of her glove.

“Who’s next?” Yellow Book echoed. He narrowed his pale eyes, either in concern or admonishment. The golden Ink across his brow made it hard to tell. “We need to talk about what just happened, Dot. You nearly didn’t make it out.”

“But I did.” Dot stifled a yawn. “I’m not Razor. Every kill can’t be clean.”

“You are my responsibility!” Yellow Book hissed. “I think you’re moving too fast. Too many contracts in too short a time. This is partially my fault. As your handler, I should have …”

Dot’s exhaustion vanished. What was Yellow Book implying? He couldn’t possibly suspect the truth. Could he? 

“… this is a partnership, Dot,” Yellow Book continued in his usual hushed but urgent tone. “We need to work together! If we’re going to make a living in this line of work, you’re going to have to listen…”

Dot exhaled in relief. Yellow Book didn’t know anything. No one did.

She reached for the comfort of her pen, only to remember that Shooting Star prohibited smoking of any kind onboard their ships. A ban from the preeminent space travel company wasn’t worth the temporary satisfaction. She needed to save her money. Someday she would need it.

Besides, what was a little more suffering? Nothing she couldn’t handle.

“So, you didn’t bring me a new contract?” Dot asked when she was certain that Yellow Book had finished rambling. She found it easier to let him run out of words.  

“Of course I did,” he replied. “Why else would I have come?”

“Beats me. You do like to talk.” Dot pulled at the fingers of her glove. “You know that you can pay people to listen, right? For the right price, they’ll even talk back to you. Just be careful what you say. They sell even the seemingly unimportant data.”

Yellow Book gave an exaggerated sigh, leaned back in his seat, and stared at the ceiling. As if to make a point, he didn’t talk for some time.

Dot enjoyed the silence. She wondered if Blackheart had a handler. There had to be a more convenient way to acquire contracts for someone so proficient. Not to mention prolific. Perhaps Blackheart was his own handler. That would certainly make things simpler.

“You’re going to like this one,” Yellow Book said at last.

Dot raised her brow. “Who said I liked any of them? I’m only doing what has to be done.”

“Well, it is more interesting than your last target,” Yellow Book continued. “There is a credible rumor that a long-time defector has turned up in the Delta System.”

A defector? Dot frowned in thought. Those were rare indeed. The reward would be great.

“Who?” she asked.

“Clayfist.”

Dot’s heart skipped a beat. “Did you say … the Delta System? It’ll take weeks to get there.”

Yellow Book laughed. “I’ve already booked us tickets.”

Dot returned to her study of space. I should have died when I had the chance…

Three

Dot needed a better plan.

The girl before Dot had never had a plan. She hadn’t believed she needed one. She had been wrong of course. But that had been the girl before Dot. Dot always had a plan. That was one of the good things about her. Dot was prepared.

Except when your plan failed. Have you forgotten already? For some reason, the thought was spoken in Yellow Book’s grating voice. Dot discarded the oddity. Her handler had departed before they reached the Delta System, citing some sort of urgent business. Dot suspected it wasn’t really that urgent. No one could stand her company for long.

Fortunately, Dot hadn’t forgotten her near failure. That’s why she needed a better plan this time around. She needed this encounter to go well. Clayfist was important.

Dot studied her reflection in the wide window before her and adjusted her black hair. Dot had never cut her hair. She needed it to be long enough to conceal her face when necessary.

Tugging at the end of her glove, Dot frowned. Did she really need to hide her face? It was so … forgettable.

Will he remember it? Dot mused. That was all that really mattered. When the time came, she would need every advantage possible. There would be only one chance.

Spinning away from the window, Dot stepped down from her stool and approached the counter where an onyx-skinned human attempted to decipher her name. She wondered why the boy struggled. Surely there was a functioning educational structure in the Delta System. Then again, what did she really know about the system? Only that Clayfist was hiding there. Nothing else about it actually mattered.

“That’s mine,” Dot said, reaching for the cup.

