Have standards: be polite, be efficient, have a plan to kill everyone you meet. The rules had been drilled into Mundy's head since before he could say them himself, though he did have to add a bit to that last one as he started his career. Even without his addition, he didn't think his parents would have meant for him to take them the way he did, perhaps they'd thought it make him be more careful out in the streets or the bush, helping out on their farm or watching out for those nasty drop bears. Rather than incorporating it into his job and his way of life the way he did. Mundy's parents didn't like their son's line of work, his father referring to him as a crazed gunman, rather than one of the more civilised words that Mundy prefered to use, like assassin or sniper. To him, the difference was obvious, one's an occupation and the other was mental sickness. But despite their differences, Mundy managed to get along well with his parents.

The Australian was convinced that he was the best sniper around, the best in Oz, and perhaps the best in the world. Who else would wait around for hours, pissing into jars, just to get the perfect shot? His standards set him apart from the rest of his competition, they wasted ammunition, they panicked and they showed disrespect like the bastards they were. When you wanted something doing, you had to do it properly. No half assed jobs.

Which was why Mundy hated it when he didn't manage to complete a job to his best abilities. A body shot, for example, made him want to kick himself. Sometimes it couldn't be helped, a target would decide to walk in an unexpected direction or stand up. It was worse when they felt they needed to tie a shoelace as Mundy held his finger over the trigger. As long as the target died, a body shot was just about acceptable. But a complete miss was out of the question. A waste of a bullet, and time for the target to get away. And more time for Mundy where he would have to find his target again.

It was one of those nights. Mundy was sat in the building opposite where his target was supposed to work. He was waiting for his target to walk out of the building. But who knew when that was supposed to be? Mundy was patient, the man had to leave at some point and he could wait until then.

That point came at almost 2 o'clock in the morning. If years of coffee drinking and late nights hadn't taken their toll, Mundy would have probably fallen asleep with his face to the eyepiece. But as it were, Mundy was wide awake and ready to take the shot.

The businessman walked out of the building with a few other people, Mundy had no idea who this man was, if he had family or why he was wanted dead. But none of it mattered. Think too long and the opportunity was lost.

The gunshot rang out.

Another man stepped out in front of the target. The target's saviour fell to the ground, blood pouring out of a hole in his chest. Someone screamed. The panic made it difficult to tell whether the bullet had still hit its intended target. But then Mundy spotted his intended target, standing up from his kneeling position by the fallen man's corpse and pointed directly at Mundy's hiding spot. It was if the man had seen the source of the bullet, which would have been near impossible. But Mundy wasted no time waiting to find out. It was time to leave.

He grabbed his coffee mug reading '#1 Sniper', his SMG and lastly slung the sniper rifle over his shoulder. He made his way to the far end of the building, close to where he had parked his campervan, and hopefully the stairway anyone would be less likely to take if they were pursuing a mystery sniper from the streets below. Mundy was wrong.

The sound of footsteps pounding up the stairs echoed into Mundy's ears. Luckily they were making too much noise to hear the single pair above them, and Mundy managed to reach the door to the next floor before waiting outside for them to pass. One ear pressed against the wood, the footsteps got louder and then quieter again as Mundy assumed that they passed him. He opened the door and continued his way down the stairs, while his pursuers followed his false trail.

Reaching the ground floor, Mundy opened the door to the back alley of the building where his camper was waiting for him. Just before he stepped out, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He grabbed the kukri from its sheath on his belt and spun around. A man Mundy had failed to notice as he walked past had decided to take advantage of the situation. The kukri parried a stab from the attacker and Mundy managed to twist the attacker's arm so he dropped the weapon.

Mundy pushed the man against a wall, and repositioned his kukri for a more suitable position for the situation. The man grinned at him off puttingly, causing Mundy to falter slightly. The half a second was all the attacker needed. A loud bang echoed throughout the stairway, causing Mundy to flinch and his ears to ring. But he didn't waste a moment, cutting the man trapped against the wall's throat. A revolver clanged as it hit the ground. As Mundy's eyes followed the sound, he noticed the large red spot forming on his side.

It was then that Mundy's mind pieced together what had happened, and his body decided that the adrenaline wasn't enough to take the pain. Mundy gasped and grabbed his side where the blood seeped through.

"Bloody spooks," he grunted to himself through clenched teeth.

Mundy shoved the kukri back into its sheath on his belt and hobbled out of the door towards his campervan just visible at the end of the alleyway. He reached the door and threw it open, clambering into the driver's seat. Mundy knew he was in no condition to drive, as he didn't want to pass out through loss of blood. But he also didn't want to end up getting killed by the insane bodyguards of whoever this man he'd been sent to, and failed to, kill. He started up the engine and slammed his foot down on the gas pedal.

