The Sniper (Part 1)
"I'm going to college."
The Sniper snapped his head towards his colleague. "What?" He asked in confusion at the sudden announcement.
"You didn't hear?" Rin asked, as if surprised at his surprise. "Miss Makima is offering scholarships to any Bureau member who wants to go. It's been the talk of the town all week," she continued, chiding him for his supposed inattentiveness to current events.
He heard, of course. Very little happened within the Bureau without him being informed. As the Bureau's assassin, it was a necessity for someone of his duties. To realize her dreams, it was vital that he kept track of the enemies outside and the traitors within. The difference between the two was slight, but they all ended up as corpses beneath his scope.
The creation of the scholarship fund was one of the many reasons he lauded Makima-sama. Investing in the individual rather than bringing in talent from other cities was an excellent way to bolster the organization's quality and provide a chance to those who suffered in this filth-infested hell hole.
The PRT wailed and lamented that the Bureau was just another gang. However, gestures like these unequivocally differentiated them from the likes of the ABB and Empire that would never invest in an individual's future. Furthermore, the program was expected to expand to everyone in the city once their nascent shipping industry took off.
So hearing that his junior would be taking the opportunity filled him with joy for the young girl and gratitude towards the one who had given them all a chance to be something more.
But it was befuddling that his junior, a girl in her late teens, would choose now of all times to announce her future life plans. For Christ's sake, they were in the middle of an assassination mission. But considering her history, it wasn't surprising that she never had a chance to be properly socialized.
Pitiful… She hadn't even completed middle school…
"Wait a sec… What's with that look!" She started, her brows furrowed in annoyance and her voice laced with hurt suspicion. "Are you thinking that I'm not good enough? That a stacked brick is smarter than me? That my Hippocampus is fucking collapsed?"
"What?" He stupidly repeated. "I… Well… First, I'm surprised you even know what a Hippocampus is; secondly, I didn't say anything."
"That's even worse!" She pouted, her lower lip extending further than the one above. "Well, guess what! I won't be doing grunt work for the rest of my life. Once I get enough promotions, it'll be paperwork in the office and ordering around scrubs for me! That's the fucking life."
Her behavior was entirely unprofessional. If this were the army, she would have received disciplinary action for causing unnecessary disturbances in the middle of a delicate operation. He was tempted to scold her but stopped himself. He did not play favorites, but the girl had been through much in her life, and he didn't have the courage or cruelty.
Before he had taken her in, she was a prostitute, sold by her parents for a couple of hundred bucks to Lung. And when the ABB crumbled, she lost her only sanctuary. It was a terrible one that ruined her mind and body, but it kept her fed and alive.
Stories like hers were so familiar that it was depressing.
Heroes had rescued women from Lung's brothels in the past. But more often than not, the girls always returned to their pimps and rapists. Some were hopelessly addicted to the drugs they were fed, others had nobody to turn to, and most had no alternative method of survival.
But Makima-sama took those struggling girls in and provided them with a true sanctuary—one where they were protected and provided opportunities for various types of employment within the Bureau. Something that the PRT and Protectorate never cared to do.
That, he believed, was the truest difference between the two. It was not her destructive power but the ability to make lasting changes in the minds of those who lived that made her a Hero.
Unlike Rin, who had more ambition than sense, most of the liberated girls veered away from combat-oriented roles. But plenty of necessary work in the backlines needed more hands, especially when the Bureau's industrial capacity would be fully displayed within the next few weeks.
"Look. I'm happy for you," the Sniper started, raising his hands in a gesture of goodwill and surrender.
"Oookaayyyy… I'm sensing a but."
"But, before you can even think about college, you need to go to high school. And finish middle school."
"So you DO think I'm stupid! I'll have you know I did great in my tests!" Ren exclaimed, aggrieved at the insinuation.
"No, no, no. That's not-." He hurriedly started, trying to clarify. "Listen. It's not about being smart or dumb. It's about being prepared. College is a completely different beast from grade school. If you don't have the basics down, you'll flop," he advised as someone who had done just that back when Japan was still a country.
"Well, what am I supposed to do? I'm too old to frolic around with dumb kids. I'll die of embarrassment. Literally," she sighed, looking downcast and losing her typical spirited self.
The Sniper sighed. He didn't play favorites. He really didn't. Anyone else who said otherwise was a goddamn liar. But seeing her like this was counterproductive for his own mental health, which would affect the mission's results.
"I report to Makima-sama next week. I can ask if she can provide alternative routes to a GED. With her resources, I'm sure she can have someone arrange something for you and anyone else in similar conundrums."
