Sniper #Wattys2016

My Work Brings Out My Musically Talented Self

MONDAY, 21:37 PM

Muffled music comes from the closed doors of the auditorium.

"Ticket, ma'am?" a bored looking guard asks me. I quickly flash him my ticket—the one I swiped from a teenage boy on the way here—and his beady eyes skim over it, authenticating its validity and deciding whether or not he wants to give me a hard time today. Despite this place being jam packed with maybe 10,000 or more people, his day has still nonetheless been boring. Picking on a young, innocent looking girl like me would give him the rush he's been craving all day. "Very nice. Enjoy the show, ma'am." he nods politely before shoving me out of the way, back into the hoard of people that I was hoping to ignore.

I take shallow breaths as I slowly push past the hoard of sweaty bodies, ages ranging from 5 to 95. Of course at a Charlie Puth concert such as this, it would be filled with all types of persons. Hell, I myself was even a fan, and the excitement from all the crazy fangirls was beginning to have its effect on me. I was tempted to grab a Puthinators t-shirt from the stands out front but I was able to succumb to my discipline and simply walk past. I had no time for simple recreation like that. I had my mission. Find my target, aim the gun, and shoot.

The stage is empty, besides from a few stragglers who are fixing the audio and setting up instruments. People are gathered around, many girls screaming out for their beloved singer. I eye everyone carefully, looking for my target.

28 year old female of Russian descent. Today she is wearing a faded pink jumpsuit and wears a green bandana over her hair. She is with a younger American—don't shoot him.

I quickly glance down at my phone for more information. After my mission, I will have to dispose of it quickly. The case file tells me all I need to know.

She should be arriving a little after 21:30. Most likely she will be in the back.

I begin to head to the back, not before reading an incoming text.

FROM: 345345053

Have you found her yet?

I quickly scan the crowd once more—she doesn't seem to be in sight—and type a brisk reply.

TO: 345345053

Not yet, still looking.

The reply to my reply comes just as quick as I spot her.

FROM: 345345053

Don't mess up tonight. Think about what you have at stake.

I bite my lip in worry; of course I know what is at stake.

TO: 345345053

I found her.

Then I shut off my phone in preparation to discard it after I complete my mission. I casually walk behind a large crowd of teenagers, eyeing out my target. She is indeed wearing a light pink jumpsuit with a bandanna, walking with a younger American male. Her eyes are wide with excitement as she looks around. Her American comrade simply follows her, stone faced, not showing the slightest bit of interest. He looks significantly younger than her. He has light blonde hair, light blue eyes and a prominent stubble. His gaze slowly snakes its way toward me. By the time his eyes land on my previous spot, I'm already heading upstairs, where I prepare to work. Today he means nothing to me.

The concert will be starting soon; I only have a short amount of time before I have to finish the job. I know what song I will have to do it and what exact part. I also know that after I do everything, I only have the second chorus and bridge to get out before someone catches me. Then I await instructions of what to do next.