The gray rain thunders relentlessly down onto the earth as I sit in my car glaring at the sky. This would delay my assignment… I do not remember sitting in the car with my dad as he drove in the semi-flooded road when I was six, I do not remember feeling excited as I watched the spray of water surround the car as we hit a puddle. I do not remember my laughter.

The rain lightens, but the voice does not give me a clear sign. So I wait some more. When I first started training in the institution, they eradicated the emotions I felt, or maybe I forgot how to feel as I progressively got better at fighting. I killed for the government to keep it safe. I do not consider why they put a tracking device in me, or why they installed a kill-chip in my brain. I don’t care.

My target this time was an influential politician that threatened the capitalist ideology in America. That was the only thing I was told about my target, but I don’t need to know more. I owed my services and I would carry them out. Finally, the voice in my ear gives me the ‘go’ clearance.

I get out of my car and hastily shrug on my backpack that held my equipment. The house was conveniently located in an isolated area and behind it loomed a forest hill. The hill ended where my victim’s backyard started, only separated by an innocent, feeble looking picket-fence. I manage to assemble my sniper, a CheyTac Intervention, that was generously lent to me for the mission. The rocky terrain didn’t make balancing the sniper easy but I use my boot to scrape away a layer of small rocks. I check the magazine one last time and I am ready. This was a typical kill job and I felt comfortable executing it. I would have to make it quick, the coffee I left in the car will be getting cold.

There is movement in the house and I notice more than one figure hustling about, probably in the kitchen. I see a vague silhouette of two people through the window. Suddenly, the door flies open and I duck down to look through the sniper scope, getting ready to put a bullet in his brain….but a little girl comes out. She’s a brunette and has a puffy dress on. I am momentarily stunned. A man follows her out laughing. I recognise my victim immediately. The girl runs up to him and jumps into his arms which stuns me. My finger is on the trigger but it pauses due to the unexpected show of affection.

It suddenly dawns upon me that this man is not merely a politician, but a husband, a father and a friend. With one bullet, I could make those titles come to a tragic end, but I can’t. A million needles poke the back of my eyes and I allow myself one sniffle and a blink. Assassins to not demonstrate signs of emotion. A painful memory of my parents invades me and I instinctively try to block it. The sudden memory paralyses me and I cannot shoot. Reluctantly, I allow emotions that are rusty with lack of use, flow back into me and I understand. The institution I owe my services to does not control us by taking away our ability to feel, but instead with fear. That’s the reason for the kill chip. It was a subtle reminder of what could happen to me if I refused to obey. It seemed so obvious I scorn at myself for even missing it in the first place.

The girl is playing with her dad in the backyard. He is smiling. The institution no longer controls me because I am no longer afraid. I have a fake name, a fake age and a fake life. I will let the father live, or at least, I will not be the one who takes him away from his little ‘preciosa.’ The institution knows I rebel against them and I can imagine ‘him’ pressing the button that activates my kill chip. I quickly remind myself of what I am sure of. I won’t do this, I am free, I am the sacri -…..