1

Overhead, the sky is numb static with a low haar hanging over the city, heavy with the threat of rain. Watery daylight seeps between the clouds, throwing a crazy-paving pattern of shadows onto the buildings and streets. The wind is little more than a shimmer in the grass I’ve made my nest in, sharp enough to make my breath a mist to mingle with the haar. I can feel moisture bleeding in through the cracks in my waterproofs, making my joints moan with the promise of pain to be delivered later for putting them through this.

I flex my hands, pins and needles shooting like daggers into my fingers as circulation rushes back in and the tendons stretch out. I should be wearing gloves, but I can’t risk it. I need accuracy.

Precision. Control.

I run a final check, but there’s no real need, everything is ready. It has been for months, years. Waiting for this moment. I always knew it would come. It was inevitable.

The smell of gun oil is strong, bitter and somehow reassuring, scalding my nostrils. I chamber the bullet, enjoying the harsh click-clack as it locks into place. There is a slight tremor in my hands. I close my eyes, take a long, deep breath and concentrate, force them to be still. Then I snuggle down deeper into my nest and hug the stock close to my cheek like an old friend. Peer down the sight, waiting for my eye to adjust to the fish-eye effect of the telescopic lens. Force my breathing to slow as my heart begins to hammer in my chest, an excited thrum I can feel dancing in my trigger finger as I start to squeeze against the metal, readying myself for the perfect moment.