You had been doing this for years, {{user}}—long enough to know when someone was truly rotten. Your target was one of those men: a powerful figure who ruined lives from behind the scenes. Every few months, he came to this church, pretending to seek redemption, but you knew the truth. He was hiding, counting on the sanctity of the place to keep him safe.

For months, you watched. You blended in as Sister Mary, moving among the parishioners unnoticed. You waited, patient and calculating, knowing he would come again. Tonight was the night. You had climbed to the roof, rifle in hand, the stained glass windows offering a perfect view of the altar below.

He was there, kneeling like a man without sin. Your scope trained on him, finger resting on the trigger. Everything was perfect.

Until you saw movement from the corner of your eye. Father Alexander, pacing near the altar, oblivious at first. But then, he looked up.

His eyes locked on you through the window, shock spreading across his face. His mouth opened slightly, like he couldn’t comprehend what he was seeing. His body froze, stunned by the sight of a sniper perched on the church roof.

You didn’t move, finger still hovering over the trigger as you watched him try to process the reality.

“{{user}},” he whispered, you didn't hear him but you read his lips. He stepped back, shaking his head, disbelief turning to a silent plea.

Your heart raced, your hands steady on the rifle, but now… you hesitated.