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

Ok, my first attempt here, and written on my lunch break. 
 
 
 McClellan paced the length of what he called his office, in a warehouse on the outskirts of town. On the outside the warehouse looked like any other in the area, a faded sign painted on the wall showed the warehouse once belonged to a company specialising in springs and air brakes. All the windows at ground level had the appearance of never having been cleaned in thirty years. McClellan had spent a good few hours last year making sure that illusion was maintained. 
 
 Any visitor entering via the front door would encounter a small, dusty, unmanned reception area with a tattered sofa, one spring sticking out of the seat, and a small coffee table adorned with yellowing newspapers and a copy of Readers Digest from May of 1972, well worn, with an article on weightless long ago torn out. 
 
 Beyond the walls of the reception area, where nobody apart from McClellan stepped, was a different story. Customers would be surprised to learn of a fully stocked armoury, firing range, communications suite, living space, gym, and several vehicles ranging from a Mk I Renault Clio to an FV603 Saracen APC that once belonged to the British Army. 
 
 At the moment, as McClellan paced, all of this was at the back of his mind. His thoughts were on an unremarkable man. Someone McClellan did not know all that well, but someone whose destiny was due to collide with McClellan. 
 
 In the thirty years since he had started his own line of “ Contract Cleaning ” he had never failed. He had despatched wealthy sheiks in the plush rooms of the Burj Al Arab. He had inhumed Mafia Dons as they sat with their family eating dinner in their own restaurant. He was quite proud of the job he had done in a packed Trafalgar Square, the target did n't even know he was dead until he sat down and fell over, by then McClellan was already on the tube heading for the airport. 
 
 In thirty years he had been the best at what he did, until now. Despite his best efforts fate, it seemed, intervened at every step. The target, an eighty year old man, had somehow escaped death, and in the strangest of ways. 
 The first attempt was set up as a simple long range kill, the target was walking on a beach, out in the open, no one around. It could n't have been easier, almost as though it had been set to be the perfect kill. As McClellan squeezed the trigger on his rifle, a flock of gulls inexplicably flew in front of the old man, and quite a few died, but the mark did not. 
 McClellan was stunned, one seagull he could understand, but a flock was inconceivable. 
 
 For his second attempt McClellan opted for the up close approach, a prick from a poison tipped pin on a ring. The concept being the wearer of the ring just had to put his hand on the victim, give him a little prick and the job would be done within five minutes. 
 Nobody could have foreseen the worlds unluckiest mugger. The young lad ran towards the target as McClellan approached, but at the last second his foot made contact with a rather large deposit of dog dirt on the pavement. He slipped past the old man, and impacted with McClellan. As McClellan fought to maintain his balance he accidentally pricked the mugger. The target walked away, not knowing his life was saved by the now dead mugger. 
 
 As McClellan weighed up his options, an odd sound resonated through the warehouse, a small ringing sound. He looked up, recognising the sound as one he had not heard since he installed the bell in the reception area. In a brief moment of curiosity he decided to see who could possibly have come in. As he walked into reception he looked at the visitor he let out an audible gasp. 
 
 “ Mr McClellan, I am here to find out why you have failed to fulfil your contract on me. I trust the amount I paid was enough? ” 
 

