He froze the red dot moved as it moved across his chest He looked curiously at it Heart panicking calm still fright close to death Could not move Crapping my self Sweat poured my face I looked at the laser light On the distance I could not see the sniper Helpless Deep breath the light moved away Huge exhale I crouched down A shot rang The person behind me fell clumped toy the floor I went to help rang 911

Black-eyed peas with rice. Ging looked from the front of the khaki green pouch to the insides and back again to the package’s front. The package said Hopping John, which sounded festive and at least edible. Instead it was just more brown sludge that smelt of beans. Ging poked his fork in the pouch and retrieved a slimy mouthful. Prepared for the worst, the soldier opened his mouth. That’s when Ging saw the red dot.

The Sniper had found him. With a shrug, Ging returned to his breakfast. At least it was evenly hot, he thought. Last night’s korma was molten on the bottom and icy at the top. A lot of the MREs were defective. Capt. Clark said cold rations were the price of war. Ging thought that meant Olde Earth was cheaping out and buying discounted rations from Mars. He read the list of ingredients. The red dot on his chest moved slowly up.

Snipers liked to play games. There had been heavy fighting earlier in the week, but the last few days had been peaceful. Baker Company was mostly patrolling the Brandywine, rooting out any rebel robots that had been missed. Ging looked at the burnt umber dirt and the twisted blackened trees. He had been born on Mars to a mining family. His folks and baby sis immigrated to work as miners on Saturn. Ging had decided to join the military to earn a homestead. Ging took another mouthful of beans. He’d had worse. The red dot was off his chest and was probably on his forehead for all he cared.

The Sniper was ready to make their move. Eating more quickly, Ging could taste onions and red peppers in the beans. He thought of his mother’s stew and wished for home. Ging didn’t understand this war with the Androids. They were either tools or people. If they were tools then the Androids should follow the rules. And if the Androids were real life people because they caught feelings and learned thoughts they should still follow the goddamn rules. Everyone followed the rules. No one got special rights. Ging’s folks worked their fingers to the bone for next to nothing. No one gave his family anything. In the bush, Ging heard a gentle rustle to the left as he picked a hunk of garlic out of his teeth.

Ging belched. That wasn’t half-bad, Ging thought. With a wrist flick, he flung the empty pouch to the right. It whacked the Sniper in the forehead.

“Damn it, Ginger, you got guck on my helmet,” Mirre said. “I just came to give you a hand.”

Snipers loved to take trophies. His pal lobbed a disembodied Android arm onto Ging’s lap. Grey and flaccid, it stank like rotten broccoli. Tossing it, Ging gagged and Mirre giggled. Content, Ging scratched at his belly. The hopping john was good but it knew it would give him an ache by nightfall. As Mirre went to retrieve her latest prize, Ging leaned back and hoped for a quiet night.

Michelle had abandoned everything after betraying her friends, only having recently escaped Eleni's grips. The streets of Greece were just as complicated as they were before but this time she was alone.

Keeping her head down, she continued to make careful steps through different crowds, always having to turn back to see if she was being followed. Being surrounded by tourists made it easier to blend in which she couldn't be more thankful for.

Michelle was hyper aware of every movement around her, not knowing what anyone's intentions were anymore. It seemed in hindsight, she should have focused everywhere, especially the skies.

The red dot sat blaring bright against her shirt, a thick gulp moving down her throat before shaky eyes looking up in the direction. The person was masked fully, not an inch of their skin was showing but the finger on the trigger was enough for Michelle to panic.

Just before the bullet could pierce her chest, Michelle rubbed against her ring and vanished with a prayer to Erebus.

A red dot appeared on Travis’s chest, and on instinct he was moving behind cover before the shot can reach him.

He was never a fan of his younger brother’s twisted sense of humor.

People panic when a bullet shatters the glass of some store display, the commotion blending with the ringing in Travis’s ears. His breath shallow and skin clammy, he can only wait hoping Cas had already fled from police.

“Would you say the suspect has any sort of connection to you or your family?” The officer rehearsed, with an expression that said he had already done this twenty times today.

“No, i don’t know the man personally. I just know i’ve seen him around the area acting like he’s capable of making a wikihow on ten different ways to smoke crack,” He answers with that trademark New Jersey bluntness.

Despite the situation, the officer manages to crack an amused smile at travis’s colorful description. The smile is gone just as quick as it appeared when the seasoned cop presses further

“Is there any reason someone may want to harm you or your family?”

“My father’s in prison for a lotta things, he pissed more than a few people off in his lifetime. But i don’t got specifics, and the list is longer than my—,”

“I get the point, mister Morozov. Just contact us if something new pops up.”

