A sharp object through the back of the neck, at the base of the skull, will end a person’s life instantly. The object goes in where the bone is thin, and at an upward angle into the brain. Right into the medulla oblongata and scrambling it. Cuts off all motor functions immediately. Instant death. Quiet too. Doesn’t even have to be a knife; it could be anything with a sharp tip. A pen will work, an ice pick is no problem, a letter opener is almost perfect. Hell, a sharpened stick in the right hands will do the job sufficiently. Personally, it’s my favorite way to end a person’s life. It’s not the only way to do it, of course, but every person has to have a signature. A calling card. Something that separates you from the rest of the no name crowd. Not like my exploits will ever be really appreciated very publicly, but it’s the message it sends to the people around the mark that makes it really count. To instill the fear of God, to make them realize that death is approaching, or at the very least is near to them, and that they might meet their creator soon. I am the one who sends them to Him for judgment. I punish the sinners, and he puts them where they deserve.

It’s a little past midnight, and it’s raining. You’d think that any regular person in my profession would like the extra cover of rain. Not me. Our Lord may be trying to test me tonight; have I failed him? I must make this mark know for sure what is going on, and why he is being judged. That’s beside the point anyway; tonight is the night where I’m going to eliminate my mark. And I hope you don’t think it’s as easy as finding their house and going in at night to do the job; oh no, not if you’re a real professional. Someone like me. I don’t get your regular John Doe jobs. I get your Senator jobs. Your C.E.O. jobs. Your world leader jobs. I’m the wind you hear, and in the morning the only thing you’re guarding is a corpse. That is, if I decide you’re not a risk for my mission. At least my way is usually a painless way to go, unless my employer decides that it’s to be longer and more painful or if God tells me you are to be purged of your sin before he meets you. So I don’t just walk in the house, whip out a gun, and blast you away. I value my life a little too much for that, and even though God has a plan for us all, I’ rather not take any needless risks. So I need blueprints, guard patterns, details about the garden, the hedge, the flower bed, satellite imaging for an hour before and after the time I want to go in. I have to be perfect. I take my time, figure out every possible outcome from the time I’m on the premises to the time I’m off and determine just the best way to get in, terminate the mark, and get out without causing any problems.

So here I am, outside a large mansion in western Germany. I see, though a large chain link fence, the ghostly shapes of a few guards standing near the doors, as well as a few out in the courtyard, walking slowly, probably just as miserable in the rain as anyone would be. The mansion itself sticks out in the landscape. All around it is potential farm land, probably used to be until the area was purchased for the owners own uses and privacy. It sits atop a small hill, brown and black in the night, two big yellow eyes staring out from the second floor; probably the dining room. Built for the view. My watch says 12:13, and the bulk of the guards are going to go on a patrol in seven minutes. My mark, a U.S. senator, is on a visit to his half brother who happens to be an underground advisor to a quite powerful German arms dealer. This is a pretty high end deal; the person paying really wants this guy dead. Who am I to argue? Not only do I sustain myself and earn a living, I am doing God’s work. I don’t have any allegiances to anybody, except the highest bidder. Well, and the one higher power of God. But his influences spreads throughout the world.

This is a lot easier than it could have been; if this was in the United States you can bet the security would have been a whole lot harder to get through. Very few people know where this senator, Senator McCarthy, is, and the actual arms dealer isn’t here right now, so everything has been cut back. His regular security team is with him, leaving only the sub standard guys around, and it’s not like they are willing to risk their lives for some inconsequential material items inside the house. Also, the electronic surveillance wasn’t very up to date and the cameras were few and far between.

Step One: Get inside the perimeter, avoiding any security measures and guards, and get inside the compound. Once inside, get to the security hub of the mansion. Use extreme prejudice.

I sigh, closing my eyes. Almost time to go to work. I say a prayer, asking God to grant me his strength so that I may carry out His will. I feel the heat of his touch and his power flows through me. A few minutes later, I check my watch. It says 12:26, which means I go in sixty seconds. I check my equipment one last time: my Beretta with specially fitted silencer, rope, Ka-bar combat knife, night vision/thermal goggles, utility tool, lock pick, and just for kicks, an ice pick. It’s now 12:27. I kiss the cross hanging around my neck and am ready. Time to get going.

