Hitman: The Last Hit
The icy ground was slippery underfoot. A bald man with a briefcase walked across the park. He was wearing a black suit, a crisp white shirt and a red tie. No-one could see but in shoulder holsters were two .45 Silverballer semi- automatic pistols. Trees surrounded the park, along with a central path, which cut through the park in a cross shape. The man carried on walking.
Agent 47 scanned the park with professional eyes. He looked for anyone with a concealed gun or other weapon. A drunk lay on a bench with a bottle of wine in a brown paper bag. He took a swig and turned over. 47 sniffed the cold night air. Several lamposts littered the streets. Snow fell gently from the night's sky. To 47 it felt like tiny knives, slicing his skin. The assassin had reached the other end of the park. He carried on to one of the many buildings surrounding the park. He pushed the door open and stepped in from the freezing night.
Agent 47 climbed four staircases before opening the door of the room from which he would carry out his business. Death was his business, and business was good. He placed the briefcase on the floor and flicked the locks open. 47 lifted the lid and took out the main bulk of his equipment. Carefully, he pieced together all the components. Finally, he had finished his construction. 47 had, for what seemed like the thousandth time, (and probably was) built a Silenced R93 Sniper Rifle.
47 lifted a magazine from the black based and silver- trimmed case. He loaded the gun and placed it on the floor. He flexed and stretched, allowing his muscles a little exercise. 47 cracked his knuckles and moved his neck from side to side. Now all was left to do was wait.
15 minutes later, the target showed. He was an ex-agent in the KGB, and had decided to relive those days. He had been chauffeured in a black Audi TT, in convoy with two Range Rovers, one in front, and one behind. The target's name was General Mishikov.
After three years in the Red Army, Mishikov had been recruited by the KGB. After being promoted to Lieutenant, he had saved his commanding officer's life by taking a bullet for him. Unfortunately, the wound wasn't fatal, so Mishikov was promoted to General, therefore gaining his title. But now, he was interested in smuggling drugs and illegal weapons. That was the person 47's agency wanted terminated.
47 put the scope to his eye while deciding his moment. The General walked up the central path and sat on a bench. 47 placed the crosshair on his chest. His finger tightened on the trigger. After a second of waiting, he pulled his finger back. The bullet spat out of the silenced rifle. 47 brought his head up and saw Mishikov slump in the seat. 47 dropped the gun and walked down the stairs.
As he was walking down the street, 47 sensed something was wrong. He turned around to see the woman behind him bring out a Barretta 9mm. He grabbed both of his Silverballers and pulled both triggers.
The British SAS call it dead man's click. When a soldier fires their gun at an enemy, and that simple noise signs your death warrant. It means you have no live ammo.
Two loud bangs sounded, but neither issued from 47's guns. All that came from them was click, click! 47 was thrown off his feet as the two bullets pounded into him. As he lay there, in a pool of his own blood, 47 discovered something. He found out what it was like to die.