Irreconcilability // Stripedsniper
       This whole situation was fucked.
   And Sebastian couldnât even remember how heâd gotten himself into it. The last thing he remembered was setting up in that abandoned hotel, lining up his shot and then, nothing.
The next thing he knew, he was slumped against some alley wall. No doubt someone had coshed him in the back of the head, but while his rifle was gone, his SW9VE was still firmly in itâs holster, and he still had his knife as well. If someone had hit him to neutralise the danger, they certainly hadnât done a very bloody good job of it. Perhaps theyâd thought they killed him. Incompetents.
And so there he was, stalking down the streets of London in a foul mood, eager to retrieve his rifle and finish the job, else suffer his bossâ wrath and no small amount of personal embarrassment. He shoved a cigarette into his mouth, pausing in the action as he heard someone say his name.
His head swivelled around to the man, who seemed to be just passing through, and very clearly not even looking at him. Sebastian was a rare name to find out in the wild. He looked around for the poor bastard who got saddled with it.
Sebastianâs unlit cigarette nearly fell out of his mouth at the sight. Job and rifle forgotten, he strode quickly towards the other, before he could get away, âOi!â He shouted, doing the only thing any reasonable, rational man would do in this situation, he threw a punch at his doppelgänger.