I dart through the fence where I had previously used the wire cutters and run softly into some bushes. The guards are still standing there, chatting to each other, against the side of the building, shielding them slightly from some of the rain. One has his rifle, an AK-47, pointed toward the ground, the other has it leaning up against the wall while he lights a cigarette. I pull my goggles over my eyes and turn on the thermal vision, checking the surrounding area. Two minutes have passed, and as I had though, the area is now clear and should stay that way for at least three more minutes. I grab my Beretta and hold it up, steady as a rock, and point it toward the two men.

You have to take your time in this profession. You also have to be fast. If you shoot too early and you’re noticed, then your problems just got a whole lot bigger. If you wait too late, a patrol could come back and see you. You have to play the numbers; keep them as few as possible while you do your business. Don’t rush, but be precise. It’s a delicate balance, and few people last long because of it. With His strength, I just wait until it feels right, and then I pull the trigger. He will let me know when I should go, when I should hold, and when I should go ballistic.

I keep a close eye on the two men, when finally God tells me to go. The guard with the cigarette drops it, and it falls like a burning leaf to the ground. He reaches down to snag it, and that’s when I move. My sight on the other one, I quickly pull the trigger once, twice, three times, two in the chest, one in the head. He drops hard. The smoking guard is now just regaining his composure, looking over to where his comrade was. Seeing his lifeless body, he panics, but not for very long as my next three shots ring true, just like his friend he takes two in the chest and one right in the forehead. Dead before he can comprehend what was about to happen to him. Two to be judged already. It had to be done.

I quickly check for the other patrols with my thermal goggles and seeing nothing, I dash across the open courtyard to the side door where the guards stood. Leaning down to their bodies, I find exactly what I’m looking for: keys. Quickly, I unlock and open the side door into the dry confines of the large house. I picked this door for a few simple reasons: number one, it wasn’t heavily guarded, and it should take the other patrols and guard groups a long time to figure out something is wrong at that area. Number two, there was a locker room for the guards to change three doors in where I could hide the bodies and stash my wet clothes. And finally, number three, there were no cameras in this area, at least not until a little past the locker room.

I quietly close the door, then creep silently door to door, listening for any signs of life. As I had predicted, they were all empty and silent. I quickly go through each, just to make sure, and then move the two bodies into the locker room one at a time. The lockers are large enough that I can stuff each body into two different ones, concealing them from sight. It might not be the best way to properly dispose of a body, but He has told me that certain rules must be bent or broken when I am doing his will. While in there I remove my rain poncho and stuff it into another random locker. Time to get down to the real business.

Out in the hall, I make my way toward the security hub. Luckily, security inside is light, and making it past the first few cameras is no problem. When I approach where I believe the hub to be, there are a few sentries which are taken care of without much effort. More to send to Him for judgment. A few well placed knife shots in the right place, catching them as they die, and no one knows a thing.

The hub itself has just one man inside, and after going in I see him sleeping on the job, an open book spread on his chest. Rainbow Six by Tom Clancy. Good taste in books. I almost feel a twinge of guilt as I slide my knife into his brain, destroying him forever. Almost. He knew was he was getting into when he took this job. At least he hardly felt anything. A casualty of the job I suppose. I leave his body sitting in his chair; it looked like he was still sleeping. He looked serene. It’s actually not that bad of a way to go, really. I’d almost wish that was how I died. But that’s not up to me unfortunately; that’s up to him. He does have a plan for us all. Maybe that’s why it was my favorite way to kill a person; that’s how I’d want to go. It looks so peaceful; much better than a bullet in the head. That leaves too much damage to the skull. Much less stressful than cutting a throat; that’s just too much suffering and much too loud. Yes, I think I’d much rather get my medulla oblongata scrambled. Or die in my sleep. But what are the chances of that? That kind of death isn’t very common for someone in my profession anyway.

Step two: locate the mark through the use of the security hub. If unable to do so, perform sweep of the compound. Use extreme prejudice.

