Evelyn "Adept" Ward (kinesthetic) wrote in the_next_step, @ 2009-05-13 19:40:00 |
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Current mood: | working |
Entry tags: | evelyn ward/adept |
Shattering The Peace
Narrative
04:00 am
You've been sat in the back of a military issued helicopter, black ops, since boarding at gone midnight reading the mission brief and committing the facts to mind. This mission is about secrecy, getting in and getting out before anybody is aware of your presence. They've already expressed the importance of this. Like you need to be reminded, you've done this sort of thing more times than you care to count. You're not an amateur, but clearly your superior officers don't feel the same.
08:00 am
The helicopter hovers mere inches above the building you're scheduled to settle in for the next two hours, until your target has taken to the podium. It's as easy as strapping into a harness and taking the plunge as you leave the safety of the helicopter and commit your body to the air. It's easy, you've done it a hundred times. You know exactly when to twist and do so in order to land easily and gracefully, soled feet tilted upwards until your weight is balanced perfectly. You waste no time, stripping away the harness and lifting yourself to a full standing position. One hand signal from yourself and the helicopter is gone, leaving you to merely cross the distance to where the bag is hidden. You have no idea what's inside, but you'll be able to figure out its use quickly and efficiently, it's what you do best
08:30 am
You've found the room and the window, you know exactly what needs to be done and what your distances and wind factors are from previous information. Adjustments will have to be made, but you can handle that, it's like breathing, you never forget. Gloved hands open the bag and reach in, pulling out various parts of what you figure to be some sort of rifle, placing each on the ground nearby. And because your power doesn't work through leather you're forced to strip away your gloves until there's skin on cold metal. There's an instant firing in whatever part of your mind that houses the ability to do what you do, giving you an inherent know-how when it comes to the assembly and firing. It's taken you less than five seconds to know the model of sniper rifle you're dealing with: its recoil, small niggling problems and exact assembly, targeting and firing.
08:40 am
Your hands are literally poetry in motion, piecing the rifle together in seamless movements that show no hesitation or uncertainty. This rifle is powerful, it'll bruise your shoulder when you fire it, but it should do the job and cover the distance sufficiently. These jobs are always the worst, but it's inevitable and you're just doing what somebody else would do one way or another, least that's what you tell yourself.
09:00 am
You're ready, poised high above the bustling city below, finger on the trigger and hazel eye settled on the scope. The earpiece in your right eye is buzzing with police radio, feeding locations of blockades directly to you; it helps you to know which ways to avoid. You wouldn't want to draw attention to yourself whilst waiting on your pickup.
All you can do now is wait.
09:30 am
There have been several speakers, all of them campaigning for the same thing, something to do with aid in other countries. They aren't the problem, the next speaker is. He's corrupt and using his power to his own ends, he needs to be stopped, and because nobody else can get to him without serious reprimand you've been called in. Your unit does what nobody else can. It's one of the reasons you signed up in the first place.
9:40 am
Your target has taken to the stage and you wait, just until the wind is right and you feel it's the right time. It takes you another five minutes to pull the trigger, but when you do your bullet hits true and well, right between his eyes.
9:46 am
He falls, the crowd becomes hysterical, his security rushes to his aid, but you're already on the move. The gun is wiped clean, gloves slid back on, gun left in place with a signature mark of an organised crime family, the blame has to fall somewhere after all.
10:00 am
You hit the streets in plain clothes, all facades of military gone, your hair is loose and you have shades over your eyes. You look like everybody else; nobody would ever think that you were the assassin that shot a very public figure dead.
It's exactly how you like things.