The Shot that Changed Our Lives

Katsumi Oyama poured himself a glass from the liquor cabinet as the rest of his entourage of security and business associates waited in the next room. Hakushu 18 Year Single Malt Whiskey, only the best, he thought to himself. After all, as head of the Oyama organization, he had the best that money could buy.

"Sir, please, the rest of the group is waiting in the main conference room," the attendant reported.

Katsumi nodded briefly, finishing his drink. They were standing on top of one of the tallest residential penthouses in Shinjuku City, Tokyo, the height of privilege and wealth. Just then, the sound of a ringer interrupted the room. Almost annoyed, Katsumi turned back towards the window, his back facing his waiting attendant.

"Ah General, how fortuitous for you to call. Yes, we're about to meet to discuss that very subject." He paused as angry words came through the other end before a condescending expression came across his face. "What do you mean we really should reconsider? Was that supposed to be a threat? Maybe you're making our decision much easier..."

He trailed off and froze in place. The attendant looked confused. Almost unnoticed, the tinkling sound of piercing glass could be heard as Katsumi had just enough awareness to look at the rapidly growing pool of blood on his chest before his legs failed. The attendant cried out as the world seemed to fade as the last thing he saw was the glass of whiskey as it crashed onto the tile floor.

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"Target confirmed, sir," the assassin whispered into the communicator. Custom loaded 300 Norma-Magnum armor-piercing bullet center mass; even with plate glass, the damage would have been instant and certain. The man was dead before he hit the ground. Time to leave before the response sealed the entire city block.

He had fired the suppressed rifle from a couple of buildings away, nearly 800 meters, down twenty-three degrees and had to account for wind. His client had made the phone call, ensuring the target's full attention would keep the target stationary, if only so he could bluster his customary threat, the last he would ever make. Inside the penthouse, the security team was already on the move. Upon confirming the nature of the strike, the calls were already going out, which meant they would be sending security teams to the surrounding buildings, including this one. That procedure included locking down the elevators, then sweeping up until they found their man.

He had prepared for this. Strapping the rifle tight across his back, the assassin then double-checked his harness that tied him to the edge of the building. Steeling himself, he launched from the open window, falling down the thirty-eight stories as the bungee cord trailed behind him. There was a momentary splash of fear as the ground came into view; he had measured this out when planning the job, accounting for weight, elasticity of the cords, and distance he needed before he would anchor himself. As they say, theory was fine but out in the real world, gravity was a harsh and unforgiving mistress. Fortunately, planning won out; the ground came into view at the predicted rate, allowing him to pull out a pistol firing out a steel-tipped harpoon cable to anchor and detach from the bungee's harness. He was on the ground, but still not home free. The target he had just eliminated was a powerful man; they would be blanketing the area, looking for any signs of the shooter. Ditching the rifle, he stripped his outer tactical vest revealing an outfit that looked much closer to a civilian. The next block over was a popular club known as Chez Kooun, which was running live music tonight. With luck, he would be able to disappear into the night.