I scan the monitors, looking for any sign of the Senator. There’s no picture of him personally on any of the monitors, but it’s easy to see a concentration of guards around a few rooms, which coincidentally is where I thought he would be from my intel and blueprints of the building. This works out well, because he’s on the first floor, the same floor I’m on now, and it also means I won’t have to mess with any of the cameras from here, because none of them will see me if I have my way. Of course, running in guns blazing wouldn’t work; even I know my own limitations. He wouldn’t want me to die so early, when I’m sure his ideas for me go for much longer than tonight.

Walking out of the hub, I go to the nearby room. It’s a small study with a few chairs, a desk, a lamp on the desk, a few bookcases, a file cabinet; you know, normal study thing. I stride quickly over to one of the bookcases and slide it slowly to one side, revealing a ventilation shaft. I whip out my utility tool and get the screwdriver out and go to work on the grate over the entrance. In a few short moments, the way is clear, and inside I go.

It’s cramped, but it’s a lot better than other things I’ve gone through, and being a little uncomfortable is a small price to pay to serve the lord. Eventually I have to make a few climbs, as the shaft moves upward, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. Soon I’m quietly making my way over a few rooms, looking down through some openings I can see a few guards here or there, in front of doors, reading books, watching TV, just generally not doing their job. Strangely, there are no guards anywhere near the room where the Senator has to be. It’s very strange. I hear music coming from ahead: "…clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right, here I am, stuck in the middle with you…"

Step 3: Inform mark of why he is going to die. Eliminate mark.

Finally, I look down through a grate where the music is coming from and see my Senator, his back to me, as well as a naked girl on her hands in knees in front of him. Typical. Come to Germany to see your brother, and why not get laid while you’re there? He’s, what was it? Fifty-seven years old? And this girl looks like she’s no more than fifteen years old, if that. Sick bastard. Pardon my language, but they don’t get much more disgusting than that.

The grating was perfect for this job; all I have to do is pull it up and it comes off. I slide it quietly to the left side and scan the room. It’s a ten foot drop, but with the music, I should be able to drop in quick enough. I check my watch: 12:42. Ahead of schedule. The time frame for the hit was 1:00 a.m. At this pace, I should be out five minutes ahead of schedule. The Lord will be pleased.

"Tryin’ to make some sense of it all, but I can see it makes no sense at all…" the song keeps playing as I lower myself down, hanging, the senator still unaware. I drop, landing hard, and roll to lessen the impact of the long fall. I come up drawing my pistol, immediately aiming at the prone senator.

"What the hell…?" he says, turning back to me, his sweaty brow of grease disgusting me immediately. I can smell his ugly stench across the room. It smells like rotten, burning bacon. "Who the fuck are you?" She looks back, a look of horror crossing her face. She opens her mouth to scream but I move my gun toward her.

"Not a word," I say, aiming between the girl and the senator. "And put some clothes on, that’s disgusting," I say to him. "And please, watch the language. Is it really necessary to curse so much?"

The senator moves to grab his pants, my pistol still pointed at him. "Slowly," I command, and he complies.

"You’ve got to be shitting me," he says to no one in particular.

"What did I say about the cursing?" I can feel myself getting angry, God’s own wrath channeling through me.

"What the fuck does that have to do with anything?" he says, looking at me in disbelief. People just don’t understand that some people have morals, and any God fearing person should. Swearing is so unnecessary, I just don’t see why people feel the need to do it so much. Sure, every once in awhile is fine, but guys like this toss it around like candy until the cameras are on. What’s the point? By now the senator is fully dressed, and he checks his watch.

I sigh, my gun moving to his leg. I fire off a round, and it slices through his fat leg with no trouble. He begins to scream, clutching his bleeding leg, the red flowing feely, staining the white carpet. Penance for his recent sins. The girl, seeing this, also begins to scream. Damn liabilities. She was a sinner anyway, selling her body for fornication. I sigh once again fire another shot off, this one exploding through the girls head, the small red dot a cherry of death upon her forehead. An extra person to be judged, but even so it was necessary for the Lord.

