The crosshair was devoid of my target, I was at the top of the Manhattan tower, I run solo, in this field of profession. My prime job was to kill as paid, doing a clean job, almost everything. Things went wrong if I did not plan them properly, organising every minute detail in place of the kill.
I was shuddering in cold at this height, it was around winter, I did not bring any coat for cover, it would disrupt my aim. My position was not yet revealed, I was stationary.
Target locked. After a few insipid minutes of waiting. I pulled the trigger mercilessly, the target’s head burst into smithereens, I gave a trustworthy pat to my Barrett sniper rifle, the shot was muted with the silencer, I packed my weapon back into the guitar bag.
A stone cold metallic force was pointed against my bald head. I raised my hands as a sign of surrender, counterfeiting my future actions. “What do you want from me?” I cited, the mysterious figure pressed forwards, I was pushed to the cusp of the edifice. A point blank distance, the figure must not underestimate me, I risked it, I took a step forwards before him, swung my body beside the figure, tossed it down the top, replacing me for the fall.
Chigak. A revolver was pointing at me, “Nice moves…” I could recognise his voice almost instantaneously, he was my payer. “I just want to do some clean up.” He pulled the trigger without blinking, a shot hit my thigh. I guess this is karma acting at its finest, after killing so many innocent people, I deserve it. I embraced the skull bored shot with open arms, accepting my well-deserved death.