Friday, April 03, 2009

The Hitman: Target #104 (Part 1)

Draft started: 01/19/09

The bright city lights glowed a sinister glow in his studio apartment that consisted mostly of glass windows. He usually keeps the lights off in his unit to keep himself unseen. There was nothing except the faint glow of the lamps placed by the sides of his sofa. Silence. He is far too empty in himself to really appreciate how well taken cared of he is by his employer. Leather sofas, a 70" Full HD LCD TV, a king size bed and a bathroom that you can throw a club party in. The view from his room was enough to make any man feel like a god. That's right, this was a place fit for a king, a president or some corrupt government official. He didn't care. He can't really see the beauty of it all. Once you've tasted blood spilt by your own hand the world looks literally... dilapidated.

His Glock G39 subcompact - silencer in place - set neatly atop his polished wooden desk beside a carefully arranged row of gun accessories, ammunition, and a dossier folder. His next target. Fresh meat. Although he discretely preferred the weapon for its "safe action" or trigger safety feature, he found that he never needed it. It was somewhat a personal fail-safe for him should he change his mind about his heinous acts on a fellow human being. It never did him any good though. In fact, it never even did him any good five years ago. Then again, a split second lock could do a world of wonders should his equally indifferent boss come to his senses. Sadly, no such decision was ever made. He didn't even bother upgrading the mag capacity. He was very efficient in his job.

"It's a ladies' gun, pare!" his peers would often tease. To him, the size was for practicality rather than form. You don't earn pogi points for showing off a big-ass gun used for blowing someone's brains out because your employer didn't like the way your victim pisses. Most of the time you'd just scare people away, women in particular, if you carry anything resembling a gun - yes, even your dick! The gun is just the perfect blend of power and concealability - very reliable. It was registered, of course, so he can pass off on security checks but he carried a different barrel in the gun itself on every assignment. It was illegal to do this, obviously, but it was his boss who provides the bogus barrels.

It had been five years since the judgment he passed on to her - the end of her at the end of his barrel. The number still rings in his head like some sappy boy band song whose tune you can't seem to get the fuck out of your head. With one smooth motion on his lips he whispers her target number to himself. "103". A number that holds significance only to himself.

It is said that you never lose your soul until you take another one's life. Although dozens of lives have fallen by his hand he never really lost his soul until he lost her. That's what he tells himself but who was he kidding?

His next target. A politician. A woman. A local government official who's currently vacationing in Hong-Kong. Perfect. Plus the info he just read that this married woman is fond of using men. She's probably in Hong-Kong tasting the exotic Asian chorizos. A long distance kill for a local political rivalry. This was easier than getting her here. Fewer questions and another country would take the blame.

Target #104. It is time.

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