Ren perked up, a smile returning to her lips. But it faded as quickly as it came. "Nah, I'm good," she declined, shaking her head. "Miss Makima's already given me so much. A place to stay, friends, and a life where I'm not getting fucked over, both literally and figuratively. It'd be greedy to ask for more, ya know."
He laughed, chuckling as he ruffled her hair despite her fervent protests. "And what's so wrong about being a little greedy? Listen girl, and listen well. Anyone content with what they have may as well be dead to the rest of the world. If you want to make something of yourself, you gotta be the Town Mouse. When you get one, reach for two. And when you have two, take four."
"But-."
"If you're feeling guilty about it, just pay her back in the future. It's not like you're getting free stuff. You're investing in yourself so you can better help out Makima-sama down the road. And who knows, maybe once you get that shiny college degree, she'll give you a totally awesome superpower like mine," he advised as he grinned teasingly at his junior.
Ren joined his laughter, almost snorting. Whatever clouds of negativity she had were swept away as she became her usual optimistic self. "You actually sounded wise for a sec there, old timer. Gods… I hope I get any power but yours."
Now it was his turn to pout. "Har har, very funny. Now let's get focused. We got a person to kill, and she won't do the work for us. Probably."
"Whatever you say, boss," she replied, grinning one last time before sinking back into silence.
Once the silence returned, the Sniper gazed down from above the roof. At this height, the city he had chosen to protect from those that wished it harm seemed so fragile, like a child's toy. Everything seemed so small, and even the noise was nearly non-existent other than the occasional hum of a passing vehicle in the sparsely populated roads in the distance.
Time passed as the two waited.
The sun dipped below the horizon, and the once-warm rays that had bathed the city in its golden splendor gave way to the cool embrace of the moon's pale glow. And with the pale light came the chills that became increasingly pronounced by the following second.
But he ignored all such distractions as he sank into his meditative state, focusing and reviewing all and every possible detail regarding his mission. Perched atop the highest vantage point in the vicinity, he fixated his eyes on his target's home miles away.
His team had studied the target for days, meticulously tracking her every movement. They had learned that she was a creature of habit, following the same routine day in and day out. She would leave for work at 7, take her lunch break at the local diner at noon, and return home at 6, always following the same route without fail.
It was almost too easy, but complacency was a sin, especially when his prey was a parahuman. He remained vigilant, alone in his quiet world as he waited for her return.
In a world where men could split the Earth, and women could sunder the Heavens, firearms that had once reined supreme were forced into the rear seat. When civilians thought of Parahuman powers, they thought of the invulnerability of Alexandria, the speed of Legend, and the diversity of Eidolon. But contrary to popular belief, most parahumans were just as vulnerable to bullets as their fellow unpowered humans.
Even those who could dodge or defend themselves often lacked the reaction time to survive said weapons when caught off guard. Thus, it was incomprehensible that it was so uncommon for a 7.62x51mm to contact a parahuman's skull.
Despite the contradictions of his world, pondering and reaching for answers beyond his station was not his purpose. His kind fought when needed and killed when ordered.
But even then, a part of his traitorous mind rebelled against the iron-clad discipline he had trained into himself, questioning certain inconsistencies.
"Boss…" Ren interrupted the silence. "Why are we killing Brandish?"
Now wasn't that the million-dollar question?
"I'm… I… I don't know," he lamely answered. The question had been on his mind ever since he received his orders.
Carol Dallon was a famous name and the leading figure of New Wave. Even if he considered that their street activities had decreased, antagonizing half a dozen parahumans, even anonymously, seemed like a dangerous move without any clear benefits.
"Say… You get your orders from Takemura, right?" Ren said, her eyes squinting with suspicion.
He nodded.
"And Taekmura used to be high up in the ABB… Right?"
Again, the Sniper nodded.
"Well, what if this mission isn't really from Miss Makima?" Ren suggested. "What if Takemura just has a bone to pick with New Wave from his ABB days and is using us to settle a personal score? I mean, we killed a bunch of bad guys over the months, and only a few were children. But Brandish is different from our usual targets of gangbangers and traitors."
She was certainly perceptive for a girl who never graduated past middle school. It was one of the reasons why he had taken her as his partner. The ability to notice things that escaped the view of most was invaluable for a sniper to have. "Possible. But unlikely."
If his orders had come down from anyone else, he would have shared similar suspicions. But Takemura-dono had a level of fanaticism that was almost frightening. If Makima-sama had ordered him to die, he would only ask how.
And even if he weren't loyal, he wasn't stupid enough to brazenly use Bureau resources to resolve a petty grudge.
