Gavin Newsom, the mayor of San Francisco. A younger guy, but considered to be a contender for the next gubernatorial election. He had been very supportive of the LGBT community, but was that really worth killing over? Well, that was not my deal. He was getting very dead soon, and that was all I cared about.
Dad worked these jobs usually. You know, one branch of government always trying to wipe out the other side. Libs versus Neocons. The argument would go on till the end of time, but how had Newsom become so crucial that the Neocons were sending me. It did not make sense. But I was not in the business to pull the strings. I was in the business to get paid. Stanford did not come cheap.
I picked up my case and stepped outside. It was ninety minutes to the city and ninety minutes back if traffic was kind to me, but I did not travel in luxury.
One of the reasons I was one of the most in demand assassins in Sacramento was because I was a ghost usually, when I was not slicing up the brains of guys in white Mercedeses. I took the bus most places, and sometimes even walked. Sure, if someone ever placed my face, I might be in trouble, but that was not my worry. What these guys did not know was that I killed for fun. The money was nice, and that is what I told everybody, but who really wanted to do the bullshit kid stuff. The world was hell as far as I was concerned, and I was there to tear it up some more. Fun, yes. Maybe it did not make sense to your average doughnut store operator, but I liked killing. It felt empowering. Taking someone's life as if it was yours to take. The guns were fun too! I did not have some huge collection, but what I had worked. It worked well.
I typically used H20 bullets. No remains. The bullet disappeared within minutes of impact and they were hollow point. Guaranteed explosion inside the target. Usually I was nowhere nearby, but obviously I wanted my marks to die quickly. I was not one of these finesse killers you hear about in TV and movies. I did one thing, and one thing alone. Remote firepower. When you are nowhere near the scene, nothing gets traced back.
And my guns, well, my guns are the best part. They are made from industrial plastics in my own 3D printer. No need to buy anything. Remote device planted in the right spot. The equipment incinerates after the job, and by then I am usually so far away it is never found by anyone anyway.
San Francisco is really not that far, but a bus would be pushing it. I grab my hacked phone, stolen at a magic grand prix the weekend before. In a minute I have a luxury Uber SUV waiting for me. Obviously most 16 year old assassins would not have the money for that, but hey, I am special.
Dad worked these jobs usually. You know, one branch of government always trying to wipe out the other side. Libs versus Neocons. The argument would go on till the end of time, but how had Newsom become so crucial that the Neocons were sending me. It did not make sense. But I was not in the business to pull the strings. I was in the business to get paid. Stanford did not come cheap.
I picked up my case and stepped outside. It was ninety minutes to the city and ninety minutes back if traffic was kind to me, but I did not travel in luxury.
One of the reasons I was one of the most in demand assassins in Sacramento was because I was a ghost usually, when I was not slicing up the brains of guys in white Mercedeses. I took the bus most places, and sometimes even walked. Sure, if someone ever placed my face, I might be in trouble, but that was not my worry. What these guys did not know was that I killed for fun. The money was nice, and that is what I told everybody, but who really wanted to do the bullshit kid stuff. The world was hell as far as I was concerned, and I was there to tear it up some more. Fun, yes. Maybe it did not make sense to your average doughnut store operator, but I liked killing. It felt empowering. Taking someone's life as if it was yours to take. The guns were fun too! I did not have some huge collection, but what I had worked. It worked well.
I typically used H20 bullets. No remains. The bullet disappeared within minutes of impact and they were hollow point. Guaranteed explosion inside the target. Usually I was nowhere nearby, but obviously I wanted my marks to die quickly. I was not one of these finesse killers you hear about in TV and movies. I did one thing, and one thing alone. Remote firepower. When you are nowhere near the scene, nothing gets traced back.
And my guns, well, my guns are the best part. They are made from industrial plastics in my own 3D printer. No need to buy anything. Remote device planted in the right spot. The equipment incinerates after the job, and by then I am usually so far away it is never found by anyone anyway.
San Francisco is really not that far, but a bus would be pushing it. I grab my hacked phone, stolen at a magic grand prix the weekend before. In a minute I have a luxury Uber SUV waiting for me. Obviously most 16 year old assassins would not have the money for that, but hey, I am special.