For some reason, the boy pulled it back. “What did you write on here? I can’t figure it out.”

Dot pointed to her marking. A simple circle. Black as the café didn’t have white pens.

“Dot,” she said simply.

Dot snatched her coffee away before the boy could make a reply. A part of her noticed the way he looked at her. Had his stupidity been feigned? Had he actually wanted a conversation? Dot didn’t think so. Likely, he wanted a tip. No one actually wanted to talk to her.

Dot took a sip of her steaming drink, then lowered her dark frames over her eyes and stepped outside.

*

The world Yellow Book had sent her to was crowded. Too crowded. Not to mention expensive. That was the problem with worlds boasting natural air and sunlight. She wondered what sort of base instinct drove humans to them. Idiots. There was nothing wrong with artificial air and sunlight.

Dot allowed the crowd to carry her deeper into the sparkling city. Yellow Book’s voice filled her mind with directions, guiding her to her target. Fortunately, coffee muted it. By the time she reached Clayfist’s last known location, Dot buzzed from the enhanced caffeine.

A glass door slid open, granting Dot entry.

Dot allowed herself a brief moment to admire the structure’s imposing – and crowded – lobby. Light poured in through towering windows above. Overhead, the vaulted ceiling had been painted with a provocative religious display. A fountain in the shape of a winged Hero spat water in the center of the cavernous chamber. No one else paid attention to the room’s priceless marvels.

Dot groaned as Yellow Book’s voice reminded her of the mysterious circumstances surrounding Clayfist’s defection. Something about abandoning a contract, refusing to kill a target in a remote region of the galaxy. If Clayfist had stayed hidden, he likely would have lived a long life. For reasons unknown, he had joined the Great Church.

Dot had never understood religion. She doubted that most of the billions who claimed to follow it did. Still … it obviously provided them with some benefit. A part of Dot wished she could understand their sanctimonious community, that she could fit in somewhere. She knew better of course. The girl who had come before Dot had tried to be normal, and she had paid the ultimate price.

Dot found a secluded spot against a marble wall and retrieved her screen from her jacket pocket. Fifteen unread messages from Yellow Book. Did he ever shut up? Only the first was important. The scheduled time and location of the service Clayfist frequented.

A service that started in ten minutes. Dot had arrived right on time. As planned.

Dot suffered the crowd. Everyone was headed to same location, a massive room filled with thousands of uniform chairs. Its walls were adorned with larger-than-life images of the Heroes of the Great Church. An ornate podium where the celebrity preacher would soon give his sermon floated overhead.

Dot traced the white mark on her wrist anxiously as she lingered by the uppermost entryway. She was just another face in a crowd full of them. Clayfist wouldn’t know her. That was impossible.

I won’t freeze up again, she thought sternly. Dot learned from her mistakes.

When Clayfist entered the room, Dot slipped through the crowd and followed him. She planned to sit through the service and follow him back into the city afterward. Thus, she was surprised when he moved past the blocks of uncomfortable seats and exited through a side door.

So much for my plan. Dot took a seat near the door, debating how best to proceed. What would Dark Shadow do? Keep tracking the target of course. Dark Shadow never stopped stalking her prey until the contract was completed. Dot waited for another person to open the door, then followed.

Beyond the door was a simple passageway divided into countless rooms. A quick glance into an occupied one confirmed its purpose – a place for private prayer. Looking ahead, Dot spotted Clayfist’s towering figure. She smiled inwardly. The burdens of being distinctive.

Dot took the room next to Clayfist’s and waited. Once the service was underway, she walked over and found her target kneeling before an altar dedicated to one of the Heroes. The bald and muscular man didn’t turn as she eased the door shut.

“I suppose it was only a matter of time until the Inked found me,” Clayfist said without turning around. “I have made my peace with the horrors I have caused this life.”

Dot removed her glove, pointed the white mark toward the kneeling man. “You once worked with Blackheart.” It wasn’t a question. “Is he truly immortal?”

“No,” Clayfist replied. “He is just a man.”

