7:30 A.M.

It ends today.

Absolutely no excuses.

He nods his head resolutely as he removes the black leather glove off his right hand. The biometer on the hard case sitting on the ledge in front of him making a soft beep once his thumb comes to rest upon it. Without a second thought he roughly shoves his hand back into the glove once the case is opened.

It's a cold day.

He can distinctly remember the weather girl from night before joking with the news anchor, something about not coming into work tomorrow lest she freeze to death on the way over. He can't help but to agree with her when the wind picks up and causes him to sway slightly to the left. Freeze to death he might, the height of the building he is on serving only to amplify the effects of the weather on his body.

His equipment needs and upgrade.

He tells himself this as he begins to assemble the contents held in the case. That is why it's taking this long. The lie momentarily helping him feel slightly better about himself as he mounts and adjusts the scope on his issued rifle. The wind picks up again causing his teeth to clatter for a slight moment as he adjust the tripod attached to the front of the rifle on the ledge next to the case. Once the rifle feels good against his shoulder he lowers himself wincing slightly as his cheek comes into contact with the cold metal of the firearm, adjusting himself in order to get a good lock on his target through the scope.

. Just. .

The woman at the opposite end of the scope is wearing what appears to be a tight, oh so very tight, sleeveless blue dress. This observation is important, it is. It is important to note the way the blue dress hugs her hips and the way the fabric stretches over her . Her hair is different from the other times before too. It is no longer contained in a constricting updo but let down to frame her delicate face and round cheeks. If he had any feelings he would feel sadden and maybe even conflicted with what he was about to do. However, he is a professional, a professional who has been tasked with terminating the beautiful woman before him. He is not proud to admit that this is taking him longer than expected but in his defense it is totally not his fault.

It absolutely his fault.

He has no one else to blame, really. This could all have been avoided if he had just done his job correctly the first time...and...the time after that...and all the other times in the seven months leading to this moment. At this point he was sure his reputation had gone down the drain. There he was, unable to do the the only thing he has ever been good at. He closes his eyes as he releases a long and drown out breath in frustration, after all this time still unable to squeeze the trigger. Unable to squeeze that damn trigger, but he must.

It ends today.

That's right. Today is the day his index finger will finally pull back on the trigger. He won't think about it...well, at least not anymore than he already has. He will employ the same strategy he always had before this whole mess even began. With his target insight he momentarily closes his eyes willing his mind to go blank, and patiently waits for instinct to take over. He can feel the resistance of the trigger against his gloved index finger as he starts to pull it back.

Great. Just. Great.

He quickly releases his pressure from the trigger the moment a secondary body comes into view. This is interesting, he doesn't recall seeing a meeting on the CEO's schedule for this early in the morning. He'll just wait it out. It takes less than a full minute before he is huffing in annoyance as the cold begins to practically diffuse through his winter clothes. Through his scope he can see as his target moves to get up and starts to rifle through some files with her back to the stranger, slight confusion gracing her features. She is none the wiser as the man begins to get up pulling what appears to be a handgun, aiming right to her head. As the scene through his scope begins to unfold before him he can feel his body begin to tense against the cold. In a split second, without thought, his finger is squeezing the trigger.

Well .

That wasn't supposed to happen. He can hear the blood curdling scream his assigned target releases when she spins around to find the stranger in her office dead on the floor. Well no, not really, it's impossible simply because of the great distance separating him and his target, in addition the annoying cold wind which by now he is sure it is causing him to go deft on his right ear. So no, he does not hear her scream, but he imagines it. He closes his eyes as he imagens the woman, his target, softly shaking, her brown eyes widen in shock, smooth pale skin losing a bit more color if possible, trembling red lips parted as she struggles to pull in oxygen, slender hands moving from her side to *buzz buzz*. The vibration of the device in his pocket knocks him out of his reviery. . He curses as he reads the message.

.

.

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