A man had just been shot. Someone took a Magnum forty-four caliber gun and blew a hole clean through the top of his skull. No, this man didn’t truly deserve it, but that’s not a hired gun’s problem; the trigger would have been pulled all the same.

Fayte Nobil loomed over the man he had just executed, as the dead man’s eyes started to glaze over. Blood slowly seeped from the body, the sure sign of a proficiently delivered fatal wound. Gradually as the victim’s carcass slumped to the floor its blank gaze still seemed to stay fixed upon Fayte’s eyes.

It had never occurred to Fayte in all his years of professional killing that one person would be so different. He watched this man for the last few months as he did with every ‘Hit’ he had ever done. Fayte’s target seemed to be an honest man who looked and acted the part of a religious fellow, never thinking of himself. Fayte knew this to be a bogus front the man put forward, more for the benefit of his acquaintances than anything else.

During normal observations, Fayte did notice that this man seemed inwardly troubled, as if he held a dark and looming secret. It was Fayte’s firm belief that secrets were an essential part of all our lives. He was a professional assassin who would kill anyone for the right amount of money. Now that was a good secret. Of course Fayte would never be able to tell the truth if anyone asked him about his job.

It brought pure joy to Fayte’s day when he was sneaking into people’s lives and studying them like insects. As the mighty hunter he took great delight in rummaging through their trash, monitoring phone calls and hacking into their personal computers. It had always been so easy to invade someone’s personal affairs when they were already wrapped up with their own day to day meaningless lives.

When people were out mowing their lawn, Fayte was the one with the high powered rifle aimed at their heads. As women and children went shopping, Fayte was there with them, perhaps monitoring someone else. Knowledge was lethal in his hands; he could even make large bank accounts disappear if he chose. There was more too. So called ‘accidents’ due to mechanical failure were his specialty, especially in cases where a gun could not be used. A few loose nuts and severed brake lines here or there on the target car or airplane did the trick every time, and always with clean imperceptible results.

Death has always been a natural part of life for everyone; Fayte just found a way to make it profitable. You see, to some individuals revenge was well worth the price they paid him. In fact, he found many people at some point in their lives wished to kill someone that ‘inhibited’ them in some way.

Fayte was their ultimate voice. In his own mind he was the very idea of retribution in the flesh, and he swore he could feel their urge and sate it. Violence had always drawn close to Fayte and he always welcomed its sweet embrace. One could presume it was all those years of abuse and complete neglect that helped him train his mind, numbing it to life’s cruelty. He had never known any type of love or even the company of family. Always drifting from job to job, no records of his life even existed; he was a deadly phantom.

It’s funny how just one death changed his whole outlook. Up to now, he never really cared. Fayte had killed them all; men, women, elderly, black, and white...all of them died at his discretion.

However, this evening was unusual; he had ended a life that was seemingly different than the rest. He had finished off scores of lives just like his current quarry and never questioned himself. Why now? Why should one more death trouble him so much? So much killing had come before this victim, so much blood spilled, and for what?