The Enigma’s Anomaly

Some people have this outrageously radical notion that killing people is not a good thing to do. Even worse is a person whose job entails the professional killing of people. Not that I disagree with that opinion, but what can I say? I’m good at what I do.

There aren’t many different career paths for people who are good at being unseen, but luckily, I have great fucking aim. The only other career alternatives for me with that specific skillset are duck hunter and taxi driver, so I think I chose the best path. Or at least, the highest paying, which, in this society, means the best.

The Beatles had it right when they said Happiness Is A Warm Gun. They were also right when they said I’m A Loser, but let’s not get technical.

Killing people is easy, really, it’s not as hard as people make it out to be. The technicalities of it are the easy part, however the mental repercussions are a whole different story that can corrupt even the most determined of minds. I am a stubborn little shit, and don’t you forget it, but that does not mean I am infallible. Just because I kill people doesn’t mean I like it.

Assassins are a pretty tightknit community. We’ve got a monopoly on the underground, because it’s hard to earn your way in, but once you do, it’s an assurance that you’ll never be forgotten. If you’re one of the greats, there’s a chance you might even get your own Wikipedia page.

There are some people who might call me pretty famous in my field, because of my expertise. Not only can I kill people, but I can also kill people and be out of there before anyone even registers there’s been a murder, which is highly effective because a guy who lingers around long enough to get caught is definitely not worthy of esteem or praise. What good is an assassin who gets caught? That’s like a talking mime, it’s counterintuitive. I vanish before the victims’ last breath has even been exhaled. I’m like a ghost. That’s why they call me The Enigma. I get in, get my target, and then I get out. It’s that simple.

I’ve never even had a close encounter with a cop, but I’m sure they know of me, by reputation. Infamy is a heavy load. Word gets around when you’re as talented an assassin as I am. There’s probably some high security clearance file about me buried in some stuffy official’s desk drawer somewhere, and if you’re not a file in the desk of an old white guy, then really, what does your life amount to? Love, family, awards, art? They don’t mean shit compared to a file that says you once shot a guy from over 2000 yards away.

I like being in the limelight, sure, but I like the way “The Enigma” rolls off the tongue, because my alternative isn’t all that threatening. No one is intimidated by Frank. Besides, everyone wants a cool superhero name. It’s just a shame that my moniker is not used to describe a hero, but rather a villain.

The Enigma is a highly sought after assassin. I’m like the Starbucks of assassins. I’m slightly too expensive, a little bit of a guilty pleasure, and something you probably don’t want to admit to buying, but people love my work anyway.

I’ve just been hired on a new job, and by the looks of it it’ll be a piece of cake. It’s child’s play.

The guy doesn’t even have a security on him, like come on? Can he get more killable?

When I’d first seen the name, I wasn’t too surprised that I knew who he was. Most people who get assassinated are in the public eye to some extent or another. Either that or they’re a cheating spouse. The life expectancy of a cheating spouse of a famous person, however, is lower than that of a guy in a red shirt on Star Trek.

Of course I know who this guy is, everyone in the city knows who this guy is, but that doesn’t stop me from taking the job. Money is money, right? He’s some modestly famous comic book artist who’s been in the paper a bit recently for his new series. I haven’t seen any of his work, but I know of the guy. I don’t understand why a comic book artist would have a target on his back, but it’s not my place to ask questions. I’m sure there’s a scandal that needs covering up, there always is.

My primary specialty is murder in broad daylight. People come to me when they want a messy scene that’s very public. That’s how you know it’s hatred, because you don’t ask a guy to kill someone in public if you don’t want people to know they were hated.

There are guys whose thing is to make it look accidental, or to make it look like natural causes. There are guys whose thing is to make it messy. I’m the guy you call when you want the public to know there’s been a murder.

I want to get one thing straight, though. I do not, have never, and will never, enjoy murdering people. Murdering people makes me sick to my stomach, and there’s very few things in this world I’d less rather do than shoot someone.

What I do enjoy is having enough money to pay my rent. You go where the money takes you. I like being able to pay the bills, and if my cost of living is someone else’s life, then it’s something that I just have to live with.

I know I’m not a good person, but I never claimed to be.

