>>2703
K/V: Victim
Name: Michelle
Age: 18
Sex: F
Characteristics: see image, just turned 18 last week, a highschool student doing some enjo kosai for extra cash. She talks tough.
Scene: in a dingy motel in a sleazy part of town


Lucille adjusted the windage on the scope, before shifting her head back down to get her sight picture. She exhaled, slowly. Her trigger finger curled around the match trigger and began to exert pressure.

A couple days ago, she got a package in the mail. Inside was a photo of a young girl. In the photo, she was grinning, sweat running down her darkly tanned face. Her curly black hair was cut short, and her hazel eyes seemed to flash with mischief, The photo seemed to have been taken at a school track and field event. The girl was in her school track uniform, a t-shirt (drenched in sweat), and some shorts. On the back of the photo was a simple note.

"Kill Sayaka Johnson".
Below that,
"Apartment B45, Rosemont Heights, Alameda, New Mexico".

Lucille had to do a bit of work, observing her target for several weeks. The kid had a daily schedule, and seemed to stick to it. Wake up at 8:00 in the morning, have breakfast, brush teeth, rush off to school. Come home at 4:00 in the evening, do homework, then have an evening jog around the apartment block, before coming home for dinner. Rinse and repeat, bar the weekend, when she had some friends over for videogames or study sessions.

Lucille didn't ask why she was being tasked to end the life of some schoolgirl. In her line of work, those people didn't last long. She just went about the job with detached professionalism.

Lucille mapped out the apartment complex, and decided to eliminate her target from a wooded hill nearby. Plenty of scraggly brush and large tree stands meant traces of her presence would be harder to detect. Now, the only thing left was to decide the tools. Since the target would be at least 900 meters, she needed something with reach, and accuracy. She also needed the ability to suppress, and the ability to use single shots, and the ability to eject spent cartridges at her discretion. That ruled out semi automatic rifles. She eventually chose an old favorite, her custom Remington 700. This one had been passed down to her, and it showed the dings and scratches of decades of hard use. She had its muzzle threaded a few years ago, so it could take suppressors, and the bolt action meant she could catch and keep hold of spent cartridge cases. For this job, she'd use Federal .308 Winchester with a 168 grain boat tail payload.

It was evening.
The cool autumn breeze ruffled the branches of the trees above Lucille, a few remaining leaves fluttering to the ground every once in a while. The sun had just slipped past the horizon, its bright orange light bouncing off the cloud cover slipping in.
Lucille kept her rifle snug against her shooting shoulder, its sling wrapped around her offhand. She used her pack as a makeshift rest, keeping the stock steady. Lucille looked through the Nightforce scope, the steady pump of her lungs shifting the reticle of the optic slowly up and down.

Sayaka had just come back from her jog. Her breath clouded against the chill of the night. Her mind was tired from a long day at school, and she enjoyed the blankness of simple physical exertion. She skipped up the stairs, then slowed down to a slow walk as she neared her apartment door. Her mind drifted to the dinner being made by mom, as she came to a stop in front of Apartment B45. Her hand reached for the keys.

900 meters away, on a wooded hillside, Lucille saw the girl stop in front of the door. Her predator heart had fully kicked in. She had ice running through her veins. She exerted more pressure on the trigger, slowly reaching the break. She reached it, and pulled past it. The recoil kicked against her shoulder, as the projectile emerged from the suppressor at a steady 2600 feet per second. All Lucille heard was a snap from the suppressor. She tracked the projectile without emotion, watching it arc towards its destination.

Sayaka had just closed her fingers around the keys to the door when Lucille's bullet reached the back of her head. The round punched through her skull, the impact deforming the nose of the bullet and sending it into a slight tumble. The travel path of the bullet sent it out through Sayaka's left cheek, blowing it open and exposing her jawbone, now sporting a neat .308 sized hole. Her left eye bulged out of its cavity, while chunks of her brain slid out through the meaty mess of her face.
The young girl seemed to just stand there, her hand still in her hoody pocket, while blood poured out of her entrance and exit wounds. She fell forward, just as her mom opened the door. Mrs. Johnson caught her daughter's corpse in her arms, and screamed.

Lucille was already in her getaway car, driving towards the city limits. She had another car waiting for her at a junkyard, where she'd exchange cars and drive towards state lines back home.
In a few weeks, she'd receive a nice fat purse for another job well done.