My murderous crush

The sky had been threatening rain since afternoon. Dark clouds gathered above the city, swallowing what remained of the evening sunlight. The streets were unusually quiet for a Friday, but Alfred didn't care about the weather. He cared about the convoy. Five black SUVs moved through the city in formation, their tinted windows hiding the people inside. Alfred followed several vehicles behind on a dirt bike, his helmet covering most of his face. He wasn't in a hurry. Hurrying got people killed. Usually, that wasn't a problem. Usually, he was the one doing the killing. His phone vibrated inside his jacket. Alfred glanced at it. UNKNOWN: Target confirmed. Make it look clean. He stared at the message for a moment before locking his phone. The target was Senator Victor Hale. A powerful politician. A respected businessman. A philanthropist, according to the newspapers. A monster, according to the people who had hired Alfred. The opposition party had paid an enormous amount of money to make sure Hale never made it to the next election. Alfred didn't care about politics. He didn't care which party was right. He didn't even care whether Hale deserved to die. He had been given a name. That was enough. Alfred turned off the main road and disappeared into a narrow path between the trees. The dirt bike handled the rough ground easily, allowing him to move ahead while the convoy continued along the main route. Minutes later, he reached the other side. He stopped beneath the trees and removed his helmet. The convoy would pass through here soon. Alfred checked his watch. Five minutes. He looked toward the road. Nothing. Four minutes. Still nothing. Three. The first SUV appeared in the distance. Alfred's expression didn't change. The vehicles approached quickly. Then something happened. The lead vehicle suddenly swerved. The convoy broke formation almost instantly. Brakes screamed against the road. Doors opened. Armed men stepped out, shouting to one another as they tried to understand what had happened. Alfred watched from the darkness. He wasn't nervous. He wasn't excited. There was only the familiar emptiness. One of the guards looked toward the trees. Alfred moved. A single shot broke the silence. The man dropped. Chaos followed. The remaining guards scattered, searching for a threat they couldn't see. Some fired toward the forest, but Alfred had already changed position. Another shot. Another man fell. The convoy had gone from organized protection to confusion in seconds. Alfred remained calm. He had done this too many times. A door opened. Victor Hale stepped out. For a second, the politician looked nothing like the smiling man from the campaign posters. He looked afraid. Alfred watched him. Their eyes met across the distance. Hale froze. Alfred didn't. The moment passed. Then Alfred disappeared from sight. By the time the remaining guards realized what had happened, the politician was already dead. Alfred lowered his weapon and walked away from the road. No smile. No celebration. No satisfaction. Just another name crossed off a list. He reached his motorcycle and put his helmet back on. His phone vibrated again. UNKNOWN: Good work. Alfred stared at the message. Then he deleted it. Broke the phone in half and p He started the bike and rode into the darkness. He had killed men for politicians, businessmen, criminals, and people who were too powerful to get their hands dirty. He had stopped asking questions a long time ago. That was how Alfred survived. What he didn't know was that Victor Hale's death would be different. Not because of the man himself. But because, for the first time, Alfred's employers had lied to him. And sooner or later, he was going to find out why.