#assassain

I am about to make one person's life drastically better though. Rumor has it that he's been diagnosed with terminal cancer. If he were rich and influential, he'd be able to get the most modern, up to date retrovirus treatments. Word on the street is, they work about 90% of the time. Unfortunately, the algorithm has determined that Orion Deckard doesn't contribute enough to society to qualify. So that's why I'm hiding in this alley, pistol in hand.

I've been watching this industrial complex for a week now. Deckard always gets off around this time, give or take five minutes. He pays no attention to his surroundings as he rushes to his train. Compared to some of my other runs, this will be a piece of cake.

I spot him, shuffling out of the door. He walks alone. I don't know whether he has know friends or his bad news has created a bubble around him that makes it too awkward for anyone to be near. Honestly, I don't really care.

I blow out my breath and raise my gun. With the kind of ammo I'm using, small glass injector darts, it doesn't really matter where you hit. Deckard will know he's been shot, but by that time, the biochemical compound my partner whips up will already be coursing through his body.

Injector dart guns don't make much noise. More of a puff than a pop. My aim is good. My aim is always good. I see Deckard freeze and look down at the dart sticking out of his lower calf. I don't keep watching even long enough for him to look around. I'm the woman with the gun, and he's been shot. I'm already hustling to the other end of the alley.