Sniper | JJK ✓

1

warning: guns, killing, and suicide themes in this chapter. caution is advised.

She had checked into her hotel last night, arriving in a Maserati Levante, a common calling card of her workplace. She took comfort in a room she could only enjoy for a night. She dined lavishly and wore her most expensive lingerie to fool herself into thinking she could have this, deserve it, even.

Aside from her daydreams, she had a job to do. Her assignment the next morning was a light one. A simple cyber do-gooder that was getting too close to understanding her parent organization's purpose. She had been observing him daily for the past 2 weeks. She knew his every thought, his every food order, and his favorite movie. In a way, you could consider them friends—that is, if she didn't have to kill him.

Before the scheduled appointment for her target, she had to wipe down and completely erase any DNA or traces that could lead back to her being a guest. She ate a quick breakfast consisting of a croissant and coffee after checking out. En route to her camp, she threw her coffee away in the trashcan outside of her hotel. While blending into the large crowd of sidewalk pedestrians, she pulled her baseball cap down and pulled her duffel bag closer to her shoulder.

Walking about 6 blocks downtown, she reached the industrial areas with all of the warehouses, trains, and old office buildings. She climbed a concrete staircase of an abandoned building all the way to the top floor. It was eerily quiet, the empty office space. Desks and chairs stacked in the north corner of the room. She walked around the room, peeking out from each window to find the best vantage point.

She stopped at the southwestern window, dragging her bag across the floor with one hand and clutching a color picture of her target in the other.

She stretched before setting up and placed her headphones on to listen to her favorite song. She couldn't stand the sound of rounds firing. Did she have a silencer? Yes. The headphones were a little unnecessary, yes, but they let her focus on the beat of the music, not someone's body going slump within seconds. A tool for washing away guilt.

She slipped her gloves on before assembling and placing her mount near the window.

It was time. Her target walked over to his favorite bench with his sad little brown bag lunch in hand.

"There are no attachments in this job."

She mounted the scope onto the body of her rifle.

"You cannot choose who lives or dies. We do not play God. We are only his messengers."

She set her finger on the trigger lightly.

"You have a debt to repay."

She took her first look through the scope to find her target, watching him unwrap his sandwich.

"You belong to the kill team. No one else."

Target acquired. She flexed her fingers around the grip of the gun, taking a deep breath.

"You have nothing to live for. You are nothing but a disposable minion."

She closed her eyes for a second, letting Mitski tell her it would be okay.

"Emotion makes you weak."

She opened her eyes and took aim right at his temple.

"One last thing."

She pulled the trigger back.

"Failing? Failing is never an option."

And for the first time since she tried to kill herself, she missed.