Story part one (prologue/rough)

The Assassin rubbed his neck tiredly. he had been waiting at the top floor of the abandoned Waynesboro apartment tower for three days straight, and had spent the past three hours cleaning his sights. His target was due to arrive on the area below him sometime in the next five hours. In those five hours, he would be certain that his gun would not jam, his exits would be clear, and his street clothes ready to be donned.

everything was set. Soon enough, he thought, My hit will walk out of the building across the street, and when my aim is certain-

BANG!

his thoughts were disrupted by the sound of the door slamming open, and a loud click of the lock, or was that a gun? He calmly and slowly turned to view his unwelcome visitor.

what he saw was nothing. Nothing but thin air.

he took a breath and went to investigate the door and surrounding area. 'the building is old' he thought, ' and there's always the chance of something getting blown by the wind'

it was a true enough statement. There were holes in the walls, and, infact, the building was due to be demolished next month.

he had done his research.

Still, though, he could have sworn he had closed that door.

He briefly considered taking an hour to search the building, but if anyone had slammed the door open, they would have likely called the police already.

he Hmm'd, not liking the situation at all.

he Considered calling the Handler and telling her the situation may become unworkable, and he would preform the hit from another location. still, he was told the client was insistent, "he must die today" she had told him.

he mumbled something along the lines of "Domestic squabbles..." and sighed.

It wasn't that he didn't enjoy his job, there WERE perks, but the reasons behind some of these hits. Take this one, for example. the CEO of some company's son. he didn't really care why, but to him it seemed a power struggle. the Son was more popular than his father in the news, and the shareholders seemed to want to elect him to the top position. This apparently didn't please the man, and so He was hired.

it saddened him, sometimes.

but then he recalled the excess of zeros in his pay check, and the misery slipped from his mind, like water from a duck's back.

he sighed out an "Oh well", then closed and locked the door behind him.

his mind sped ahead several steps, and began packing his equipment into a slightly-larger-than-average briefcase. he determined he would call the handler, inform her of the situation, and move to the hotel

He packed the last of his ammunition into the rather average,if large, briefcase. he looked over to the earpiece attached to the cell-phone. he picked it up and roughly jabbed it into his ear.

the handler chimed "Shirley's House of Ham, how may I help you?"
"Hello, I'm afraid I have to change my reservation for this evening, there may be someone else joining us..."
"Oh, that's fine, honey. how many now?"
"Three"
"Alright, I'll move your table. same time, I hope?"
"Should be, although, my friend says his son is late for things quite regularly."
"Don't worry about it, doll. We'll have a table ready and waiting for you. have a nice day."

he clicked the headset off. the entire coded conversation was designed to sound as inconspicuous as possible. if any headsets were found, the most they could do is make a call to a restaurant that sold ham hawks. Shirley's house of ham was a real working restaurant, not that it mattered to him. he began taking the briefcase to the bottom of the building. he was already planning where he would hit from. he would ask for the highest floor he could get, presidential suite, via client's wallet. three days of waiting would not go to waste.


he smiled.