Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

CONALL WARNER

I took the sniper rifle out of the safe and set it on the floor. There was another, smaller safe within the locker. The exterior safe required the standard three twists - left, right, left - but this smaller safe needed a passcode. I spun my head around at the assistant manager. I didn't care for her name, we weren't acquainted enough.

"There are masks in there," the assistant manager said. "In case you get spotted. It was a last-minute addition." I looked back at the number pad on the front of the safe.

"Code," I said.

"1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6." I typed the extremely easy passcode in and it opened up to two masks on thin placeholders. Two Batman masks, black and sleek if not a bit childish. One was from Bale's iteration of the caped crusader and the other, Affleck's. "They're my child's cosplay gear so I expect they will be returned to the safe when you're done. I expect all of it to be returned."

I stood, heaving the sniper rifle onto my shoulder. I had never carried a gun so big before. I lifted Batfleck's mask above my head and pulled it down over my face. The mask string hugged my head tight behind my eyes.

"Will do ma'am." I shut the safe doors and looked for a vantage point. The catwalk that overlooked the warehouse would give me a decent view from above at Yaegar's office.

But before that, I climbed down from the assistant manager's office to the car park, leaving the rifle with her. I clung onto a pipe with both hands and walked backwards against the corner of the building. I was surprised when it didn't tear off the side of the wall.

I reached the ground, thankful that it didn't, and rushed towards what I suspected was Yaegar's car. I pulled out a tiny tracking chip and placed it under the spoiler. Another useful device bought from the gun dealer.

I climbed back up, which was even harder, and took the sniper rifle from her hands. She sat down in her comfy seat as I made my way to the catwalk.

The catwalk was off-limits because the company didn't see any use for it. So no one was up here. It was also dark with no lights guiding the way and no lights being that high up if there wasn't a reason for it.

That misanthropic man and his right-hand traitor are going to think that the Bat has come for them. And corrupt lemmings that I do not doubt run this company behind closed curtains will follow suit and know that my vengeance is stalking them even more closely.

The steel-mesh platform of the catwalk was held up by a web of ropes that I hoped would hold my weight. The catwalk was straight and led to the other side of the headquarters. I could see through minuscule holes in the platform as I walked, bustling heads of men, hair-brained, bald and balding. The bald ones were gleaming, but I couldn't spot Yaegar or Bimbo.

Of course not, they mustn't mingle with their workers. Keep to themselves in the big man's room. And there they were. Or rather, Bimbo was there, the back of his head facing the wide windows.

He was so hair-brained I could almost see his brain cells fabricating into hair follicles. Nevertheless, they would be splattered in blood and brains after I pulled the trigger.

I steadied myself, stabilized it with my elbow on my knee. For a second, I thought the beak of the Batman mask would get in the way of seeing through the scope. But luckily it didn't. The silencer had been screwed onto the tip of the gun. It wouldn't make any difference because I was going to have to shoot through glass which was sure to arouse suspicion and garner attention.

I was aiming downwards and I had to grip the rifle firmly or else it would slip out of my hands and land on a coworker's head. Then I would be in real trouble.

The red crosshairs lined up with Bimbo's head and I let fly. My built-up anger was released into that one bullet that had come from my trigger finger pressing down on my emotional detonator.

It amounted to a small hole in the glass, a quiet crack and whip. The whip is the sound the rifle made and the crack is the slight incision into the portrait of furnished sand. What I missed in hearing was the collision between the bullet and its target which I so longed to hear.

No skull crunching sounds but the bullet did make him fall forward into his crotch which was quite the amusement park. But I dare not laugh because I respected Bimbo, for the months he spent at Hotel Brownwood. Also because I was hurrying across the catwalk and the people were now seeing my fascination with devastation in this once-in-a-lifetime assassination.

The bloody screen that they viewed like a gory television masterpiece would incite their need for protection. Protection I had just killed off. And I hoped Yaegar was watching from his seat behind the desk. Watching and praying that it wasn't true. Too afraid to move because his only way out of here safely had been vanquished.

I returned to the assistant manager's office, but she wasn't there, which was strange. I opened the first safe and laid the sniper rifle to lean against the second safe.

What was the code for the second safe again? I thought.

203567?

453218?

I tried them all out, but they all came back with incorrect results. The stress of not remembering spread through my mind like ink on paper. I took in a deep, ragged breath before placing my hands, enclosed together, onto the top of the exterior safe.

I recovered from my diminutive breakdown and recalled the code immediately. First six numbers excluding 0, got it. I typed it in quickly and took off the mask. I had been sweating inside. I hoped the kid wouldn't mind.

Screaming came from outside, through the open window I had crawled through. A woman's screams. I ran to the window and peeked over it. Yaegar was walking towards his car, nonchalantly. Why wasn't he worried?

Then my eyes followed down to the wailing screams of the assistant manager, being dragged towards a car by the arm without her consent. And the dragger? A dead man that I thought I had just killed, but I guess he was still a respectable fraud. And alive, most annoyingly.