Infiltration

The Marksman

He hated his job.  Not because of his boss or his wage, although that kind of went into it.  Not because of the association he worked for, though that fuels it.  He hates his job because it's his job.  He was recruited years ago, before the whole association was built.  He was the test run, the Guinea pig.  Since he was recruited many others joined.  But none would compare to his ability to do his job.
Mary was the second one.  She was seductive and naughty, beautiful and therefore perfect for their cause.  She wasted her flirtations on him when they first met.  After a few days she gave up, no amount of flirtation would win him over.  He was handsome, but not good enough to hold onto.
The third one was Jack.  He was handsome, all recruits have to be attractive in order to be trusted by the enemy.  He was really into his job.  He had the passion that the first lacked, but not the skill.
More and more came in, each expecting something.  They each were tired of their life, they wanted adventure.  The association meticulously picked the recruits one by one.  Each had to be athletic, flirty, good with technology.  They had to be able to slip past the lines of defense easily.
He was only young when they recruited him, nearly thirteen.  Now it's been four years, he's trained hard, worked with the technology, even aced Flirting 101.  He had another mission that night.  The technical code was a three-one-oh.  But he called them Ambers.  He hated his job, and he hated this part the most.  It's not that this part was hard, that it required his cleverness.  It wasn't that this part was dangerous, he didn't fear danger even if that was what it was.  It was in fact the contrary that made these jobs so sickening and cruel.
He didn't ask for this.  His family was starving, living on the streets.  He wanted to help, but how could a boy as young as him help.  He was too young to get a job.  Then a man offered him a deal.  He remembered the man to be terrifying, and the man still terrifies him to this day.  But the man offered him money that someone in his debt would be crazy to refuse.  So he took it.  I guess it's because of that same sickening concept.
Like many 310's, he was equipped with an "invisibility cloak" as they called it.  It really didn't make him invisible.  It just used the best technology the world has ever known to send a signal to the witness's brain that alters what they see to subtract the person.  The thing wasn't even a cloak, just a band that he chose to wear around his upper arm.  They also gave him a military rifle.  He knew how to shoot it, he's shot it before.  They made sure to give him lessons before giving him a mission.  And of course he's had plenty of field experience.
The doors opened ever so slowly, as if to daunt him somehow.  But hardly anything daunted him these days.  He was taught to remain that way.  Tough as nails as the man called them.  He stepped out into the thunderstorm.  His feet splashed in the puddles as he ran.  Just like when he was a little kid that played in the rain.  He used to dream to be a spy when he grew up, but not like this.  No one without something wrong with them could have dreamt of this.
His garments were already soaked, but he didn't mind.  He loved thunderstorms.  The lightning was beautiful as it struck against the sky.  The thunder boomed in his heart.  It rattled him in a good way, like a roller coaster might.  It didn't take him long to find the place.  His microscopic earpiece beeped, telling him this was it.
The mission laid at the second story of the building.  Not a problem.  Heights were never a problem for him.  He traced his fingers along the stones that made up the exterior of the house.  The stones jutted out, giving footholds of barely an inch at best.  This wasn't a problem either.  He was trained for this sort of thing.
Effortlessly, he scaled the house.  Finally he was hanging from the second floor window.  His gloved hands opened the window easily, mostly 'cause it was left unlocked.  He crawled in the window, soundlessly.  Not that it would matter, the victim wouldn't see him anyway.
He grasped for the rifle that was slung over his shoulder.  The butt rested against his chest, the trigger in his hands.  He aimed the weapon at the victim, clicking a bullet into place.  He's done this a million times before.  All that's left to do is pull the trigger.  Reluctantly despite the fact that he's been in the game the longest, he pulls it.
He took a look at the little boy laying defenseless in his bunk bed.  The kill was so easy, sickeningly easy.  That's the worst part.  The kid couldn't even fight back.  It's not fair.  But the association told him that he would be a threat in the future.  He could collapse the economy himself or turn out to be a mass murderer.  It didn't matter to the association, a threat is a threat.  They don't tell the recruits any different.
His tiny earpiece screamed at him to get out.  He knew what staying there would cost him, so he left the dead boy who couldn't have been older then him.  The earpiece told him it would be a double duty, there's another just down the street.  He agreed to the mission, if he didn't he would be hunted down and killed.  He's seen it happen before to the other rebels.   The association couldn't risk their secret getting out I guess.
He slung the rifle back over his shoulder and ran down the sidewalk to the next victim of his malice.