The way people contact me is strictly on a need to know basis, and you, dear reader, do not need to know, so mind your own business. My contact information is known only to a select few, and I work by spread of word. If you’re lucky, you’ll never have to hear “The Enigma” come up in conversation.

I do my business discreetly. No one sees my face, no one hears my voice, and no one knows when I’m going to strike. It would be hard to keep up my reputation if people actually knew who I was. I would never get hired again if people knew that this “Enigma” fellow is actually a 5’6 guy who moonlights as a pickpocket.

Likewise, I usually don’t even know the identity of the client. They don’t really like to reveal themselves. I get it, though, if I were going to hire a guy to murder someone, I probably wouldn’t want to give that person enough information that they can just give it to a cop. My client never sees me, and I never see them, and that’s the way I like it.

Make no mistake, though, if someone hires me to kill you, then you will die. I have never let a target go, and I’ve never gotten caught. And I don’t intend to do either.

I always start with the upfront half of my payment, and if I’m lucky, I’ll receive some of the details the client has on the target. I’ll receive the rest of the money when the deed has been done. Unfortunately, I don’t get much information on the guy, but it’s nothing I can’t figure out for myself.

I look down at the photograph I received, a shoddily taken paparazzi-style picture, and without the name, I immediately recognize the man on the page. It’s the one and only, Gerard Way. I’ve killed people of high status before, but never really taken down someone of actual fame. Mostly just politicians or business executives. There’s a difference between killing big business men and killing celebrities, though he’s only a B-list or lower on the scale of fame.

It’s a pretty standard hit. My client has of course declined to give me a name, but that’s common in my line of work. I assume it’s a man, because it’s always a fucking man. Women aren’t that idiotic, if they have a problem with someone, they’re better at finding ways to deal with it. Men are just lazy, they’ll kill anything that doesn’t agree with them.

It’s just past four o’clock when I climb onto the roof of the building I chose for the shot. People have started to make their way back home from work, or they’re going to pick up their kids at school.

I’ve been tailing Gerard Way for the two days prior, enough to get a good feel for his schedule. He should be walking to his apartment sometime in the next ten minutes. It’s a Friday evening so everyone is excited to get back to their respective homes.

I wonder what Gerard Way is thinking right now. Probably what he’s going to have for dinner, or what show he’s going to watch when he gets home. Maybe he’s thinking about his weekend plans. He won’t have any of that in a few minutes. All Gerard Way has ahead of him is a funeral and a depressed community of comic book nerds.

I see him as soon as he turns down the street. He’s on foot as is everyone else.

He’s easy to spot because of his hair, which is a bright mane of wildfire red. It’s not in my hit instructions, but I would totally tap that. I’m not looking into getting him laid though, because I was hired to get him buried in the dirt.

Looks like no one’s ever going to see the next issue of his comic.

It’s almost too easy. I see him walking down the road, plastic grocery bags in his hands. I scoff at that, because he uses plastic bags instead of something recyclable? I might be doing mother earth a favor by taking this guy out.

I’m already in position on my rooftop, and I center him in my focal plane. I then aim the heavy gun carefully, right at his head. His red hair is so bright you won’t even be able to tell the difference between blood and hair.

I let the gun follow his profile and decide to get him while he’s between two security cameras. How’s that for a public assassination? It’ll be caught on camera. I might get paid extra for that, though I won’t count on it.

My finger nudges the trigger, and a quiet bang fills the area. This particular gun is one of my favorites because of how quiet it is. It’s not silent, but you’d never know it’s a gun if you don’t know what to expect.

I watch the man just as I make the shot, looking away from the scope so that I can see him with my own eyes as the bullet darts towards him.

The bullet finds its way across the street quickly, and I gasp. I see the glass pane of a shop shatter behind him, but he doesn’t fall. Gerard Way jumps and looks at the broken glass behind him, and I can tell he’s alarmed, but he’s in one piece. His hand rushes to his ear and I watch him dumbfounded for a few seconds before registering what’s happened.

I missed.

How could I have missed when it was so easy? The red headed man looks at the glass, and into the shop like he’s searching for something, and I take a moment too long considering my next move.

Some stupid pedestrian has started screaming and I can hear it from all the way up here. That’s a typical reaction to things like this, because it’s pretty obvious what just happened. Someone just tried to shoot something, and now they’re all freaking out about it like a bunch of fucking babies.

