{Action Post} Assassinations
He's been around enough to memorize her schedule. Every Monday, teatime at 2 with a man who goes by the Alias "Dewi Ainsworth", home by five, unless something prompts her to leave earlier. Today it was a man with abnormally big hair that sprouted like a firework from a foreground of owlish goggles. He knew - because he passed them in the hallway. He saluted her, smiled his smile, and let the couple pass en route of the exit.
And kept behind a lock and key was his sniper rifle. He bragged, told the rest he was the best shot in the city, that this rifle had saved two-hundred men. That it had taken the lives of one hundred and fifteen in the neighboring city without even setting foot outside Libertas's grounds. What he did not brag, however, was how by tonight the rifle would claim its one hundred and sixteenth victim.
So he sat, perched on his desk chair, window open enough to let in a slight breeze in. He had a cigarette perched between his teeth, one eye glued to the scope where he searched for her.
Below him the military grounds were empty. Soldiers had gone home, but they were used to seeing Colonel Braginsky stay behind. Shooting practice, they think. Other duties, they think.
So he waits, waits for his other duties to unfold before him. And he sees her, her and the man with the odd hair just beyond the shops. She's laughing, falsely of course, just to humor the man. To mock him, to mock Ivan. Even still, he can hear the words of his father- "this city has fallen to to ruins, my boy. It is our family's legacy to make things right. To take control and bring it from the darkness. We've tried as nobles, but not one noble family has the ability when there are others to suppress it. But in the military, where only one has the power, we are capable."
He breathes in, reminds himself that he's done it before. Just to think back, think to the time when the city was at war, when he took men's lives to save his own, proved his worth, gained his rank and his honor, the light of pride in his father's eyes. Thirty feet up for Gravity, two feet left for wind - he smiles, purple eye looming at the back of her head like a hawk.
He exhales, and pulls the trigger.
And kept behind a lock and key was his sniper rifle. He bragged, told the rest he was the best shot in the city, that this rifle had saved two-hundred men. That it had taken the lives of one hundred and fifteen in the neighboring city without even setting foot outside Libertas's grounds. What he did not brag, however, was how by tonight the rifle would claim its one hundred and sixteenth victim.
So he sat, perched on his desk chair, window open enough to let in a slight breeze in. He had a cigarette perched between his teeth, one eye glued to the scope where he searched for her.
Below him the military grounds were empty. Soldiers had gone home, but they were used to seeing Colonel Braginsky stay behind. Shooting practice, they think. Other duties, they think.
So he waits, waits for his other duties to unfold before him. And he sees her, her and the man with the odd hair just beyond the shops. She's laughing, falsely of course, just to humor the man. To mock him, to mock Ivan. Even still, he can hear the words of his father- "this city has fallen to to ruins, my boy. It is our family's legacy to make things right. To take control and bring it from the darkness. We've tried as nobles, but not one noble family has the ability when there are others to suppress it. But in the military, where only one has the power, we are capable."
He breathes in, reminds himself that he's done it before. Just to think back, think to the time when the city was at war, when he took men's lives to save his own, proved his worth, gained his rank and his honor, the light of pride in his father's eyes. Thirty feet up for Gravity, two feet left for wind - he smiles, purple eye looming at the back of her head like a hawk.
He exhales, and pulls the trigger.