With a smash of glass, Owl entered the room. His target was there, sitting behind a desk. The man jerked upright, sending his chair tumbling back. Owl’s steps crunched on the remains of the window as he approached the desk. Gun in hand.

“Raven. We meet at last. I thought you’d be shorter.”

“You must be the Owl.” Raven replied, placing both hands on his desk. "I heard the syndicate had sent you for me.’

Owl stopped right before the desk. “You can press that pad all you want, there’s nobody left to come.”

“Are you going to shoot an old, unarmed man?” Raven said, straightening his back. “I heard you’re smart. Let me live, and I’ll pay triple your contract.”

“I’ve got a question for you as well. Answer it, and I may take your deal.”

“What is it? I’ll tell you anything you want to know!”

“Why is a Raven like a writing desk?”

“What?” Raven exclaimed. “What are you playing at?”

“Don’t know the answer?” Owl replied, raising the gun, “They are both dead.” A gunshot rang out, and Raven fell across his desk.