THEIR NIGHTMARES, HIS DREAM

Declaration of War

As Robert Shaw walked on the brittle snow covered garden, his mind hovered over all the great things he had planned. His bodyguard walked behind him, though at the moment Robert thought of him as a nuisance. After all he was in his mansion's garden. This was the only place where his mind was clear. Many of his major decisions had originated at this place as he had built an empire from scratch. His father was an Indian while his other parent was from USA. He had taken the media by storm due to his unconventional ways. For starters he had adopted four sons at the age of eight to ten years after heavily inspecting them and then brought them up in the best ways possible. He gave them world class education, but all this was not done as he wanted to be a proud parent. No. These kids were to aid him in his business. He had moulded them in the shape he wanted, their mindset was then deemed fit for his business. Attention to the smallest thing was his success mantra.

His bodyguard maintained a polite distance behind him.
He must be thinking I am crazy.
Robert thought
Walking in the snow at this time.
He chuckled. But suddenly his face turned serious.
Someone had challenged him, challenged his legacy and had done irreparable damage...
Whoever he is, is going to pay...

His mind went over the recent happenings. It was bloody well time for revenge and nobody dares to play dirty with him. Everyone will realise what happens when you mess with old Robert. The number one to-do in his list was clear: crush the revolting ant like the damned insect it was.
Robert smiled at this thought. Action never ceased to excite him.

At some distance, the bodyguard saw a small bit of condensation that was rising into the air. The bodyguard heard a BANG that roared and reverberated over the whole place surrounding them that died down after a few moments. Though Robert Shaw couldn't hear it or even if he could his brain didn't register it because of the huge newly formed hole. His brain even couldn't register the fact that it's body was now lying flat on the ground with a neat passage from his forehead to the back of his head from where the dark thick blood of Robert Shaw mixed with the snow, melting it.

The bodyguard held his urge to puke at the sight of his spilled brains. But he calmed himself down because he had a job to do. Not to protect Robert Shaw but to report the sniper's performance to someone who had bribed him.
He examined Robert's skull, the shot was perfect, lying dead centre on the forehead. Judging from the distance, the bullet drop estimation was very impressive. But the condensation was a problem. It was a common mistake made by people who knew something about field-craft and sniping. The cold coming out of the barrel should have been eliminated by breathing in it.

The bodyguard then went away muttering about his lost appetite while the body of the genius tycoon lay there with a thin smile on his lips as if the thought of action that had exited him had spread over all his body, forever trapped.