Yeah…still kind of "One Shot Kill", but even more changed (and shortened a lot). Have fun and please review, and thanks to all who do!

Are you frightened? Cause I'm frightened.

Earth's shambles and we're just making it worse.

Short of breath, short of time.

Turn the tide, AiluCrash

Two bangs. Two victims – two more victims – just to boast? And another family devastated. Mick did his best not to stare at the woman and her daughters at the far end of the barrier, but he couldn't avoid hearing her small, short cries, as if she was a bird. A bird that had lost its wings, killed by someone who claimed to be a feather – The feather. Mick didn't usually get sick with corpses lying around (except when the putrid smell of death hung over them too thickly), but standing here in the middle of the crime area, surrounded by sirens and sobs almost made him throw up. His legs felt like jelly, yet his feet were heavy as if made out of stone.

Bang Bang. I'm a presumptuous idiot and I make a fool out of you. Such a simple stupid plan but it worked. Mick Rawson stood helplessly beside himself, looking at skills so similar to his own that he couldn't see the meaning. This wasn't war. Snipers and long-rifle-guns belonged to war, not to civilians. It had a reason they all swore an oath to protect their country, for heaven's sake! But this guy…

"Mick! You're okay?" Coop had followed him. Of course. Mick forced on a smile, harsh as the sands in Fallujah had been. "Yeah, I'm good." He turned around to face his best friend. Cooper held the glance, and though Mick knew the game he lost it again, looking away after just a few seconds. "Someone's killing people under a name that's too big for him, for anybody, and these people die for nothing except for sending me a message I don't get. Because I don't get it, Coop, I don't. This damn pager"; he grabbed the little object so firmly as if to crush it, "it's just helping him, he's got our attention, he's got his victims, he's got everything, and we got nothing!" It was only as the little girls started to cry, too, that Mick realized he had shouted the last words. Coop remained calm. "We have something, Mick. And we're working on having more. We can and will get this guy, but I need you present. He wants you to lose your mind. Don't give him what he wants." "Fine. So I just stay calm and let him keep on killing innocent people." Mick closed his eyes. He was tired, he was angry and though he would rather be the next victim than admit it, he was afraid. "He's winning, Coop. He's winning, we're losing. We're losing because of me."

"No, we're not. Mick, this isn't your fault. He's just picked you because…" "Because I'm the fucking weakest link in the chain, yeah thank you very much!" He hadn't even noticed the others coming down. Gina backed away at his tone, and Mick immediately hated himself for it. Great. There was nothing he could do right anymore, the other one – who ever that man might be – played him like a piano, up and down and down again.

"Mick's right"; Beth stated, and the others stared at her in shock. "I mean that there has to be a reason to choose him", she quickly added. "And I take it he must have been trained well and someway officially, for if he just had learnt it by himself, he wouldn't have known about Hathcock." Mick bit his tongue. He was thankful for Beth keeping up the thinking, but sometimes she didn't quite get it. "We found nobody trained in any army or shooting academies, remember?" "Then he learnt it from somebody who was trained, and well trained", Prophet suggested. Gina nodded.

"Good thought, Prophet", Coop said, the hint of a smile on his lips, "let's take that way. Our UnSub has learnt shooting from someone older. Why did he start killing now?" "Because… his teacher has left him? Or died?" Beth offered, and the smile got wider. "That sounds good. So our UnSub wants to worship his teacher by killing. The personality of the victims doesn't matter, they're just numbers. And…"

"Come on guys, we've been through this the whole day long, and we still have no idea, okay, so let's face it: Our sniper kills to boast, and he will keep on killing until he's stopped. By me. Because this is about me, and I'm gonna stop him or he's gonna kill me. No, wait!" Mick put a hand on Coop's shoulder to keep him from protesting, "You said you need me here and now. I am. And I hate being played upon. This guy? I think I know him. At least he knows me. He's been stalking me for three days now, down in Washington, and yesterday after midnight he was gone." Gina gasped. "Three days? When did you think to tell us about him?" The Prophet seemed angry, but Mick was entirely focused on Coop again. He could do it. He would chase the bastard through the city, and then…maybe he wasn't good at peacekeeping – obviously not – but he was good at war. This was a sniper's hunt, just like in the old days. No teamwork, no profiling. War.

Cooper shook his head. "We're not at Fallujah anymore, Mick", he said firmly. "You're not going to do this on your own."

He betrayed him! Mick felt all energy dry up as he stared at the team leader. Coop knew him better than anyone else in the world, except perhaps for Jenna. "More people will die", he said hoarsely, "you know they will." "I don't." "He's a sniper, Coop! And he just found the joy in killing!"

Mick remembered the flush of euphoria that had him after the first hour in Afghanistan. There was a moment before you realize that war is a terrible beast, a moment when your first attackers are dead and you're still standing. A moment of immortality. With Mick it had lasted for three hours, then a house had collapsed above him. He had been caged in for hours, blinded and almost choked – till Cooper had heard his cry for help.

"I don't want more innocent blood on my hands." A hollow phrase. Mick had never felt the truth behind it – now he did.

"And I don't want to have yours on mine, Mick." Coop's voice was thick with understanding and affection. "We will find him before he can kill again. I promise. Let's go in", he nodded towards their current headquarter, "we've got a lot of work to do." He didn't let go of the younger one till they reached the building. "After you, Mick."

Mick smiled bitter as he followed his colleagues. Between the dead bodies, another picture had made its way back into his brain: Matt Austen, gone to Afghanistan as one of the nicest and most harmless people Mick had ever known. Everyone changed in war, and for most of them these changes were irrevocable. He had changed for good in these years. Matt had changed for good, too, and it hadn't only been not for the better, it had been for the worst case Mick had ever seen. After having killed his first twenty soldiers, Matt had become addicted to killing. In the end, he had forgotten every rule, every tactics they had ever learnt.

Mick fell back two steps as Coop caught up with Beth. In the end, Matt had become a danger for the whole unit in his recklessness. One day, Ryder had given the order Mick had feared the most, and he had obeyed.

He had killed Matt.

Slowly, Mick walked backwards to the room where he had left his gun, then he took the fire escape down and followed the path of the killer. He had learnt to memorize city plans, and the lines Beth's geo-profile had painted fit to the last crime scene. There was a center to this circle, and he would find it.

Twenty minutes following mental routes through Chicago, he found it: a memory hall, small but perfect for a sniper, with large glass fronts. At the entrance, Mick saw a poster: There was a man to be honored today, a dead marine soldier… a sniper.

The Welsh sighed in relief. End of game. There would be no more innocent blood on his hands. It was only him and the UnSub now. Two snipers, locked eye to eye. The way it was meant to be. His stalker. Finally Mick would get rid of him – he had to, not only for his own sake now but for his team's. He shouldn't have told them about the green-eyed hunter, but it didn't matter anymore. It would end here and now.

Mick felt his confidence rise again as he climbed onto a tree near the hall. The building's roof was flat, except for the chimney. Not much for a hiding, but Mick had been hiding long enough. Leaning against the chimney, he prepared his gun.

Sometimes you tell the day

By the bottle that you drink

And times when you're alone all you do is think

I'm a cowboy, on a steel horse I ride

I'm wanted dead or alive

Wanted dead or alive, Bon Jovi

Actually this chapter should be longer, but time's still not on my side. So there'll be another chapter concerning "One Shot Kill" a bit, and then it'll move on with the story.