The leet scurried across the field of grass. The reets chirped along the way as the tiny leet reached it's two small hands out to grab a piece of food that had been fallen from a tree. Bringing the fruit up to it's small mouth, it exploded outward into many smaller pieces. The leet jumped, trying to figure out what had happened. But the leet was determined to find it's meal, so again it scurried around to find some of the pieces. Aha! There, a still nice sized piece about a quarter of it. Much juice still layed inside, and this juice was soon at the leet's mouth but then again! The leet jumped away again as the fruit shattered into pieces! With tears hanging in it's eyes, it wondered whatever did it do to deserve such harsh and cruel treatment by the gods? But... must get food. Bouncing ahead the leet found another small piece of fruit that had broken away from the original. Taking it's hands on it, the leet hesitated. Looking to the left... no noise was heard nor nothing out of the ordinary. Looking to the right... no noise was heard nor nothing out of the ordinary. Looking to the sky... nothing but a few reets chirping and the clear blue. Confident nothing would befall this piece of fruit the leet raised it to it's mouth... only to fall dead within the next second.
You missed. The elder man lay low in the grass from a thirty degree angle above the leet. Shaking his head, he rose to his feet looking down at his trainee.
I know... but I felt like I had tortured him enough. The girl holding the rifle got into a kneeling position before arising from the crawl. What was a girl was not quite a girl at all. She was an Opifex of the age eighteen, just out of her teens and taking her first steps into adulthood and her name is Jizelle Waldram. She looked to the man who was training her with the rifle, long gray strands of hair flowed down from his head. A single scar captured his look, as it traced down from his right ear to his lower chin. The man who had stolen away her childhood by speeding up her growth in a Vat Chamber. The man who had stolen away her identity by genetically splicing her DNA to erase all traces of her paternal parent only leaving the identity of her mother. The man who had now decided to use her as a pawn to finish some work that had now become personal. The man... whom she knew simply as "Father". Besides, isn't there a limit to how much one can do in one attempt? Sometimes isn't it better to just end the situation while ahead?
A loud smack arose from the field as the opifex fell to her knees rubbing her cheek. There is no 'ahead' my daughter. There is only victory and defeat. That leet is now dead, but if you had played with it longer, it might've given up. Frustrated, the leet would've died alone and afraid. That is where the victory is. When you know your opponent is so beaten down that it cannot do anything ever again to you till the day it dies. Understand?
Jizelle rubbed her cheek, but listened to the words. Nodding at the end of his statement, she picked up the rifle and went again into a crawling position to carry out her father's command. Aiming for another leet looking for food, she repeated the process firing the bullet through the fruit using a silencer to not make any noise. The targets will not be easy. I think you place me in a position where I can not be successful. The firing was slowly paced, giving time for the daughter to speak aloud.
With all good things in this world, come set-backs and failures. The key to finding success is to not be frustrated by momentary set-backs, but to rebound from them and become stronger. You need to aim a bit high... So again the second leet fell dead against the grass, a bullet through it's chest. You forgot, as the target gets smaller there is less room for the bullet to slide through.
Jizelle sighed, then let the rifle go and turned on her back against the grass. The father sighed but smiled inwardly. In only a couple months she had already become a very accurate shooter, and she seemed to care less about what really happened to her mother. She was a 'traitor', so the father explained, and needed 'dealing with'. No loss there. But this was only one who needed to die... there were others. Jenae "Demenzia" Markarian was on the top of the list, countless times she had thwarted his plans. Don "Doncarnage" Matusz... the man who raised the traitor's twin... both he and the girl needed to die. Marine "Stabbs" Blackwind, the 'Failed Project' had be-friended her and now she was a liability. So many people... the elder assassin and terrorist has long-thrived on small dealings. Though his dreams of over-taking all Rubi-Ka seem to be just dreams, he was bound to change it in anyway possible. Now... with an heir... his criminal empire could live long past his death, and maybe one day become as news-worthy of the Dust Brigades, though far more clever. The Failed Project did come away with some success, however. To ruin these people he needed something more than a copy, but a real genuine. Now with her, there was hope for success. If he could not crush Lem's family and all around her for the treachery against him... the men working under him would've lost all respect for him.
I know that, I just am sick of shooting at fruits today. I'd rather shoot at living beings... anyone anger you recently father? the Opifex smiled to her father who could barely contain his amusement only smiling in return.
Time and place my daughter. The names I have given you will suffice for now. But remember, it is imperative that you are not 'officially' linked with me. To be executed or have your brain-wiped is not what we wish to accomplish. Befriend them, make them your allies... then... watch them fall flat.
I tried out for the job as you told me, Markarian refused easily. She is smarter than she looks though, that muscle-brain Matusz was dumber than that leet down there. I can't imagine how these people were to give you any trouble at all...
Remember your place daughter. Remember your role. You are here to practice your shooting, not your writing. Your mother was very talented, and it will be through words we poison them, not through their drinks. Though I am sure... drinks will come eventually...
At the end of the day... nine leets lay dead... their dreams of finding a good meal shattered as were their hearts. One survived on the field, but lived in such fear of the mysterious deaths... that it also died in a day after from starvation.
