Rain was the most common thing in Seattle, right in front of drugs and hipsters. Riley didn’t really care, but after thirteen assignments in the same place, it got pretty boring pretty quick.
The moisture didn’t make it hard to focus, rather it made it hard for Riley to hone in on his target. He knew exactly who he was looking for, where he would find him, and how to take care of the situation.
He laid on top of a building, some three blocks from the target, while he tried to zoom in with his right eye. Proving futile, he shifted the weapon over onto his left shoulder and peered through the scope with his other eye.
Finding his target’s room, the top floor penthouse in a downtown hotel, Riley tried to focus in through the massive suite’s window. Finally getting the scope to see through the glass, Riley found his man, sitting in the living room and casually watching TV.
“Hmph…” He mumbled. Silently, Riley pulled a silencer from inside his jacket and fastened it over the barrel of his rifle, bringing the scope back up to his eye and focusing back in on his target.
The man still sat relaxed, flipping through the channels on the television. Himself now starting to relax, Riley rested his finger on the trigger and pulled back ever so slightly. The kick from his weapon never jerked him, and the addition of the silencer made the kick lessen even more, and the Operative pulled the scope from his eye just as the rain started to lift.
Reactivating his mechanical eye, Riley zoomed in on the penthouse, immediately finding the entry point of the bullet and the exit. However, a certain fact puzzled him, there was no blood, anywhere along the walls.
The Operative stood, slinging the rifle over his trench coat. Pulling the collar of his jacket up his neck, Riley began his descent down the side of the building by way of the fire escape.
Once he hit the floor of the alley next to the building, he started out onto the sidewalk towards the hotel, setting his rifle in its case to prevent suspicion.
Entering the front door, Riley walked to the Receptionist and asked, “Sanders here to see Mr. Todd.”
“Yes, he’s in the penthouse, I’ll let him know you’re coming.”
“Actually, could you not? I’d like to make it a surprise.” Riley replied, winking at the woman.
She nodded, smiling a bit, and waved the CIA over to the elevators. He smiled warmly in return, then walked to the twin doors, pressing a button to enter. After stepping inside, he impressed his thumb onto the top button, the elevator shaking as it rocketed up to the penthouse.
On the way up, Riley rolled up his jacket’s right sleeve, his forearm opening up and revealing his two M9’s. He took them out, making sure they were loaded.
The doors opened, and Riley walked into the penthouse, expecting a fight.
His right eye flashed a warning, and he turned to the right, firing off a shot, the projectile slamming into the guard’s chest, sending him tumbling into the wall, blood splattering against it from his wound.
Turning back to the left, a fist slammed into his face, and he lost the grip on his right M9, the weapon falling from his grip and falling a few feet away. Turning to his attacker, Riley dodged another punch, reared his own back and slammed it into the man, the force of the blow throwing the man onto the couch and making it tip over.
Riley unloaded two bullets into the man’s skull, then turned his attention to the original target, Damian Todd.
Todd stood in the corner of the penthouse, holding Riley’s M9 in both hands, aiming down the sights straight at the CIA’s head.
Riley’s eye went to work, finding the quickest possible way to dispatch Todd. In the meantime, he leapt towards the couch, diving behind it for cover as bullets ripped through the floor and fabric.
The eye’s results came up, and the Operative nodded to himself. Laying down with his feet facing the couch, Riley reared both feet to his chest and kicked out with all his might.
The furniture went sliding across the floor and nailed Todd in the knees, the force sending him over the couch.
The CIA leapt up and rushed him, dropping his weapon and slamming an elbow into the man’s face, kicking him in the knees again, and pulling his face into his own knee. The last blow made Todd reel back, holding his nose, and Riley grabbed him, his fingers curling around the man’s throat.
He lifted him up, keeping a tight grip around his skin, finally hurling him into the wall, a large dent appearing where he had impacted. He walked over, picking up his M9 along the way, and unloaded the rest of the clip into Todd’s chest, blood splattering up onto Riley’s jacket.
Exiting the room, the CIA lifted his right hand to his mouth, talking rather breathlessly into the communicator, “Mission accomplished. Currently RTB…”