Inhale. Exhale slowly. His finger rested gently on the trigger of his Barrett as the crosshairs settled in the center of the old man’s chest. 50 caliber, he thought. This is going to be messy.
He reviewed in his mind the briefing his top client had sent earlier this morning:
“Male, approximate age 85. High priority contract. Collateral casualties acceptable. Past four consultants failed to complete. 50 caliber required. 500 yards minimum.”
It was an odd contract. His client always kept things very quiet, but for some reason changed their rules for this poor bastard hobbling down the street. The old man looked harmless enough, but his client was paying very well for this contract, and he had learned not to ask questions.
Slowly squeezing the trigger, he blinked suddenly in confusion. The old man was gone.
A moment later a gnarled, bony hand close painfully on his shoulder, and a soft chuckling inches from his ear.
“A fifth, eh? Guess they’ll never learn. Brace yourself, lad. This is going to be messy.