Love Saves

The target was a dangerous man.

Jerod Figueroa was a trained assassin that sold his services to the highest bidder, be it the corrupt politician, to the underworld crime boss, to the ruthless businessman. He was a master of death, skilled it dealing it in nearly every way possible. Even through the window of the 12th level of his apartment, through the scope of his sniper rifle, Issac could see that. His room was spartan, with few adornments other than the ones that came with the apartment, and even the ones he brought with him were purely proffesional: a metal table with a dissasembled rifle, bulletin board, plain calender, and even a computer without a fancy background. He was plain and professional in his clothes: a grey button-up dress shirt and clean jeans. No picture on the cell phone but the one it came with out of the box, and he confirmed this man was dangerous. Which was why they were paying him to kill him.

Jerod's only weakness was his love of the outdoors, which would cause him to stand out on the balcony when he felt safe, or stare out the window Issac was aiming his rifle through. He saw the man disappear into the bedroom for a minute.

He had been waiting for the assassin to get back to his apartment since last night. The top floor of an office building, perched on the corner across the street provided the perfect vantage point to stage his killing.

Normally Issac held no pity, no remorse, no sympathy for his targets. He would kill, get paid and move on. It didn't matter if they were affable men in character or what they had done to deserve the hit; it wasn't his job to ask questions. Like a tool he served his purpose and left, without any complaints or regrets. No emotions involved in business.

Which was why a tiny part of him was screaming in his head "What the hell are you doing?! Take the shot!" when Jerod appeared at the window, reading a note. It was written on both sides, and with his enchanced scope he eavesdropped on the letter to Jerod. It was from a woman, writing to Jerod of her love and appreciation for him, how good he made her feel, how happy she was that they were together and how he would soon leave the hitman business to lead a peaceful life with her. It was signed "Gabrielle" with a stylized JG at the end. The first letters of their first names.

Jerod smiled. It was probably one of the few smiles the man ever did, uncovering a window to the man's soul. In that smile he could see pain, weariness, regret, longing, anger, and: love. Genuine love, the one that was only shared by people like family or married couples. True lovers, and the cold-hearted killer was one of them. So much for cold hearted. Jerod pinned the note up next to the window, most likely on another bulletin board, along with at a glance looked to be a picture of the woman, then stared out the window. He looked left, then right, then seemed to look down the scope at Issac. His smile turned pleading, his eyes sad.

Issac couldn't do it. No matter how much money, no matter what they could give him, he wouldn't do it. He couldn't kill this man. He struck him with a sense that he would recall later in his life as "the only time I ever broke a promise; the only time I never did my job." He had sudden sympathy and empathy for the man. He would let him live. He decided then and there that he would kill this man, wouldn't kill Jerod Figueroa. He would stop whoever was going after Jerod, throw him off the man, give him time to pack up and get out to his Gabrielle. Issac slowly shook his head. As if Jerod could see him, his smiled widened a bit and he nodded slightly towards Issac with controlled joy and excitement. Issac removed the mag, ejected the bullet, which he stuck into the mag and placed, along with the now disassembled sniper rifle, into a metal breifcase. He exited the roof and made his way to the back of the building, where his jet-black WC Solstice Cruiser waited for him. He tossed the case into the backseat, started the hovercar and pulled into the street, driving off.