This was the mantra she had been repeating to herself more and more often these days. Maybe it was just that the years had taken their toll on her. The sky was dark yet was brightly lit up by the neon lights and advertisements of the Las Vegas strip. Her head was pounding from the lights.
The migraines were back and this one was worse than the one she had earlier in the day. For the past few years Emma suffered from chronic migraines; she blamed it on the stress of her job and her constant run-ins with Ravager. She tried to ignore them the best she could. She had just gone a few months without one but now it seemed they were coming back and even worse than before. This time the migraines were accompanied by mood swings that were driving her insane. The pounding was so loud she could feel the vibrations in her ears and her vision blurred. She shook her head, trying to collect herself. This was not the time to lose it. She had a job to do.
Once again, she adjusted her sight but not the sight that most would think of. She peered through the scope of her M24 Sniper Rifle. Today her target was an older man, who went by the name Little Petey". Little Petey was a bad man and not even a debatable bad man. He was a known serial killer that got off on some lame technicality so the families of the victims, who were just college students, were left to suffer. And those were just the ones that had been connected to him. He even looked scummy.
One could call what Emma was doing a vigilante and heroic act but she got paid for it. So was she considered a hit woman still? In her liberal opinion, she was getting rid of the scum of the Earth. She didn't run around in a costume, didn't disguise her face, and didn't wear a cape that would give away her position. Her body was starting to ache from waiting for this guy but the waiting would be worth it. Watching "Scumbag Petey" collapse out of nowhere from a bullet to the brain would be a lovely sight.
She had read and memorized all of his patterns. She had even been tailing him for over a week now. She knew exactly where he would be, at what time, and what he would be wearing. She was all set up and now all that was left was to wait for him to strut his way out of some low rank strip club with the clever name of the Can-Can Club.
"You're just getting rid of a horrible person. You're doing the right thing. You're doing everyone a favor," She whispered to herself, things that she hardly even believed anymore. To clarify, going to a strip joint wasn't what made this man the lowest of the low. It's everything else about him that could make anyone's skin crawl.
He stumbled out of the club, escorted by two guards. She couldn't make out what they were saying but they weren't happy. Hugging the wall for balance he found his way to his sorry excuse for a car. Alone. He fumbled with his keys, dropping them to the ground in his drunken stupor.
This was it. Her sight adjusted, the magazine loaded. She inhaled and pulled trigger.
There was a loud bang from the gun as the man fell to the ground dead.