HITMAN
"...He works in a bank , next to Albleton Road. You won't miss it, full 'a people. He just stores people's money and shit. You'll have to wait 'till he goes out for a sigarette."
You finish the remaining part of your hamburger, then say, "How much are you willing to pay?"
"six-thousand." She says softly. That's all you want, enough for ammo or some weaponry, or tools. You'll get more money later from your next 'customers.'
You're equipped with a Desert Eagle fitted with a silencer, and a grenade that your client had provided you with. You reach your destination. You sit atop the building opposite thw bank. Awaiting his break for a sigar. You observe your surroundings. Furniture stores, clothing stores, many pedestrians, bustling and enjoying their usual daily rituals. That's all you need to know.
You wait.
And wait.
And wait.
It's been exactly 41 minutes and eight seconds since you've came here, your patience is burning away, drifting away with the wind, but violently. You're just about to leave in frustration, when you notice someone leaving the bank. It's him. You hesitate for a moment, trying to decide whether to fire, or don't. It's your first time, sweat is already beading down your back, what you're about to do will remain with you for the rest of your life. You wish you were perhaps more perfunctory. Your finger began to shake, your finger wouldn't obey your commands, 'DO IT! PULL THE TRIGGER!' You screamed to yourself. 'No...I can't do this...' 'Stop this malarkey! Just do it!' You were beginning to discombobulate yourself. Do you fire, or with guilt ridden feelings, refuse?
You finish the remaining part of your hamburger, then say, "How much are you willing to pay?"
"six-thousand." She says softly. That's all you want, enough for ammo or some weaponry, or tools. You'll get more money later from your next 'customers.'
You're equipped with a Desert Eagle fitted with a silencer, and a grenade that your client had provided you with. You reach your destination. You sit atop the building opposite thw bank. Awaiting his break for a sigar. You observe your surroundings. Furniture stores, clothing stores, many pedestrians, bustling and enjoying their usual daily rituals. That's all you need to know.
You wait.
And wait.
And wait.
It's been exactly 41 minutes and eight seconds since you've came here, your patience is burning away, drifting away with the wind, but violently. You're just about to leave in frustration, when you notice someone leaving the bank. It's him. You hesitate for a moment, trying to decide whether to fire, or don't. It's your first time, sweat is already beading down your back, what you're about to do will remain with you for the rest of your life. You wish you were perhaps more perfunctory. Your finger began to shake, your finger wouldn't obey your commands, 'DO IT! PULL THE TRIGGER!' You screamed to yourself. 'No...I can't do this...' 'Stop this malarkey! Just do it!' You were beginning to discombobulate yourself. Do you fire, or with guilt ridden feelings, refuse?