[ If life wasn’t hard before, it felt difficult these days. Before, “hard” meant trying to get away with murder- specifically hired murder- while going unnoticed and untraceable. That had its sticky moments, to say the least; R felt lucky to still be alive after one incident in particular and didn’t want to be back in Brussels anytime soon.
All of that felt like a warm up to his current mission. It didn’t help that he wasn’t being paid. It didn’t help that it was self-inflicted pressure and tension that kept him on course. The choice has him currently has him eyeing a firmly closed wooden door from beside a stone staircase. He leans against the stone, pretending to be nonchalant while staying vigilant on his periphery to anything unusual. A group of men sat behind the door in an empty theater, but one man kept him planted here chain smoking and waiting.
Three weeks have passed since he’d “introduced” himself to his would-be target. The chatter within the black market sites didn’t escape R through proxy servers and silence. A master of his craft after many successes and a handful of failures, the assassin played dead- or at least vanished. Given the sense of outrage that his client had in replacing “the cretin” -it was the smartest course of action. If known to be alive, he might be on a hit list himself. Probably for a lot less money.
He narrows his eyes at the door before smothering another cigarette against the ball of his sneaker. Dry, dirty nails grappled with the edge of the beanie he’s donned to hide his curls. Anything to blend in and change his typical visage to let his disappearance become accepted. He waited, and stayed ready, and continued to hope he was smarter. ]
no subject
All of that felt like a warm up to his current mission. It didn’t help that he wasn’t being paid. It didn’t help that it was self-inflicted pressure and tension that kept him on course. The choice has him currently has him eyeing a firmly closed wooden door from beside a stone staircase. He leans against the stone, pretending to be nonchalant while staying vigilant on his periphery to anything unusual. A group of men sat behind the door in an empty theater, but one man kept him planted here chain smoking and waiting.
Three weeks have passed since he’d “introduced” himself to his would-be target. The chatter within the black market sites didn’t escape R through proxy servers and silence. A master of his craft after many successes and a handful of failures, the assassin played dead- or at least vanished. Given the sense of outrage that his client had in replacing “the cretin” -it was the smartest course of action. If known to be alive, he might be on a hit list himself. Probably for a lot less money.
He narrows his eyes at the door before smothering another cigarette against the ball of his sneaker. Dry, dirty nails grappled with the edge of the beanie he’s donned to hide his curls. Anything to blend in and change his typical visage to let his disappearance become accepted. He waited, and stayed ready, and continued to hope he was smarter. ]