You we’re a mercenary hired to take out another assassin known as Deadshot, a man you’d been told was a menace with a gun. It had been rumored that he never missed a single shot he took, always hitting his targets with impossible accuracy that made even the most experienced of gunman’s head’s spin. You wondered if this target was a bit out of your league considering you’d always been more of a knife welder than a gun slinger, but you took the contract anyways after seeing the payout.

You lay silently on your stomach on the edge of a roof top, a sniper rifle propped up over the edge with the scope pressed to your eye as you kept the gun pointed at one of the entrances to the buildings you’d been told by your boss that Deadshot frequented. Your hands were shaking and your palms were sweaty, trying desperately to keep the rifle still but failing miserably. You just hoped that when you pulled the trigger the bullet would do the rest of the work for you.

“Feelin’ lucky tonight?” A deep voice called from behind, causing you to jolt and whip your head around. “With the way you’re holding that rifle, you’re gonna need luck.”

Leaning against a wall with his arms crossed was none other than Deadshot himself, his mask concealing his face and hiding his reaction to the fact that you were hunting him… but you could hear the smirk in his voice.