The senator, realizing what has just transpired, looked back at the corpse, the mouth caught in an unending scream. "And I don’t know why I came here tonight, I got the feeling somethin’ ain’t right, I’m so scared in case I fall off my chair, and I’m wonderin’ how I get down the stairs…" the song continues as he stares at me, unbelieving of what is happening.

"This is not how it should be happening…" he mutters to himself, his leg still bubbling softly. He looks up at me, his eyes wide. "What the fuck went wrong?"

Again, with the swearing. What’s going to get through to this guy? I snatch out my ice pick and walk over to him. He tries to move away, but with his leg he’s not exactly jumping around. I grab his hand and slam it down onto the table.

"I hate to do it, but some people just can’t learn," I say to him, and me, and no one at all. I take the ice pick and slam it down, the tip piercing the soft flesh at an angle. What people don’t realize is that sharp things don’t cut through bone like in the movies. At least, things that aren’t swords, or my Ka-Bar knife. Things like an ice pick. They aren’t nearly sharp enough, so when the pick goes into the skin, it catches on the bone at an angle, chipping it. It gets lodged inside the bone. I twist. He screams. I twist again. He screams again. Maybe now he’d learn to show some respect and keep his cursing to himself. God would be pleased with how I’ve treated this sinner. Purification through pain.

"It’s people like you who have ruined this world. You show no respect to it, or the people who live on it and around you. Look around. Society is one gigantic shithole, pardon my language, and it’s people like you who are destroying it. God has given us such a incredible gift, but everyone just pisses it away. Our Lord trusted us in the Garden, and it was people like you who made us fall from His grace. That’s why I do what I do: I smite the deserving in His name. But make no mistake, only those who pervert his ideas are brought to justice. Pedophilic trash, like you. I send you to Him for judgment, because no amount of asking will grant you His forgiveness." It was then I turned my pistol to the side, to reveal an ivory cross engraved into the ebony handle. "Like that?" I smile, "I call it The Hand. You know, His hand. It’s very clever, eh?" Another shot into his other leg, blood running out, his eyes rolling in his head in pain. He cries out again, his hands covered in his own life, oozing into the white carpet, staining it with his sin. The Senator checks his watch again.

"Why is this happening? You’re too early! You’re too early!" What? What is he talking about? Too early? Is he delirious in his sin? "It wasn’t supposed to be until one! I’m not supposed to be harmed!" One? That’s the time I thought I’d be done with the hit. How would he know? I check my watch, and it reads 12:54. Six minutes until one. A trap? But no one knows about my jobs, except me and my contractor. What the heck is going on?

I walk over to him and slap him in his stuttering. "What’s going on you sick pedophile? Talk, or I send you to be judged!"

"Oh God, please don’t hurt me. I don’t want to die, I don’t want to be hurt, it was a trap, they were going to raid here a little before one to get you. Please don’t hurt me, please! Please! I’m begging you!"

Sinners. They always beg. "The Hand judges you a sinner. Pray, and go to Him. May he show you mercy for your violations in this life. But I doubt it." It’s then I hear the footsteps, running in the house. I grab my knife, push his head forward, and slide it into his brain, the only thing that will stop his begging.

Just then, the door bursts open, and five swat members file in, MP5s trained on me. "Don’t fucking move!" Another person who has to curse. The world is going to hell, and there’s too few people like me to make it right. We must regain Eden and His graces. Not much I can do now, though, with five automatic rifles on me. So I wait and wonder: how did they do it? This trap was so intricate that loss of life wasn’t even taken into effect. I sent numerous people to be judged, and it was all just to get me trapped. Impressive.

The biggest shock of my life hits me when I see who walks in the door: The Arch Bishop.

"Father Keyes, it has come to our attention that your extremist ways have brought a bad reputation upon our church. Unfortunately, we cannot have that."

"I’m doing God’s work, eliminating the sinners, just as he would have me do."

"Oh, Father, you don’t know how influential you are. We’re going to have a little talk with you, but not here. Not here."

And with that, a rifle butt slams into my nose, and all I know is blackness.