{ I have to tell you now, but this is a Russia/America fic. Russia doesn't show up 'til later. }
It was just another day on the job; Alfred F. Jones doing his daily work, as in pulling out guns of all shapes and sizes and killing people. Typical for a Hitman.
The night prior to this one he was given another job by a man named Arthur Kirkland. He would be given a shitload of money for this hit, which instantly put him in a good mood. The job seemed so easy. Everything he was doing was level easy bull; nothing he couldn't do. He was told specifically where his hit would be at an exact time. He either had a pretty routine life or this guy hiring him was stalker, he thought.
Alfred stood in his mansion, just at the top of the large, fancy stares that led to several of hisrooms. He had had his sniper all set up and ready to go. The American was plenty good at aiming from far distances, but he was outstanding with a sniper.
He had dressed in his finest suit, most expensive pair of designer shoes, and his dirty-blonde hair was slicked back, the only strand refusing to lay with the others being a small cowlick; it actually hadn't looked too bad this way, and there was nothing he could do about it. Alfred had hidden a handgun in his belt, plus a knife at his ankle just in case he would have to take a few guards out.
According to Arthur, this guy was rich as could be. He would be probably crawling with top notch guards. As he began down the steps, noting he had everything he needed, he bobbed his head to hs waiter. "I'll be back before midnight," he told him. The waiter nodded in response, and Alfred was out the door.
Following the address he was given by Arthur, Alfred pulled up to a mansion a bit larger than his own, with the lights from the inside shining just as brightly on the outside. He gave a quick turn into what was like a forest by the home, hiding his car there. He casually stepped out of his vehicle, sniper in hand. Alfred skimmed over the trees, picking one out to climb into and see if the room he was told this dude would be at was visible. He decided on one, and proceeded to one of the highest branches. It was a good choice, considering there were leaves everywhere; it'd be hard to see him, but he could easily see them.
He lied down on the thick branch, already beginning to aim his gun. Luckily for him, the room he was told this man would be at was a clear shot; he'd be able to take him out easier than he expected.
Easy money was something Alfred was rather fond of.
Before Alfred zoomed in on the window where his hit would be, he tugged on a sleeve and checked his watch. It was 9:34; he had to wait one minute for his man. He quickly recovered his position, and peered through the telescope sight to get a good aim.
And just on time, a tall man with pale skin and platinum locks came to the window, pouring himself a glass of vodka. Alfred maneuvered until he had the perfect shot on the man's head. He began to tug at the trigger, when the man's lavender eyes seemed to look directly at him. He felt his heart jump from his chest to his throat.
"What the fu-"
POW!
Suddenly there was a terrible aching at his side. Alfred felt himself become dizzy. He released the grip of his sniper and placed his hand at the side where he had hurt, then looked at his hand only to find it covered in blood. His glasses slipped off his nose whilst he slid off the tree branch, falling into thick bushes.