From now on, if it's in first person, it will be Octavia's point of view.
…
Another day, another target. That's how I've been brought up to look at it. Don't think of your targets as individuals; see them as just a part of your job. Because that's what they are: they're just a part of the job. A stepping stone between you and your money, one that you have to cross if you want your pay.
But it's not just the pay I want. I get a sort of buzz or kick from killing. It's disgusting. I disgust myself, so that's why I always use my trusty sniper rifle to finish the job, as opposed to my diamond dagger, which I always have on me. The dagger feels too personal, so unless the job IS personal, I avoid using it on my targets.
Today, the job is not personal. It's simply, really: a human target. Unusual but not unheard of. Works on the top floor of a hundred-floor office block. Unfortunately, her office does not border a window, so I can't shoot from a distance. I have to actually get inside the building. And for that reason, a gun might be too conspicuous, so I might have to resort to using my dagger. I really hope not; I hate using my dagger for impersonal targets.
I get into the building by dropping to all fours and acting like a mindless animal. Quite a few people take pictures of me with their phones. Some will be posting them on social media. I don't mind, though. Social media is for humans, and no human will recognise me as an assassin. They'll simply think a platypus wandered into a building by mistake. And that's what I'm counting on right now.
I take the stairs as if it's the most normal thing in the world for a black platypus. I get some weird looks and a few laughs, but nobody calls security on me, so that's good.
After about half an hour, I'm finally on the top floor. Considering I'm a fairly small platypus, I think I've made good time.
This time, I keep to the shadows. A couple of people spot me, but they don't make a fuss. I'd rather keep a lower profile up here, since I'm so close to my target.
Speaking of which, there she is. The middle-aged woman is sitting in her office, which is glass on two sides (opposite each other) and wooden on the two other sides; one of those sides is the side with the door.
With nobody looking, I hop up into the rafters of the roof. I lie down on one of the metal support beams and get out my sniper rifle, which I assemble quickly. Then I aim.
I can hear the woman talking to someone on the phone.
Don't close your eyes, the voice in my head says, sensing that I have the urge to shoot with my eyes closed. If you're going to kill her, you can't just pretend it isn't happening.
As I'm aiming, I suddenly spot a ring on her finger.
She's married…
And there's a photo of four kids on her desk.
How can I kill her…?!
Do it, I snap in my head. You just have to do it.
But she has a family! Kids who probably depend on her!
So did several of my other targets. I can't afford to think about that.
But you ARE thinking about it. And now that you're thinking about it, you know you can't kill her.
YES I CAN!
SHOOT!
SHOOT HER!
Before I can stop myself, I pull the trigger.
I immediately close my eyes and look away.
The sound of the gunshot is not muted; I can hear it clearly, just milliseconds before there's the sound of shattering glass. The talking is abruptly cut off, and I hear the phone hit the floor.
I wince as I hear the door slam open and several people start to talk loudly and fearfully. I disassemble my rifle and I drop down from the rafter, glancing towards the office. I don't need to confirm that she's dead. I was aiming for her head, and I know I hit it. I never miss. Never. Ignoring the part of me that wants to go and see all the beautiful blood, I slip out the door, unseen.
As soon as I'm out the building, I run on all fours until I'm several blocks away. Chest heaving, I dart into an alleyway and dial a number on my special watch, which I can use like a phone to contact my clients. It uses a very distinct frequency, so it's harder to track than a phone number.
"Hello?" says a wary human voice.
My watch automatically translates English into platypus, and vice versa, so I don't have to worry about translators or anything like that. In fact, because of this handy feature, I don't think most of my clients even know I'm a platypus.
"Octavia. It's over."
Since I've just killed someone when I'm phoning my clients back, I never use many words. Mostly, I'm still sort of in shock and still processing it, despite how many times I've done this before.
"Good. The rest of the cash is being transferred to your account now."
I glance down at my watch just in time to see a "notification" pop up, saying that five hundred thousand dollars has been transferred to my account.
I always charge a million dollars for my services: five hundred thousand to be paid up front, with the rest being paid after the job is done. It's ridiculously expensive, and that's why I don't get many jobs. But I'm glad; it's my subconscious's way of making sure I don't kill too many people.
But the number's still way too big for my liking…
"Thank you," I say into the watch. "Pleasure doing business with you."
"Likewise," says the curt voice back, before the connection is cut.
I sigh and slump against the wall.
This is the kind of job that pays the bills but is absolutely exhausting.
I have no idea whether I like my job or not.