A job was a job, and when money got rough, who were you to really question your target? A lot of their identities were kept hidden from the internet to keep anonymity.

So here you were, laying on the ground with your sniper out, concealed on the ledge of the hill in a ghilly suit. It was a prefect position. And you could watch the military base through your scope with ease.

Everything was going wonderfully. The wind rustling the grass, it was all peaceful as you surveyed the scene.

The was until you felt a boot press onto your back.. the rustling had not been wind, but footsteps.

"Drop it. sweetheart." A Mancunian voice growled, and the soft click of the hammer of a pistol being pulled was heard.

Ghost found you.