But if he had… If the man betrayed Makima-sama's trust…
Well…
Then the Sniper would know who his next target would be.
"Does it make you uncomfortable?" He asked, concerned. "That we're about to kill a hero?"
"Hero? What hero?" Ren scoffed in derision. "There's only one Hero in this city, and it certainly isn't Brandish."
"Come on, that's not fair. She saved a bunch of people over the years, and the Protectorate had a major win against the Empire last week," he protested. While he agreed that the traditional Heroes had failed the city in more ways than one, it would have been unfair to call them useless. They had, at the very least, slowed its destruction and mitigated the symptoms of the disease.
"They never saved me," she sneered, her lips turning and twisting into something hideous. For a moment, the Sniper shook, his body reacting to the venom in the voice of a girl half his age.
"There's a lot of people in this city, kid."
"And so what? Do you know why I chose this day and time for the mission? The Protectorate and their brats are busy posing for the camera and signing autographs at the mall right now. New Wave is even worse. They treat their gimmick like it's an afterschool activity."
"They have their own lives, New Wave especially. They aren't paid, and most of their members are kids. They need to go to school."
"Then they shouldn't be calling themselves heroes. If they spent a bit more time being a hero and less as celebrities… They might have gotten me out years ago."
"The city would be worse without them."
"By sacrificing people not worth protecting," she shot back. "All they ever protect are the rich-folk downtown. But us? People who barely scrape by? They literally don't give a shit."
Her sentiment was shared within the Docks, especially since people now experienced what it could have been like if the PRT hadn't been so ineffective. Like everything else, the Heroes were biased toward protecting the wealthy. It was normal and expected that the rich would receive more benefits, but the gap in most cities was not as extreme as in Brockton Bay.
The best evidence for the apparent differences was in Arcadia and Winslow. These two schools were mere miles from each other, yet the disparity was apparent as Heaven and Hell.
It was said that the Heroes protected the city. But that protection did not extend past Downtown. Heroes actively patrolled and fought to prevent crime in the prosperous and valuable commercial zones but in the Docks? The only time he had ever seen the Protectorate in his neighborhood was when Lung had set it on fire.
For years, entire segments of the city's population went ignored, left to the tender mercies of the gangs as a sacrifice in hopes that they would be satisfied with what they had and not attempt to gain more.
Knowing this, how could he blame her for her hatred?
How could the PRT blame them for supporting the Bureau when they received the protection the former merely touted from the latter?
Only now did the Heroes actively patrolled the Docks in hopes of turning the tides of public sentiment. But grievances ran deep, and no amount of propaganda or photoshoots would be enough to change that.
But regardless, having such one-sided views was problematic even if they were truths. It often blinded people to other possibilities and narrowed their vision. Rin had many reasons to be furious, but as her mentor, he hoped to teach her to see the forest rather than the tree.
"Look boss, if Miss Makima ordered the hit, I'm sure she had a good reason. I just want to make sure we have our targets right. I don't want to cause trouble for her because some dick was being a dick," Rin explained.
He chuckled. "Takemura-dono is a dick, but he's a loyal dick. Don't worry too much, he-." A buzz rang on the dorsum of his foot from a transmitter, interrupting him mid-speech. It was a signal from the rest of his team. "The target's left work. By my estimate, she'll be here in 18 minutes with the predicted level of traffic. Ren, get the drone and scout the area. Make sure that there aren't any Protectorate patrols around."
"On it," Ren affirmed as she worked the tinker-tech machinery she had been taught to use. The two fell back into silence as they each dedicated themselves to their respective duties.
Almost to the exact second, he spotted a familiar car turning up at the edge of the road, heading towards the house he had been watching for the past two hours.
The woman drove into her driveway, cut off the engine and exited the car. He was no precog, but he already knew what she had planned for the rest of the day. Upon entering through the same door for the ten-thousandth time, she would be greeted by her eldest daughter. An hour and a half later, she would have dinner with the rest of her family excluding Panacea, who would be working at the hospital at that time. And when the darker parts of the night fell, she would sleep.
But not today.
And never again.
It was rather risky commencing the operation when two members of New Wave were present. But if all went well, no one would notice for hours that a newly made corpse lay on their doorsteps. Even if they did, Manpower was a depressed wreck, and Glory Girl would be too shocked to commence pursuit. Taking account of the considerable distance them, it would be simple for him and Ren to make themselves scarce.
"All clear, boss. The PRT and Wards are still doing the photo-op in the mall," Ren snarled. Even though his eyes were focused on his target, he could hear her face twist into hatred.
With the plan in his mind and duty in his heart, the Sniper steadied himself, clearing his mind of all thoughts except for the necessary focus.
