PayDay

An assassin readies himself for an easy kill. But there is something subtly amiss in the abandon building he is set up in.

PAYDAY

He walked briskly, silently through the hard packed snow. Purposely walking on the well worn path. It was a very cold morning in late February. His dark jacket was wrapped tightly around his body. No one was outside, for it was far too cold. The wind blew stirring up snow and enveloping him in a frigid embrace, causing him to pull his jacket tightly around his body. He looked up and saw his destination, an abandon building.

He had scoped out the area a couple weeks ago, looking for the perfect vantage point. He couldn't have found a better spot The building had been abandon for some time and it had began to fall into a state of disarray. He effortlessly removed the lock from the door. But he needed to throw his shoulder into the door to open it as it had frozen shut. He stepped inside the building it was eerily silent.

He walked through the dark empty halls with random pockets of light shining through shattered glass. Rats scurried away and took cover as his thumping footsteps approached. Trash littered the hallways and as he passed by one doorway he noticed remnants of a squatter. He walked passed the disabled elevator and joked to himself he would take it rather than the stairs.

He finally reached the end of the hall and pushed open the door to the stairwell. It made a disturbing creaking noise that almost sounded human. Upon entering the stairwell he was greeted with a cacophony of putrid odors and vulgar graffiti. The door shut behind him and he was shrouded in darkness.

He pulled out a flashlight and turned it on, it's blinding white beam piercing through the darkness. He began to ascend the stairs climbing them quickly. His breathing hardly deepened. Yet as he approached the top floor he thought he could hear labored breathing. He slowed his pace as he reached the top and listened intently. Was someone coming up behind him? He stopped and turned around suddenly shining the flashlight down the steps. But there was no one there, and he heard nothing.

He walked up the last couple flights of stairs and tried to open the door. Although it was unlocked it refused to open. He pushed against it and it barely budged. Finally he pushed against it with great force and it reluctantly gave way. Curious he checked behind the door wondering if there was something obstructing it from behind, but there was nothing. He then swing the door freely on its hinges.

Puzzled but unnerved he carefully walked across the creaking and dilapidated floorboards, which were worse than he remembered. He approached the window he felt would provide him with the best vantage point. He gingerly set down his drag bag and pulled out his prized sniper rifle.

Alex Blake is a hit man or assassin for hire. Of all the jobs he had taken this one would produce the most lucrative payday ever, and yet the job was a simple one. Alex liked to humorously refer to his targets as “customers”. Usually Alex knew something about the people he was paid to assassinate, but he knew next to nothing about this particular man. Just some white guy in his fifties with a wife and kids. But the only thing that mattered to Alex was getting paid.

Alex used a glass cutting tool to remove a section of the window and was greeted with a blast of frigid air. Alex glanced outside. His target would be exiting a marked building in several minutes. He would have a clean and clear shot from his vantage point. Alex took hold of sniper rifle and aimed it out the window. He rested his cheek along the stock of the rifle and began to make the necessary adjustments to the mounted scope. He aimed at a street sign as he concentrated on this task. He noticed there was nothing outside but the bleak emptiness of winter. The occasional light breeze might be a minor factor to consider, but at this distance it was likely inconsequential.

But then something happened to disrupt Alex's focus. It had seemed to have been culminating for several seconds...whispering. Alex lifted his head from his rifle. He could hear it. Faint but incomprehensible whispering. Alex stood up and walked away from the window.

Alex walked to the center of the floor, but the whispering stopped. He pulled out his flashlight and shined its beam into the darkest corners of the room. The sudden radiance caused something to scatter, disturbing debris as it did so. He swept the light past strewn remains of boxed up memories and forgotten keepsakes. There was a myriad of curious and odd items tucked away deeply in the far edges of the room. Alex heard the floor creak under his weight and he gingerly stepped back to the window.

Alex glanced at his watch it was almost time. He got back into position with his sniper rifle. He watched patiently from the window and then it happened. People began exiting the building. One by one they slowly emptied out into the bleak winter morning. Their dark clothes juxtaposing with the lucid white snow. Alex again rested his cheek on the stock of his rifle. His hand slid down to the trigger.

The wind blew silently stirring up snow as Alex diligently waited. A breeze came in from the window chilling his fingers, but it had no effect on his concentration. Then his target appeared. Alex readied himself with no change in his breathing and no lapse in his poise. His mind entered a zen like state of consciousness as the world around him ceased to exist. Alex had his target in his sights. His finger wrapped around the trigger and he pulled it back with a flawless grace.

The head of his target exploded in a brilliant burst of red, drenching those near him in a scarlet hue. His body stood for a moment before methodically slumping over into the snowy ground. The stunned pedestrians could only stand around. As Alex quickly put away his sniper rifle he could faintly hear random screaming.

As Alex walked back to the stairway he thought of his payday and what he would do with that kind of money. Alex figured he would...Suddenly the floor collapsed under Alex. He fell almost all the way through. With only his right arm, head and neck above the floor. Alex struggled to pull himself up. But his right arm had nothing to grab onto. Even worse the jagged floorboards were painfully pressing into his neck. Alex tried in vain to get his left hand up to relieve the pressure on his neck.

The rotting floorboards creaked under Alex's weight. Alex figured he might be better off letting himself drop to the floor below rather than try to pull himself up. Unfortunately the floorboards gave way a bit more which sent a large splintered piece of wood right through Alex's throat, causing blood to gush forth.

Alex struggled to save himself but there was nothing he could do. A few second later his body stopped moving. And then with a cruel sense of irony the floorboards completely gave way, sending Alex's lifeless body crashing to the floor below.