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corrupted me. She, however, expressed her “unsociable side” by blackmailing her way up the political ladder. Nothing unusual there, you might say, but she had pissed off the wrong man with all the right connections.
    I began by watching her every move, until I could without any effort on my part predict her next one, whether it was to cross a road, buy a newspaper from the newspaper stand on the sidewalk, or even purchase a bagel. At first I’d kept notes, but I soon found that she was a creature of habit. Eventually, this made the taking of notes somewhat redundant, and so I simply watched and followed.
    During the week, she dressed mainly in business suits. Fully made up, she had a classy look that was just on the edge of being a little slutty, but very nice if you liked that kind of thing. The problem was she knew she was attractive, and she used this to her advantage, manipulating men and women alike with deadly effectiveness to get whatever she wanted. She used this power efficiently and as effectively as if she wielded a gun instead. Often her victims didn’t even know what had happened. One moment they would be leading the meeting with, as one would say, all the right cards, but then in the next moment they would find themselves on the losing side and having signed away some deal or sizable fortune, or having left themselves wide open for the kill. Literally.
    She left a trail of tortured and damaged souls in her wake, not to mention a growing number of corpses. Though she may have been innocent of murder, her hands would forever be stained with the blood of her victims.
    I looked forward to killing her and began my work in earnest. The CIA wanted her removed soon because she was getting just a little too close to a particular resident of the White House, though I suspect my handlers were more interested in seeing what they had created.
    Without going into more detail than is absolutely necessary, this story is not about her or her type, or even about what she had actually done. It’s about what I did and what I became and, more importantly, what happens to you and I later in this story.
    As a predator, an ability to predict, sense, evade, and escape is a highly sought-after talent, but, mix this with an innate ability to calculate, track, and hunt a target, it soon becomes a skill set that only a small number of our race can claim to own. Finally the slaughter becomes its own reward.
     
    The hit: I looked down at her. She was asleep, stretched out on a dark wooden sun lounger beside a large swimming pool at the rear of her stylish home. She wore a two-piece pink bikini with barely enough material to cover her modesty. I enjoyed feeding my eyes a little candy before moving them on to absorb her surroundings. She had the kind of breasts that defied gravity, they were artificial of course and were perhaps a little too perfect but they still warranted my appreciation. Her sunglasses were large, with a tortoise-shell frame, reminding me of the seventies Dallas show, with gorgeous women and impossible hair. The bikini briefs were brief, and left very little for my imagination to conjure, in fact her every contour was visible through the skin tight fabric to the point where the briefs were in fact a complete waste of money. A small table was to her right side, and an empty bottle of wine stood under the table. She was drunk and had clearly passed out. This would make my task somewhat easier, I thought, though a little wrestle at the start would have been fun.
    I stood there for a while watching her, taking in the moment and, of course, enjoying simply watching her breathe. In that moment we both shared a bond. It wasn’t sexual; it was of hunter and hunted. For her, the game was already over, a game that she had no idea she was even playing. For me, the game had only just begun. As the hunter, I had to make the kill and evade detection and capture—that was the real challenge of this particular kill. Taking her life