That was good news. “Tell me how to find him.”

Clayfist shook his head. “Impossible.” He didn’t look away from the altar. “Prove yourself, and he will find you. That is the only way.”

Dot summoned the small white sphere from her black skin. It began to rotate. Faster and faster.

To her surprise, Dot had another question. “Why the Church?”

“Why else? Salvation. I hope that one day you find forgiveness–”

Clayfist slumped to the ground. His blood soiled the golden altar.

Dot reclaimed her weapon and swiftly departed.

Forgiveness? Salvation?

Those things meant nothing to Dot.

Four

Dot perched on the edge of a chair in The Shop. Her screen floated at eye-level, scrolling at the wordless command of her dark eyes. Since killing Clayfist, she had worked hard to prove herself. Unfortunately, it was impossible to control the bots responsible for galactic fame.

“I like the name,” Yellow Book said, lounging in the chair next to her. Dot no longer took inventory of the man’s shifting appearance. Unfortunately, he never changed his voice. “White Moon has a nice ring to it. It is the kind of name that fits in with the others.”

Dot didn’t bother to disguise her anger. Dot wasn’t White Moon. White Moon wasn’t real. “It’s not my name. Dot is simple. Effective. Who do I need to kill to correct this error?”

“You can’t kill bots as far as I know. The location of their servers is hidden even from us,” Yellow Book replied. He expanded his handheld screen so it spread before them.

Dot groaned upon seeing the headline. At least she hadn’t been pictured this time.

“White Moon strikes again!” Yellow Book read. “I’ll add this to my collection. Have I shown it to you yet? You’ve really been picking up steam lately…”

His collection? Dot wondered how Yellow Book was able to put so much energy into his words. He never drank coffee. Or even tea. As far as she knew, her handler never slept. She still hadn’t determined if Blackheart had one, or if she could get rid of hers.

Dot glanced at Yellow Book who had mercifully retracted his screen and was now muttering to himself. After the Delta System, he had gotten better at not involving her in pointless conversation. On her orders, he had begun to claim flashy and lucrative contracts in order to kindle her growing reputation. The weird man did have his uses.

Maybe White Moon isn’t so bad, Dot thought, adjusting the glove that covered her Ink. She wondered if Blackheart went by Blackheart all the time. Certainly, there was a man who had come before. Dot frowned. She had no need for such thoughts. Who cared what others called her?

She needed to prove herself to Blackheart. That was all that mattered.  

A surprise summons to The Shop seemed like a step in the right direction. Dot hadn’t visited the strange structure since receiving her Ink. She enjoyed the fact that it hadn’t changed in the slightest. There was a certain antiquated charm to the faded tiles and the row of red leather chairs. Even the constant mirror setting of the walls was only a minor inconvenience.

Eventually, the door at the far end of room opened and Black Book emerged. He was taller than Yellow Book, far more regal in his appearance. A fitted suit clung to his long and slender body, and a twisting mustache obscured the lower portion of his face. Black Ink veiled his eyes.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, Dot,” Black Book said. He snapped and a portion of the wall shifted, converting into an image of a hulking man with familiar Ink.

Lion Fang, Dot thought, withholding her initial surprise.

“You desire a seat at the Table,” Black Book continued. “Every seat must be earned.”

Dot stood and walked toward the image, tracing the white mark on her wrist. She studied Lion Fang for a moment, then nodded.

Killing Lion Fang would get Blackheart’s attention. It had to.

*

Lion Fang lived on Alpha-Two. It was the sort of world that Dot despised. Unbearable natural sunlight. Unfiltered air. Swarms of people moving through expansive cities worrying about their meaningless lives. Normal people. The girl that had come before Dot had been one of them.

Dot understood why Lion Fang based himself on such a world. It was a literal jungle. Greenery was abundant. Portions of the city had been built inside towering trees called … tree-towers. Thick branches had been adapted to serve as pedestrian walkways. Annoyingly colorful creatures flew on the humid air and wove between the normal humans as if they too were in a rush.

