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The Assassin - Original Composing The silvery shadow could be seen up against the dark walls of this moist, dimly lit basement, it oozed a musky smell of mold and there has been a different waft of a dead forest floor. The walls were coated with peeling paint and dim, aged background. The cellar was carpeting less, only olderfashioned floorboards and a filthy carpet in the corner. The shadow of a guy, about six feet tall has been very lanky, with long arms and legs and dressed in a bright, long black jacket. He wasn't moving, only talking into a small device he held in front of his face. The voice was so harsh and cold it sounded like glass splinters. The shadow turned to the area and started, without rushing, to gradually open a tiny wooden draw, slid out an object that glinted in the light and noticed it attentively. The black, metallic apply shimmered once again. He reached his lengthy, spider such as fingers inside his long, dark jacket and put it deep within the inside pocket, buttoned it and turned round. He reached for a strangely shaped box in addition to the desk facing him and that also disappeared into the jacket. He sauntered on to the wooden stairs and took a deep breath before climbing. Instead, he clambered up the stairs to the doorway which put ajar, and flung it open. Slowly, he walked through the area, picked up a lengthy bag that was readily packaged, slung it on his shoulder and then proceeded to stroll throughout the house. He also reached the top floor and then opened a hatchthat direct onto into the roof. He grabbed both sides and pulled himself through, looked around at the almost pitch black surroundings, dropped the purse and closed the hatch. The weather.