It was quick: the bullet pierced the man’s heart and he fell. The man lie crumpled on his living room floor as his killer dialed 911. The killer would be long gone before the cops arrived, but he liked people to know when he’s winning. He told the police there had been a murder and gave them the address he was at. He tossed the phone and then ran out the door.
*
*
*

“The world would be a better place without people.” That’s what was scrawled on the note left on the crime scene. FBI agent, Jeff Bedros, examined everything. No fingerprints or anything. The only thing they could connect the killer with was the bullet and even that still only gave them a sketchy picture of this serial killer.
This was his tenth victim since he started his killing spree three weeks ago. All the witnesses were too scared to speak, and the ones who did ended up dead. The only description was he wore a leather jacket and hood. No face. He was like a ghost, and he always taunted the police by calling and telling them what he did then hung up and got away. His catch phrase was always at the scene of the crime. “The world would be a better place without people,” scrawled on a little piece of paper.

“Anything useful?” Jeff asked forensics.

“Nothing same as always, no fingerprints, a note, phone call, and an untraceable bullet.” He replied

“I want everyone in this neighborhood questioned. We will find this man and stop him!”

“Yes, sir.”

Jeff’s partner, Simon approached him.

“Nothing?” he asked.

“Nope.”

“This guy is slick. How will we ever find this guy? We don’t even know his name.”

“He always shoots his victims. I think we both can agree that Shooter is probably an appropriate name.”

“Well even then, this guy is a shadow that kills. Trying to catch him is like trying to grab smoke with your bare hands.”

“We’ll find him.”

“How?”

“We will, we just will.”
*
*
*

Shooter approached the house of his next victim. The victim was a man in his mid forties, a man with few friends and no family. His name was Bill Smith. He would not be missed. He was an FBI agent and was never really appreciated, making him a great person to shave off the earth. He was a man without a purpose in Shooter’s eyes.
Shooter got to the door and shot the lock then the hinges. He kicked down the door. The man was sitting in his living room watching Family Guy. Shooter fired and missed. It was 11 at night and no one had heard him. His gun was silenced. Bill got up and ran through the hall to his kitchen. There was an intruder in his house. He reached on top of the fridge and grabbed his gun.
Shooter was moving towards him. Bill ran out the other door in his kitchen, which led to the front door. When he got to the fallen front door he quickly and quietly moved back towards the living room. He was behind Shooter now. He looked towards the doorway in the living room that led to the kitchen. Shooter was looking around. Bill jumped out and fired. Shooter was hit in the shoulder. Blood spattered and Shooter fell.
“Don’t get up!” Bill yelled.
He cuffed Shooter and put him against the wall. Bill turned around to grab his phone. Shooter slipped a pocket knife out of his pocket. He pointed the knife outward. He was cuffed behind his back so he moved backwards and into Bill. Bill yelped. The knife had gone into his back. Bill fell. Shooter was able to get the hand cuff keys and unlock himself. He grabbed his gun and shot Bill. He called the FBI and fled the premises.
*
*
*
“We have something this time, Jeff,” a forensic scientist told him.
“What do you have?” Jeff replied.
“Blood, and we have a match too. Where’s your partner Simon?”
“He couldn’t make it. He said he was injured.”
“I think I know how he was injured. Jeff, your partner is the serial killer we’ve been hunting.”
Jeff’s world turned upside down. Simon had been his friend, his partner. He couldn’t believe it.

“Are you absolutely sure it’s Simon?” Jeff asked.

“His blood matches the shooter’s.”

Jeff walked out of Bill’s house. He pulled out his walkie talkie.

“I want a five block perimeter set up around Simon White’s apartment building. It turns out he’s the killer we’ve been on the lookout for.”

Jeff got into his car and rode on to the house of his “friend”.
*
*
*

Simon White was bandaging up his bullet wound when he heard a knock on his door. He quickly stowed away the bandages and cleaned up the blood. He opened the door and there stood Jeff Bedros, his partner pointing a gun at him.

“What’s this about, Jeff?” Simon asked.

“Shut up!” Jeff yelled. “You’re Shooter, you’re the one who’s been taking lives one by one! Your blood was found at the crime scene. There’s no denying it!”

“I don’t want to deny it. I’m proud of my work, and I always will be.”

“You sicko. Why, Simon?”

“Because the world is filthy and falling apart. The world population is too high. There’s too many people. So why not get rid of the ones who mean nothing anyway?”

“You’re done, Shooter. It’s over. I’m calling in back up.’

“You idiot. It has only begun. “

Shooter pulled a gun out from the back of his pants and fired. Jeff jumped out of the way and fired back. Shooter ducked below his couch. He put a new magazine in his gun. Jeff opened the door and ran. Shooter grabbed his jacket, his alter ego, his second identity, and ran after him. Jeff ran up and onto the roof.

“I want a helicopter to pick me up on top of the building!” he yelled into his walkie talkie. He got to the roof and waited for Shooter. It had been all of ten seconds before Shooter emerged from the door.

“Surrender! You’ve lost. The SWAT has surrounded you! It’s over! “

“While that may be true, I’ll at least destroy the man that stopped me from saving the world.”

He fired and hit Jeff in his leg. Jeff fell. He crawled to the edge of the roof. Shooter grabbed him by the neck and lifted him over the edge.

“Have a nice fall.” Shooter said.

“You never were good with witty lines.”

A sniper had been set up on another roof behind the apartment building. He fired and Shooter fell, dropping Jeff. Jeff grabbed the edge of the building and lifted himself up. He stood up and limped towards the door and picked up his gun.

“Don’t move!” Shooter yelled.

Shooter stood at the edge of the building pointing his gun at Jeff.

“Even if I die instead of going to prison, you’re going down with me.”

“Simon White is my friend.” He turned around. “Shooter however is not.”

He fired. The bullet hit Shooter square in the chest and he flew backwards. Jeff watched as his friend was hit and fell over the edge. It was over. No more lives would be lost at the hand of Shooter. Jeff was a hero, but he would never be the same.