The campervan roared to life, hurtling down the dark alleyway and out onto the street beyond. Mundy needed to get out of the city before any of those men could follow him. Then into the outback, he felt much more comfortable surrounded by desert than high rise buildings. But he could drive only as far as his bleeding wound could let him. He needed to wrap it up, and make sure that bullet wasn't still inside him.

There were no sounds of a car following in pursuit, and the quiet of a city in the early hours meant there was no traffic to stop Mundy as he drove out of the city.

Mundy was jolted awake by a sharp knocking on the door of his campervan. Instinctively he reached for his kukri he kept at the side of his sleeping area. In doing so, he stretched the muscles in his side and groaned as the pain blossomed, remembering the incidence of the night before.

He'd managed to reach far enough into the outback where he was fairly certain he wouldn't be followed, and had been able to bandage up the bullet wound he'd received before falling asleep. But if he was sure that he wouldn't be followed, who was at the door?

The knocking sounded again, a bit more impatient than last time. Mundy grabbed the kukri and swung his legs over the bunk, ignoring the pain flaring in his side again. He sheathed it and donned his typical hat and aviators from their place on the counter in his kitchenette, before heading towards the door. He flung the door open, one hand on the hilt of his knife.

"Mr Mundy?" The young woman smartly dressed in purple on the other side of the door was not the gang of men holding guns that he was expecting. Although he didn't think they would have the courtesy to knock first.

Mundy exhaled a breath he didn't know that he'd been holding woman looked at him expectantly. Not forgetting his manners, Mundy tipped his hat in greeting, "That's me, mate. Mundy at your service."

He glanced around the door frame of the camper, making sure that this woman wasn't a decoy and there was a group of revenge seeking businessmen hidden somewhere. The only thing that stood out against the desert of the Australian outback was the sleek looking black car parked behind him, he assumed it was the woman's. "What brings you all the way out 'ere?"

"My name's Miss Pauling, I've been sent by my employers to make you a job offer."

"Ah, I see. Where are me manners? Would you like to come inside? I'd offer a cup of coffee, but sadly there's no hot water out 'ere. That reminds me… I should really get a new camping stove."

"Thank you." Mundy moved out of the way to allow room for the woman to get past him into the small campervan.

"Sorry, it's like a mad woman's breakfast in 'ere." He opened some of the curtains, trying to make it a bit brighter. Having someone knock on your door waking you up didn't give much time to make your place look tidy.

Miss Pauling looked amused at the expression, while taking in the vehicle. Several pictures of Mr Mundy and some other people were stuck on a cupboard and a few books were shoved in a corner, 'The Adventures of Robin Hood' stood out among them. Other than those, there was nothing detailing his personal life. There was a map on a corkboard with string and pictures of various people pinned on to it. One of the pictures had a large red ring drawn around the subject and yesterday's date written underneath. In the corner, a large rifle leaned against the wall. Mundy sat down across the table from her.

"So, what sorta job are we talkin'?"

"A permanent position for the foreseeable future. Full time, so you wouldn't be able to be in business with anyone else."

"And how exactly am I supposed to tell that to my clients?" He thought about the mess he needed to sort out after his disaster the night before, "I can't just walk off with unfinished business. Even if I did, mate, the bastards would find me soon enough."

"We can take care of that."

Mundy looked shocked at the woman's dismissal of the situation.

"What is this 'job' offer? Must be bloody important if you're willin' to snipe my targets for me."

"I can't give you details right now, Mr Mundy, for various reasons. What I can tell you is that my employers are recruiting various mercenaries, so I hope your sitting up in trees shooting things hasn't put you off group work." She gave the man a sly look.

Mundy decided to ignore the insult, "Pay?"

"5 Million US a year. Weekends and Christmas off."

"Crikey," he stared at the woman, but hopefully she couldn't tell through his aviators. 5 million a year was crazy money. Mundy leaned back in his seat, thinking. He'd get a huge amount of money, decent holidays and they'd (whoever they were) would deal with the sticky situation he was in. The risk was he didn't know what exactly she'd want from him. She obviously knew who he was and what he did, Mundy didn't really want to think about how she knew these things, so hopefully she knew his potential and how to best use it.

"Miss Pauling, I'd like to accept your offer."

She smiled, one of the first true emotions to show on her face. "Great," she said, "these are for you." She passed a folder over the table to him. 'Sniper' was stamped across the front in bold red letters.

"We prefer titles and professions over names," she explained, "so we'll refer to you as the Sniper."

The Sniper nodded blankly, but couldn't help wondering who this lady's mysterious employers were. He opened the folder. Inside was a contract of employment and a plane ticket to New Mexico. He looked up to see Miss Pauling at the door to the campervan.

"We'll have your vehicle shipped over with you. Someone will be at the airport to collect it and your weapons so they can be sent separately."

Mundy couldn't believe that this was all happening so fast.

"Oh and Sniper? Pack something red."