The Alliance || ✎

01

BEATRIX CREED

I steady my breath as a single sigh slips out of my mouth before evaporating into the fresh breeze. I align my eye with the lens of my weapon. I move stealthily—lying on the rooftop as instructed. Our assigned target cannot be spotted in my line of vision.

Well, not yet.

"Vision on target, Aiden?" I speak through my earpiece. "No..." There is a prolonged stillness in the environment, as well as between me and Aiden. I hear nothing for a lengthy amount of time, until he makes a suggestive noise like: Hm.

He is back in contact with me.

"What have you got?" I ask, peering further into the downtown mayhem myself, switching to binoculars.

"Something." His vague answer has an undertone of uncertainty. "Wait... I've got eyes. Two o'clock." He copies. I change angle, listening to his instructions.

I click on a narrow .22 cylinder to the muzzle of my sniper rifle. This will not completely block out the blast of the bullet but will dial it down enough so nobody can hear where it came from. Or see the fraction of flash of the location where it was shot.

"I am in position," I report back once I have completed my new set-up.

Our target: Mrs. Hernandez. The devil in the soon-to-be-dead flesh. I watch as she smiles through her crimes and wears them like it's a faux coat—she is wearing them like she owns them, which she does.

"Target is moving. Take action." Aiden orders. "No," I protest, "people are surrounding her." Aiden huffs through the mic. My black leather glove-covered index finger hovers over the trigger, my eye still remaining full concentration on the lens.

I only have one shot; that one shot will grab the whole of Hell's Kitchen's attention.

"Do it now, for God's sake!"

Mrs. Hernandez is standing still, alone, lighting a cigarette placed loosely between her lips. She seems to be struggling to get the lighter started.

Now is my chance. She is distracted. I prepare myself for the shot. "Wonder if she had a death wish," I mutter. Aiden replies but I am not focused on him.  I am focused on the finger that pulled the trigger, it did it so confidently and without any second guessing.

I watch the bullet twirl in the light breeze and go straight between her eyes. My usual shot.

"Target down," Aiden reports, "nice work," he says, as I victoriously watch her body crash to the concrete ground. Blood gushes from her head, spilling crimson liquid, and staining the sidewalk. A large puddle of blood pools around her upper half. People stand around the motionless body, alarmed and frightened at the sight. 

I pack up my things and carefully put the delicate weapons in their carrier bags. Walking down the rusted stairs, Aiden pulls up in our vehicle. He leans over to reach the passenger side door and opens it for me,

"Call it a success?" I climb in and settle my things in the back. I replied, "Absolutely."

"Boss will be happy." He says with a smirk. I flick down the mirror and apply a rose-tinted lip gloss, puckering my lips. "You could say that." Aiden speeds off, out of Hell's Kitchen and through to the Upper East Side. "We got the job done after all."

When we arrive at our estate, Aiden hops out, heading straight for father's office direction on which I shortly follow behind.

Walking in, we find him sitting behind his dark, shiny but intimidating mahogany desk. A glass of near-finished scotch in one hand and a slim black pen with gold trim in the other.