Mysterious assassinations are carried around the world. They are performed by an unknown organization, and the assassinates are never found. What's happening? Who's behind it? And most important of all, why are they being carried out?
The rain made it too easy. The dark velvet background, the whipping rain drops and the howling winds added on to the weight. Besides it made it easy for him to escape. Coveted in darkness and surrounded by chatters and tatters, there would be no witnesses. The job was easier than thought. One simple pull, and whoosh. No sign of him, dead man on the ground and blood everywhere. Heaven awaited him.
Thunder crackled and lit the sky above him, indicating that the time had come. He lit a cigarette and took a deep pull. He loved Indian tobacco. It was almost royal, carefully crafted with the best hands.
The man made his way to the old and battered balcony. He looked at the crowded street beneath him, all staring at the same direction. There were hardly any umbrellas in sight, despite the lashing rain. Soaked to the skin and hurdled together, the people waited for their leader to give the speech. Utter the holy word. The man on the balcony picked up his CheyTac Intervention M200 Sniper. He couldn't even see where the crowd had begun gathering and where it ended. It seemed to stretch endlessly in both the directions. But he knew where his target was. A kilometre and a half away from the balcony's exact location. He must have stepped out of his Ambassdor by now. The man adjusted his sniper rifle and looked through the range. Yes, the man was right there. Standing outside his Ambassdor and chewing his Paan.
"Good for you to die with a mouthful of tobacco and mint" the armed man whispered.
He took his aim and pulled the trigger.
The bullet covered the kilometers in the blink of an eye, and before long, the Brand New white Ambassdor was shrouded with blood and organic debris.