A sharp sound rang through the open room, something booming and impossible to ignore. Nimble fingers work on reloading the scoped weapon in his hands. He was an assassin work, a professional perfecting his craft.
In the distance, a paper cut out is punctured with holes, shots made clear through the target's head. The area was small and the precision and accuracy it demanded was impressive, but Thane was a killer who'd become feared and respected through hard work and not sheer luck. He wasn't the best, not at all, but he was far from the worst. Very far. "Ten out of ten," he murmured quietly before raising a hand to cough, his chest tightening before the pain forced his body to falter and hesitate. The rifle he held was eventually put back down in an attempt to control the attack.
He was making every shot, but there was one opponent he couldn't take down; it would consume him, and soon, he'd be left as nothing more than a number for the record of the dead. Sad, but true, and fortunately for him, Thane was exceptional at handling reality.
