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Of course, if there was movement at this hour, it often meant trouble.

Hazing. Fights. Revenge moves. While most people followed the law and obeyed the rules, there were always those renegades who operated outside of it.

There were people who used this time to sneak off base. People who were moving between rooms. In the past, late at night, he’d seen one private in a locker room, quietly forcing open the door of someone else's locker, ready to raid whatever was in there. What had he been looking for? Money? Personal revenge? Stealing an item he wanted, or reclaiming a stolen one?

So many possibilities. But like a shadow, he had quietly moved on. Finding out would be intriguing, but what was more important was that he himself was not found out.

At this hour, he changed into a different person, too.

He put aside the mindset that they'd tried to force into him. No longer was he the obedient soldier, following orders without question. Instead, he became the predator, stalking his prey, watching, and waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike.

He knew the base and its rhythms and moods. As he passed by the barracks, he thought he could sense the fear inside. Yes, people were afraid. Of him. He was the one who was causing recruits and young soldiers to lie awake at night, shaking in fear, listening for any footsteps outside the door.

His actions were changing the course of so many lives, and it gave him a feeling of immense power when he thought about that.

Now, he heard footsteps approaching. More than one set. Because he moved so quietly, and was so aware of his surroundings, he picked them up from a long way off.

Immediately, he tensed, his mind focusing sharply on the threat that was approaching. He needed to hide while they passed, because he had to remain invisible if he was going to do his work.

And he was committed to that work, certain that nothing would stop him.

Where could he hide?

For a moment, panic filled him, the emotion surging inside him. He'd thought he was past it, that he would never feel that way again, but clearly the ghosts of the past were strong and their grip was still deadly.

For one uncomfortable moment, he thought that he couldn't do it, that he was the person he used to be so long ago. Afraid, weak, one of those who waited for their next punishment in fear and dread.

Then he reminded himself firmly that he'd moved past that long ago. He was no longer that person and he never would be again. And the more he continued to do what he needed to do now, the more he would ensure that the old person, the scared person, died.

That was what this was all about, after all. So now, he needed to calm down and allow himself to think, use the powers that he had honed, and the icy confidence that had built more strongly inside him with every new victim.

There. He could use this corridor that led to a utility room. It had been open a few weeks ago and he'd taken a look inside. It was a small room, smelling of bleach and disinfectant, and it contained only a few brooms and mops, some ragged dusters,

His training had taught him how to move silently, and he put all those skills to use now.

As he reached the alcove, he pressed himself against the wall, his breathing shallow. He could hear the footsteps getting closer, and he knew he had to be still and quiet.

The footsteps passed by, and he breathed a sigh of relief. He waited for a few more seconds, just to be sure, before he stepped out of the alcove and continued on his way.

A few people had passed by. Trouble for sure. But not his trouble. He was on his way now to claim the person he needed next, and he knew he would need to do it fast, effectively, and in a way that alerted nobody.

He had a plan for that.

First, get to the back of the barracks room that he needed. There was a fire door there that he planned to use, the door closest to his target's bed. And when he'd done his rounds earlier, moving silently, he'd made sure that the door could not close fully.

It was now open, able simply to be pushed inward, and he'd spent some time oiling the hinges to ensure it moved silently.

He felt the usual mix of euphoria and deep hatred boiling within him as he approached the door.

He pushed it open, stepping inside. The room was dark, but his eyes had already adjusted to the low light.

He saw the bed, the shape of the person sleeping within it.

He moved silently, his footsteps barely audible, until he was standing next to the bed.

Speed and the shock factor would help him here. He didn't think the three other people in this room would react in time. Exhaustion, fear, hesitation would slow them. Nobody wanted to be next, after all. Nobody. And everybody knew that if you stood up against the bullies, then you too would have a big target painted on your forehead.

Time to strike.

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