Quinto Paso: El Corte

                                        

                                              
Despite his growing apathy towards survival, Reaper didn't just run into the ambush that Logan had left for him. He was blood thirsty and likely a little evil but not an idiot. He'd never been stupid and Reaper didn't even know how to be that way now, so instead he used the resources Carlitos offered him and plotted.
                              
Logan's choice for his last stand was a little brilliant. He was using the fort like abode of the chief of police as his hiding spot. That would make it near impossible for Reaper to sneak in and get him, and almost equally impossible to lure the man out. But Reaper had spent years slipping into people's homes like a bad smell and kidnapping them out of it. An activity he hadn't done in some time now, but that did not mean the skill was suddenly gone. None of the Barrio Boys left in the city knew the layout of the house, and there wasn't a soul whom they could bribe to tell them it now. The gangs of the city were distinctly split, those that sided with the Mafia Men and those that sided with the Barrio Boys. It was an eeriely calm war, the line in the sand drawn and even the general populous seemed to hold it's breath for this last, epic confrontation. What limited information they could collaborate on the place screamed louder than words that trying to follow through on any plan to go in there was suicide.
                              
Reaper was heading in tonight. Maya had tried to talk him out of it, and when that failed had told him that she would not attend his funeral when he died. Carlitos hadn't tried to guilt his friend out of the attack, he had simply armed him to the best of his ability, told Maya to stay quiet on the guilt trip and offered to drive. It would be over soon. That was the main focus of Reaper's thoughts, the sole motivating force that kept the fear and guilt at bay. No matter what happened tonight, if he lived or died, succeeded or failed, it would be done with. There was a great comfort in that, the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel.
                              
The six hours Reaper had before he slunk into the dangerous dark, he spent in as much calm and quiet preparation as he could. It wasn't just the simple strapping on body armour, checking equipment and prepping the weapons that others might assume he was doing. Instead Reaper was making these moments almost a ritual. He showered under the hot spray of water, not removing the physical grime so much as allowing Reaper to try and remove a few of the emotional stains, silencing the parts of him that would serve no good purpose tonight. When his shower was complete, he dressed with a slow, methodical precision that had as much to do with covering up as it did with mentally preparing himself for whatever came when the dark settled. Before he piled on the weapons, Malcolm did something he hadn't felt he had the right to in a long, long time. He got down onto his knees and prayed.
                              
It wasn't a prayer for conquest, or a silent plea to see him live through the night. Reaper wasn't going to try and bargain with God or even beg for forgiveness just yet. Instead he crossed his heart and spoke to God like he hadn't since Adrianna's death. He didn't ask for vengeance, instead he simply hoped that God would see his friends and family through this, and help keep them safe. Reaper accepted that there were a lot of things he had done wrong, and would likely make many more mistakes in his life if he survived, but the one thing he wanted more than anything else was to have the people he did love and care about be alright. With or without him around to share that life with them. The praryer didn't end with a loud, booming voice of God objecting to his life course, or even any sense that his silent words were heard. Reaper hadn't figured there would be and he wasn't disappointed by the lack of reaction. He accepted what was coming and stood back up to finish equipping himself. He had a pistol that he hoped to never have to use, the knife that had been a long time companion and a few tricks of the kindapper's trade littered all over his body. His naturally dark complexion and hair needed no cover to stay hidden in the dark, and his body had long ago grown strong and silent. Without ever realizing it, Reaper had grown into a man who was build for violence, even as a secret part of him yearned for peace.