Fuckin’ hell Jim, you know just how to make my days exciting. Add a hint of fucking dangerous, and I will be there in a heartbeat, Sir. SM
First target, south-east London, should be fairly easy, shouldn’t it? Moran sat down and tucked away the phone in his inner pocket, before he plucked out the handgun. Close-combat wasn’t his thing, he was first and foremost a sniper and the man he worked for seemed to constantly forget it. But what didn’t you do for undying love?
The handgun was of that type you usually see being used by pretty women in 1940’s movies, the ones they could stick down a garter or in a small bag. It was pitch black and so small it wouldn’t be visible if you stuck it down the back of your trousers to keep it hidden. And that was exactly what Sebastian did. Tucked it down the hem and let it stay there.
Another handgun was plucked out from the bag, this time an old revolver, which was actually from the 1940’s, one that could blow your head off, were you in the right close range of it. A revolver issued for the men in higher positions in the second world war. One that Sebastian had acquired from one of his targets the last month. It was in cold steel, with an inscription on the barrel, which said, ‘Love for the Motherland, dead to the German’s’, obviously inscripted with another metal object, the words written several times over one another.
This revolver was stuffed in his holster underneath his leather jacket, and with a last tug from the canvas bag, Sebastian drew a rifle which he so strategically placed on his shoulder. The sniper threw away the bag and flicked a match at it. No evidence with fingerprints were allowed.
With a smug stride across the cobbled stone, he darted into a sprint in the late night and ran across streets and plains of grass because he knew he was going to be targeted by one of his own, and he also knew where they would be placed. Sebastian was better at strategic play than Jim, after all, he had been a colonel. Darting under a low branch, Sebastian jumped up into one of the trees in an abandoned park and started climbing it. Sitting on one of the broader branches, he leaned down over it, put down the rifle and placed his chin at the rest along the scope.
“Swanson, we meet again,” The Brit slur of the sniper drawled out as he saw the man facing the other way. Jim wasn’t very good at this, now was he? He pushed the trigger and saw the head of his now former colleague blow into bits and pieces. Then, he turned a 90 degrees while still sitting straddled the branch, and placed the rifle through the branches, and yes, there he was, his target. A plump man in a red velvet jacket and trousers. Disgusting, Sebastian thought, before pressing down the trigger once more, and this time, he hit the man’s heart.
“That one was easy, Jim,” he muttered, and drew back the rifle, putting it in safe, before he climbed down.
This was the case with the four other cases as well. Boring, no fun, no excitement, and he could hear the snicker in his earpiece. Had the bugger been there all along? Sebastian growled as he slid off a rooftop in one of the villa areas. Hitting the street with his army-issued boots.
“This is no fun, Jim, I’m coming home,” Sebastian murmured into the small bug on his jacket, and heard the Irish slur come back at him, “Do your job, Sebastian.”
As the ex-colonel came out onto the main street, he saw a car standing there, waiting for him. He went up to it, and keys were taped to it with a heart on a post-it. Bloody hell, Jim.
Sebastian got into the car and started it, and he heard a small bleeping noise, just once, and thought nothing of it before he saw, in the side view mirror, how cars drove out from streets. Was Jim trying to kill him? He sped off, and so did the cars. He counted them. Four. Sebastian turned, and drove off towards the motorway. Sebastian’s target was placed in a warehouse and he knew Jim was going to join him if he survived. Surviving wasn’t easy, though.
Suddenly, he felt bullets being fired at the car. Bloody hell, they were actually opening fire. Sebastian reached for the revolver and heavy in his hand, he rolled down the window and leaned out. The first one was a perfect hit as he hit the driver and the car rolled back, hitting the one behind and they exploded into a beautiful bonfire of cars. The two remaining was gaining up on him and Sebastian heard how one of the tires of the car was hit, and the tire had the car tilt down on one side, screeching and creating sparks as it was dragged on the motorway in that high speed.
Sebastian hit his breaks, and he spun in motion, keeping his hands on the steering wheel, gun in one hand. He drove in the opposite direction, and driving past the two other cars on each side, he drew up the small gun from his hem, and crossing his arms, he fired the guns simultaneously and both cars were dragged back. Perfect hit, once more.
Ten minutes later, an out of breath sniper opened the door to the warehouse, and threw the guns to the floor, his eyes slit at the shorter figure in the corner.
“Fuck you Jim, never again.”