One Shot

 In her mind, Alyce had done this a million times, but now that the moment was here, she wanted to throw up.

"I can't do this," she said, shaking out her right hand as if it were on fire. "This is real."

"There would be no damn point if this wasn't real." The voice was her mentor, Logan Maddison. Over the past year, he had been grooming her for this. He knew that Alyce had raw talent. He saw that in her from the first moment he laid eyes on her. But talent will only take you so far. That was the mantra he told her over and over, urging her to practice. Preparing, both physically and mentally. Working on her breathing. Breathing, he would often tell her, is the secret of the masters.

"I don't suppose it's too late to back out," Alyce said. She said it as a joke but meant every word.

"If you back out, I'll kill you," Maddison said. Not a hint of joking in his voice.

"I know Mad Man," Alyce said, forcing herself to chuckle. "This is what I signed up for." She said it again, this time trying to convince herself. "This is what I signed up for."

A roar came from the crowd. The moment was getting closer. From her perch in the balcony, the people looked like a swarm of locusts. Collectively, a cloud. Individually, tiny specks. Each one would be a witness to what was about to transpire. They would all gasp in awe of what Alyce was about to do. And if she did it properly, they'd never know she was there. Closing one eye, she lowered her head in line with the scope of her rifle.

“He's here,” Maddison said. “Target is entering the arena.”

Alyce could feel her pulse quicken. She ran through the arsenal of mental exercises Maddison had taught her to slow it back down. Breaking is the secret of masters, she told herself over and over. Slow, rhymic breathing. In practice, this is all fine and good. But with a rifle in hand and a senator over 900 meters away, it would take more than a few breathing tricks to return her to a tranquil state of calmness.

“Copy that, Mad Man,” she said. She took another few deep breaths.

“Don't screw this up,” came the voice in her earpiece.

Alyce nodded. She knew he couldn't see her, but she was too focused on her breathing exercises to speak.

Then the senator appeared. Another roar came from the crowd as he made his way from stage left. Eye of the Tiger boomed over the speakers as he walked. The clapping soon fell into rhythm with the song.

“You got one shot, kid,” Maddison said. “Remember your training. Don't make me look like an idiot here.”

Alyce tried to ignore him. She wished she had switched off her radio. Too late now. Any movements would break her process. She was now six steps into her eight-step sniping preparations. Even a slight movement to turn off her radio would require her to start over again. As she peered through the scope, she tried to keep her mind from running away on her. That tends to happen when you're about to kill someone. You start to question who you are and why you're doing this. Am I mad, she asked herself. She asked herself this a dozen times leading up to the big day. Perhaps she was, but then again, all the best people are. She had to remind herself what this was all about. All the crimes that Senator Harts had committed over the years. The land he had stolen, pushing through bogus legislation to take possession of low-income housing and converting it into higher-end investments for himself and his donors. She reminded herself of all the people hurt by him and his policies. When a group of protestors were arrested in front of his office, the press tried to get him to condemn the arrests as a violation of the right to peaceful protest. But this smug piece of garbage just smiled into the camera and said, “Off with theirs heads.” A great sound byte to keep his base well fed.

And now he was here, just 800 meters of space separating him from the barrel of Alyce's rifle.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” a voice echoed across the arena, “please welcome Senator Martin Hart.”

The crowd erupted into obnoxious fits of exuberance. These mind-dead lackeys filled the arena, many of them paid to be there, all to cheer on a heartless politician. Hart arrived at the center of the stage. He gave a wave to the crowd, smiling broadly to show off his expensive polished teeth. His suit cost more than the average salary of most people in the crowd, but they didn't care. He was their hero, or so they were told.

“This is it, kid,” Maddison's voice said in Alyce's earpiece. “Target is stationary. Take your shot.”

Deep breath.

Slow your pulse.

Focus.

Don't think.

Alyce had the senator dead in her cross-hair. She hesitated. Then with one last push of her mental strength, told herself to go. But her finger froze. It refused to budge despite her brain screaming at it to squeeze the trigger.

“Take the shot kid!”

“I can't,” Alyce said, her voice dripping with panic.

“Stop talking,” Maddison said. “You need to focus. And take the damn shot!”

“I've never killed before.”

“First time for everything. Now stop talking and take the shot!”

Alyce closed her eyes. One more deep breath to clear her head and mentally reset. The senator had started into his speech, so he was a sitting duck at the podium. Bearing down again into the scope, she lined him up again. This time, her finger obeyed.

Bang.

A chorus of screams tore through the arena as the senator slumped to the floor in a pool of blood.

“Target down!” Maddison screamed into the radio.

Alyce stood and took a bow.