LAST MISSION

A YEAR BEFORE ."Please don't kill me" he sobbed. Sweat flowed in streaks down his face. This wasn't one of his lucky nights, where he'd be cuddling his beautiful wife as they feel the soft tinges of the duvet. Tonight is a different one. Aside from being slammed over the wall, he's down on his knees, eyes stung with tears, his hands kneaded together while he begged for his life. Not only his life but his wife's life too, because a fully loaded rifle is pointed right at her skull. Despite the darkness in the room, he and his wife could still see the scary shadow of the man holding a gun to his wife's head. "Please don't hurt my wife" he stuttered. "You can kill me instead" He crawled forward, his voice stifled beneath his throat. The man holding the gun pushed his wife away. She crumpled on the floor, a loud groan evading her spherical lips. "Really?" The supposed assassin said. His deep, authoritative, and baritone voice sent knots of fear to his host's heart and they cringed. That'll be the first word he'd utter since he broke into their home - ten minutes ago. "No" the assassin added. His victims quaked again in terror. "I'm not here for your wife" He turned the barrel of his rifle towards the man, ready to pull the trigger. The welled-up tears in his eyes - they trickled down his cheeks ceaselessly. The mere imagination that he won't live to witness his daughter's 6th birthday shredded his heart into pieces. His wife walked on her knees, the fringes of her nightgown bruising the floor. She lugged forward like her incessant pleas would save her husband's life. Just maybe. "Please, don't hur.." "Shut up b***h" the killer thundered and she flinched, jolting back to her initial position, her hands concealing the muffles threatening to fall off her lips. "I beg you. Whatever it is that you want, I will give it to you. Is it money? I have an abundance of it, just name your pri..." "Shut the f**k up" the assassin impeded, his grip firm on the riffle. "Everything is not about your money" he thundered. He cringed at the loud cadence of the assassin's voice. He fluttered his eyes, trying to get a clearer sight of his face, but the harder he tried, the more murky it gets. "That's a facade you bunch of potbellied assholes believe. You all think money can buy everything, including the innocent lives you have taken?" the assassin yelled. His last sentence sounded like a statement other than the rhetorical question it's meant to sound like. "You must be a fool to think I'd fall for that too" he added. At the end of that statement, it became evident to the victims that this wasn't a usual robbery or assassination. A robber would loosen his grip on the trigger at the mention of 'money' and an assassin would pull the trigger in two bites of cheerios, without calling their target a 'potbellied asshole' To the victims, it seemed like a preplanned attack meant to settle a score and that score is about to be settled by a professional score-settler. For the next thirty seconds, silence raided the room, and only the tensed and chaotic breaths of the victims pierced into the night's serenity. "You're one of the top leaders who take delight in hurting and forcefully taking from the poor. You don't give a f**k if these people are rendered homeless, while you buy multiple houses and fancy cars......some of these people even lose their lives just because you and your cohorts want to be powerful and wealthy" The assassin's words pierced deep into the potbellied asshole's heart. His demeanor shrunk into an emotionless and guilty stare. Eyes - red and teary. "You and your cohorts in the so-called political world don't deserve to live. I. Won't. Spare. Any. Of. You" The assassin c****d his rifle and pointed it at him, finger on the trigger. Maybe he had been lenient and merciful all the while, but this attempt seemed a bit too serious as his finger itched - keen to blow off a brain. Ready to kill a famous politician in front of his wife. Ready to kill a potbellied asshole. "Please don't kill my daddy" a feeble voice reverberated. The assassin stood still. He gritted his teeth at the sudden interruption. He traced the terrified tone to the lips of a little girl - standing by the stairs, hands on the handrail, her blue eyes - filled with tears, while her blonde and disheveled hair spattered over her pale face. Horror encircled her face, and her feet quivered at the eerie scene in front of her. The assassin snagged his gun out of sight. He walked towards the little girl, every step trudging in pity and a mist of empathy. Even though his gun wasn't pointing at her daddy's face, his shadow still made her tiny lips curl up in outright fear. He knelt in front of her and he took his mask off. "Hey, little angel...... I'm not gonna hurt your daddy" he said, clasping her face with his hands, his left thumb wiped the streak of tears flowing down her face. "You promise?" Her innocent voice echoed. He bit the tip of his lip. He turned back to meet the stares of a frightened couple blaring at him. For mercy. He turned to face the little girl again. "Yes, darling. I promise" "Thank you" Her words broke his heart for a moment and a cloud of tears assembled in his eyes, like he remembered a tragic childhood memory. He rose on his feet, a sigh evading his lips. He slowly walked to the exit of the room. He turned back and he caught sight of the little girl's tiny hand, held up in a goodbye gesture. The fear she had on her face moments ago had faded away and all that was left is a smile that unveiled her evinced and alluring set of canines. He waved her too, he swept her parents in a single gaze before he slammed the door behind him.