The Weight of the Road

Luna had always lived out of a suitcase. It wasn’t a choice, but a necessity. A small, weathered leather case, stained and cracked from her years on the road. This was all she owned; no permanent address, no ties, just her and the suitcase, and the next assignment.

She learned to keep her life simple. Her entire world folded into that old suitcase—an efficient, well-pruned existence. A set of clothes, spare ammunition, knives with handles worn smooth from use, a few books—mostly to pass the time between assignments—and her tools. Each job was different, but there were always common threads: precision, discretion, the cold certainty of who would ultimately pay the price.

The latest assignment had her positioned in the city of Berlin, in a small motel, the kind where the sheets were cheap but clean, and a door that locked with a simple key. It was a place designed to be forgettable, a temporary stop for people who moved through life with little intention to stay. Luna’s eyes flicked over the dingy wallpaper, the faint odour of bleach still lingering in the air. It was exactly what she needed. No distractions, no unnecessary comfort, just a bed, a window, and the quiet murmur of the streets below.

The suitcase sat on the bed, open but packed tight. Luna took a moment to examine the items within: a fresh set of clothes, an unmarked envelope with the assignment details, a few discreet tools she could never leave behind. She’d gotten used to the routine—the careful packing, the knowing that everything in that suitcase had a purpose. Her life fit into it neatly, and that’s how she liked it. There was no room for extra, nothing beyond what was needed. She never stayed in one place too long.

Her eyes flicked toward the small clock beside the bed. It was nearly time. She zipped her suitcase closed with a practiced motion, the leather creaking under the pressure. There was no room for mistakes, no room for hesitation. Every assignment was the same: one shot, one opportunity, no second chances. She could almost feel the weight of it, that tightness in her chest that always came before the job.

The man she had come to Berlin to eliminate was a politician, corrupt and dangerous, but only a footnote in the grand scheme of things. She wasn’t here for ideology—she wasn’t here for justice. She was here for the money. The cold, hard truth was that those who hired her didn’t care about the reasons. They wanted results, and Luna delivered.

She slung the suitcase over her shoulder. Her movements were fluid, deliberate. There was no fear, no doubt, just the undeniable certainty that this was the only life she knew. She stepped outside into the cool night air. The street was narrow, a forgotten alley tucked between two old buildings. The faint scent of cigarette smoke lingered in the damp breeze, the occasional clang of a distant tram reverberating through the silence.

Berlin had a way of feeling alive even when it was still. The city was always pulsing with something—history, secrets, or the weight of its own past. But Luna didn’t have time for any of that. She didn’t look at the faces of the pedestrians hurrying past, their collars pulled up against the chill. She didn’t pause to observe the graffiti-covered walls or the flickering streetlamps.

Her mind was already on the job.

The politician’s building was a few blocks away, towering and indifferent, like so many of the peoples offices she had been asked to target over the years. The marble facade gleamed in the distance, bathed in the sickly glow of street lights. There were guards posted at the entrance, but security was light—always light when people thought they were untouchable. The higher up they were, the more complacent they became. She had learned this long ago.

Luna moved swiftly through the city streets, a shadow among the shadows. Her eyes were sharp, scanning every corner, every movement. She blended in, as she always did, slipping past the few early evening revellers, her steps so quiet they were barely noticeable. There was no need to rush; she was in control.

When she reached the building, she studied it briefly, taking in the surrounding area, memorising escape routes, and planning her next move. She knew exactly what to do. There would be no surprises. She had done this too many times to let anything throw her off track.

Inside, the building was sterile, its halls lined with polished floors and muted lights. There was a tension to the air, a quiet hum of bureaucracy that Luna had long since stopped noticing. It was all the same, no matter where she went. The world of the powerful was always cloaked in formality, insulated from the dirt of the streets. But tonight, the man behind the polished desk would pay the price for his arrogance.

Luna runs through her usual checks again upon entering the building. Clocks a camera, a guard, nothing she couldn’t handle. Luna moved through the halls with quiet precision, slipping past the occasional guard, always keeping to the shadows. She knew the layout, knew the movements of the staff—everything was mapped in her mind, a mental blueprint she could navigate without thought.

The door to the target’s office was unlocked. Luna hesitated for only a moment, allowing the silence to wash over her. She could hear the faint rustle of papers, the soft click of a pen as the man sat behind his desk, unaware that his life was about to be extinguished.

She entered, closing the door behind her as quietly as possible. The office was just as she had imagined—clean, efficient, devoid of anything personal. The man sat with his back to her, oblivious to the danger that lingered in the shadows. His posture was rigid, confident—a man who thought he was untouchable.

Luna didn’t need to know his reasons. She didn’t care. She had long since detached herself from the why and focused only on the how.

In one smooth motion, she crossed the room. The blade was already in her hand, cool and balanced. Her steps were measured, the air thick with the finality of what was about to happen. With one swift, practiced motion, the blade found its mark. It was quick – too quick for him to react.

He collapsed without a sound, his body slumping forward onto the desk. Luna stood over him for a moment, the weight of the job pressing against her chest. It was always the same, yet every time, the finality of it still felt sharp, like a reminder of just how far she had come from the girl who once had dreams.

She didn’t look back as she walked out of the room, closing the door behind her. The building was silent, unaware of what had just transpired in its sterile halls. No alarms, no chaos—just a stillness that would last until morning. Luna walked back into the cold night, her suitcase in hand.

Another job completed. Another night on the road.