Ten years in a coma

Dressed in his usual combat armor, Hollowpoint was seated atop an old four story warehouse across from 'Newmore Bank and Trust' just a few blocks from Central Park. The building itself overlooked a busy four- way intersection, though it was only about three o'clock so the rush hour traffic hadn't set in yet. Hollowpoint had his helmet pushed just far enough up to reveal a set of lips and a good amount of scarring. Squeezed in between his lips was a cigarette, cheap brand. Honestly there wasn't any point in smoking them. Not only did the nicotine fail to give him any kind of high, but he couldn't even get lung cancer from it. So why smoke? Force of habit and not much else.

Down on the street a silver SUV pulled up to the bank below. Hollowpoint leaned over to take a glance down at it and smirked. Stepping away from the edge he took the cigarette from his mouth and tossed it to the floor, grinding it out with the heel of his boot.

Perfect timing, I was starting to get bored. he thought.

The mark's name was Adrien Tuskon, American/Belgian immigrant and leader of the second largest weapon and human trafficking ring in the U.S. Physically he was a rich slouch 52 years old and 257 lbs, who had somehow survived the near total destruction of NYC years ago and used the power fallout to build a criminal empire. Of course now his competition wanted him dead and they paid well. If the mark followed his usual schedule he would enter the bank with three armed guards to deposit, withdraw or whatever else. In the vehicle there were at least two more guards including the driver, and they were bound to have backup vehicles. Really though, this was child's play.

Hollowpoint did a quick equipment, unfolding and checking the assault and sniper on his back as well as his holstered pistols. If all went well, he'd be done within a few minutes and off to grab something to eat downtown. he did still need to go over exactly how he was going to do it. he'd cased the location for sure, but there were so many ways he could end this man's life.

He could just toss a grenade from above. Nothing a couple thugs in suits would expect. No guarantee it would kill them all though, unless he used a novacore but that would cause a fair amount of collateral damage in a busy street. A few taps to the skull would be fine too.

Jobs like this were small time compared to what he used to do, but he had to build himself back up slowly.