Standard Procedure

Standard Procedure: In the Cross-hairs

                                                    Present Day (Assasin's POV)

He sat at desk, his fingers did the walking, the practiced motion no longer required his oversight; rather his eyes were on his target across the street. He unscrewed the silencer and slid the jamming rod into the barrel. The routine was the same; he unscrewed the barrel ever so gently, and inspected it, seeing it was in pristine condition he packed it into his combat bag, the handle following after. He also packed a couple extra magazines, not that he intended to use them. They were what his employer called, “insurance”. The CIA was a murderous bunch now weren’t they. Not that anyone would ever know, they had paid him under the table and paid him well.  The main event was tomorrow, but he thought a little target practice to let off some steam couldn’t hurt; he always liked to be prepared. What is it they say he thought to himself, “Practice makes perfect.”  Shouldering his bag, with which a few modifications now held his most prized possession, he stepped into the hallway, pulling the door closed behind him, careful not to wake up the people in the other rooms. They were so high it probably wouldn’t matter anyway. The place was a dump, it stunk of pot and too much beer, the cops wouldn’t come anywhere near for fear of the powerful drug cartels though, and therefore he was safe for awhile anyway. This testament to human filth would be his home until his assignment was over.  He sidestepped a man with his face in the carpet, either too drunk to move or dead, he decided best not to check and proceeded to the stairs. Pushing the last door at the bottom he stepped lightly into the cool night air.

He decided a jog would be nice. He pulled the other shoulder strap up and started on a brisk run, favoring the darkened corners to the bright yellow streetlights. The gun was no longer heavy on his back; it was comfortable, felt as though it were an extension of his very being. Like him, the beautiful bolt action rifle held no remorse, no consequence, and no conscious. The CIA had long had him under their wing. He was the secret favorite of the department, not only for his skill, but also for his lack of worldly detachment. No family to speak of, or friends to joke with, he was essentially everyone and no one. Always a terrific actor, he could mimic feelings like no other, a talent that had quickly raised him to ranks unheard of in the military. Suspicion crept in as to his moral character though and the military honorably discharged him after the shooting of three hostages. He had been following orders of course, just not official orders. He didn’t blame the general, he held no emotion; it was just a job. Mercenary work kept him busy and well-fed until the CIA chose to knock at his door.

Standing about 5’ 9” he was an average man, nothing in his appearance suggested anything out of the ordinary. He was good-looking enough, but nothing that would set him apart. He had made a life out of blending into a crowd. He was invisible. Glancing down at his watch while he was jogging he noted the time. The lampposts came on, 8:00 on the nose. He was flying now, he felt weightless as he bounded up the front steps of a rough-looking crack house. No one would miss these human wastes. Instead of digging out the sniper rifle and lining up the kill he thought he’d work on his close-range a bit, not that he’d need it for tomorrow’s mission but he liked to be prepared for anything. He left the pack alone and instead took out the first addict he saw. Sure enough the man was flying high on something and he hadn’t a prayer. The addict laid dead on the ground in a second, his head nearly backwards on his neck. Now the gun, quiet as a cat the mercenary picked up the piece the man was carrying, a Glock, standard police issue. He stared down at the lifeless waste of space at his feet. “Hmm…. Killed a copper did we?” He smiled to himself and started up the stairs to the second floor. “This is gonna be fun,” he whispered as he kicked in the door to one of the ancient bedrooms.