A/N: Short little one shot describing Mordecai's feels upon his first (human) kill. Inspired by random insanity in the forums. :)
The sun of Artemis beat down on the young man's head. Sweat trickled slowly down his neck, dripping to the tall grass on which he lay. He swiped absently at it, absorbed in the scene he saw through the scope of his new sniper rifle. Generally, he preferred a good revolver, but his new employers wanted him to use this gun and he didn't care enough to argue.
His target would be just as dead, either way. He smiled at the thought. Finally, a greater challenge. He was no stranger to felling animals or disappointingly inanimate clay pigeons, but this is what he was born for. To be a bounty hunter. He rolled the words around his mouth, near silently. Bounty hunter. My name's Mordecai the Bounty Hunter. I'm a killer for hire.
The chicks would love that. He scratched the scant stubble on his chin contemplatively, still gazing through his scope. Maybe I should grow a beard.
Sudden movement from the men below him snapped his attention fully back to the task at hand. The meeting was over, it seemed. The spy was watching the other men, and Mordecai was watching the spy. The orders were that no one should possess the knowledge that the spy had obtained but their mutual employers, and those orders would be carried out.
As agreed, the spy waited behind in the meeting spot until long after the others had left. He turned up to the hill where he knew the sniper, his partner, lay in wait. He grinned cheerfully and gave a thumbs up, pleased with a job well done.
Mordecai stared at the man through the scope, looking into his eyes. His blue, happy eyes. This spy had become a liability to the company, and his employment was at an end. When time began to tick by uncomfortably slowly with no sign from his partner, the man's grin began to falter. He backed away one step, two. The blue eyes began to dart around, darkened by fear. Just before he turned to run, a desperate act of a desperate man, Mordecai took his shot.
The man's head, simply put, was gone. The young killer laughed, a chillingly infectious laugh full of his pride in his skill and the power it brought him. Just one shot, and riches he'd never before experienced in his short life were his for the taking. Somewhere deep inside him he realized it could become an addiction, this act. Seeking these kind of thrills could get a man killed.
A man. He'd never thought of himself that way before, but things had changed for him with that shot. Boys do not look into a man's eyes and cause his destruction. Only men kill other men in cold blood. Feeling drunk with his success and the rush of power, Mordecai the killer stood. One act left to perform before he could claim his pay. The ECHO recorder that the spy had made of the conversation had to be returned to his employers, and they would know if he listened to it. It was none of his concern and he would not be tempted.
Before taking a step, he paused a moment, considering his rifle. He dug a knife out of his hip pouch and carved a small notch on the shiny new surface of the gun. It was to be the first notch of many.