(Author's Note: I hate to put responsibility on the reader but I can hardly post the whole despicable original story by this Oscar fellow. If one is unaware of who Oscar is, please google either the words "Oscarfic" or "Artemis' lover" and click on the very first option and direct your attention to that story. That should clear up just about any and all confusion as to why he is now targeted by the U.F.R.A. Once again I sincerely apologize for making it your job to research our targets. One final note, I do not own the rights to any of the mentioned companies. Enjoy.)

Late 1997.

Target: Oscar

Wanted for: Bestiality, Several Minor & Major infractions

Target status: Regular

Source Universe: Sailor Moon

I sat at my desk, the ETA timer counting down, as I read the badly written fic. Barely able to hold back the vomit at nearly every turn. But each time I just reminded myself that that is the reason I'm here. I finish the tale, and toss it into the shredder. I double check every weapon. All the chambers of my personal Colt Python. All the magazines for my M4A1 and Arctic Warfare Magnum. the powerful .338 Lapua round used by the Sniper rifle completely overshadowed the small 5.56mm NATO ammunition used by the M4A1. The ETA was down to ten minutes. I put the .357 in my thigh holster, my H&K Mk.23 on my chest, the AWM over my back. This is gonna be one enemy regular. Shouldnt take more than a day. Going to have to wait till he kills those other cats. Standard procedure is to let the Self-insert destroy whatever destructive force they create unless the damage to canon characters is above Level 3. Nothing before that crosses those lines. The whole tale however definetly crosses the lines layed down by the higher-ups.

I set out to set up outside the alley where he plays the savior act. I found area to be nearly devoid of people. This was a terrible story. I was far from surprised. Not even a mention of people other than the main characters can occasionally to lead to this. This had the upside of allowing me to carry my weapons openly. I managed to find the domocile of the cat. Poor animal. Fucking...goddamnit. This fucker had to die. It was the only way. And I don't even LIKE cats...

The sound the Bi-od folding down was silent, as I took care to open it slowly. Opening the bolt to check it one more time, I chambered the powerful round. Should be a one shot kill. I had enough practice with this gun to be able to work the bolt quick enough for a follow-up shot if he didn't go down. But he would. I had put down many an enemy regular with the rifle. He walked to the door to put his little letter to the cat. Goddamn...motherfucker. I should put him down now. I would! Not protocol though. I peered at him through the scope, pretending destroy his skull with a piece of metal flung from the barrel of my gun. I couldn't wait. his time was coming. Tomorrow. One shot. I will admit I rested my eyes for a few hours, but it was a light sleep. I felt like a child about to go to disneyland. I was not a fan of killing. Taking people's fantasies away from them. It was not right. But some of these bastards need to be in the ground. Specifically, six feet in the ground. And I am happy to put those specific ones there.

Some of these bastards murder and maim characters. Sure there are Self-Inserts who have done worse things than this guy, But that doesn't mean he gets away with this shit. Nobody's above the laws set by the Higher-Ups. Not even they are. But enough mental tinkering. It was go time. The cat walked slowly down the street. This was fucking tedious. I couldn't be seen if it could be helped. I moved around apartment buildings, each time making sure I still had a clear shot. Finally shit started up, "mean" cats surrounded the white feline, violent hissing was exchanged. Badly described violence ensued.
Then the bastard showed up, where he proceeded to cruelly destroy the "threats" that were his excuse to have his crush show affection towards him. I clicked off the safety, and leveled the crosshair with the 13 year old. I took a deep breath As soon as he landed his final strike, I exhaled and pulled the trigger, the report of the round was deafening, but we had special eaplugs. Expand when a sound is too loud. My muscle memory kicked in and I worked the bolt on the rifle and took a look through the scope. I was out of breath to find out he was still fucking standing.

I blinked. I was without reaction. After a good second went by I realigned for another shot. To my intense surprise, he had dropped the bat he used to murder cats and was saying something. "the the fucking fuck?" would probably have been appropriate, as the .338 Lapua round flies at about 3000 feet per second and is used to hunt dangerous game in africa. Like rhinoceros. He did not go down, and there was something bright in his hands. There was some information about this operation I definetly did not get. I fired again. Nothing. I decided I should move. I got up fast and started running as fast as I could.
I'm pretty sure I hear "Haaa!" and this fucking blue light comes from his hands and barely misses me as I run from the corner where I had set up the shot. I knew the attack I had encountered it in mission in the dragonball universe. This guy made himself a fucking sayian. What the fucking fuck indeed.

Now don't get us wrong. We have special precautions for Self inserts who just take that extra "oomph" to kill. Not just more power, But more force than mere bullets. We have special ammunition for the purpose of dealing with supposedly "superhuman" targets, like sayians or vampires or those people from krypton. Whatever just won't die from your run of the mill bullets...Or any bullets for that matter. The rounds are designated depleted "phlebotinum" ammuntion. But it's expensive. They don't even pack your crate with it unless it's explicitly stated in the fic that the target requires said "oomph", even then we need permission from Higher-Ups. Technology, huh?

Anyway, here I was, in one massive clusterfuck, bolt action high-powered sniper rifle in my hands, one pissed off irregular Self-insert and none of the right ammunition to combat it. I unholstered my Colt and thumbed back the hammer. Before my eyes he was right at the corner, ready to do some superhuman shit that he should have mentioned in his little...introduction. I took aim and fired off a couple of rounds, once again to no avail.

"KAME..." started Oscar "FUCK!" Shouted I, as I moved down the street. I looked up the street. I didn't even see houses. I only saw possible exit points. I ditched the rifle, yet painfully so. It was not time for sentiment though. There was a row of houses. Thats all I remember because he finally finished his overly dramatic attack and I slammed into a door, breaking the lock. His attack blew up a car, but I had gotten inside. I should have been safe, but a look down corrected me. A large piece of shrapnel from the car was stuck halfway through my lower torso. I was absolutely not going to make it out alive. I looked around, and noticed a chair, the shock setting in. I was calm though. I walked, increasingly clumsily, towards the chair. It was a simple one from a dining table. I sat down, and looked at my wound again. I was bleeding profusely at this point. The corners of my vision were starting to get dark. I looked at my .357, my hand still clutching it. I placed it on the table, took a deep breath, and looked straight up at the ceiling. There was no way I could make it to the container. There was no medic waiting to airlift me back to base. There was no point in trying to keep fighting. there was only the hope that the next agent would be equipped with DP ammo. I slid my knife out of the sheath, and looked at the table. My hand would lazily respond to my brain. I was barely able to scratch out the word "IRREG" before I lost conciousness. At least it was one final comforting thought as I slipped off into that long sleep.