Oomph.
I grunt loudly as I hoist myself up the balcony of this overpriced mansion. Jeez, with a bajillion rooms, you could practically shelter every homeless person in the world here.
One of the small dish garden located near my foot topples over and I quickly catch it with my hand.
God, I really should train more often.
I look to my left and right, and secure my surroundings before taking a step near the French doors.
It's open.
And here I was, thinking that this mission might be a wee bit challenging than the other ones I usually take.
I walk rather noisily toward the doors and when I'm inside the room, the targets are still asleep.
Walking with expert feet, I locate the switch and flick it on. I hear the sheets ruffling and a small groan elicited from the woman in the bed.
"Wha-? Who are you?!" she babbled.
"Believe me, no one of importance." I grab the glock inside my belt and start taking off the safety as the woman hurriedly tries to wake her husband up.
"John, John - there's someone in the room!" she says frantically as she pales.
"Hmm?" was John's only response.
"JOHN WAKE THE HELL UP!" I shout and because of the unfamiliar voice, John tenses and shifts.
"Who the fuck are you?" John says as he grabs the gun under his pillow and stands up near the bed.
This is interesting.
"I think you're a bit redundant." I put two bullets in the glock. One for her. One for him.
"You bitch," he says as he pulls the trigger.
"WHAT THE FUCK?!" John screams as no bullet penetrates through me.
His wife pales and stutters to explain. "Johnny I'm so sorry, I take the bullets out of it every night because I'm just scared that what if our son wanders in at night? You know how he is, he always -"
"Stop explaining. Let's get this over with." I aim the gun at the woman first and see John widen his eyes.
"Please, whoever you are, I beg you for your mercy. Don't do this." John gets down on his knees and I see liquid crystal coming out of his eyes.
"Maybe you should've considered that when you sold all those innocent girls back in Mexico and Russia," I say and pull the trigger.
The eerie silence that occurs when I pull the trigger -- courtesy of the silencer -- absorbs John.
He just gasps as he takes in the scene of his deceased wife. More tears flow from his eyes. Being ruthless has made my heart stone cold and I am immune to these type of situations.
I aim the gun back at him and say, "I'm not sorry," and shoot.