Travis fixes his long ebony hair as he exits the police station, eyes darting back and forth across the faces passing by. He can’t help but wonder if Cas is here, stalking him, playing with his head. Travis couldn’t tell the police the truth about Casper, about the boy hidden in the attic.

Even when trying to focus his thoughts elsewhere, all he can think about are those dark blue eyes filled with horror and fear.

It wasn’t anyone’s fault what happened to them. Travis did what he could, leaving to join the military and taking the boy with. It was the only way they’d escape their father. He tried to help Casper, they were brothers after all. But he was beyond help, and everyone knew it. Travis should have never snapped at him like that, said those harsh words. Alerted the enemy.

Indirectly causing the explosion that turned the only family he knew into bits and pieces of unrecognizable flesh. Red visceral horror floods the room until travis feels as if he’s drowning in it. Clawing for a way out, his head surfaces the water with a sharp painful gasp.

He fell asleep in the tub again. His mind still reeling from the dreams that quickly fade into oblivion, he tries to remember how he got there. Was he shot at? Was the officer he spoke to real? He got his answer when his eyes were drawn to the foreign yellow sticky note on the bathroom wall. A singular red dot inked in the middle. There was a fine line between a game and a trap, and the brothers walked on opposite sides of it like two spiders on a kiliedascope web.

Violence

The hardwood floor was chilled by the winter air. It was uncomfortable, but it meant safety. Travis never liked the feeling of warm floors against his feet, it made him look down every five seconds to make sure he wasn’t standing in fresh pools of blood. But the cold wasn’t enough to ease Travis’s mind tonight, not when Casper was back in town.

It took hours before Travis had succumbed to exhaustion, his body on high alert almost as default. Sounds of movement pulled him out of what could have been a peaceful sleep, making Travis get up with weapon in hand. The living room was lit up with an uncomfortable nostalgic orange light, and his father dead on the table. Cas was here, he did this, set this up.

Travis’s panic was pushed to the back of his mind when the white light of day peeked in through the curtains, the bed uncomfortably hot. These nightmares are becoming a pain in the ass.

“You’re late,” was what Travis expected to hear. Instead, he got silence as the whole office watched the news. A shooting at the downtown strip mall, closing down the area. This must be so shocking for them to see, Travis just can’t help but feel contempt for these coddled rich bastards.

“New to violence?” The words leave his mouth with not as much sugarcoating as he probably should have used.

“Save it, Morozov, someone could have gotten real hurt out there,” Cat chided from behind the receptionist desk. As much as Travis wanted to look down upon her sympathetic nature, he knew deep down that his own lack of compassion was why everyone around him got hurt. Not to mention he relied on Cat’s compassion to keep her from saying that out loud.

Bang!

It sounded like someone dropped a dumpster off a five story building. It shook the whole office— in both a figurative and literal sense. Everyone rushed for cover, hoping wherever that sound came from, that their friends and family weren’t anywhere near it.

Only travis hoped Cas was near it. Near enough to be killed, or caught before anyone else got hurt.

She is breathing heavily, her chest rises and falls. Her arms rocketing back and forth, pushing her forward. Aches begins to cover her muscles . Her tongue dries and sweat runs down her back. The sound of branches breaking echoing behind her as she runs. The sounds of her silk dress tearing on the branches puncturing her heart with each step. She then begins to stumble into the air as pain grabs ahold of her left foot, she falls to the earth.

On the ground a large stump had pushed to the surface. She notices pressure in her nails and looks to see large clumps stuck between her fingernails. A sticky hotness drips down her cheek and over the side of her lip. She wipes it off and jumps up to see a large oak tree to the east of her. As she nears it she sees a hole has been carved out in the middle of it.

A sound of a gun cracks in the distance like thunder. She slams her hand over her mouth to cut off a cry. Hobbling towards the tree pathetically, she slams into with relief and no more stamina. Slipping into the hole with a prayer taking a final look to her left and right for security. She slowly sinks into the tree, and begins to access the damage. Her once silk evening gown has been torn into a cocktail dress. her legs are covered in blood and her feet were covered in dirt. Her pinky toe no longer had a nail on it anymore. Was she yielding to death?

Closing her eyes she feels the pounding of her heart. Looking down at her chest a large red dot forms onto her skin above her heart. A cold shiver rings throughout her body. She begins to close her eyes and pushes a deep breath out.

“Kennedy, run!” A strong hand grips around her arm and pulls her out of the hole and she stumbles out.

