He loved picking off the small towns. He knew the rich went to those places specifically to get away and hide their wealth, but he knew he was smarter than them. It had always been that way, and it would be that way until the end of his days. He hoped that wouldn't be for a while. The day was dwindling to night, but he opted for the same clothes as usual. People thought it was suspicious for a man to walk around in dark jeans and a long black coat with an embroidered hood along with a cotton scarf around his neck, but it suited his needs. He held his ebony locks back with a second bandanna. Most people assumed he was a skater, which wasn't uncommon around the small areas no one knew about. Just the way he liked it. As stars flashed up on the dark sky, he kept along the sidewalk, eyes darting around the last remnants of cars and people. He waited until there was a lull in the traffic before he slipped in between the gaps of two small buildings, one a post office and the other some undetermined place of business. They weren't good targets unless he needed to ship packages or... do whatever the other building did. No, his eyes were set on other prizes. The real money was in the houses big enough to be considered castles. They were mansions of great beauty and they were a clear symbol of wealth and power. In his eyes, they had bullseyes painted all over them. But tonight was a little different. He had to first scope a place out. He needed the ins and the outs of the building, whether there were weaknesses in the infrastructure or walls, if the house had any. He sometimes had to vault over them. He hated bringing equipment, but it was necessary sometimes. Weapons held him down, so he avoided them. Besides, killing wasn't in his nature. If he had to harm, he did it silently and without death. Of course, casualties weren't always able to be bypassed. He tried not to think about that as he took a running leap, catching the lip of the building's gutter in his fingers. He hauled himself up onto the shingles, doing his best to move his boots as silently as possible on the slippery slope. And then, in view of most people, he sat, staring at the house on the hill. It was his next target, but he didn't worry about being seen. No one ever looked up. And even if they did, he was fast. He was known to the authorities as the Ace, and that was all.