[ WP ] The world 's best hitman prepares to kill the world 's luckiest man .

I breathed in. 
 
 Breathed out. 
 
 Fuck, the trigger was stuck. Oh, well. My target was n't going anywhere. He ambled aimlessly around a mile away, smack-dab in the middle of a vacant park. It was one o'clock at night. He had made it too easy; apparently, God or whoever watched over this desolate world wanted to make the job just a little harder. 
 
 I took the clip out of my rifle and fiddled with the trigger. After a minute or so, it clicked, freed from whatever rust or gunk had been holding it in place. Fuckin' weird. I'd cleaned that thing just yesterday'til there was n't a spot left on it. 
 
 I pushed the clip back in slowly, taking care not to jam it. When I raised the scope back up to my eye, he was still there. Sitting on a bench, huh. Enjoying his little midnight relaxation. Why the hell had they sent me to kill this guy, anyway? 
 
 I pulled the trigger. 
 
 *Bam. * 
 
 Or... no bam? Oh my fucking God. It had jammed. The damn gun had jammed. Fuck that shit. It was time to take out my backup. 
 
 I strolled back to my sleek black Chevy while pulling on my gloves nervously. If my other sniper fucked up, then I'd have to go down there myself and just pray ( *ha, * pray ) that my target stayed put. A little knifeplay was always fun. 
 
 I opened my trunk and threw my useless, jammed piece of shit in. Would n't be needing that'til I got it looked at. I picked up my backup, my lucky rifle, gingerly, cradling it in my arm as I closed the trunk and walked back to my spot. It was already loaded and ready to fire. There'd be no damn misfire this time. 
 
 I aimed at the idiot who *still* sat on that park bench and fired. The sniper kicked back with all the force of a regular shot, yet... there had been no sound. I stared through the scope, dumbfounded. He was still sitting peacefully, oblivious to the world's best hitman that was utterly failing to kill him. 
 
 I stomped my foot in anger, wondering what the hell had happened. My foot hit something hard, and I bent down to examine it. 
 
 It was... my bullet. With a piece of paper taped to it. A... A *piece of paper?! * How the fuck had the bullet just *fallen out* if the rifle had kicked that damn much? Why was there...? 
 
 I snatched it, ripping out of a clump of grass from the earth as well. The bullet was so cold that I could feel it through my gloves. I peeled the tiny piece of paper off of it and unfolded it. 
 
 *Hi: ) * 
 
 Hi? 
 
... 
 
 No. I did n't know what kind of goddamned mindgames my boss or my fellows-in-arms or my damn target were playing on me, but they ended *now. * I trudged back to my car and threw the sniper back in, ignoring the clash and clatter as it landed right on top of the first defunct one. 
 
 All I would need was my hands. 
 
 I would have to walk down there. Driving would be too suspicious, too loud. It was only a mile or so. He would stay put. 
 
 I started off, cracking my knuckles in anticipation. 
 
 -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- 
 
 He was still there. By God, what was he *doing? * He looked so content, staring off into the inky, shoddily-lit park and twiddling his damn thumbs. Was he waiting for somebody? Was he some sort of mob boss that rivaled my own? 
 
 I crept out from behind the bushes, eyeing his bench. I was just outside his peripheral vision. If I just sneaked forward, slowly, slowly, he would never see me coming. If he suddenly craned his head my way, I would lunge. It would be over in a flash. 
 
 I started walking, hunched over. He was only fifty or so feet away. Why did I feel so damn *hot? * Nerves had never gotten to me before. 
 
 Forty feet. My legs were shaking. My right shoulder and arm began to ache. Was that from the recoil of my rifle? Shit, I thought I had my arms trained for that by now. God, it was hot. 
 
 Thirty feet. Suddenly, I lost my focus for a split second. My mind blanked out, leaving me still and staring ahead at my target. I started creeping towards him again, sweat pouring off of me in a river. God, I had heard of nerves, but I'd never heard of somebody in the business getting them this bad. 
 
 Twenty feet. My... My chest was aching. Jesus fucking Christ, it was pulsing with horrible, dull pain. My arm was going numb at the shoulder. My sight shook in front of me. I could n't stop. Not for nerves, not for anything. 
 
 Ten feet. 
 
 I collapsed. The pain. The *heat. * My chest... 
 
 `` Oh.'' A pleasant little voice floated into my ears from above. `` What a shame. A heart attack. Most common cause of death for those who've hunted me, I'm afraid.'' 
 
 I gasped for breath. *A heart attack. * A fucking heart attack. This kinda shit did n't run through my family. What *was* this guy?! 
 
 `` Good luck in the afterlife,'' he giggled good-naturedly. `` I suppose I'll go and grab your stuff from that hill over yonder. Spoils of war, I guess you could call'em. Like my note?'' 
 
 I sputtered, trying to form something. Anything. A *Fuck you. * A *Go to hell. * 
 
 Nothing. 
 
 He giggled as I felt my heart beat for the last time.