Emorry felt sweat drip down his forehead, as his chest was illuminated by the blinding red beam of a sniper scope. A greener recruit would see a collection of images, a collage of fleeting memories reminding them of the life they're losing. Emorry only had flashes of grueling training sessions flood his mind, and a cold clarity and decisiveness. As ripples of kinetic energy spread emptily through the cold, dark desert, a muzzle lit in the distance like a murderous beacon, alerting Emorry to the positioning of the sniper, and the starting trajectory of the bullet. Emorry estimated the sniper fired from 725 meters away, give or take. Tucked away, in the rubble of what used to be a building, the sniper's covered face was illuminated by the flash. A blur of camouflage clothing and black face paint made it clear the marksman was a member of the United States marine corps. With a second to spare, Emorry flattened his back against the wall to his side, the cold stone breathed life into his fatigued muscles. He crawled under the window he'd been taking up space in before slinking his way through the halls of the abandoned building. The sharp turns barely hid the bodies, of who used to inhabit this house. A husband laid out at the door, women and children hidden in the bathroom, their lifeless faces away with anguish and fear. This was not a noble war. Emorry had witnessed the ceaseless bloodshed firsthand. Nobody was spared. This war wasn't on a military; they had been sent to destroy a factory town. This place was supplying the enemy with munitions, so it was a tactical benefit to the States to destroy it, but these people weren't soldiers. Emorry's conscious weighed on his stomach like a ball of molten lead. Too many innocents had died here. Emorry slung the AR platform over his shoulder, with a muted thud. Loyalty be damned, somebody had to stand against this. Emorry cracked open the backdoor to the house, and heard hushed whispers. More men in camouflage circled around the house, trying to exploit Emorry's pinched positioning. The words "AWOL" and "deserter" were thrown around, as the men excitedly made their way to Emorry's last vestige of safety, but they were greeted with a hail of fire. Emmory tucked in the corner, and all at once, caught the enemy off guard. Weapons down, and overconfident, the soldiers fell quickly to unexpected, automatic fire. Emmory lowered his weapon and approached the body of an ex-teammate, the walkie talking buzzing with inflamed questioning, "We heard gunfire. Tell me it's done, is Sergeant Emorry dead?" Emorry crouched, pressed the button, and brought the device to his lips, "Yes, sir. Requesting transport to retrieve the body, and confirm the kill." Emorry sat with his back against the wall like a treacherous statue, rifle in hands, and just like that, against home and country, Sergeant Emorry declared war.

To whoever it may concern,

Oh god I hope someone is reading this. I mean if you are reading this then someone is reading this but that doesn’t matter now. There’s a red dot on my chest. They have found me. You don’t understand, you won’t understand, you can’t understand the importance of this. If I die the information dies with me. Someone must know. The king, if you are reading this tell everyone! The king must be stopped no one knows the danger he is putting everyone in our must tell the people. Not the police, DO NOT ALERT THE POLICE!! They are working with The King they know what they are doing and if they know you are reading this they will kill you too. I don’t know if I have enough time to tell you everything, oh god. There’s another dot. Don’t get side tracked! Okay, the king, he is testing something, I am unsure what but you have to trust me he has all the best scientists working for him, whether that is against their will or not I don’t know. They are building something. Something dangerous. You must tell people. Get the word out but don’t let anyone tell the police or anyone who may snitch. You can only become loud after there are too many people for the police to arrest. Burn this letter. Once you have read this burn it, it cannot be traced back to you or me. Burn it and bury the ashes. Please, you must stop the king YOU MUST STOP HIM!

Good luck, H.S

Mon shouldn’t have cursed the moment the red laser pointed to his heart.

Mon also shouldn’t have made it very clear that he was the target by batting at the laser on his chest like a cat-gorilla.

Mon _also _shouldn’t have ducked behind the nearest body, which happened to be a fair looking lady in two inch high heels, immediately after.

Bam!

Mon wanted to cover his ears at the loud shot, like a bomb erupting in the middle of the crowded street.

The place seemed to radiate heat, everyone flashing and flailing like a tsunami, screams bursted as everyone pushed and shoved to get away from the bullet. Unfortunately for Mon, that included the two-inch high heeled lady.

Mom was left hunched on the ground, vulnerable and far too close to the bullet lodged into the concrete.

The red laser danced the cracked sidewalk and Mon scurried up, rushing with the crowd.

Blend in.

Blend in.

Blend in.

Nope!

He leaped out of the way just in time as another bullet struck.

“Far too close for comfort.” Mon muttered under his breath, scanning the rows of windows and windows.

The assassin had to be perched somewhere.

Bam!

God, why were buildings in this city so tall?

“There!” Mon yelled, the noise covering up his discovery.

