"MAN! I leave for a minute or two to comment on Cashew's story and there are FOUR comments already! I love this site. Did you guys actually read the thing?"
-.Praetor
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| The Hitman | | | Author: | | | IP: | 1Cust78.XXXX | | Date: | 08/14/01 01:08 | | Game Type: | Other | | Labels: | none | | Report Rating: , # of Ratings: 2, Max: 7, Min: 5
Lifetime Rating for Monty Pylon: 6.0390 |   | The Hitman
From high up you can see everything and everyone. They scurry about like ants, always rushing with nowhere to go. It’s sad really, that is if you stop to think about it. When I’m on the job, I always have time to think. It’s quiet, just you, your rifle and your thoughts. Some guys like to listen to music or talk to themselves when they get ready to work. Mainly, it’s to try and relieve the pressure they’re under in that moment. Some guys can handle it others crash and burn. It’s a hard life, but hey that’s just part of the job. Personally, I like to sit in the silence of my own thoughts. If you want an operation to run smoothly, you need to be focused. Today, I’m just scouting the area for escape routes and drop points. Tomorrow, the operation will be complete and I can go home. Tonight, I meet with my employer to finalize our deal.
I receive a call that has me in a cab headed for mid-town. I stop off at a hole in the wall bar and meet my employer at a far corner table. He tells me his name is Eric Johansson and that he represents the man that has hired me. One look at the guy tells me he isn’t from around here. Maybe it was the imported suit, or maybe it was the fine leather briefcase at his side. The fact that he refused to put his hands on the table was a good indication that he was not a loyal patron. We exchange a few pleasantries and got down to business.
“Is the operation set for tomorrow?”
“That all depends if you have my money.”
Johansson lifted the briefcase onto the table and cracked it just enough for me to see inside. There stacked in neat rows was three million in cash. I pulled a few bills from each stack and examined my fee. It was legitimate, but one can’t be too careful these days. I closed the briefcase and moved it over to my side. I kept a lookout for cops, in case this was a bust. Johansson seemed a bit edgy and I figured that he was one hell of an actor or the worst guy for a sting.
“Is everything ready?”
“I have the area pretty well scouted. There shouldn’t be a problem. However, if this job should go bad, I’ll need a way out.”
“We will have a van waiting for you just behind your position. Once the target has been eliminated, you may proceed to the van and they will escort you to a safe location. I f anything were to “go bad”, the van will get you to a remote location as fast as possible. Are their any questions?”
“Yeah, what is it about this Teller that has your boss so scared. He got some dirt on him or something?”
“That is hardly your concern. Once the target is eliminated, you will be paid the twenty-five million owed to you. After that, our business is finished.”
“Whatever you say pal. You don’t have to worry about the job, just worry about my money.”
I left the guy there to wash his hands, while I returned to the motel to check my cash. It was all there and every last bill was as real as I was. I had a few drinks at the bar to toast my new wealth and headed back to my room for a shower and a cigarette. I kicked back to watch the late night movie and read over the file of my target. His name was Jason Teller, fifty years old and a mufti-billionaire. He owned Teller Technology and was the main contractor to the Dominion war machine It was announced that Teller was interested in leaving the weapon’s business and use his company to advance in the field of medicine. The announcement had caused quite a stir with the board of Directors and Teller own V.P son, who felt that there was no money in medicine. Emperor Mengsk was looking to find a new contractor to rebuild the Dominion Armed Forces. My best guess would be that the board and V.P of Teller Technology wanted the old guy eliminated and take back the contract. Still, it wasn’t my concern. I had a job to do and money to make, with little time for sympathy.
I fell asleep watching the news and awoke to a pot of coffee and a beeping van horn. I poked my head out and saw a black van, with Johansson standing out in front. I wasn’t sure weather to say hello or shoot the little bastard. I chose the former and went down to meet him.
“I apologize for the rude awakening, but we must leave at once.”
“I need to get my gear from the room.”
“No need, we have a weapon primed and ready for you.”
“Apparently you didn’t understand, I don’t use any weapon. I use my gun and only my gun.”
“Very well, but we really must be going.”
