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Somewhere in a building in Upper Manhattan, there was a man with a large briefcase making his way to the 23rd floor. Kevin stood alone in the elevator, holding the case with one hand and adjusting his tie, done in a very crisp Eldredge knot, with the other. The floor number in the elevator slowly ticked up; 12, 13, 14. Kevin had done his research before taking this job and knew that this would be the best way to do it. As much as he enjoyed close quarters, his mark was heavily guarded; so much so that he would have actually found it difficult to not be spotted.
18, 19, 20. The elevator stopped and Kevin stepped out, looking to his left, then his right. He didn't expect anybody to be here, but it never hurt to check before proceeding. He turned to the left, heading towards a stairwell that led to the next few floors. The elevator wouldn't service them since they were under renovation, which was exactly why Kevin chose this building to set up in. The 23rd floor specifically had several windows missing; something that would prove advantageous to him in the next few minutes.
He entered the stairwell, picking up his pace to a brisk climb up the stairs. Once he reached the door to the 23rd floor, he drew his pistol, a compact CZ-75 with suppressor, just in case some of his mark's henchmen were here. It was possible the mark had covered all his bases, but something told Kevin he wouldn't need to get down and dirty in here. He eased the door open slightly and scanned the area. No movement. He rounded the door quickly, prepared to find someone with a gun already trained on him. Thankfully, there was none. After another quick glance around, Kevin was all but certain he was alone.
He put his pistol away and headed to the East end of the building. His mark would be roughly a block away in a very upscale apartment building. Distance wouldn't be a problem for Kevin, however. He found a good spot to set up, putting the briefcase on the ground and opening it, revealing a disassembled HK SL8, along with several other tools. He started by taking a pair of magnetic sensors and going back to the door to mount them. If the door opened, he would know it. He went back to the case and got to work assembling the rifle. It took him roughly five minutes to get the rifle completely assembled, rounding it off with a scope, suppressor, and tripod.
Once he adjusted the tripod and scope properly, he looked through the scope towards his target. He wouldn't have to worry about being caught as long as it was a clean kill. A target that was this high profile, he knew that bringing attention to his death would only reveal the vast syndicate that he was a part of. Kevin looked over the building, waiting for his target. He knew it would be a few moments before he showed up. Kevin didn't mind.
After roughly ten minutes, Kevin saw his target enter the apartment. He flicked the safety off on his rifle, lining up his sights on the man in the apartment, waiting for a good opportunity to take the shot. The mark moved from the living room to the bedroom, taking off his suit and replacing it with a fine silk robe. Figures. He went back into the living room to make himself a drink and watch TV; football from the looks of it. This was probably the best chance he would get. Kevin began to squeeze the trigger, then began keeping track of his respiratory pause. The mark took a sip from his glass, not knowing it would be his last. The trigger broke, sending the armor-piercing bullet through the air, across the 150 meters, through the window, and into the base of the target's skull. Good kill.
Kevin collected the shell casing that ejected from the rifle before beginning to break it back down. He went somewhat faster in disassembling the rifle than putting it back together, getting the rifle taken apart and back in the case in roughly three minutes. He carried the case back to the door, taking the sensors off and storing them in the case along with everything else before closing the case, straightening his tie once more, and heading back to the ground floor. His employers would hear from him soon enough.
18, 19, 20. The elevator stopped and Kevin stepped out, looking to his left, then his right. He didn't expect anybody to be here, but it never hurt to check before proceeding. He turned to the left, heading towards a stairwell that led to the next few floors. The elevator wouldn't service them since they were under renovation, which was exactly why Kevin chose this building to set up in. The 23rd floor specifically had several windows missing; something that would prove advantageous to him in the next few minutes.
He entered the stairwell, picking up his pace to a brisk climb up the stairs. Once he reached the door to the 23rd floor, he drew his pistol, a compact CZ-75 with suppressor, just in case some of his mark's henchmen were here. It was possible the mark had covered all his bases, but something told Kevin he wouldn't need to get down and dirty in here. He eased the door open slightly and scanned the area. No movement. He rounded the door quickly, prepared to find someone with a gun already trained on him. Thankfully, there was none. After another quick glance around, Kevin was all but certain he was alone.
He put his pistol away and headed to the East end of the building. His mark would be roughly a block away in a very upscale apartment building. Distance wouldn't be a problem for Kevin, however. He found a good spot to set up, putting the briefcase on the ground and opening it, revealing a disassembled HK SL8, along with several other tools. He started by taking a pair of magnetic sensors and going back to the door to mount them. If the door opened, he would know it. He went back to the case and got to work assembling the rifle. It took him roughly five minutes to get the rifle completely assembled, rounding it off with a scope, suppressor, and tripod.
Once he adjusted the tripod and scope properly, he looked through the scope towards his target. He wouldn't have to worry about being caught as long as it was a clean kill. A target that was this high profile, he knew that bringing attention to his death would only reveal the vast syndicate that he was a part of. Kevin looked over the building, waiting for his target. He knew it would be a few moments before he showed up. Kevin didn't mind.
After roughly ten minutes, Kevin saw his target enter the apartment. He flicked the safety off on his rifle, lining up his sights on the man in the apartment, waiting for a good opportunity to take the shot. The mark moved from the living room to the bedroom, taking off his suit and replacing it with a fine silk robe. Figures. He went back into the living room to make himself a drink and watch TV; football from the looks of it. This was probably the best chance he would get. Kevin began to squeeze the trigger, then began keeping track of his respiratory pause. The mark took a sip from his glass, not knowing it would be his last. The trigger broke, sending the armor-piercing bullet through the air, across the 150 meters, through the window, and into the base of the target's skull. Good kill.
Kevin collected the shell casing that ejected from the rifle before beginning to break it back down. He went somewhat faster in disassembling the rifle than putting it back together, getting the rifle taken apart and back in the case in roughly three minutes. He carried the case back to the door, taking the sensors off and storing them in the case along with everything else before closing the case, straightening his tie once more, and heading back to the ground floor. His employers would hear from him soon enough.
