More to Meyrin

I never planned to do what I do now; shoot random politicians and other people my bosses want destroyed for money, that is. When I was growing up I was a simple girl with a big family and limited ambition. All I wanted to do was be as good a mother as mine was to me, have as many children as I had siblings and live in the countryside. Of course my mother did not approve of this; I, the youngest of twelve children from poor parents should want to do something worthwhile with my life, make something of myself, and have a profession. If only she could see me now.

These huge ugly eyes I have meant I grew up being called a freak by my peers and having no friends but my brothers and sisters. They also meant I could see immensely far distances, further than the most powerful binoculars but that I was almost blind when looking at things close to. All I have going for me apart from that skill is my looks and my figure. I'm pretty; I know that, provided my fringe falls to the bridge of my nose. When my family were all snatched from me and brutally murdered on the same night I knew there were only two paths I could travel down: the one where my bodily beauty was seized upon and exploited by anyone who could pay for it or the one where my most hideous feature, these giant bug eyes, would be put to good use. I chose the latter.

Now I sit alone but for my thoughts and weapon, a position I find myself in daily, wearing black to blend into the buildings and the shadows which have become my sanctuary, waiting for my opportunity to strike and shatter the skull of a largely innocent person with a twitch of my finger. The list of people I have to kill goes ever on and on. Sometimes I wonder if my bosses pick names out of a hat and insist I end them just so they can see me more often and do whatever they like to my body. I think they like the fact I can't see things up close. It makes me more vulnerable. Anyway I let them do whatever they want to me because they always give me the jobs eventually. The money's good, even if the treatment I receive leaves quite a lot to be desired. I suppose I'm officially a murderer; an assassin but it doesn't feel that way. It just feels like work. Clean, clinical, impersonal. I can normally even run away fast enough so I don't hear the screams.

They're having some sort of garden party below me. I can see every single tiny detail although if one of them looked up I'd be too far away from them to make out. The young politician and his family. People are milling around with glasses of champagne and canapés that the family's staff are offering around on little circular silver trays. Stupid rich pigs. Ignorant and affluent and so very despicable. My bosses are right; I was born to do this. Sometimes I wish I could shoot the whole damn lot of them. He's a popular chap, my mark; people keep swarming round him and obscuring my line of fire.

Eventually all the guests clear off and I'm just lining up the barrel of my gun with the politician's smooth white temple when he drops to his knees and a toddler in a sailor suit runs into his arms. His little boy. The politician stands up and whisks the giggling boy into his arms. I remember my oldest brothers doing that to me; the thrill of momentary weightlessness. I have obviously remembered the sensation too because I feel a tug at my stomach. Or maybe it's sadness. I must be going soft; of course it's not sadness. I've never taken this long to kill a person before. As soon as he puts the kid down I'll blow his brains all over his immaculate lawn.

Now his wife's with him too. They have a baby. Two little lovely children, probably the world to their parents. To see this man with his family makes me think he'd be just as happy if he wasn't as rich as he was and lived in a slum like I had as a girl as long as he had his family. I'm definitely going soft and letting my own emotions cloud my thoughts. I shift the gun higher on my shoulder and take aim. If that little boy gets in the way then so be it. It'll save me killing him when he'd older and taken over his father's job.

"You have incredible eyes." Say a sleek voice from behind me.

I gasp and whirl round, squinting to make out the figure that towers above me in my crouched position. I manage to make out a silver watch chain, probably worth quite a lot and a sharp pale face. The rest is dissolved in darkness.

"I'd like to offer you a position."

Position, what sort of position? Better than what I have now?

"Room and board would be included, of course."

What does this idiot think he's playing at? He's probably from a rival firm and trying to distract me while one his men does the job of killing the politician. I raise my gun and to shut him up but he's disappeared.

"No experience necessary." He's crouched directly behind me and has the gun out of my hands before I've finished jumping from the initial shock of his quick movements. Nobody could have moved that quickly. I'm not even sure if this man's human, "I'll teach you everything you'll need to know if you'll agree."

What do I have to lose?