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Description
The Organisation paid her dearly to do this job. Sit in the window with the gun. Cull the weak and the unusual. She wasn't really sure if she agreed with their ideals, but it was a small price to pay for keeping her life. She had a chip in her neck that would explode two minutes after seeing the 'problem' if the bullet did not meet human flesh.

The Organisation used their technology instead of sharing it.

This city had a different name, long ago, but it had long since been forgotten, much like the origins of its current name; Dystopia. But she knew. The Organisation didn't know she knew, but if they looked into her late father's archives, they would see that he had known what it was. Therefore, so would his daughter. Thus, she would be killed.

So she kept her quiet, sitting in the window of the high-rise. The gun lay loaded on the floor beside her and she sipped tea from a flask. Outside were the remains of the main street, with bodies silently decomposing in a filthy stench. Another thing The Organisation was responsible for. Not directly, this time, but it was their technology that created the food shortage that led to the riot. And they were the ones who dropped ShockShells into the writhing masses.

Movement caught her eye and she put down her drink. A lone man picked his way through the bodies. He was not weak, he barely stumbled, although she could see his thin, frail frame from her eyrie. He was far too thin, much like her, much like all the bodies that lay around him. He kept looking at the sky, as if he could not believe it was so blue. She would have stared at it too, had she not been watching the man. It was a long time since Dystopia had seen a blue sky. The ShockShells must have cut through the fug.

He stopped by a bench. All that was left of it was the twisted metal. And a child. She would never forget the way it writhed and screamed as the crowd mercilessly forced it onto its deathbed. The man appeared to ignore this, scanning the landscape for something unknown. The chip was not saying anything to her. She did not have to shoot him, but she took aim anyway.

A man in ice blue dropped from the trees. He rolled, avoiding the other's vision as he whirled around. By the time the first man had turned back, the blue man had composed himself and drawn his sword to the other's neck. They spoke, but she couldn't hear them from her distance. The blue man had obviously been waiting. The chip was sending bad-vibes.

One bullet could take them both.

She shuffled around a little to the right, so both of them were standing in her scope. Deep breath. She moved forward and rested the barrel on the ledge. The first man spotted her, but pretended not to.

She waited a moment.

She fired.

Description
The Organisation paid her dearly to do this job. Sit in the window with the gun. Cull the weak and the unusual. She wasn't really sure if she agreed with their ideals, but it was a small price to pay for keeping her life. She had a chip in her neck that would explode two minutes after seeing the 'problem' if the bullet did not meet human flesh.

The Organisation used their technology instead of sharing it.

This city had a different name, long ago, but it had long since been forgotten, much like the origins of its current name; Dystopia. But she knew. The Organisation didn't know she knew, but if they looked into her late father's archives, they would see that he had known what it was. Therefore, so would his daughter. Thus, she would be killed.

So she kept her quiet, sitting in the window of the high-rise. The gun lay loaded on the floor beside her and she sipped tea from a flask. Outside were the remains of the main street, with bodies silently decomposing in a filthy stench. Another thing The Organisation was responsible for. Not directly, this time, but it was their technology that created the food shortage that led to the riot. And they were the ones who dropped ShockShells into the writhing masses.

Movement caught her eye and she put down her drink. A lone man picked his way through the bodies. He was not weak, he barely stumbled, although she could see his thin, frail frame from her eyrie. He was far too thin, much like her, much like all the bodies that lay around him. He kept looking at the sky, as if he could not believe it was so blue. She would have stared at it too, had she not been watching the man. It was a long time since Dystopia had seen a blue sky. The ShockShells must have cut through the fug.

He stopped by a bench. All that was left of it was the twisted metal. And a child. She would never forget the way it writhed and screamed as the crowd mercilessly forced it onto its deathbed. The man appeared to ignore this, scanning the landscape for something unknown. The chip was not saying anything to her. She did not have to shoot him, but she took aim anyway.

A man in ice blue dropped from the trees. He rolled, avoiding the other's vision as he whirled around. By the time the first man had turned back, the blue man had composed himself and drawn his sword to the other's neck. They spoke, but she couldn't hear them from her distance. The blue man had obviously been waiting. The chip was sending bad-vibes.

One bullet could take them both.

She shuffled around a little to the right, so both of them were standing in her scope. Deep breath. She moved forward and rested the barrel on the ledge. The first man spotted her, but pretended not to.

She waited a moment.

She fired.