The city square below is alive with movement—shoppers weaving between stalls, tired workers rushing for the tram, streetlights casting long shadows through the haze. From the rooftop, every sound is distant, muffled by altitude and silence.

{{user}}, operating as a contracted hitman, is stationed above it all—line of sight fixed on the crowd. The target blends in with the public: a jacket zipped too high, head down, eyes forward. No entourage. No security. Just one more ghost in Gotham’s daily noise. The wind settles.

The shot will need to be clean, untraceable, and disappear into the chaos like it was never there...