| General Fiction posted October 2, 2021 |
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Assassinate Me A Thriller contest entry
Our Last Job
by DragonSkulls
Mark was my spotter in our last two military deployments. I'd take a scoped sniper shot from nearly a mile away and, with binoculars, he'd let me know exactly, within inches, how much calibration I needed to eliminate the target. It never took more than a second bullet. I trust him with my life.
After our tour in Afghanistan, and numerous dead-end jobs, we decided to use our talents to prosper in our favor. And now, for the right price, we're your own personal, let's call it as it is, murder for hire.
We were on the thirty-seventh floor of the Wellington in Dallas. That day we had two targets to eliminate. The tally of this transaction would clearly have us both set for life. I pictured a little island off the coast of some far away land as being the resolve of my refuge. Those were my thoughts whilst assembling the sniper rifle.
The rally was twenty-six blocks away, one point three miles distance. There was no room for error. Failure was not an option or surely there would be a hefty price on our heads as well. We knew though, like countless times before, the job would go flawlessly.
The targets were exactly four feet apart, in front of a crowd of onlookers. The wind direction was southeast at twenty knots and some change. Bullet drop over that distance would be approximately eleven inches. Mark surveyed the situation as I mounted the weapon on the tripod and took position.
Our window of opportunity was short, so we took full advantage. I aimed nearly a foot over my first target's head and slightly left for wind. As long as I hit center mass, no one could survive a shot of this magnitude. I adjusted the scope, took a deep breath and said, "Ready."
Mark, looking through his binoculars, said, "Go for it."
On my slow exhale, I softly squeezed the trigger. I vowed to never kill women or children but the price on her was well worth vanquishing my morals.
Seconds later, her head exploded. Mark whispered, "Perfect shot. Go for two."
I took a second deep breath and slightly adjusted the crosshairs to the right.
My main target ducked behind the pedestal where he was speaking. One of the many men there to protect him leapt in front of it. Unfortunately, his attempt was futile as the wood pedestal burst into shards and blood splattered all over the political backdrop behind them.
Mark: "It's done."
We abandoned the weapon and headed for the waiting elevator we had propped open. A timed one minute, twelve seconds later, we were on our way out the doors of the Wellington.
Once in the limo, our contractor's phone call went just like this: "Outstanding work, gentlemen. You are true patriots. Hopefully, we can restore order and get back on track and become a nation again. Live well, my friends."
Mark smiled at me when I answered, "Thank you, Mr. Trump."
Assassinate Me A Thriller! writing prompt entry
Mark was my spotter in our last two military deployments. I'd take a scoped sniper shot from nearly a mile away and, with binoculars, he'd let me know exactly, within inches, how much calibration I needed to eliminate the target. It never took more than a second bullet. I trust him with my life.
After our tour in Afghanistan, and numerous dead-end jobs, we decided to use our talents to prosper in our favor. And now, for the right price, we're your own personal, let's call it as it is, murder for hire.
We were on the thirty-seventh floor of the Wellington in Dallas. That day we had two targets to eliminate. The tally of this transaction would clearly have us both set for life. I pictured a little island off the coast of some far away land as being the resolve of my refuge. Those were my thoughts whilst assembling the sniper rifle.
The rally was twenty-six blocks away, one point three miles distance. There was no room for error. Failure was not an option or surely there would be a hefty price on our heads as well. We knew though, like countless times before, the job would go flawlessly.
The targets were exactly four feet apart, in front of a crowd of onlookers. The wind direction was southeast at twenty knots and some change. Bullet drop over that distance would be approximately eleven inches. Mark surveyed the situation as I mounted the weapon on the tripod and took position.
Our window of opportunity was short, so we took full advantage. I aimed nearly a foot over my first target's head and slightly left for wind. As long as I hit center mass, no one could survive a shot of this magnitude. I adjusted the scope, took a deep breath and said, "Ready."
Mark, looking through his binoculars, said, "Go for it."
On my slow exhale, I softly squeezed the trigger. I vowed to never kill women or children but the price on her was well worth vanquishing my morals.
Seconds later, her head exploded. Mark whispered, "Perfect shot. Go for two."
I took a second deep breath and slightly adjusted the crosshairs to the right.
My main target ducked behind the pedestal where he was speaking. One of the many men there to protect him leapt in front of it. Unfortunately, his attempt was futile as the wood pedestal burst into shards and blood splattered all over the political backdrop behind them.
Mark: "It's done."
We abandoned the weapon and headed for the waiting elevator we had propped open. A timed one minute, twelve seconds later, we were on our way out the doors of the Wellington.
Once in the limo, our contractor's phone call went just like this: "Outstanding work, gentlemen. You are true patriots. Hopefully, we can restore order and get back on track and become a nation again. Live well, my friends."
Mark smiled at me when I answered, "Thank you, Mr. Trump."
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Writing Prompt In 500 words or less, write a thriller (or/and horror) prose involving an assassin/assassination or hitman/hitwoman. No poetry or script, please. Be creative and have fun! :) |
Harris and Biden were the targets, just in case that wasn't clear.
Thank for reading.
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