Like many who sat at the Table, Lion Fang had no concern for disguising his location. He lived in an expensive penthouse that had somehow been built into the crown of one of the tree-towers. A steady stream of people moved in and out of his abode. True to his killing style, Lion Fang lived a life of passion and excess.

Dot watched the comings and goings from the nearest tree-tower with her forgettable face set in an annoyed frown. For a world so real, Alpha Two felt more artificial than any she had ever known. Even her coffee tasted entirely too natural. She knew she didn’t belong on such a world. Not anymore. She preferred darker worlds, those on the edge of civilized society.

They’re all so … beautiful looking. Dot sighed, observing Lion Fang’s home through its stupidly-large and stupidly-transparent windows. Lion Fang was rarely alone. Even when he disappeared from view, the party within his estate continued to rage.

It was obvious why Black Book wanted him gone. Lion Fang was a liability.

Dot wondered how she could get inside. The guards at the door would never let her in. She wasn’t close to attractive enough. Dot was forgettable. A shy woman with dark skin, darker clothing, and even darker hair. Dot would be turned away. The muscular guards and the gorgeous partygoers would laugh after they tossed her back into the streets.

No. Dot could never get close enough to her target.

But perhaps White Moon could.

*

The next night, Dot rode a crowded lift to the top of Lion Fang’s tree-tower. She had spent the day looking through images of Pink Flower and Flat Mirror, trying to understand how they always managed to look so sublime. Dot hadn’t been able to figure it out of course. A lengthy conversation with Yellow Book had enabled her to adopt a style appropriate for White Moon.

Much to her chagrin.

Then again, Dot thought as the music grew louder. I was once another person before Dot. Maybe this is for the best. White Moon garners a lot of attention. She is my best chance at getting noticed.

Dot’s expression grew dark at the thought of Blackheart. Dot wouldn’t allow herself to become White Moon. Dot had become Dot for good reason.

Dot walked with the brightly-dressed group of men and women toward Lion Fang’s doors. Unsurprisingly, lion statues adored the hallway to either side. Like the passageway itself, the statues had been carved directly from the wood of the great tree.

Dot forced herself to remain calm as she stood in the queue.

She had positioned herself accordingly, waiting until a specific group of pale-eyed women had entered the lift and joined them. As they neared the two guards posted at the door, she offered the group a pen containing the highest-grade wax in the system. They couldn’t refuse. Afterward, Dot made herself chat with them, laugh at their jokes. In moments, she had become a part of their group.

Is it truly so easy? Dot wondered as the guard ushered them inside. To be fair, it wasn’t as if Dot attempted to be social. Or wanted to. The group’s laughter, their hair, their words, their very faces – none of it was real. They are just as real as White Moon.

Lion Fang danced in the center of the pulsating common room. Ink darkened the area around his mouth, gifting him a demonic look. It didn’t seem to bother any of those that danced with him. He sampled men and women alike, pulling them back to his private room when the mood struck.

Dot was surprised when she eventually drew his eye. He approached her out of breath, sweat glistening on his bare chest. Piercing blue eyes drank in her new clothes. With a god-like smile, he accepted the pen she offered him. The drug hit him instantly, brightening his eyes, dampening his mind. Their conversation had hardly begun before he pulled her away from the colorful mob.

Moments later, they were alone in a chamber of wood and leaves. Dot’s heart quickened as Lion Fang attempted to take control of her. A part of her wanted to let him. What was the harm in enjoying the touch of another? 

The sight of Ink brought her back to reality. A white circular mark that contrasted sharply with her black skin. The Ink hadn’t faded in the slightest, despite the countless months that had passed. It called to her, reminding her of her goal, of what had to be done.

Dot traced her bare fingers along Lion Fang’s muscular arms. He growled in surprise – and possibly delight – as she pushed him down onto the bed.

Dot lowered herself onto his chest, pinned his arms to either side with her legs, and called upon her weapon. Killing was pleasure enough.