I got my bag and jumped into the van to see that Johansson was not alone. Two other men were seated in the back. They were both dressed in jeans and wore black leather jackets. Johansson was in the front passenger with a driver to his left. I could see that the driver had a chest holster and pistol locked and loaded. We sat in silence on the ride to the site and I began to question what I had gotten myself into.
The van was parked in an alley and I walked to an old apartment complex and broke into the back entrance. The lift was broken so I climbed a dusty stairwell and entered onto the roof. From there it was just a small walk and jumped onto the neighboring building and I was now in front of Teller Technology. Today, Teller would be delivering a speech on the new advances his company would hope to make in medical research. He was out in the open and was a fairly easy target. I looked down into the crowd of reporters and cameramen to see only a few police units milling around. I would figure that Teller would want a more substantial police presence. I could count the cops on my hands and even if everything went wrong, I could skip to the van before the cops knew what was going on. Easy money, if I ever saw it.
I figured I had about another ten minutes before Teller’s speak and began to assemble my pride and joy. A G-14 Special Forces Canister Rifle, the finest in ghost weaponry. I had picked it off the field during a Confederate campaign near Char. The ghost who owned got chewed up pretty bad, but this beauty was intact and in perfect condition. Against a fully armored soldier, the canister fire does moderate damage. But on civilians, it goes in one way and out the other. Unlike conventional sniper rifles, this baby can fire up to five hundred yards and hit a target dead center. The nuke laser scope was replaced for a high-powered sniper scope, making it the most accurate weapon I have every fired.
Just as I slid the canister cartridge into place, I could hear a small disturbance from below. I peered over the ledge and saw the reports and cameramen, rush the stage area. Teller was outside and apparently trapped in the sea of reporters. I waited for the commotion to die down and looked for my target. Teller was seated on the far left half behind the speaker at the podium. He was wearing a gray suit and matched his picture to a tee. I could have taken a shot, but with this much money on the line, the last thing you want to do is gamble. Teller was finally introduced and I had my shot.
I prefer a headshot as opposed to a body hit. Most guys will tell you that a hit to the heart is the way to go. A good idea, if you get a shot to the heart or stomach. Even then, there’s a chance that the target might survive. A headshot kills instantly, and unless there a strange twist of luck involved, the target drops dead on site. You don’t want to take chances and a headshot is almost a guarantee that you’ll get the job done.
I traced the area with my scoped and lined my crosshairs with his scalp. At this distance a bullet tends to drift down. Aim too low and you might get a hit to the throat. That will get the job done as well, but there’s always a chance the bullet will just shatter the voice box. Still a very painful and debilitating hit, but not fatal. Aim too high, and you hit something just behind the target. That gives them a warning and you have the choice of trying again or you turn and abort. There would be no abort today, I had a clear shot and he was completely oblivious to my presence. The strangest thing about being a sniper is that a blow so devastating, makes the quietest noise possible. The click of the hammer is actually louder than the shot.
CLICK
The bullet flies fast and strikes the target with a direct hit. His head snaps back violently, and sprays the ground with blood and tissue. His body weight shifts as his brain loses control of his muscles. His arms flail upwards as he crashes into the ground and collapses into a heap. Bloody, dirty and dead. I move forward to confirm that the target has been neutralized. The holes in his head serve as a definite “yes” to that question. Next to the body is his rifle. Not a bad piece of equipment. A bit old, but it is a very nice gun to have as a sniper. I think I’ll keep it as a memento. My job is done here, all I need to do is radio headquarters and I can go for a little R&R.
“This is Agent Driss reporting. The threat has been neutralized, and I am returning to base.”
“We copy that, good work Driss. Emperor Mengsk will be pleased. You just saved the new bio-weapons research division. Without Teller and his company, who can we trust with the bio-weapon project?”
“ I still can’t believe this “medical research” story is still holding water. Why the hell would a weapon tech company be interested in medicine?”
“You’ll have to talk to the boys in media control about that one.”
“What should I do with the body?”
“Leave it, the cops will just file it under unsolved and throw it away. Beta squad already took care of his friends in the van.”
“I don’t think he was with them. This guys a hire gun. Probably didn’t know he was hooking up with a militia. Poor son of a bitch.”
“Well that’s none of our concern, get back to base. First rounds on me in honor of your successful mission.”
“Sounds good, I’ll see you there. Driss out.”
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