a/n: hi, this is my first fic. please r&r.

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The moment before the kill. I wait in my car, checking my pistol. It is perfect, as always, I take it apart and put it together to pass the time. I see him walking down the cold street in my rearview mirror. It is late, his bodyguards are tired, but I am fresh, awake, so I have the advantage.

The situation is under control. I know he has no chance. But no matter how ready I am, there is always the smallest splinter in the back of my mind that tells me I will fail. You can't win against your mind. It is not a man that can be shot down. You must confront it.

It makes me wonder, if I somehow am defeated, was it worth it? This job is my life. I can't imagine doing anything else. Would it be better to live this life and end up a corpse in a dark alley, or live a "normal" life?

Would it be better to wake up everyday, kiss my wife and go to work? Sit behind a desk all day wondering if life can be better? To finally make it through the week to go to a movie, or get a massage? In another life, would I wait for these little pleasures?

No. This life is my pleasure. Contempt of pleasure is my pleasure. I sit here, watching the windshield wipers go back and forth, and laugh. I know that "pleasure" is a chemical reaction. Like "lust", "fear", "uncertainty", these are all impediments to my mission.

If I was a robot, with no emotion, I would be more efficient. But at the same time I know there would be no challenge. These chemical challenges are my true enemy. And overcoming them makes the hit all the more rewarding. And this feeling of "satisfaction" or "accomplishment" is another chemical, quite amusing.

I watch the target light a cigarette. In his Gortex jacket he looks so warm. No matter how hot it is, I always feel cold. Like a blade, I am sharp, cold, and precise. "Intrigue", another chemical. I want to feel warm. Like Pandora, I am flawed. There is a box in my mind. And it burns when I am near it. Every moment before the hit it comes to me, screaming to be opened.

After such a long time living this life, there is little new. But this is the life I want. The only thing new is inside my box. Inside, a new life awaits. I don't want that life, but it wants me. Every time I think about this, my thoughts before the hit, the burn gets worse. And what burns me the most is that I know I will break.

I will break and leave this life as a killer, or I will die first. I think that is why I can do the things I do, with little fear, just calculation. Another splinter in my mind want me to die. To die a machine, unbroken, remaining cold, sharp, and precise. If I break and lead a normal life, then I will die a dull blade. Rusty, inaccurate.

I open the door. Walking toward the three tired men. I can hear the soft crunch of snow under my feet. Two silenced shots in the night. Two bulky men fall to the street with a thud. The last, my target, shaking with fear, crouched before me. This is my pleasure, to inflict not pain, but fear.

I knew all this thinking was a waste of time. I knew I would succed, and leave just to take on another mission. I wouldn't fail that one either. But no matter how sure I am, I can't avoid these thoughts. I think all these things in a fraction of a second. In my mind, there is no time. Some feelings or thoughts, however, I choose to savour.

This insignificant worm of a man, shivering before me, in fear. I know I will kill him, that is my mission. But these moments I can replay in my head.

I wonder what you think about before you die? What crosses your mind when a bald man in a suit has a gun to your head and you don't know why? What does this "true fear" feel like?

A final silenced shot dissapeared into the night. Mission complete. As I walk back to my car, I laugh to myselft. "Chemicals."