*

Dot watched the party continue from her room in the nearest tree-tower. Despite the time that had passed, Lion Fang’s absence had yet to be noticed.

But only by those who didn’t matter.

Dot stared at her screen. Elated.

One unread message. To White Moon.

From Blackheart.

Five

Dot wasn’t White Moon. But Blackheart didn’t know that.

If all went according to plan, he would never find out.

Dot watched the lights of a great city approach in silence, focused and determined. She ignored the familiar silhouette beside her.

The time was near.

Dot remembered the girl who had come before Dot. The girl who had tried to be normal, who had tried to fit in with others. The girl had been broken. By Blackheart.

Dot had buried the girl but knew where to find her body. At the girl’s colorless grave, Dot stared down at the person she had once been. It was hard to believe that she had once lived a life so innocent. A part of her wondered if, left alone, the carefree girl could have lived a normal life.

No. The girl would have died another way. The galaxy was a cruel place.

I was wrong about you, Dot thought to the dead girl. You are not actually dead. We have always been one in the same. We need each other to defeat him.

Blackheart.

He sat next to her, driving the ship. Hard eyes void of emotion. Ink flowed like liquid metal from a central point above his heart, claiming most of his body.

Dot had studied it extensively in the year they had spent together, wondering why The Shop had been so generous, why Blackheart had agreed to so drastically alter his physical form. Finally, she had concluded that Blackheart wanted to erase the man he had been before.

Dot could relate. That was a problem. She hadn’t expected them to be so … similar.

Dot had attempted to kill Blackheart during their first meeting. And second. And third. Unfortunately, his reputation was not unfounded. It had taken another six fruitless attempts for her to realize how far the gap was between them. Fortunately, those attempts had led Blackheart to embrace her.

Figuratively.  

To her surprise, Blackheart had never attempted to be intimate. He had promised to teach her, and he had fulfilled that promise. Dot had had no option but to learn at his side. It was the only way to defeat him, the only way to do what had to do be done.

Dot studied him from the corner of her eye. Why couldn’t he have been a monster? It would have made what came next much easier. Yellow Book had been right. Attachment only led to problems.

The eyes of the dead girl snapped open. Don’t forget why he must die!

Dot hadn’t forgotten. She recalled the images of that night. Blackheart emerging from a lightless alley. Tendrils of Ink extending from his skin, killing all they touched. The dead girl had been the only one left alive. She had watched the color drain from her father’s face. By the time someone had pulled her from his blackened arms, Blackheart had disappeared. Her father had died protecting her.

It had been a contract of course. Blackheart hadn’t been targeting her family. Dot knew that many killers ignored collateral damage, seeking only to complete the job. There were rarely consequences to such careless actions. Completing the contract was all that truly mattered.

Dot shivered as another memory assailed her. A job from long ago. She had been forced to divert from her plan, to be reckless. A bystander had paid the price.

Pull yourself together, the dead girl hissed. Focus!

“It has been some time since I’ve visited home,” Blackheart said as they sped over a suspended bridge and entered the city of endless lights. His voice was dark and mysterious. His words were infrequent and thoughtful. He never partook in pointless conversation.

Dot tugged at the fingers of her glove. It was not just the Blackheart’s home. It was hers. The place where the girl before Dot had died, where Dot had been born. No place was more fitting to take her revenge.

Tonight it will end, Dot promised the girl who had come before.

Dot hated that she saw so much of herself in Blackheart. She had nearly given in hundreds of times, thrown aside the guise of White Moon and revealed her true self. But she couldn’t let go of her anger, of the purpose that had brought her to this point.

Dot had been created to kill Blackheart. Could Dot survive once he was gone? She didn’t know. It also didn’t matter. Killing Blackheart was all that ever had.

“Black Book didn’t tell me this would happen,” Dot admitted. White Moon’s voice was different than her own. The distinction allowed her to conceal her innermost thoughts. “I believed I was taking Lion Fang’s place at the Table. I didn’t know that I was breaking it.” 

