Sniper

Dran squatted atop the roof of the building across from his target, systematically assembling the pieces of his sniper rifle. The motions were muscle memory to him by now - relaxing, and something he could do to keep his hands busy while he focused on more important things. There was a breeze in the air, and the distance between him and his target was several hundred feet. Then there was the problem of shooting through a window, keeping a clear sight, and making sure that no one could trace the bullet back to him. It filled him with excitement.

He mounted his sniper on its legs an laid down on his stomach. He was three levels below the office of his target, and facing its window to the back of the desk. The target's head would be plainly visible,  though the angle would prevent him from knowing if there was anyone else in the room. For that, he would have to rely on the mannerisms of his target, and the deep knowledge of human behavior that he had so long studied. To know what made a man a man was to know how to take that humanity away from them.

He waited patiently for several hours, taking long and deep breaths and resting his heart as he waited. He saw his target enter and exit the room a number of times, and he was sure that many of those times the target had been alone. But Dran was not one to take unnecessary risks. While he may have been able to take the shot easily, that did not mean it was safe. He could not see whether or not there was anyone in the hallways near his target's office. But he knew that, late in the day, the others in the building would leave long before the target did. And that would be when it was safe to shoot. In the meantime, Dran studied the target's movements to learn his signs.

The sun was low in the sky before Dran let his finger fall on the trigger. He had a silencer screwed onto the end of his barrel, to ensure that none would overhear his shot. The longer it was before his target was found dead, the better. And the fewer who saw him moving the better. In and out. Kill and get away before he could be traced. Be far away. Don't leave a trace. That was the goal.

The moment his target's head popped up, Dran's finger pulled the trigger. A second passed before his target dropped, his head split open and his brain spilling on the floor. Dran was already disassembling the rifle before his target hit the floor. The heat of the muzzle didn't bother him. He had long since destroyed the nerves in his hands with heat so as not to be concerned with that very problem. In and out. No hesitation.