"You're kidding me, right? You want me to do WHAT?!" said Attli, his jaw dropping.
"Face it kid, you're not coming back from this one, even the reclaim system won't save you. You'll be too mangled." His lifetime mentor, and good friend, turned away, brushing away a quick tear, hoping his pupil wouldn't see how much it pained him to do this. "It has to be done, and you're the one to do it. Hell, you're the only one I'd trust to do it. This mission could turn the tide of the war we've been in for the past 6 years." He turned back, and looked hard at Attli's face. Young, fair skinned, his hair slicked back like the gangsters of eons past. "Well, will you do it?" The agent's usually blank face pulled into a rare grin. He picked his rifle up off the ground and cocked it while saying, "I don't get paid nearly enough for this fucking work. Shooting I'm O.K. with, hell, even death once in a while isn't too bad. This however, can blow me. I swear, if this doesn't end the war and get me some medal or some shit, my mangled body will hop out of reclaim and kick your ass so hard the planet implodes." Attli looked at his mentor, trying hard to keep a straight face. The both broke out laughing and embraced, trying to make such a serious situation seem like their usual hit-and-run missions. He backed up and saluted his mentor for the last time, and strode out of the building, wrapping his cloak around himself so as to not be seen.
Attli turned down the nearest alley, and got to work making sure his gear was in working order. He spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning his gun, polishing and oiling his armour, and, most importantly, seeing that the briefcase of contraband Unicorn-class explosives were safe and ready to be used at a moments notice. He finished his gear work exactly when he planned to, and shortly after dark.
Meanwhile, his mentor, a silver-haired ex-mercenary called Arretin, was busy at work as well. He was hunched over his data console, erasing all the information he had about Sitra Achra, codename 'Attli.' As far as anyone knew, neither he nor his pupil existed anymore. After Attli's assassination mission was complete, Attli would be dead, and Arretin would have to hide. Arretin sat back, massaging his temples, speaking aloud to himself a quote from a book thousands of years old. "For the greater good" he mumbled to the air around him. He was perfectly willing to sacrifice himself to aid the neutral cause, and he knew Attli was too. It still grieved him to know he was causing his student's death, and, quite possibly, his own, if the plan failed.
"Typical....rain. Nice day to die, eh?" Attli liked talking to himself on a dangerous assignment. It kept him focused, while allowing him to put behind him the stress of his chosen line of work. He was sitting midway up a building, his black cloak concealing everything but the pale grey hue of his face. Across the street from him was another building, well decorated and lit for the banquet that was being held. The street, 50 feet below, and the building across from Attli's perch were crawling with security. In a time of such high tensions, security could never be too tight. That was all a blur to Sitra, all he saw was the man at the podium waving his arms and speaking to the assembled mass. He was a well known orator, and, in Attli's eyes, a maniac. He was preaching a true neutrality, which, although ideal to some people, would upset the delicate political balance and quite possibly lead to the end of the neutral people.
That man was the main target. The secondary targets were all of the people currently mesmerized by his speaking. Attli took out the detonator for the explosive charges. He knew trying to shoot all of them would be pointless, so he planned accordingly. Once the speaker was dead, all of the guests would be escorted to a safe house, set aside in case such a thing happened. Attli had spread all the charges around the interior of the building. Their camouflage technology would keep them well hidden, unless some ill-fated guest happened to trip over one. The power to keep the charges hidden was immense, which means they have to be detonated from short range. Attli stretched out on the ledge of the safe house he was lying on. "Poor bastards," he thought, "They won't know what hit them, at least I'll get time for a final prayer and a last look around."
Putting his emotions behind him, he picked up his rifle and looked through the scope. In about five seconds he was sighted in. He lined his sight up, slightly above and to the right of the man's breastbone. He slowed his breathing, confident in his own ability and the power of his custom made MK XI Cobra. He held his breath, and slowly squeezed the trigger. The rain disguised the slight cough the rifle made as the bullet was fired. Attli kept the scope up to his eye, watching the man at the podium slump down, knowing that even reclaim couldn't stop the poison that bullet had been coated with. He put his gun down, and watched the panic below him. People running, screaming, and crying, their hysterical sounds tearing the night apart. Quickly, and professionally, as he had predicted, two guards went to tend to the assassinated speaker, while the rest ushered the people as best they could into the safe house. All of them were oblivious to the gunman, 50 feet above them, looking into the sky, saying aloud his final thoughts and wishes.
Ignoring the sounds of the chaos below him, Attli continued to voice his final thoughts to the stars above. It was only when the street became completely silent that he sat up from his trance, and knew the time had come.
He flipped the safety off the detonator, and pressed the button as he took his last glance at the universe around him...