BULL and YOUNGIN are both lying prone on top of a snowy hill in the dead of night. BULL is looking through the scope of an M200 Intervention at a half cylinder research center, while YOUNGIN is looking through his binoculars feeding details regarding the scenery below them to BULL. "Wind is 13 KM/H, range of about 500 meters, no need for the Coriolis effect," YOUNGIN tells BULL. BULL's breathing is very heavy. This is the first time he has ever gone on an assassination mission.
YOUNGIN looks over to BULL, noticing his partner's distressed look. BULL is a young looking man with average height, swimmers body, and natural wavy black hair. He is a man of Mexican descent. He has a pretty light and easy personality and a harsh sense of justice. "Listen man, just breathe. Imagine that it's your ex-girlfriend's new boyfriend and just breathe the bullet out like normal." He reassured the other. BULL chuckles lightly, never getting fed up with his friends quips. The man slowly inhales, calming his nerves down. Breathe the bullet out. Breathe it out. Just breathe. The words repeat in his head. He tightens his jaw as he continues to look down the scope, taking in account his sniper training.
BULL looks at the picture the Foundation gave him. In it is a young, tall, skinny man, with platinum blonde hair, large round glasses and an all black business suit. He was taking a phone call, maybe the last phone call that he'll ever take. "Alexander Hill" was written behind the photo.
"This guy just screams Chaos Insurgency. Evil looking bastard," YOUNGIN says, disgust in his voice. "Not that I'm surprised, though. Fucker's a head researcher there. Bet his head has some loose screws here and there, hah," He chuckles to himself. BULL just looks at his partner, too nervous to comment about his crude sense of humor.
YOUNGIN is a man of African descent with skin the color of coffee beans. He is lean and catlike with not much muscle on his bones. His hair is cut short to the point where he is almost bald. His personality is usually chill and mediated. He likes to crack bad jokes when in a stressful situation.
Something caught his eye, causing YOUNGIN taps on BULLs shoulder. "Targets coming out, get ready man." He gave him a reassuring pat on the back before returning to observe the ground below.
BULL looks down the hill towards the Chaos Insurgency research center to see his target coming out of the lab. He's being flanked by two security guards in heavy armor equipped with RPD Light Machine Guns. "Looks like the man's going to war with all that firepower. Luckily they won't get the chance to use it," BULL says with whatever was left of his confidence.
BULL readies himself to commit the act of assassination. He places his finger on the trigger of his rifle, his hands shaking slightly. "Fire," YOUNGIN says as BULL waits. "Fire," YOUNGIN says the second time, BULL is waiting for the next one in dread. BULLs breath is creating mist atop the snowy hill, his breath is shaky. "Fire," YOUNGIN says.
BULL holds his breath as he steadies the scope on top of Alexander Hill's head. "Just fire the shot, as if you're breathing the bullet out. Trust me this type of job will become just as commonplace," he remembers his trainers voice. He made it sound so simple back then. BULL takes one last look at Hills head through the scope. He squeezes the trigger.
The shot rings out as a splatter of blood comes out of Hills head onto the laboratory door. His jaw is hanging off of his skull as he stands there, his eyes wide with fear as his jaw hangs by a few threads of tissue and bone. His eyes finally roll up into his skull as he hits the ground. His guards stand there in shock, obviously amateurs they don't know what to do as they begin to call someone.

"Should we take them out as well," BULL asks YOUNGIN. YOUNGIN begins to stand up taking the snow white tarp off his back, "Nah we were never told to take them out, we might get it up the ass if we do." After he says that a child, a small girl who looks no older than twelve runs out of the lab tears in her eyes. She has the same platinum blonde hair as Alexander Hill with a pale complexion with striking icy blue eyes. Oh fuck... is that his kid? BULL wonders.
YOUNGIN looks at BULL "Hey man let's get out of here i've seen enough." BULL nods sharply and picks up his CheyTac M200 rifle and disappears like a phantom in the snowy wastelands of Colorado.
The Duo made their way back to the small encampment that the rest of their fireteam erected. "If it isn't our favorite married couple, how'd it go, did you pop the poor bastard or what?" BULL looks over at his fellow squadmate, they call him NOMAD probably because of his free spirited personality.
NOMAD is a southern man in body and in spirit. He is quite large and muscular. His hair is graying with age. He speaks with a light southern twang in his voice. He has a pretty sadistic personality to him, and a massive superiority complex. He is BULL and YOUNGINs senior Operative.
BULL just walks by him and enters his tent. NOMAD shoots YOUNGIN a look of curiosity, "What's with him," he asks YOUNGIN. YOUNGIN looks at him with a sour expression, "BULL wasn't so happy doing an assassination mission for whatever reason, but yeah we got him real good." NOMAD sighs a huge sigh of relief, "I didn't think the rookie had it in him, heh he really doesn't seem the type to kill another man."
BULL strips off his plate carrier and white tactical gear until he's down to his body suit. He looks at his helmet. He remembers the day that he first got it, he decided to paint white horns on it to commemorate the nickname given to him. He was given this nickname because during his training he was noted to be an extraordinary urban combatant and breacher.
So why they gave him this assassination assignment, he has no idea. To awaken a whole new specialization inside of him? Who gives a fuck at this point? He thinks to himself. I'm no longer a person, just a pawn being used by those fucks on the O5 council. He was always known to be extremely independent, something uncommon in his current profession. He pushes those thoughts aside Get it together man, this isn't how an RRT operative is supposed to act. No, he was on the Rapid Response Team; he's not supposed to be a conventional operative. He couldn't get much sleep that night, pondering these extreme thoughts.