A man walking down a stony gravel road. Something completely ordinary with no depth or meaning to it. However, what if said man were about to die? That would certainly add depth and meaning. It would be the last walk of the man’s life, after all.

  THWAP!

  The crossbow bolt penetrated the man’s scalp with ease, shredding through the frontal lobe and gliding smoothly through the other end. That certainly made the walk interesting. Within the bush just thirteen metres away from the event, another man sat, reloading his crossbow. It was indeed a perfect killing. There were zero witnesses, no way to trace the murderer. The 37th victim of the Summer Killer had fallen. And he had escaped unpunished once more.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  Not once had the seasoned murderer ever thought of his victims as mere targets. He was trained to avoid humanising his quarry, as then empathy would become a factor. Not as if he had any.

  The man lived quite a sheltered life. He was fostered by the Assassin's Guild his whole life and had no sense of empathy or obligation. He acted at his own peril and was completely self-driven. He was a contract killer, with no such thing as a moral code or sense of humanity. He was raised a killing machine, and he excelled at it.