Waking the demon

New York. Once a desolate wasteland, the city was now making it's final stretch towards becoming the glowing beacon of culture and civilization that it had once been, not too long ago. Skyscrapers once again rose majestically against the sky line, crowds of people roamed the streets, going about their day to day business. Children once again attended school, and parents once again enjoyed the serenity of a calm home. For the normal human, everything was going according to the usual plan. Wake up, go to work, come home, and sleep. The usual. For some humans, however, the usual was very far from the culturally accepted norm. For one particular human in this case, this was by far the the weirdest, and most unusual job he had ever taken.

Roy smith laid with his stomach against the cool cement roof of one of the aforementioned sky  scrapper, the metal butt of a sniper rifle pressed firmly against his shoulder. Roy was a mercenary, a soldier hired by the highest bidder to do all sorts of things that a normal man couldn't. Security, infiltration, larceny, and today, assassinations. It wasn't something Roy was against, people died all the time, why not make a little bit of money off of it? The assassination itself was not what made this job odd. No, what made this job odd was the target. He was targeting a demon.

Roy adjusted the cigarette in his mouth with his lips, as he rubbed a hand over his stubbled face. He almost didn't believe it himself, but as he looked through the scope of his L115A3 AWM sniper rifle, he suddenly realized, maybe he should have gone to church a few more time in the past. His target was a tall male, who, by Roy's usually accurate estimates, stood at around 6'2, 6'3.  He had medium length blue black hair, elongated ears and, to Roy's great disbelief, a tail the same color as the boy's hair.

"I'll be damned.." Roy grunted out from his cigarette filled mouth. "The boy really is a demon, I guess I'm doin' gods work tonight."

A strong wind blew, nearly blowing off the antiqued cowboy hat that rested firmly on top of Roy's head, causing him to grab it with one hand, and push it farther down. His trench coat blew wildly behind him, mimicking the smoke trail his cigarette was making. Most people didn't realize this, but Roy smoke for two reasons. One, cigarettes were filled with nicotine, which made him feel very, very good. Secondly, the smoke made a hell of a wind marker when a flag, or other blowing surface was missing. He pressed the butt of the gun even closer to his shoulder as the wind died down, and he let a large amount of air escape from his chest through his mouth.

'Breath in to aim, breath out to shoot' he said to himself inside of his head, repeating the mantra his father had taught him so many years ago. Another deep breath, another adjustment on the scope. Another large exhale, and his finger hovered over the trigger. Another inhale, and his target was locked. In all honesty, he could probably have made this shot with none of the prep work. However, taking a shot from over two miles away, he liked to be extra careful. One last exhale, and click, click, BOOM! The gun exploded, sending the bullet hurtling towards the target at speeds faster than the human eye could perceive. The glass around the building shook, and workers inside the building dropped to the floor from the sudden sound of a gun shot. Two miles away, however, at the target, he wouldn't even hear a thing coming.