11
Smoke crouched in shadows in an abandoned warehouse.
There was trash all over the cement floor and his visor told him where to step.
He carried a rifle.
Something sprung out of the shadows—he didn't think, he just aimed—
CRACK!
The gun recoiled in his hands, gunsmoke rose from the barrel of his rifle.
Two yards away, a cardboard target in the shape of a human toppled over, shot dead between the eyes.
Confirming the kill, Smoke rolled behind a pillar and put his back to it.
Whatever he shot…it wasn't his target.
He switched his visor into night mode and he scanned the warehouse. Among the piles of trash, a rat scurried toward a sewer grate in the middle of the floor. All across the warehouse, it was dark, and he didn't detect any heat signatures.
He needed to find the target.
