OUR BELOVED ASSASSIN // t.s daughter ((1))

3

- Two days earlier -

She lies on her belly with her baby, Barrett 50cal Arnold Rooster gave her since she was 13, where she officially became an assassin. Its shining stock is pressed against her reddish cheek. The finger from her right hand is already wrapped around the trigger. To support the rifle, her left hand gripped the rear grip as when her right eye is already on the telescope, eyeing, aiming her target.

There's not a light around her. Streets lamps down on the streets didn't help her to look through the telescope though it's bright down there. But what advantage can they give to Hermione when she's on top of a building? She is depending hundred percent on her instict and skill. And her hawk eyes.

"Target's aimed," she confirms through her wireless earphone. Her voice is not shaking even slightly, not even her hands on her rifle. Her body is still, so professional in her job though she's crouching on top of a building and the temperature has dropped drastically low.

There's a pause before Hermione hears a voice on the other side of her earphone. "Whenever you're ready," Aaron replies with a serious, boss tone.

Whatever she's doing, her leader would see. Everything that happens to her, she has to report back to the Villa where her leader is sitting, waiting news from her and the rest of the assassins on mission. With her leader's command, she knows that's her cue to do the good, good job.

She didn't respond, keeping her attention on her target. She doesn't want to slip him out of her grasp carelessly like Clinton, her fellow assassin did though she knows she won't. She's the best assassin of her age, she wouldn't do any mistake. She will not do any silly mistake. She's not dumb to give herself to her leader, only to be washing the pool or stinky toilets or the whole house for punishment.

"Be quick, Hem," her colleague of the same mission, Lukas, rings through the earphone. "There are no guards in our building, but I am afraid they're calling out more to kill us," he reports.

Again, Hermione didn't reply as she keeps her attention on an old man with white hair and white beard. His lips are hidden in his moustache, but Hermione could see a glimpse of smile. "Yeap, smile as long as you want, old man. That might be your last smile," the girl mutters to herself.

Her target is now climbing down the stairs of the lavish building he just exited. Suited men surrounded him, not sure either protecting him or inter-framing with the cameras that are flashing in front of them. Being an assassin, Hermione wasn't allowed to ask the identity of her target or why she was assigned to kill them. She just kills them, like this one, too. She doesn't know what's wrong with him. But there's something inside her that this mission isn't going to be as nice as her other assignment. Something is going to happen.

The old man is still on the steps of the stairs, shaking hands with people that are surrounding him as cameras continue to click and flash. He has a smile on his face that shows her he is happy with whatever happened in the building a while ago. An elation? Money deals? Hermione doesn't know a thing. All she knows is that she's pointing her gun at him as he nods and smiles and speaks to people down there. Hermione waits until he reaches just in front of an open door.

"Hermione!" A sound of a gun exploding echoes in the entire city just as when Lukas calls her again. His voice comes out like an alarm alerting Hermione over something she's not going to like. A warning, she knows, but she ignores it.

Ignoring whatever happened to Lukas, she focuses back to the chaos happening before her. There is a spark at the pit of her stomach when she sees her target lying on the red carpet made for him helplessly with his own pool of blood. On the behalf of whoever wants to see that old man dies, she feels happy. She feels proud that he's dead. Besides, since she's fourteen she has hated on suited men.