It doesn’t help how dramatic shattering glass is, because if I’d hit a brick wall, people would just think a very forceful Pidgeon committed suicide, but now there’s a mess, and people are screaming, it’s a real shit show.

I don’t have any other choice but to pack the gun up, and get the hell out of dodge. I can’t take another shot while everyone on the street is in a panic. I might have been able to try again had I not aimed at him while he was in front of a window, but I’m a fucking drama queen who thought more about the cameras than the possibility that I’d miss.

There’s at least a few dozen people on the street now and they all look hyperaware of everything, so a guy on a rooftop is going to definitely arouse suspicion. I break the gun apart quickly and stuff into my backpack. I’m young enough to pull off a college student, so the small bag is a good cover.

I hurry off the rooftop, and down the stairs. I scouted this specific building because it’s down the block from where Gerard Way lives, and there are no cameras on the stairwell or roof. All I had to do was steal a key card from one of the residents and I was in. Apparently getting in was the easy part, when it’s usually the other way around.

I rush down the stairs quickly and walk onto the street, which has become a mess of hysteria since I was on the roof. I keep a glock in my inner pocket, so as soon as I’m amidst the crowd I lock my sight on the target, but there’s no chance. I’m not going to be able to get him in this mess. I have the risk of harming a civilian and I don’t want to do that. I’ve never taken an innocent person without a contract and I don’t intend to start now.

It looks like he’s going to live for another day. I join the swarm of people looking at the broken window to make myself seem out of the ordinary, and I can tell that they know what’s happened. Someone found the bullet already. I would tell them that they’re contaminating a crime scene, but I’m not against it. The more dust they kick up the better for me, not like I’ve ever even left a fingerprint behind.

I look at my target one more time before turning away down the street. Gerard Way looks petrified with his eyes darting between the rooftops of buildings. He has no idea what he’s looking for, but I think I’ve instilled fear in him. He’s looking for me, he just doesn’t know it. I smirk at this and walk down the street adjacent to this one.

I’m a little baffled at how I missed, though. I assume he just twitched his head or something, but I can’t be sure. I was so close, and I grazed him, I’m positive about that. I saw the way he was gripping his ear, and I’m certain the bullet made contact with the very corner of the cartilage. He might get an infection which will be kind of painful but he’ll be dead soon anyway, so it’s not too bad. Death heals all wounds… kind of.

I try not to let myself get too caught up on it, though. It was a simple mistake and it won’t happen again. It won’t hurt my reputation as long as he’s gone before tomorrow’s dusk.

I know I won’t be able to try again today, because he’s sure to be lead into a police station very soon, and he might get a security detail put on him, but even then, I can still get to him. There are many moments in a day where a person is vulnerable. If he goes out to take a smoking break, I can get him. If he goes to the park, or heads to a convenience store, or even if he stands too near a window. There’s only a few places in this world where a person can ever be truly safe, and I assure you that there isn’t a single spot like that in New York City.

Gerard Way will soon be informed that he was the intended target of a sniper attack and that will make him paranoid. Paranoid is a good place to keep your prey because it makes them fidgety, and scared. I’m not one to play with my food, but I can charge extra for the fear he was given in his final days.

I’ll take him out tomorrow. Whenever I can, wherever. I might want to switch to a handgun this time, though, but I don’t have too big of a problem with that. It’s more personal, and you have to see the light drain from their eyes, but it’s more accurate. It’s not fun to watch someone’s life slip away, and I hate it, but a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.

He has one day more on earth. Call it a Christmas present. Tomorrow he’ll be someone else’s problem. Tonight, he can dream, and cower, but tomorrow he’ll be cold as ice and paler then he already is, which is saying something.

Gerard Way is an anomaly in my data, though. I’ve never missed a target. I’ve got a pretty good record for killing with only one shot, occasionally it’ll take two to get the job done, but I’ve never let someone walk because I missed. I’ve just never let it happen, but something about this shot was so surprising to me. It was too easy. Way too easy. And I missed. I don’t know how I could’ve missed, but that’s what haunts me.

It’s just a minor anomaly, though. It can still be rectified.