assassin
noun | as·sas·sin\ə-ˈsa-sən\

: a person who commits murder; especially : one who murders a politically important person either for hire or from fanatical motives.

hit man
noun

: a professional assassin who works for a crime syndicate

There were rules to being an assassin, and ever since he was employed, Otabek Altin had not broken a single one.

Each mission was flawlessly performed with the simplest steps; load your sniper, eye the target, and pull the trigger. As soon as that bullet came flying from the barrel, death was there to do his job. He was recognized and nicknamed as the Grim Reaper of the Dark Horse organization, the top assassin that had never made a mistake. He was a thief, but instead of valuables, he stole lives.

Before Otabek got recruited, the company had his memory of his past life erased. His family was relocated, his loved ones forgot about him over time. Otabek had no idea if he even had a family, a significant other, or a home, but that didn't matter anymore. What mattered was his job, his missions.  Whoever he was before was dead. Not just to his close companions, but to the world. Nobody must know who Otabek Altin was before.

He strided through the busy roads of Russia, which was his next assigned location.

"Talk to me," He said lowly as he held the device to his ear. He gripped his suitcase with one hand, which didn't really contain clothes. Unless you count an M8-2A1 as garments. He pushed through the busy crowds of Russia as he heard the response of his boss resonate from the phone's speaker.

"His name is Yurio Plisetsky. 19 years old. Professional Hitman. Take him down."

"Affirmative."

He activated the self destruct protocol on the device and chucked it into the ocean, seeing as he was walking by a bridge. He heard the surprised gasps by the people as he nonchalantly threw what looked like a phone over the railings.

19 years old, huh? Otabek had been assigned to kill young ones before, even newborns, but they were usually heirs to a Mafia. So they didn't really have a special treatment. When he had missions like that, Otabek simply made sure he would strike at the vitals. But only to make sure that they die painlessly, since he still had some sort of mercy left in him.

A hitman. Otabek has dealt with hitmen before, and they were all usually easy targets when he found out when they were most vulnerable, and he had no problem taking care of the job. Despite them being professionals, their skills and knowledge were deemed useless if they couldn't even avoid their own assassination. But not every mission was the same, some knew they were being targeted, but Otabek would still manage to catch up to them quickly.

But that was merely once. And this boy was 19, surely, he hasn't had much experience to know about his assassination yet.

Otabek entered the building where he was supposed to set up his sniper. He looked over by the corner and saw a sleek black car, the car that would serve as his get away if he was going to be pursued. He ran to the very top floor, where nobody was going to bother him. He checked his watch to see if his target was nearby, and sure enough, he was. The tracker was working perfectly. His location indicated that his target was directly outside the building. Otabek opened his suitcase to reveal the beautiful sleek black sniper, and a tiny smirk appeared on his lips. Such beauty was meant to be held by the best.

This weapon had taken so many lives, had witnessed so many deaths. Otabek saw this as a waltz. His sniper, was the fair, graceful maiden that would manage to leave him breathless every time he came across with it. It left him with adrenaline coursing through his veins, as he danced with death.

He took out the weapon and set it up by the window, making sure everything was perfectly in place. He set a timer on his watch. When it beeped, it had to mean that he accomplished his task. It wasn't necessary, but he liked to keep a record. He got into position as he eyed the sniper's glass.

He moved the weapon around and searched for his target. People were pushing past each other to get to work quickly on time, and the streets couldn't have been more busy. But that wasn't an obstacle for him. Civilians weren't a big deal, as soon as he found his target, a quick pull of the trigger and he'd be done.

There.

He zoomed in on his face. He was wearing a white hood, with long blonde hair sticking out of it. He had his head down, so Otabek couldn't see his face but he knew that was his target, as his location indicated. He was leaning by a wall in front of a store, and he looked to be deeply in thought. He had earphones in, which only further proved Otabek's suspicion. He was clueless. Inexperienced. An amateur.

He clicked the weapon, and aimed directly for his head. He took a deep breath, hovering his finger above the trigger, when...

...Yurio looked up, his striking green eyes meeting with Otabek.

Otabek's fingers froze, his breath hitching in his throat as Yurio's piercing gaze reached him despite the distance. His lips formed into a full smirk, as he crossed his arms. Otabek could practically feel the smugness radiating from his gaze. He's been spotted. Otabek gritted his teeth.

Yurio opened his mouth to speak, and Otabek's hand gripped his weapon tightly.

'Found you.'

And with a mocking grin, Yurio lowered his hood and walked,  blending back in the streets of Russia and slipping out of death's grasp.

