[ EU ] You 're a clone scout trooper acting as a sniper . Your target holds a device that will release a deadly neuro-toxin on the galaxy . However , the target is idealistic child . Describe , what goes through your head as you wrestle with pulling the trigger .

I lay on the cliff. Waiting. My armor, colored to look like the rock, kept me concealed. I continued to receive battle reports from around the planet. The radio spewing a constant stream through my helmet. I took a breath and looked around. I did n't have to worry about missing my target, the scope was wired into one of my eye pieces. I could see from the threads on the pole by the house that the wind had picked up. I made my adjustments on the door as I waited. 
 
 My brothers were winning their battle. We would be leaving this world soon. But when you have been trained since `` birth'' to be a sniper, time does n't mean as much. I had all the time in the world. My whole life was waiting. Waiting for orders, waiting for a location, waiting for a target, waiting for the perfect shot. My brothers had been trained for combat, they hated waiting. Always in a hurry. Not me. 
 
 Then I saw it. The door moved. Someone was coming. I checked the picture I had been given to make sure for the millionth time that I knew the target. As if anything had changed. Then I saw him, a human, smaller than most, stepping out of his shelter. He was holding a box, no not A box, THE box. My orders were to make sure the box did n't get opened. 
 
 I waited, patiently for the wind to die down as I lined up my shot. He placed the box on the ground and hovered over it. Just as the wind died down he reached for the lid, now was the time. I did n't have to think. The training had made it almost like breathing, the trigger was pulled, the roar of the rifle, and the target fell. His head gone. I radioed to control. The target was eliminated and the box was secure. Now for the wait again. 
 
 I watched over the box with curiosity, seeing if anyone would come for it. Waiting for orders from command. The small man's body lifeless and unmoving.