As a seasoned gunman, he understood the challenges of making long-distance kills. Not only did he have to account for the wind, but he also had to control his bodily systems. The army trained their marksmen to time their shots with their heartbeat, as even the slightest pulse could throw off their aim. At a distance of 11.6 miles, these distractions were amplified to such a degree that it was nigh impossible, aside from divine intervention, to make such a shot.
But while he may not have had the favor of the Lord, he had something close enough. With the gift granted by Makima-sama, the typical challenges that came with his station became inconsequential.
Among the chosen in the Special Division were those who could fold buildings with a kick, track a target from a city away by scent, control all manners of insects and animals within a specific range, and so on.
In comparison, his powers seemed lackluster. But in his arena, it was equally as potent.
And so the Sniper died.
He killed his nerves, halted his muscles and waited as his gift took hold. A single thought was enough to silence his heart, freeze the blood in his veins, and render himself so motionless that he became part of the static scenery. He should have lost consciousness within the second and died within the minute, yet he remained fully aware and completely functional.
It was a useless power for most but for him? It was invaluable.
And all he had to give in exchange was…
…
Was…
…
Huh?
…
…
"Boss, you okay?" Rin asked in concern. "You look sick."
"Hmm?" The Sniper snapped up in surprise; his pupils dilated as if he was gazing at something afar. "Oh, sorry, I was… Distracted?"
"About?"
"I'm… I'm not sure…."
"Geez, old man, get it together! Did dementia take you at forty?" She scolded.
"Haha… Sorry..." He apologized, feelings of shame and guilt digging deep into his insides. It was embarrassing to display such unprofessional behavior in front of the student. Thus, he redoubled his focus and sank deeper into his power.
The stillness was still eerie, no matter how many times he had deployed his power. But it was necessary for the mission and a burden he would gladly bear. Not a twitch in his nerves interfered with his motion as he settled the scope upon the target's head, his tinker tech rifle primed and ready.
But while he was devoted to one- the cause and prepared to offer up his life when necessary, knowing that he was about to take a heroine's life was still an uncomfortable feeling, like the unfortunate time when he was forced to detonate a bomb when the target's son was nearby.
But regardless of his opinions, he knew what had to be done. With a hand steadier than a machine's, he aimed at the head, using only the minimal muscles and neural activity necessary for the purpose, even as his morals screamed at him to stop.
It was wrong. It was immoral. It was monstrous.
But Makima-sama knew best.
And he would follow her. His faith would never allow for anything else.
At the very least, he could grant a quick, painless death.
In his mind's eye, a vivid vision of the future materialized. He saw a burst of red that colored the walls and carpeted the floor, followed by the limp descent of a headless corpse onto the ground below.
With the future envisioned, he braced himself, his finger traveling towards the trigger with an almost imperceptible slowness as his intended victim entered his crosshairs. Within the next second, his vision would come to life, making illusion into reality with a single decisive squeeze of the trigger.
"Stand down."
The Sniper struck high.
Rin struck low.
Years of rigorous training had left his reflexes as sharp as razors. Without a moment's hesitation, he whirled around to deliver a bone-crushing blow to the intruder with the butt of his rifle. At this close of a distance, the rifle was too long to be of use for anything other than a makeshift club.
Ren, despite her inexperience, reacted with far greater swiftness and skill for someone with only a few months into training. Her knife flashed in the moonlight, slashing towards their attacker's lower limbs.
But the handle never met the intended skull. Nor did Ren's knife cut into tendons of the leg.
With skills to match his own, the assailant caught the rifle mid-swing, bringing it to a halt with the palm of his hand while simultaneously catching the knife with the heel of his shoes. With methodical precision, the gun was ripped from the Sniper's hand and sent flying to the side with a well-placed strike at his wrists as he turned, delivering a roundhouse kick to his junior's temple.
The Sniper grimaced, glancing at the girl who had dropped to the floor like a rock. But this was no time to check on his teammate. Not with the foe before him. With well-practiced precision, his hand shot to his side, reaching for the sidearm as he put all unrelated to combat to the side. But the assailant was faster.
Before he could draw his handgun, he found himself staring down at the barrel of a gun that was not his.
The Sniper froze, halting mid-movement like a poorly timed photograph.
"Are you done?" The intruder asked without emotion. Not a trace of amusement or irritation could be seen in his stoic visage.
"Takemura-dono?" He asked in surprise as his senses returned, finally recognizing his own superior—the very person who had ordered Carol Dallon's death from the start.