There were a lot of things that Otabek didn't like. But what he hated the most was when he was being provoked.

The timer rang, signaling that he was supposed to be done already, which only increased his frustration.

"Damn it!" He cursed. He stood up, wasting no time as he looked at his location sensor. Good, Yurio was still in the area. Otabek quickly fixed up the sniper, keeping it back in the suitcase and shutting it. He left the building, going into the streets. Using the sniper was his first line of defense, but there were more. With targets like Yurio who knew they were being assassinated, then he'd have to deal with them face to face.

He rounded the corner and got into his supposed get away car, shoving the suitcase in the backseat. He pressed a few buttons on the car's radio, but instead of music, the front seat opened up to reveal several lethal weapons including knives, guns, and several others. Otabek put on some black leather gloves and took five knives, as well as a silenced gun.

He loaded it up and stuck it in his coat pocket. He opened up his target's location, and saw that he was moving. Fast. Otabek gritted his teeth. He must have been in a car- wait, no. The way he was driving past the traffic, it had to be a motorcycle. Otabek turned on the engine and quickly raced after him.

After a minute of driving, Otabek glanced down at his location, his expression hardening. He was near. He eyed the road, searching for a biker in a white hoodie. Otabek looked around, his deep brown eyes analyzing every rider he came across. When he glanced down at Yurio's location, his eyes widened.

He passed me already? How? There were no-

That's when it clicked.

He probably changed his outfit before he got on the motorcycle, which meant he could be anybody in traffic who was riding a motorcycle. Thankfully, Otabek had left his tracker somewhere where he wouldn't find or take off.

Otabek had underestimated him. He might be young, but he was certainly skilled. He wasn't an amateur. His boss was right; the boy was a damn professional. Otabek waited until the red dot passed him, and his eyes returned to the road.

There were four bikers in front of him,  and they were all near each other. One had a family on it, one was a female, and the last two were wearing hoods. One wore a brown one, while the other wore black. Colors didn't matter in this situation, he had to figure out who was who before the traffic cleared up.

After a few minutes, Otabek couldn't recognize which of the two was his target. He couldn't move the car unless the traffic moved, and he was running out of time. He glanced at the location one more time and held it to the windshield. Whoever moved the red dot first, was his target.

5 more seconds until they moved.

5.

4.

3.

2.

.....1.

The one in brown quickly moved forward, and Otabek smirked. "Gotcha." He revved up the engine, getting ready to follow him. He quickly rode after the biker. He began to pass the other motorcycle with the rider in black, when he noticed something. Blonde hair.

Blonde hair was sticking out of the hood. Although that wasn't any reason to divert to his target, when the tracker was sureky still stuck on his-

No.

That.. wasn't supposed to be there.

The tracker was hidden on the collar of the target's jacket, blinking red. That wasn't possible, he couldn't have-

'Damn it, he found the tracker! He stuck it to someone else's jacket! I've been following the wrong person!'

Otabek quickly swerved the car, causing all the other cars to come to a harsh stop as he changed his route. He growled, pressing on the gas as he began to follow his real target, the one in the black jacket. "You aren't getting away from me," He said lowly as he made the car go faster. The biker was moving in a zig zag formation, trying to throw him off but Otabek was trained for this. He drove directly forwards, following Yurio as he made a left. They entered a tunnel, and Otabek was tail to tail behind him, and he brought out his gun. He rolled down the window, glaring at him as he pointed the gun towards his head. "If you don't want to cause an accident, I suggest you stop the bike and let me do this peacefully." He spat.

Yurio's deep green eyes sparked. "An accident? You're supposed to be an assassin aren't you?" He asked, then smirked.

"Then you should be used to death."

Yurio pulled out a gun, and before Otabek could react, he heard a gunshot and his car spun ariund wildly. Yurio had shot the tires, and he was going to crash if he didn't control it. "Fuck!" He yelled, as he quickly swerved the car. He opened the panel once more, and quickly typed in a password.

'Initiating self destruct protocol in 15 seconds. 15, 14, 13...'

Otabek gritted his teeth. He drove out of the tunnel, his target leaving his thoughts as he tried to find a spot where he could crash the car. Somewhere empty. Somewhere with water.

There.

Otabek turned the wheel harshly, and pressed down on gas as much as he could. He quickly grabbed his suitcase, opening the door, and curling his body. He jumped out of the car, thankfully landing on the grass. He blinked as he looked at his previously functional and expensive as hell car, blow in mid-air with a deafening explosion, the parts landing in the lake.

Otabek stood there, stunned.

For the first time in all his years...

He had finally made a mistake.

And it was because of him.

(there will be a part 2!)