It was always the same. I lay low in a building, cleaning out my rifle, making sure any mistakes were from me. It was a tedious task, dismantling and rebuilding the various components. However, after years of practice, it was second nature to me. One final wipe of the lens and I was ready.

I propped the gun behind the open window. My breathing lowered and my heartbeat decreased. Every ‘ba-dump’ of my heart or exhalation of my lungs had the chance to distract me. Minimising that was only a standard protocol.

I closed my left eye while the right fitted nicely over the scope. The target was in sight. A plump man in a white suit. He was talking with other guests on a rooftop terrace. His toupee covered his hair while his body language covered his deceit, malice, and dishonesty. Seeing through the disguise was also something I picked up over the years.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

The guards were always incompetent. They never detect the threat that was aimed at their employer. The latest batch of guards were especially clueless. Circling the target never does any protection. Who trains these fools? Or maybe I’m just too good. Or both.

I make sure to aim for the head. Unlike other organs, if he lives through the shot, he won’t be sane. Becoming a vegetable is a much worse fate than death. It pays the same as well, so I’m satisfied. I’m not complacent though. I take one more check of my surroundings before going for it.

The process is quick. I pull my trigger. I hit my target. He collapses. People crowd around him in panic. He’s either dead or in a coma. I pack up and escape the scene of the crime. I’ve done my job. His guards did not.

Like I said, it was always the same.