Until now, the division had been only rumor. She hadn’t known how cunning Black Book was. Then again, there was much that Dot didn’t know. Focusing on one thing had made her blind to many others.

 Yes, Black Book had used her. But he had also orchestrated her best chance to kill Blackheart. This entire operation was of his design. Its only true goal was to remove Blackheart from play. If she got what she wanted in the end … was that such a bad thing? Dot didn’t think so.

“Books are hard to kill,” Blackheart said. “They can regenerate, even after a touch from my Ink. You need to carve out their eyes. Your Moon will suffice of course.”

Blackheart had taught Dot much. Before meeting him, she had never considered the divisions within their society. She hadn’t known there were other Shops, that they worked for galactic leaders.

Dot wished she had remained ignorant. Knowledge had forced her to consider further questions. For now, she would not ask those questions.

Dot had to kill Blackheart.

*

Blackheart slowed the ship and smoothly pulled to the side of an empty street. He had yet to divert from their plan. Dot remained on guard. If Blackheart knew this contract was a trap, he would play along until the last possible moment. He would want to know the extent of such an elaborate betrayal.

Blackheart led her through a series of narrow passageways and emerged onto another empty street. Twin moons gave light overhead. Dot studied Blackheart intently. The man’s face was made of stone. It was impossible to know what he was thinking.

That was what made Black Book the perfect lure. Blackheart and Black Book had a history. Just like Yellow Book and Dot. During their travels, Blackheart had revealed his regret of not killing the mysterious handler when he had the chance.

Attachment is dangerous, Dot reminded herself.

They entered Black Book’s Shop through a hole carved in a second-story window. An entryway made in absolute silence, one created by Dot’s weapon.

Blackheart had helped Dot harness her power in new ways. Not only was the white sphere for killing, it was a tool. Dot had never thanked him for the knowledge. She didn’t have to. Blackheart was like her. He knew she was grateful.

Kill him! the dead girl shouted from her grave.

No words were exchanged as they navigated the structure. When they stood before the door to Black Book’s Shop, Blackheart nodded to proceed. A simple and effective symbol.

Dot summoned her weapon. A white sphere above dark skin. Spinning. Faster and faster. Finally, it would fulfill its true purpose.

Blackheart always entered first. Metallic-like rods of Ink extended from his body, rising above his shoulders, coating his rough hands. He could manipulate each of the rods at will. Their range was limited, but his control was impeccable. Dot knew that hadn’t always been true. Blackheart had killed the girl who came before Dot many years ago after all.

Dot returned the signal and Blackheart assailed the door.

At last, the moment had arrived.

The electronic door decayed in seconds, allowing Blackheart to kick it inward. Inside was a familiar layout. A row of chairs and walls with their images set to mirrors.

Lounging in one of the chairs, Black Book leaped to his feet in feigned surprise.

Blackheart marched forward. Each step powerful and confident. “I knew that I shouldn’t have left you alive,” he said in his dark voice.

Black Book raised his hand defensively as countless black rods raced forward to end him.

Dot didn’t hesitate.

She knew where to strike. With his Ink fully active, Blackheart’s body was exposed. She guided her weapon through his throat, then looped it back into his right eye and upward into his brain. The white sphere emerged from the back of his skull as he fell.

Satisfied, Dot stared at Blackheart’s body. The dead girl had been avenged. Dot had achieved her purpose.

“Well done, Dot,” Black Book said, rising to his feet and straightening his jacket. “You deserve a reward, a prize for such an achievement.”

Dot looked up from the body. A reward? Dot had everything she had ever wanted.

“What would you say to a second Moon?” Black Book asked. “Versatility will be helpful in the days to come. There are others on Blackheart’s level. Some even surpass it. We have much work to do to claim a place of power in this galaxy.”

Dot traced the white mark on her wrist in thought. No. Not Dot. Dot hadn’t been created to think beyond killing Blackheart, beyond claiming her revenge. Dot was no more.

White Moon tossed away her useless glove and smiled. “A second Moon sounds lovely.”

THE END