How do you sleep at night?
Someone once asked me how I can possibly sleep at night, I never answered them, but my thoughts went back to the last contract I went out on.
The warm sun hit my face and I sprung out of my sleeping bag. I had overslept. I threw on my boots and jacket and picked up my rifle before bolting up the side of the hill. I crouched down and set up position behind two large boulders. From here I would have a clear view of the camp. I positioned my rifle and adjusted my scope to account for distance and wind. I would only have one shot.
The camp was already abuzz with activity but thankfully I wasn't too late. I took the time to go over my briefing papers. I was on contract from the NCR to kill a high value Legion member, who in addition to commanding the local ground forces, was also in charge of the local slave trade. NCR intelligence had tracked his whereabouts to an abandoned RV park, which served as there headquarters. The NCR hired me as an outside "consultant", which meant I was not bound by regulations and restrictions. They hired people like me when situations called for any means necessary, and I was one of the best at what I do.
They were starting to lead the slaves out into the middle. My face started to burn with rage. I wanted to put a bullet between the eyes of every Legion member down there. I took a breath and calmed myself. I had one target and one target only. Kill the king and the pawns will fall.
Before long, my target emerged from his tent. He was distinguished by his headdress and patchwork armor, made from the armor of his victims. Like a trophy for everyone to see.
I adjusted the grip on my rifle and began to slow my breathing and lower my heart rate. I watched him make his way up to the slaves. He turned toward the crowd and began to speak. I loaded a round and kept my sights trained right between his eyes. He must have been a good public speaker; I could hear the crowd burst into applause every so often and as he spoke he made slightly emphasized gestures. What I wouldn't give to be a fly on the wall to hear the garbage this Legion appointed politician was spouting.
From this distance no one would see the muzzle flash off my rifle, they would have the approximate direction the shot came from but by the time they reached my perch I would be long gone, probably blowing my earnings at some cheap bar on the strip.
Nonetheless, it was important I made a clean get away. If I leave any evidence that I was ever here, or worse evidence of NCR involvement, I would have a contract out on my head; the revolving door of mercenaries. Cruel but fair.
It was now or never. I steadied my rifle, took a deep breath and squeezed the trigger. There was a burst of red mist and the target dropped. In one quick motion I policed my casing, popped the magazine out of my rifle and threw it in my pocket, held my rifle close to my chest and rolled down the hill back to my bag. I rolled the rifle up in the bag and started to run. By the time the Legion had figured out what had happened, I was long gone. A hummingbird couldn't catch me in the act.
With their commander KIA, the Legion camp was disorganized and the NCR troops made short work of them. Several days later I heard the troops had raised the flag at the camp and called it a proud victory for the NCR. To which the new commander of the NCR camp said he owed it all to his men. This made me laugh. In this line of work you really do gain an appreciation for irony, and as I sat at the bar and drank my stale beer I was reminded of that irony. The NCR would take credit for my risk and hard work and no one would ever know the truth except me. When I went to bed that night, I fell asleep to the thought that without my help, the wastes would be in much worse shape. And I slept like a baby.