At least ten floors up, third window out of twelve sat a figure dressed in all black. His mask of pointed like a bird and gun aimed… directly to Mon’s chest.

The streets were clear now, oh how quick did the people of Pollen flee at the sound of danger. Mon wasn’t sure if he should be glad civilians weren’t in harm or scared because now he was a target on a range. He could almost see red and white circles on his chest as the laser aligned. He twisted to the side as it shot.

He had to pull out the hard hat, didn’t he?

Mon barely had enough time to sigh as he dug through his backpack, which was only occupied by one thing, a thick, yellow hard hat.

He placed it on his head and almost like magic his day clothes faded. His jacked melted into dust and his T-shirt was replaced by a thin sheet of metal covered by matching yellow fabric. A green logo was pressed against his chest.

Mom looked utterly ridiculous, and he knew that, but apparently people love a good hero, no matter what bright, stupid outfit they were wearing.

He looked like a banana that wasn’t quite ripe.

Mom stomped his foot and the asphalt erupted like a volcano.

Hopefully he wouldn’t be charged.

He stepped on the platform which carried him up towards the tenth floor window like an elevator.

Shots fired beside him, but he could find a reason to care anymore.

“Stop that.” Mon told the sniper, grabbing the front of his gun and pulling it away from him. He felt like he was taking a toy from a toddler. That was probably because the suit increased his height by a foot, which was the only benefit it supplied when it came to looks:

The sniper fell back through the window, debating whether to fight the banana man or run.

“Yeah, you better run.” Mon said, watching the figure run down the stairs.

That’ll do it.

Bam!

Oh, of course.

Another one.

(I apologize to all of those who have read this goofy story)

She tilts her head down, the red dot in the corner of her vision. Huffing, she looks back up, several building reflections bouncing into her eyes. There were to many spots her old friend could be at, and in her current state, it felt unwise to guess. A buzz from her phone pulls her attention down. Her fingers dancing on the green button from the call for only a moment before finally slamming down on it.
"Long time no see Katie," She stays quiet, her eyes still panning, searching for that infamous tiny reflection. "Oh c'mon, don't play so hard to get, that's never fun," "What do you want." "My, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning," She scoffs, but hides it with a cough when people start to look. The last thing she needs is more attention on her. "I wonder why," she mutters through gritted teeth. "Jack wasn't a big fan of the stunt you pulled yesterday." "Since when do you care what he thinks?" The woman on the other end pauses, and Katie revels in the few extra seconds that buys her. "I don't." She's about to make a snide remark when she finally closes in on the small light of the sniper rifle, her breath hitches. In an instant she breaks into a sprint, and the shouts of protest from her phone fade away as she dashes into the building mere seconds before the piercing sound of a gun firing rings. Most people duck, but she jets to the nearest stairwell and races up, determined to find the sniper before she could run away again. She reaches the floor she thinks is right, and moments after opening the door she is met with more gun shots. "Always trying to get cute Katie," the woman calls. "You still think I'm cute Sara?" she teases after finding a hiding spot, doing her best to rile up her opponent. Sara loudly scoffs, and it allows Katie to change her position. She reaches for her own gun and holds it close, anticipating where she might strike next. "Don't pull that on-" Katie seizes her opportunity when Sara walks right past her, and with a single bunch the large rifle goes flying. Sara recovers quickly though, and with a sweep of a leg Katie is knocked off her feet, her gun long out of her reach. She tries to recover, but Sara pounces on her, pining Katie's arms down with her knees. Katie struggles for a moment before accepting her fate, at the same time Sara pulls a small knife out of her many pockets. "What are you gonna do now?" she purrs while gentle placing the knife at Katie's neck. Despite her suboptimal predicament, Katie's eyes gleam with triumph. "The better question is what are you gonna do?"

Alec was never cut out for this. What, a 20 something year old man wasting his years away in this pointless war for what? No one told him it would be like this.

He wanted to be a hero. He wanted to protect his country. He wanted to be brave. He wanted to be good.

Alec wasn’t a fighter. He wasn’t a killer. He’d never even held a gun before he joined. This merciless war tore him apart until Alec no longer existed. Just a soldier now.

In war, it’s a dog eat dog world. In war, you can’t care. You can’t think, just do.

It was like time slowed down. The soldier only had seconds to wonder what that light shining in his eye was for a moment. Until he saw the big, red dot aimed at his heart.

Alec had only seconds.

BANG!

Richard knew he made his shot as he saw the other sniper from across the building topple over the ledge of the roof and plummet. He exhaled slowly and stood up, slinging his sniper over his shoulder as he exited the scene, a job well done.

Poor bloke. It’s a kill or be killed world, Richard thought to himself.