The air would be frigid against my skin if my armor weren't blocking it out. I wouldn't be needing it tonight, because I'm sitting under a billboard in Angel City, at least half a mile from my mark's office. I wear it nonetheless, as the helmet helps tremendously with long distance shooting and, frankly, I like how it looks. As far as I could tell, my mark was a normal man, but if he appeared abnormal, he would probably find it significantly harder to run the drug cartel that's currently rivaling my employer's. I stare at him through the digitally enhanced lenses on my helmet, before ensuring my shot wouldn't cause any collateral damage. I pick up my Pike, and center it between his eyes. I breathe out. I relax my muscles. I close my left eye. I squeeze the trigger. He nearly flies back from the sheer force of the shot. I unload my rifle and engage my cloak. He lies on the floor, dead or dying, and I can't help but think to myself; "Damn, I'm a good shot."

   The next day, I put on my usual suit and tie and head to the bar established as our meeting point after the job is done. We look up at the television playing the news, and see his death confirmed. "MAN SHOT IN APARTMENT." The credits are transferred and I walk back home. I look at the 2 million credits in my account, and think for a moment about what I'm gonna do with them. Start a business? Launder them? as of now, the money is somewhat legitimate, but anyone looking into my transaction history is going to find something fishy with the fact that each large payment comes right after a murder. All with the same type of round, too. There were a few that I had to use my RE-45 or R-97 for, but most are committed with an experimental PRO-4 Pike round. The only ones who know about it are the Militia, but they know that to tell anyone about it would be suicide. It's their current weapons project. The Pike heavy sniper rifle. It uses phase dimension jumping to essentially teleport the bullets to the target's face. Or body, or what have you. It's capable of taking down even a Titan in a few shots, but I'd need the AP rounds for that. 

   My sleep is disturbed when I put my hands up to block a blow, but find myself in bed instead of with my father. I almost chuckle at myself, before pulling my covers back over to me and drift off again. In the morning, I go about my normal day. I wake up, turn on the news, and get ready to go out. I'm a somewhat low level exec in a small company. Low enough to be unheard of, but high enough to make my... ...questionable income less suspicious. I sit through a few boring meetings and play this ancient game on my phone called Plants vs Zombies and eventually head home. I stop by the grocer and give the cashier I like a heavy tip before hailing a taxi and going the rest of the way home. My corner office still gives me such an amazing view of Angel City that I sometimes miss it after returning to the flat, just a story lower. I make myself a damn good steak, if I do say so myself, watch the newest episode of Pilot's Valor, and drift off again. I awake in the middle of the night to shuffling in my living room. I reach under my pillow and grasp my pistol firmly. This one hasn't seen any of the customization like that of my RE-45 and R-97, and, more importantly, it was legal. "Leg shot." I think to myself. I slowly roll out of bed and onto the floor as slowly as I can. I pull myself to a crouch. The intruder is looking the other way, so I press the pistol to the back of his head. "Don't turn around, and do just as I say."

"O-Okay. j-j-j-just don't hurt me, please." The voice was feminine.

"Walk toward the door, but don't touch the handle. I want you to look out the window."

"O-Okay, okay."

"Do you like the view? It's beautiful, isn't it?"

"Is this where you shoot me?" A clearly terrified response.

"No, turn around."

I had lowered the gun as soon as she had started walking toward the window. Now I saw her red hair and freckles as she looked at me with tears in her eyes. "What are you going to do? What kind of game is this?"

"Not a game. There are spare blankets in the closet to your left. You can sleep on the couch. Anyone desperate enough to break into my apartment is clearly in need of a place to stay." I continue, removing the magazine from the gun and clearing the chamber. "Let me pat you down so I know you don't have any weapons and I think I have some spare clothes that might fit you. What's your name?"

"I'm Elena. And you?" She had just finished wiping the tears from her eyes.

"Call me Mr. Michaels. Now go take a shower. You smell like you slept in a dumpster."

"I did."

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