The red sun crawled across the sky towards the horizon, accompanied by chilly dusk winds. The cold had been progressively worsening for the past week, leaving the conditions icy and unwelcoming in the city. Red light exploded off of the growing grey clouds, punctuated with dark ominous bulges indicative of the coming blizzards.
Greed walked the streets, cigarette in hand, his fingers struggling to keep a hold. His hood was pulled up; along with his heavy beard his face was almost completely obscured. He fiddled with the switch blade in his other pocket, stroking its length and turning it over in his hand.
As the cigarette burnt up to a nub in his hand, he tossed it into a pile of left-over snow, scratching the ash out of his beard with his blackened fingernails. The streets were almost completely empty besides the routine streetcars and fellow street urchins, on account of the bad weather and even worse weather forecasts. The comforting rumble of the approaching streetcar accompanied him as he made his way to the edge of the pavement. As it passed, he crossed the road and headed into another alleyway.
The fire-escape for his target’s flat came into view. Kicking aside some loose rubbish, he grabbed the cold steel, climbing the ladder with ease. He reached the first floor, his steps resonating up the hanging metal structure. He pulled the switch blade from his pocket and made his way up the stairs with little care for the noise being made. The second-floor window. The curtains were drawn, but the pane was open a few inches, letting in the cold air. With one sharp wrench of the wooden frame, he pulled the window open fully and climbed into the flat.
His target was already dead.
Today's prompt: progressive
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