This is a standalone. If you like James Bond or Jason Borne this is the fic for you. This is my first work. Please don't be too harsh. I look forward to seeing your reviews.

There they were. The big bold underlined red letters on the crusty yellow envelope.

CLASSIFIED

That's all it said and that was all that needed to be said. I picked up the frightening paper and snatched the small letter opener from my hotel nightstand. I slid the sharp blade across the top of the wretched paper, and reached inside. I've always dreaded this moment. The moment that I must look at the picture of the person who will soon no longer have a family to go to, a dog to pet, or a boss to serve. I despise the moment when I take a look at the picture and small profile and always wonder if I will be in one of those small capsules of doom.

I love my job. I really do. I get paid well, I get all the girls, fancy suits, everything. The only hard part about it is when I have to take that from someone else. Every time I think about my job, it's always about quitting, or actually doing my job. The only problem is, I can't quit. If I do, I'll die. They'll kill me.

BANG! My door flew open. In came five men dressed in all black suits. They all raised up Five Seven pistols with silencers on them. I was in the middle of burning the papers when they walked in. Without skipping a beat, I told them I liked a good smoke. They simply stared.

"Would some tea suit your fancy or would you prefer water?"

They open fire. I hear the suppressed shots behind me as I run into the room right next to me. There was a bathroom in there that had a window I could use to climb out and escape. As I open the window, I hear the door behind me opening. I then reach to my side and pull out my small MP5. I fire off an entire clip into the door until the shooting stops. As my adrenaline slows, I open the door to see five now stained in red suits on bodies that I have created.

After leaving the hotel and giving the maid a rather large tip, I set off towards my favorite spot for plotting the death of my targets. After all, I am an assassin.

My favorite spot was in a very remote area down by the sea where I had bought a few miles of the land just so that I could have some privacy. In a small cabin, where I have all of my mission logs. If my boss found this spot I would be dead in a week. I look over at the North wall as I sit on my velvet couch and think about how I will accomplish my next mission.

My target has an interesting profile. A man in his late thirties, and is obsessed with his safety. Travels on high ground as much as possible and never goes in a pattern. He wears a bulletproof vest wherever he goes and never rides public transportation. This overly difficult man also happens to be a speaker of many campaigns that are dedicated to safety and is most likely a germaphobe. Although this man tries as hard as possible to not create a pattern, I should probably start looking for one no matter how small.

Ahh...Nothing like the wind in your hair and the smell of coffee in the morning. As I sit in a rather large tree watching the target's house, I slowly drink from my coffee that I had made earlier. I see the steam from my breath curl in the morning air as I think about my old home...

BANG! CRASH! BOOM! I run out of the kitchen into my room with my dad running behind me with his leather belt. I get in my room just in time to shut the door and run to my closet. I knew it wouldn't do much good if he wanted to get in but I was desperate. I hear the door to my room open slowly and I reach up to lock the bolt on my closet door when I hear my father's big, deep, booming voice. "If you come out now it'll be much faster and easier." I knew it was a lie. Why would I fall for something like that? I fell for it. I opened the door timidly and was ready to face the wrath of my father when my mother came in to save the day. I would never forget this day. My dad had just come home from another long night at work and the bar. He was drunk as a monk and was pissed at everything that happened anytime that happened. So as I go to make him some mac and cheese to cheer him up, I dropped a couple pans in the process, one thing led to another and here my mom is coming to the rescue. I see her step into the room and she simply looks and father and says,"You are drunk and need to go to bed. It was an accident. I think you ought to just go to bed." My father raised his arm, and before I knew what was happening, my mom was on the ground and my father was on top of her and reaching for his eight inch buck knife that I had gotten him for Christmas one day. I stood stock still as I watched my mother scream in pain as blows after blows of knife slashes came one after another. Finally, it stopped. I remember that day all too well. The day that my mother died and I wanted to put all my life into getting revenge on my terrible father. Everyday though it resonates in my head that if I hadn't dropped a single pan when I was six years old, then maybe my mother would still be alive and I wouldn't have the job that I do.

I get woken up from my daydream as I hear a whirring sound of a garage door opening. Three giant black vans pulled out of the gigantic garage and immediately started to roll out of the driveway. I couldn't remember the lights ever being turned on. It could've been my daydreaming or just me not paying attention. On goes the cars toward the West. I watch as they disappear in the distance.

Slowly I begin to climb down off of the tree I was up in. One hand down. Bring the foot down. Hand. Foot. Hand. Foot. Hand. Foot. The only bad part was that the last time I went to set my foot down on a branch halfway down on the tree, it didn't connect with anything. Down. That is where I went. I could feel the weightlessness of myself as I went hurtling through the air. Sticks, leaves, and branches all slapping me in the face, arms, back, and legs on my way down. It all seemed slow motion and I knew in the back of my mind that soon I would hit the ground. I just wasn't expecting it when it did come.