It is 2163, and this is the most important contract I've been assigned to in my short career as an assassin. I made my first kill nearly four years ago, but this is the first chance I've been given to actually prove myself. The target is dangerous, and much stands to be lost if he is not taken down at first opportunity.
I've been assigned a partner to cooperate with, but that means little to me. This is my contract, my job which I must complete if I wish to progress, to rise above my peers and ever into the notice of our masters. I cannot afford for anything to go wrong. I cannot afford failure on this day.
My rifle has been checked more times than I can count even with perfect memory; any attempt and they all seem to string together in a continuous loop. It's more times than even the dire circumstance of expectation in this situation warrants, of that much I am certain, but I feel a burning need to keep my hands busy. The pungent scent of incense wafts to me from a nearby balcony and it calms my nerves, bids my fingers to cease their fidgeting and my hands to stop their shaking.
My radio crackles to life and through the static my partner tips me off to our target's presence. I raise my rifle, settle into my curled stance to peer through the scope. Certain enough, my partner speaks the truth and with a deft flick of fingers I switch on my targeting laser. Best to take care of the situation as quickly as possible, before opportunity passes.
I pull the trigger with no hesitation. My purpose does not falter for a single moment, not even at the eyes that suddenly dart into the line of my scope. Bright irises the color of honey and sunlight. The bullet has enough force to make its way to my target, even though the resistance presented by this would-be Samaritan.
One innocent life was more than a fair trade to protect the lives of countless others. My contract is completed, and the end justifies the means by far. Or at least so I believe. My masters disagree, but it was only a single unnecessary casualty. They make their disapproval known, but are not overly critical of what they deem a 'mistake.' I do not see the flaw in my performance, neither do many of my peers. Minimal loss of life far outweighed the potential consequences should the target have escaped, did it not?
In the opinion of my masters, indeed it did not. Repeated 'reckless' behaviour as they termed it. Too much innocent blood shed in the name of completing the mission. I soon saw myself dismissed from their service. 'Retirement,' but not of my own volition. I did not understand, I had done only as I was told. I was the best of my peers, the quickest to the neutralization of my target nearly every time. I never missed.
Apparently perfection and efficiency with minimal casualty could be deemed unsatisfactory in the Primacy's eyes, but there were surely others that would appreciate my talents for what they truly were.
There is one bid amongst the rest that stands apart, clearly distinguishes itself from the rest. Compensation that far surpasses any of the other offers that make their way to me. The finest equipment supplied and complete freedom of how I choose to carry out my missions once they have been given, on the condition that they are indeed completed. I would be a fool if I did not accept. I never meet my employer face to face, but he makes good on his word. Far more than simply good. I have no room for complaint.
It is 2183 and I am sent to Omega by my employer, assigned to oversee a transaction of utmost importance. 'Insurance' is what he refers to my role in the process as. It is not an entirely inaccurate assessment, and it proves to be a wise decision on his part.
The betrayal comes from one of our own, one of my own kind as irony would have it. Our employer does not take to traitorous behaviour kindly; it would be reckless to overlook. Failure to dole out appropriate punishment could be seen as condoning his actions, could sow the first seeds of far-off rebellion. Best to be done with it now.
He should have known better. I tell him as much before I put a bullet in his brain. There is no hesitation as I turn to execute his accomplice. An asari, young if her wide blue eyes were to be taken as any indicator. Some would categorize her as an 'innocent.' I make no such mistake. Her appearance does not fool me. Behind the show of innocence I can see her stubbornness. She would make another attempt to disrupt my employer's business if allowed to live. She cannot.
A second gunshot and the deed is done, for now. The dark-haired human woman will meet her end later. She and the organization she represents have become something of an issue, one that will have to be rectified.
Nearly two years pass. It is late 2185 before any of us realize the gravity of the mistake that had been made that day.
Hope has become the most foreign of definitions.
