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(Page 2 of 2) To Kill A Mockingbird by James MacEachernJohn's carried a small chamber of compressed air so he didn't have to blow hard. As well as a potent neural toxin.
He approached the guard. His hand came up to cover a cough and Psst. The dart struck true in the guard's neck, he tried to slap the sting with his hand. But the toxin was fast. John was beside him as his legs buckled, both man went through the door.
The staff hallway was clear, thankfully. John set the guard on the ground and let his suits smart membrane, or smembrane, scan the man's clothes. A short minute later John was dressed in an identical outfit and moving towards the ball room.
From the balcony, the ballrooms entire floor could be seen. John didn't look yet though, this was not his spot. Finger's wide he activated his computer, anti-gravity function (AG), on. He lightly blew air towards the ground to test his suit. Slowly he began to rise. Quickly he activated the camouflage protocol. Instantly his suit began to mime his surrounding, which in this case were bland tan brown walls.
Using his breathing as a propeller, John positioned himself in the top corner of the roof and waited. In times of waiting John often thought of the ancient hunters, he had seen an image of a tribesmen once. He used a blowgun, his face painted with red dye and pierced with bone's. In some bushes he waited, eyes closed, knowing his ears were his eyes. John floated, eye's closed, seeing himself as the tribal hunter. He turned on his briefcase.
A muffled hum issued forth as the case transformed itself into a sniper rifle with telescopic lens. Most hitman used smart bullets, John considered it lazy, and sloppy. The tribesmen agreed.
He opened his eyes and searched for Mockingbird in his scope. Located, chatting at his table with....
Annie.
Part of John's brain said she looked like Annie, but he knew. Questions flew, who else knew. Simone, she picked this contract, did she know of this? The rifle warmed in his hand, prompting him to make things right. He sighted on his wife.
She laughed, he remembered it from their early days, when love was eager. Let her be happy, the old man in his brain said, feebly of course. He sighted on the Mockingbird. Mark's a payday, do him. The banker of his brain demanded. The tribesmen sat still, eyes closed in the bushes.
The two rose, hand in hand they made there way to the dance floor. A waltz had come on. They twirled together in his sights. Graceful.
Happy.
First his head was in the sights, then hers. Then his heart, then hers. Sweat beaded down John's forehead.
The tribesmen opened his eyes and screamed.
John closed his and fired.
BANG.
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