Makima-sama's right-hand man was dressed in the typical suit and tie of the Bureau. But while his appearance was clean and orderly to the eyes, he reeked of blood and gunpowder as if he had come back from a warzone. In fact, he was so coated with it that the Sniper should have easily smelled his approach even if he was distracted.
So how?
How had he hidden himself until the last minute?
With a huff, Takemura re-holstered his gun. "I pray for your own sake that you are more… Observant of your surroundings next time."
He could not tell if that was a threat or genuine advice. It was always difficult to tell with the man before him. His presence always left him uneasy, like he was prey being stalked by a predator lurking in the shadows. But even beyond that, the alterations in his personality were the most disconcerting. At times, Makima-sama's right-hand man seemed like a common thug in his mannerisms and act. At others, he was a well-adjusted sociopath, caring only for achieving the goal given by his master. It was impossible to tell which persona was genuine or if they were both just facades hiding something even more sinister.
But despite his misgivings about the man, the Sniper stood at attention before his superior, silently awaiting an explanation for the interruption. He understood the command he was given but failed to comprehend its rationale. Why expend so much time and resources in preparing for a hit and plan for its fall out, only to abandon it moments before its execution?
Unnoticing or uncaring of his subordinate's dissatisfaction, Takemura continued. "The situation has evolved unpredictably. Thus, this mission has been terminated."
The Sniper attempted to respond but found himself unable to articulate one. While part of him was relieved that he no longer had to execute an innocent life, his professional side felt slighted. He had dedicated significant effort to meticulously plan this assassination and even more to devise strategies to deal with its aftermath. To have his work and effort dismissed so carelessly left a bitter aftertaste in his mouth.
"Sir?" He said, asking for further clarification. He had come here without an explanation and now was being dismissed just the same. It infuriated him and dug at his pride.
His loyalty to Makima-sama and, by extension, the Bureau was unquestionable. But that did not mean he was willing to be treated like a common grunt by someone other than her, no matter how high in the ranks the person was. At this point, he seriously questioned whether the orders to assassinate Carol Dallon originated from the Endkiller herself.
"The details are none of your concern. But there are pressing matters that need to be dealt with. The remnants of the ABB have been causing trouble in the newly established dockyards. Deal with them," Takemura ordered callously.
Bastard… A dick indeed
"Have there been sightings of Parahumans? What are their numbers?" He asked his superior. Part of him wished to throttle the man, but such unprofessional behavior was beneath him. He was not some low life to rage and whine at every injustice.
"Negative. Neither Lung nor Bakuda has been sighted as of late while Oni Lee has all but disappeared. Their exact numbers are unknown, but there shouldn't be more than half a dozen."
"Then why, may I ask, must I be sent? Grunt work can be accomplished by the lower divisions. My brother's squad is stationed by the dockyards. They should be more than enough to eliminate the dissidents." Even beyond his pride, sending a member of the special division to drive away a maximum of 6 people was a gross misallocation of resources. The suit of a Bureau member was specially modified by Parian to be impervious to everything but the highest caliber of bullets. A single squad would be more than enough to complete this sort of task.
Takemura frowned, showing emotion for the first time. "You would be correct… If the rebels hadn't been disappearing every time Squad 12 pursued them."
Now that got his attention. If what his superior said was true… Then that would mean-
"We have a spy amongst us. A leak coming from our personnel," He continued, walking to the edge of the roof and gazing at the night city below. "Every ambush, trap, and tactic so far has been foiled and with each failure falls the faith of the Dockworker's Union. I hope I do not need to remind you of their importance to the Bureau's industrial capacity."
He didn't. He knew all too well how valuable their skills would become and why binding them to the Bureau's ranks was so important.
"Elimination or capture?" The Sniper asked, his previous aggression and ire disappearing at the importance of the mission given. He did not bother debating his superior's claims of a spy. Many in the Bureau were once ABB loyalists. Grudges and anger still ran rampant within their ranks even when most now lived far better lives.
Thus, it was all too common for some to commit treason. He would know better than most. After all, he had killed many such traitors in the past months.
"Capture, then interrogation, then elimination once you are done. I don't care what methods you use. Get the work done. We cannot afford dissidents within our own ranks with the PRT bearing down on our backs. Take Squad 12 with you. They will fill you in the details."
"It will be done sir," he affirmed resolutely as Takemura turned and left, not even bothering to acknowledge his confirmation.
Seriously… What a dick…
This mini arc has one more chapter and we will be returning to Makima's POV after it. I wanted to write a POV from the perspective of the Public, Villains, PRT/Protectorate, and the Bureau before I move on back to Control Freak.
As usual, all reviews, comments, and discussions are appreciated.