On a rooftop in some nameless town, John lay watching. Next to him was his gun, positioned to aim towards the bustling street below. He looked down at the town with cold, emotionless eyes. The eyes of someone who was accustomed to looking at death.
He was waiting for a man. A man who had red hair. He didn't know his name, but he didn't have to. For his job as a mercenary didn't require names. Just a time and location. And of course money, lots of money. He was able to raise his price because his skills were greatly desired. From the roof he could see through the building opposite him. And in that building he could see his target, the red headed man. And although he had a clear shot, he dared not risk revealing his location in such close proximity to his target. He appeared to be speaking at a conference. He was talking animatedly to the group of people stretched out before him. John could tell he was important due to the fact that everyone at the table was listening intently, all nodding in agreement, not daring to disagree with their boss.
When his speech was finished, the man packed up his suitcase and left the room. John knew that the man left work at 10 every day, and that it took about ten minutes for the man to leave the building on that floor. Because although he did not know it, John had been studying the man for quite a while. The red headed man also didn't know that he would never enter his building again, for john intended on finishing him off in the street. When the man finally left the building, John adjusted his rifle a little further. But right when he was about to pull the trigger, a bullet pierced his shoulder.
At first john did not feel the bullet. It wasn't until his arm went numb that he noticed what was wrong. He swore. Then he ducked his head to examine the wound, which was now throbbing and bleeding profusely. Luckily the bone didn't appear damaged but the bullet went straight through his arm as if it were butter. There was a lot of blood. He quickly made a makeshift tourniquet out of a pencil and ripped shirtsleeve. Then he scanned the dark rooftops for the enemy sniper. He didn't bother taking another shot at his target. If this sniper worked for John's target, he was probably already gone. It took John a good while to spot the apposing shooter through the gun scope. He was situated a good distance from the target's location. Several roofs away in fact. Which surprised John, for he rarely met a sniper of his caliber. He then cursed himself for not thoroughly checking his surroundings. Now he had to deal with a target that fought back.
John tried to look more closely at the man. Unfortunately, before he could get a clear look, a bullet whizzed closely over his head. But from what he saw, however the man was covered head to toe in black, preventing john from seeing his face. But John also took notice to the close proximity of the second bullet. It was close. Too close in fact. John may in fact have finally met his match. He knew had had to devise a plan quickly.
An idea sprung in his mind and he sank further into the roof. He took out his deerstalker from his coat pocket and placed it on the tip of his gun. They slowly, oh god how ever so slowly, he raised his rifle above the roof. Immediately a bullet pierced the cap, causing it to fall to the ground below. Then, John waited.
Slowly John could see the enemy sniper rise from his spot. The shooter, seeing the fallen cap, thought he had finally killed the opposer. But John noticed that the man did not appear relieved. In fact he appeared to be…shaking? Most likely from the adrenaline John guessed. But The man stopped shaking and looked up. And before he could do anything, John took the shot.
John looked up from his scope and smiled. The man had been could see he was struggling to stay upright. But his feet were failing him. And he soon tipped over the roof in a sick pirouette of pure agony, hitting the ground with a dull thud. John shuddered. Now it was he who was shaking. That man's death reminded him of someone all too familiar. An old friend he tried so desperately to forget. Suddenly he was taken over with a biting curiosity to discover the identity of his fallen enemy. And although it wasn't usually like john to get too close to his target, john just had to know. The other man was a good shot after all.
John packed his bag and walked down to the bustling city he walked towards the ally where the fallen man lie, John has hit with the sudden realization. He was the only survivor of that silent battle in the night. All that pain, and life, ended so abruptly, so… quietly, that he still felt he hadn't processed what had happened.
John continued to walk down the street until he was hit again. Not with another realization this time. But with a bullet. And this one went straight through his heart. He heard a scream from a woman's voice behind him, and several footsteps heading in his direction. How could he be so stupid as to not check for open windows on this cold, winter night. He tried to look up for his shooter, but he stumbled and fell down onto the cold, icy, concrete.
And just as he was about to close his eyes for the last time, he saw a familiar face. A face that brought him comfort before he plunged into darkness forever.