No Speeches

You were the best in your line of work. No one killed quite like you did. With hundreds of jobs under your belt, you were always sought after to take out even the highest of priorities in targets. Time and again, you succeeded where countless others failed.

You had your secrets, of course, your little tricks to the trade that kept you safe and in business far longer than any of your contemporaries. You didn’t use magic, you didn’t sneak in anywhere, or seduce your target, or try anything fancy with poisons and accidents. You practiced wisdom instead of intelligence.

This target would be no different. You set yourself up on a distant perch far in the city, staring down the street toward where your target would be. There was a podium being set up in front of one of the skyscrapers, the place soon to be the site for some huge press conference.

Your actual target was the CEO of a pharmaceutical company. You never really cared much about the details, so all you knew was that he’d had a huge part in jacking up the costs of life-saving medications, all for the promise of record-high profits.

The rifle in your hand was warm, having been in your embrace for nearly an hour now as you waited. You’d done all the calculations necessary for the distance, had worked out the best time to take the shot, and now all you had to do was wait.

You didn’t wait long. The moment the CEO stepped up to that podium, you made the final on-the-fly calculations, lined up your aim, and pulled the trigger. The crowd flew into a panic, but you were already packing up and on your way.

On your way down to street level, you called your client. The disbelief in their voice was obvious.

“You’re done already? But the press conference was just about to start. How’d you do it?”

“Thirty-cal bullet to the skull,” you answered. “I don’t mess around.” And you hung up, and you went on your way to prepare for your next job.”