Hunted

No one could say Coruscant wasn't beautiful. 

The city sparkled in the day, never stopped moving, always in motion. Tops of buildings would catch a ray of  sunlight and send it off in a sparkling, glittering thrust toward another skyscraper.  Sounds would come from the street to the sky--jumbles of voices in conversation, lone shouts made by street vendors, the cries of children when they got bumped by the overwhelming crowd, and music. 

Oh, the music. 

It rose from the depths of the city, notes mixing together in a whirlwind of genres and styles, somehow all mingling to make a sound that was not a jarring crash, but a new breed of sounds. It went from fast to slow, to rock to classical and everything in between. 

That's what they danced to. 

Hiding out in one of the planet's many glass-domed buildings was the Senator, believing he was in secret.

Secret, because no one could possibly see his actions from a window or the ground. The world below was a speck, its people dust against a solid colored concrete. Windows of the room open, curtains fluttering in the wind, it was obvious how little fear he had of someone viewing him from another building. The closest was far enough only shadows of his movements could be made out against the dim glow of the light. Only if someone knew and wanted to view him, could they find the ability to.

In this case, that ability came with a scope and rifle, the barrel aimed downward from the top of the closest building.

Most of the day had passed with little activity. The senator's life--from the shooter's perspective--was a very boring life to live. There was no thrill of it all, only politics and formal discussion that led to arguments.

But, an hour or so before sunset, he'd left his place in the world, donned a hooded cloak, and became one of the scum of the streets. He'd gone to a restaurant, one his wife said was their favorite, and ordered a meal for two. Once he'd gotten it, he gathered it up like a rodent scurries to its meal and left, running a fixed path past shops and bars, all the way to the place he was in at that moment.

For a senator, the man was excellent at disguising his actions. Making it seem there was no rhyme or reason for the places he visited. The restaurant? If asked, he was taking the meal to his wife. The bar? It was a long day's work, and he needed a drink before heading back. Buying a flower from a vendor? Once again, he could claim it was for his wife.

Yet, it wasn't.

His wife was the one who hired the bounty hunter to follow him throughout the day, check up on his activities. She wanted no trace of her connected to this, if it came down to it. When the man entered the room and dimmed the lights, the bounty hunter knew it was time to wait.

And waiting had happened. From the moment the woman walked in the door and shed her garments, from the moment they were fused together, the hunter watched. The orders from the wife were clear--if her husband had anything to do with another woman, make sure he would never do it again.

Leave the other woman out of it. Both killed could lead back to the senator's wife. Only the senator--well, it would point toward the new member of the affair.

It was dark by the time the woman left the senator's side. He rose, unclothed except for a draping of bedsheets around his waist, and moved toward the open window. With a glance over his head, he watched as his new love shut the door to the restroom behind her.

The bounty hunter took a deep breath in.

Out.

In.

And pulled the trigger.