Dust flew in the desert air, parting neatly around David and his pristine suit. He was unfazed by the midday sun, and his close cropped black hair was untouched by the wind. Two feet away a lizard almost scampered into his oddly bulky shadow to escape the sweltering heat, but thought better of it.
In the distance an enormous, hazy truck breached the horizon, and David allowed himself a small smile. This would be fun. Like old times. The truck was travelling fast, over a hundred miles an hour through the barren landscape of dust and dirt - just as well. It was approaching quickly, it would be here any second. David stepped from the red dirt onto the sun-softened tarmac. The truck was here. He turned slowly to face it, and it hit him.
The dust cleared, but there he stood, unharmed amidst the devestation, his suit spotless, his hair not even slightly tousled. He smirked, and strode unfazed through boulders of sheared metal and meteors of blackened shrapnel, up towards the driver's cab. Blood smeared across his forehead, a chubby man had passed out at the wheel. David sighed and turned up his sleeves before slapping him awake. The man remained stubbornly unconscious. Getting impatient, David grabbed the man by his lapels and smashed him against the pitiful remains of his truck.
"Good morning Ricki. Your friends in California wanted to say hi." He spoke with a strong west-coast accent, mocking menace underneath friendly tones. Ricki's fear was evident now, he was sweating furiously and his piggy eyes darted around.
"Look man, I'm sorry. I messed up okay? I messed up big time. But what was I supposed to do? I was in the warehouse, at the right time, like they said, and out of the blue, a bunch of Lionhearts show up. So I dropped the shit, I took the money, and I ran."
Ricki was having trouble breathing as David pressed his fingers into the sides of his necks, squeezing his windpipe. "You hear me man? It wasn't me man, I didn't do it. Someone sold us out. How else did they know, man? How else did they-"
David slammed his palm into Ricki's chest, heard the audible crack, and felt ribs break under his palm. He had missed this. Ricki coughed, spitting blood onto the tarmac. David knew he had him now, he could see the raw terror in Ricki's face, felt the thrill of adrenalin it gave him inside. When the truck had crashed, the gas tank had been split in two, and it was puddling around David's shoes, which now stood in tiny tarmac islands, all on their own.
"My employers don't want excuses, Ricki, they want results. You know what I am, Ricki?"
Unable to speak, Ricki gave a terrified nod.
"Then you know what I can do. And those legends you hear? The ones whispered around campfires and gossiped by old women?" David pulled closer to him, and breathed into his ear, "They're true, Ricki. Every last one." David pulled back his fist and punched a hole in the car. The hole, a neat imitation of David's fist but bigger, was a hair's breadth from Ricki's face.
David threw Ricki onto the ground, where he lay in the contents of the gas tank.
"Where is it, Ricki? Where's the payment?" Ricki spat more blood onto the pavement, and said;
"In the cab. Underneath the seat."
David found the steel box, and poked a hole through the padlock with his finger. Inside were the expected vials of the Cure, a couple thousand dollars cash, and-
"Hello..." It was a small dark coin, engraved with illegible runes. A square hole in the centre was barely three or four millimetres wide, yet it looked handmade. "What is this? Ricki?"
Ricki was dead. "Fuck." Carefully, David made a hole in Ricki's chest with his fingers, then pulled out his heart. He threw the body well away from the truck, and dropped the heart. He pulled a lighter from his pocket and dropped it onto the lake of gas. The flames engulfed him.