04-01-2014, 07:29 PM
Seek was watching long before the disturbance began. He was a hunter, after all. His dark skin, graying beard and white robes were his camouflage; the pockmarked ruin of a building his stand. STG got the bait in place, just like they said they would. The stupid bitch and her cameraman had no idea what they were walking into. In a way, Seek was like that journalist at the center of the riot: he just needed that one perfect, dramatic shot. Too bad for her she wasn't American.
He stood roughly ten feet back from the window, in a dark room. No casual observer would see him. After all, a sniper's best defense was concealment. At this distance he didn't need fancy optics; his Lens Warriors enhanced the iron sights nicely. He held an old world war II Mosin Nagant--in remarkably good condition for a century-old relic, sure, but nothing particularly unique in the part of the world that liked to stay a century behind. It'd be easy to dump later on.
The riot was reaching its point of no return when some private military jackasses showed up to play hero. Legion Premiere, apparently. Some low level mercenary outfit fresh from Africa, judging by the men. They cleaned up the people around the reporter nicely, and set up a tight perimeter. It looked for a second like they were going to ruin everything. Then, fireballs started flying through the air.
He suppressed a chuckle. Looked like Hitchins was a complete fucktard, and Andrew wasn't just some one-in-a-trillion fluke. Not that it mattered; put him within two miles of anyone, with a clear line of sight, and Allah and all his angels couldn't save them. A single, well aimed, unexpected bullet was all it took.
And that's just what one unfortunate corporal of the Legion Premiere got, between the eyes. The mob was already dispersing because of the light show, but that didn't mean Seek wasn't going to add to the chaos. He felt nothing when the man fell. Truth be told, he hadn't felt anything about killing in a long time. That would have worried him, once. Before he understood. People had the luxury of petty morality because they had hard men and women ready to do violence on their behalf. In a way, Seek held the only true moral high ground.
Seek ejected the spent casing and lowered the rifle. He wiped a bead of sweat from his brow with the fringe of his ihram. Damn if he wasn't glad his grandparents decided to get out of the desert. He hated the heat. A moment to stretch, and he snatched the brass casing off the table. It was time to move, and his work wasn't done.
His job was simple, at least as simple as could be expected on a subversion op. Cause a few riots, kill a few people, set the stage for third squad's coup de grace later that night. Seek didn't know what was causing it, but he felt something drawing him in the general direction of the mosque where Al-Hasan would be leading the evening prayer. What would his parents think of him now, helping to kill a prophet?
Al-Hasan was sent by Allah himself, Seek was almost certain. He just didn't care.
Edited by Andrew Koehler, Apr 1 2014, 07:32 PM.
He stood roughly ten feet back from the window, in a dark room. No casual observer would see him. After all, a sniper's best defense was concealment. At this distance he didn't need fancy optics; his Lens Warriors enhanced the iron sights nicely. He held an old world war II Mosin Nagant--in remarkably good condition for a century-old relic, sure, but nothing particularly unique in the part of the world that liked to stay a century behind. It'd be easy to dump later on.
The riot was reaching its point of no return when some private military jackasses showed up to play hero. Legion Premiere, apparently. Some low level mercenary outfit fresh from Africa, judging by the men. They cleaned up the people around the reporter nicely, and set up a tight perimeter. It looked for a second like they were going to ruin everything. Then, fireballs started flying through the air.
He suppressed a chuckle. Looked like Hitchins was a complete fucktard, and Andrew wasn't just some one-in-a-trillion fluke. Not that it mattered; put him within two miles of anyone, with a clear line of sight, and Allah and all his angels couldn't save them. A single, well aimed, unexpected bullet was all it took.
And that's just what one unfortunate corporal of the Legion Premiere got, between the eyes. The mob was already dispersing because of the light show, but that didn't mean Seek wasn't going to add to the chaos. He felt nothing when the man fell. Truth be told, he hadn't felt anything about killing in a long time. That would have worried him, once. Before he understood. People had the luxury of petty morality because they had hard men and women ready to do violence on their behalf. In a way, Seek held the only true moral high ground.
Seek ejected the spent casing and lowered the rifle. He wiped a bead of sweat from his brow with the fringe of his ihram. Damn if he wasn't glad his grandparents decided to get out of the desert. He hated the heat. A moment to stretch, and he snatched the brass casing off the table. It was time to move, and his work wasn't done.
His job was simple, at least as simple as could be expected on a subversion op. Cause a few riots, kill a few people, set the stage for third squad's coup de grace later that night. Seek didn't know what was causing it, but he felt something drawing him in the general direction of the mosque where Al-Hasan would be leading the evening prayer. What would his parents think of him now, helping to kill a prophet?
Al-Hasan was sent by Allah himself, Seek was almost certain. He just didn't care.
Edited by Andrew Koehler, Apr 1 2014, 07:32 PM.