Connor Norman knew there were no second chances. That was normal for his job. As a hitman, you always had only two options:

Kill,

Or be killed.

His target was wealthy. He was rich. He had it all. That didn’t matter to Connor. He had killed people of all different kinds before: rich and poor, good and evil, friend and foe. This one was different, though.

He didn’t want to kill this one.

Connor had gotten too close to this man. In order to learn why he had to kill him, he had to work for him undercover. While working for him, he had realized that there was no way he could kill this man. He was too nice, too friendly, and too…normal. They, his agency, had always warned him about this. You should never get too close to the enemy.

Connor knew he had to kill this man. There was no way that the friendly man that he had seen was real. There must have been something lurking on the inside, the man’s true, evil form.

The man had to die.

Connor’s target was to take a stroll along the river tonight. That was a habit of him. Habits were a dangerous thing to have. They gave Connor more information about this man. Connor had never bothered to remember the man’s name, though. That was another way of getting too close.

Connor was hiding inside a bush on one side of the sidewalk, with the river on the other side. The sky was dark, and there were many clouds looming overhead. Must be a storm coming along, thought Connor. The air was chilly; a slight breeze was blowing through. The river rushed along silently, it’s cold, black water staring at Connor, as if daring him to jump in and forget his assignment.

Don’t get distracted, thought Connor. He couldn’t miss his one chance.

He noticed the man walking along the sidewalk about 250 yards away. Connor got his gun ready. It was a small gun, with a silencer attached and room for six bullets. Connor packed in all six, just in case he missed the man’s heart.

This was it. There was no turning back now.

The man stopped for a second and looked down. Must have found a penny, Connor thought. He couldn’t fire now, though. If he shot and missed, the man would be frightened and probably run in the other direction. If he shot and hit him, Connor would have to reveal himself to dispose of the body. Too risky.

The man walked on, getting even closer to Connor. Connor saw now that the man carried a gun beneath his jacket, the bulge of it making itself visible to Connor’s experienced eyes. If he missed his shot now, the man could easily fire back and kill Connor.

The man was now less than 30 yards away from Connor. Connor felt all of his muscles tense slightly. Relax, he told himself. Tense muscles lead to missed shots, and missed shots lead to dead shooters.

Connor put his finger around the trigger. The man was five feet away. One shot was all it would take.

A shot fired.

One man walked away. The other dropped dead.