[ WP ] The world 's deadliest and most accomplished assassin faces their biggest challenge yet - a papercut during a hit .

Killing is a dark art of sorts. I've kept my profession a complete secret from my daughter, Megan, who is now 15, and beginning to wonder about her father more. I knew it was time to explain it to her. It would be difficult. I even wanted to have a drink or two as I wrote a letter to her, spilling all the details, but I had to work soon. I was hoping writing that letter was going to be the right thing, because the stress of my job, and the double-life it thrived in, was beginning to crush me. This had to be my last hit, and it was going to be a tough one. 
 
 He was coming. I knew it was going to happen for a while. The target -- a lean, but muscular German man, still in his youth, 28 to be exact. Josef Friedman. It wo n't be easy; he'll be trying to kill me too. Being the highest-paid, and, not to mention, most effective assassin in the industry has its downsides. I've never botched a hit. Not once. The tricky part though, is damage control. I've never been caught, the police in all of the 15 different countries I've done hits in have never gotten a whiff of me. But sometimes the people who hire my services, or one of their people, will let some small piece of information slip out to the wrong person. I've done some high-level gigs -- politicians, mob bosses, and hell, even a couple judges. I've done it all. There is n't a part of this job I have n't figured out in my 20 years of experience. But when those higher-ups get killed, people get angry, and, although I've managed to avoid it for the most part, they will do some research or squeeze it out of someone that it was I who killed their father, brother, boss, whatever. And then they send someone after me. Incidentally, that someone is someone that I got hired to kill anyway. Ha, small world. I ca n't name names - who hired whom, and all that, but I can tell you, this guy is good. He's a very talented assassin, and has been taking out certain targets who are business associates with my client, who fears he's next. That's why he hired me to kill Josef. Here's the problem: Josef was on his way to my house right now. I just got word from my client, who got tipped off by one of his people. I know... it all sounds sort of sketchy. It is. If I flee, Josef will just come after me. But, if I lure him in, and assassinate him on my own turf, then I will be able to get out. I ca n't just flee the country again, or do something like that. I have a bunker in Switzerland - it's where I go in emergencies. It's locked down. You ca n't get past any of the titanium doors without a finger scan, even the doors inside. Now that there's information out about this place, it loses its value to me and will serve as the perfect place to tie up this last loose end before I leave it. And Josef is on his way now. I put the letter to my daughter in by pocket, hoping it would bring me some luck, and watched the live security cam footage of the hatch door. And then I saw him arrive. It would be a moment before he got here, as he was about 75 yard away. 
 
 The plan was simple - the stakes were high. The upside was, he did n't know I knew he was coming. I just had to wait, let him break in, and then jump him with the blade from behind and a swift cut to the neck. I'd have a gun, in case. He would probably break in, using C4, and I had to make sure to leave the door locked so that he did n't think something was up. I had to let him break in. I held the letter to my chest, and my heart began to beat. It's crazy, the fact that it still does that at the beginning of hits, even after all these hits. It's crazy, the fact that it still does that at all, after all these hits. I took out the letter, and read over parts of it to myself, hoping it would bring me some level of emotional preparedness. I caught myself absorbed in the emotion of it, when suddenly, there was an explosion at the door. Flames engulfed the doorway, concrete flew everywhere. I was tucked away, with my letter, and I had to do this NOW. How did he get here so fast? I thought. I still do n't know. It does n't matter. Focus on the now. 
 
 I crumple up the letter as fast as I can, and, I did n't even feel it at the time... but that's when it happened. A slice, right across my tip of my index finger, right across the very curvy lines that serve as the instantiation of my security and identity. I pulled out my knife, but I was just a hair off in my timing. He had surprised me, and it started to get sloppy quickly. He saw me from his peripherals, turned around and decked me in the stomach, and I hit the ground. He pulled his pistol out. I immediately got up, swung my knife around and knocked it out of his hands. He went for a jab left, and a hook right. As fists flew, and the fight became instinctual, and I made mistakes. I pulled my gun in the flurry of fists, and he managed to knock it out of my hands. He swooped down as I dodged a punch and stabbed into my left leg with pocket-knife. I hit the ground, and it hurt more this time. And, I could n't get up as fast this time, so I barely avoided another swoop of the knife. And now he was going for the gun he dropped. This was fucked. I had to run. Or limp, I guess. 
 
 I hustled, and it hurt... every damn step was bleeding, dripping with agony. It was probably 7 or 8 feet from the door, and every inch counted. I got closer, right as Josef got to his gun, picked it up, and turned around to fire. I lunged for the door, my hand soaring through the air towards the sensor. I pressed my finger on the sensor, and first, I saw a red light, I heard a double beep. Dammit! Dammit! Josef is going to shoot me. He does n't miss, especially from less than 10 feet away. I heard a gunshot. I heard what I thought was a miracle. Because he fucking missed. But he still had me. I pressed my finger on the sensor again. It did n't work. The double beep was a death toll, ringing now. My life flashed before my eyes, and, above all things, I thought of Megan. My wonderful daughter. I thought... she'll never see the letter. He shot again, and the bullet hit me. 
 
 The smallest cuts can be the deepest.
