What If Murder Was A Game?

I happen to be a killer.

But, riddle me this, if you were doing something wrong, and if you did it to justify what's good, can it really be considered bad?

Why do I kill?

I kill to see the silver blade of my dagger stained red.

I murder to hear the final breath of my victim before they go.

I assassin to feel my victim's body go limp in death.

I was hired by the president to assassinate the most intelligent criminal of America. I track my victims, the most insignificant citizens, none of them important to me or anyone else, easily, I track every one of them carefully, practicing my technique. After all, its only a game, to win the game, all I have to do is murder the most intelligent man in the world. I've been practicing on my victims for about two years now, but will it be enough? I mean, Zach Wilgorn has plenty of brainpower, more than enough. He might just be the most dangerous man in the world, but then again, maybe he's too smart for that.

Who is Zach Wilgorn? Zach Wilgorn has drive. He has motive. Zach Wilgorn is messing with peoples' minds. Zach is fooling people's minds. The minds of his victims are taken from their original, intelligent, active states, and transformed into weak minds without enough brainpower to move their own limbs. Within weaks after this fatal process, his victims die. Once their minds are reduced to nothingness, Zach throws them into a cell and forgets about them. What can Zach get out of this? Zach extracts the brainpower of his victims and puts them into- that's just it. We don't know what Zach is creating.

I was hired to track down and murder Zach. To stop him from reducing the majority of the population to mindless idiots. Many of my colleagues have asked me if I believe that what I am doing is right. But, if you ask me, it depends on your definition of right. So, I stick with the easy answer "I can neither confirm nor deny that question."

11:05 am

San Diego, California

San Diego Police Dept.

"Sir," a voice calls over the intercom in my small office.

I press the button on the wall to answer "Yes?" I say.

"Its time." The voice replies.

I grin "Got it. Who's up?" I ask.

"William Trane, 509 Jintu Ave, Hoboken, NJ, 07093." he responds matter of factly.

"Done." I confirm, confident in my techniques.

I gather my knife, gun, and notebook in my briefcase, and before locking the door to my office, I can't help but think this is going to be an exciting day. Being an assassin means approximation. I'm going to arrive in Hoboken at approximately 7:38 pm tonight. At my hotel I will do some research on Will Trane's job, social media, and interests. But for now, I call up a taxi and ask to be taken to the San Diego International Airport, from there it will take 5 hours and 3 minutes to travel from San Diego to Hoboken.

7:51pm

Hoboken, NJ

Ace Hotel New York

I go to the defaut search engine on my laptop and start searching. Within an hour, I've found that William "Will" Trane is a 34 year old professor at SIT (Stevens Institute of Technology), he prefers Coke over Pepsi, Dunkin' Donuts over Starbucks, and Microsoft over Apple. His first class today begins at 9:30 am, he will probably leave around 8:20 and stop at Dunkin' Donuts to get a cup of coffee. He will arrive at SIT around 8:30 and go to his office on the third floor of the Engineering Research Center and finish working on his lesson plan. At 9:15 he will go into classroom E37 and start setting up for his lecture. Will's last class ends at 6:30 pm, he will most likely leave the office around 7:30 after talking with students and beginning the next day's lesson plan, this is when I will make my move.

8:04 am

I dress myself in the typical attire of a college student at SIT (red SIT sweatshirt, jeans, and sneakers), stuff my backpack with a knife, a gun, a rag soaked with chloroform, a sign that reads:

CAUTION, DO NOT ENTER,

and of course, my black leather notebook. I grab a thermos of coffee from the machine in the lobby of the hotel and get in my rented black Chevrolet. At about 8:14 I catch up with Will's blue Mazda and write down his license number, then I follow his car to the SIT campus. From here, I park near the boys dorms and work my way around campus trying to blend in with all the other students.

5:35

Hoboken,NJ

Stevens Institute of Technology

At 5:35 I buy a granola bar from the Campus Store and work my way up to the third floor of the Engineering Research Center for Will's 5:45 lecture. Room E37 is large and brightly lit, it has 3 chalkboards in the front of the room and about 67 seats. There is a computer at the front table where the professor sits and a sign at the front of the room that reads:

THIS IS A NO PHONE ZONE!!

And without further ado, Professor Trane begins his lecture. I notice he wears a badge on his jacket right in front of his heart. This complicates things. Now I cannot use my knife or my gun without risking my identity. However, the chloroform-drenched rag in my backpack can easily resolve my problem. Here is what I am going to do:

Five minutes before class is dismissed, I ask to go to the bathroom. Judging from all of the coffee Will has drank today, and the jittery, awkward movements he's making, he needs to use the bathroom. I will wait in the bathroom until he arrives, which will be about 10-15 minutes after class starts, when he gets there I will come up from behind with my rag and press it to his mouth. Once passed out, I put my CAUTION, DO NOT ENTER sign on the door. With the little time my sign spares me, I carefully remove the badge on his chest, and in its place I begin to thrust my knife.

And then my plan is ruined.