One Shot

“Agent oh-four?”

“Yes, sir.”

That was his name, and so he stepped forward. But when he raised his gun to the struggling individual, for the first time, his finger hesitated above the trigger.

Things were different, this time. Instead of a straw-stuffed dummy, a real person lay in his line of fire. A real, human life. 

He couldn’t do it after all.


He sat in the gloomy dining hall, barely warmer than the frigid winter outside. Every movement chafed against the still-raw lashes across his back. The wounds burned, but they were the marks he deserved to bear for his failure.

Suddenly, a pair of sharp eyes met his. A slender body, with golden hair. She had stared back then as well, witnessing his ineptitude. She took a seat next to him. He turned away.

“Do you… want to run away?” She said bluntly.

“What?” His eyes widened at this blasphemy. 

“You’re still human. Unlike the others.”

“You’re insane.”

“It’s not insanity. I’ve created a plan.”

“They’ll catch you, for sure.”

“So be it, then! If they kill us, it means we still escape from this place.” She leaned closer. “It’ll still be our victory.”

Her eagerness was infectious.


They executed the plan on a mid-summer’s day. They leapt with fervor, but the fortress was impregnable. He was tied roughly, but still his eyes burned.

“Kill me, then!” He yelled. No response.

Then a bargain came, along with a tied-up figure. Make this kill, and they would be pardoned.

He gripped the gun tight. Just one life, to try again.

Crimson dripped from a perfect shot. The stained sack was removed.

He saw her bloodstained face, her sullied golden hair.


“Agent oh-four?”

“Yes, sir.”

He stepped forward, and made the shot.

This time, there was no hesitation.

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