[ WP ] you are a retired special ops soldier bored with civilian life , you decide to hire hitmen off of the dark web to kill you as a form of entertainment .

He sat alone and unnoticed, as unnoticed as a 6ft3 230lbs man can be, in a corner booth of the bar. About four drinks deep in the Thursday “ usual, ” Keegan waited patiently for his company while watching a young couple try their hand at drunken darts. No thought of envy passed through his mind. He wasn ’ t built for love nor did he care for curiosity. 
 
 Keegan first learned his purpose at a young age. Like his father before him, a career of service provided fulfillment and self worth. He never thought he would retire, having accepted quickly that would probably die in the hot Afghanistan sun, guns blazing and a battle cry like a cheesy 70s war movie. Not everyone is built for Special Forces, but if anyone was carved by God himself to be a Green Beret, Keegan was a holy, marble statue. 
 
 The clock on the far wall chimed as the hands read 10pm taking his thoughts from the past to the present, as the front door to the bar opened. 
 
 With a graceful, confident stride she walked in as the dim bar light did little to contain the shine of her tan skin and long black hair. “ Not military, ” Keegan thought to himself as he peered at here through the corner of his cup, finishing the last of his lager. 
 
 She continued in, straight to the bar, “ vodka, ” she said, taking a seat at the counter, no more than 20 paces from Keegan ’ s booth. She never turned to look at him. 
 
 “ Not American, ” he added to his mental checklist. “ Fucking Amateur, ” he mumbles as he removed himself from the booth. He grabs his jacket to go over his t-shirt, his thighs the side of tree trunks testing the stitching of his jeans he approaches the woman and removes a package from his inside jacket pocket. 
 “ You ’ re late, ” he says to her, placing the package next to her elbow that rested on the bar top. 
 
 “ You want him dead? ” she asked dryly, more of a statement than a question. 
 He chuckled to himself as he reached the door, “ sometimes, ” he added under his breath. 
 He walked up to, and past his Jeep Wrangler as the chances were that she knew it was his, and would ’ ve tabs on it even prior to finding out the intended target. He headed to the north side of the of the building taking a left down a back alley, where he swiftly climbed the fire exit ladder to the top floor of the structure. Striding across the roof, he found a place to perch as the woman left the bar through the east exit, making her way across the street to an alley next to Frankie ’ s Pizza Parlor, one of the many mom and pop restaurants in the south Philadelphia area. 
 
 Keegan began to move to get a better view when he heard the undeniable sound of a silenced pistol. Two quick shots that left the empty street undisturbed, His eyes quickly scanned the entire area as the noticed the woman stumble sideways against the alley wall holding her hand pressed against her abdomen. Keegan could just make out a figure with a raised left arm holding the weapon aimed at the woman ’ s head, as one final trigger pull sent her to her maker. The arm slipped back into the shadows and the man disappeared. 
 Keegan, crouching on the roof peering down the alley, felt a familiar smile develop as he thought to himself. 
 
 “ Now, the hunt begins. ” 

