Board Thread:Art, Stories and Songs/@comment-25974603-20151020041246

''Los Santos, 2003. ''

9:49 PM

Gerald parked his black Bobcat atop of the hill, getting out and unloading a sniper rifle from the trunk. Today, he had been contracted to kill this guy’s cousin because he was going to turn states and reveal crucial information about the gang. He had to admit, having your own cousin killed is kind of fucked up. Really, really fucked up. But, no matter how fucked up it was, it was his job, and he had to do it. Looking through the scope, he spotted his target. A Caucasian man with a buzz cut, wearing a black dress suit with nice polished shoes. Well, he’s definitely got good taste when it comes to clothing. Zooming in on him, he took a deep breath. ''Focus. Wait for the right opportunity. Don’t fuck this up like last time.'' Slowly, he began to squeeze the trigger.

Here goes nothing.

BANG!

Brain and blood matter went flying from the man’s head, a chunk of flesh hanging off. The bodyguards quickly ran over, kneeling down next to his corpse laying face down in a pool of blood.

Another job well done. Putting the sniper rifle back into the trunk, he got into his truck and left.  