This is the central square of District D3.
Angel had been lurking in this bustling area for half a month. Kneeling on two tall wooden crates beneath her, she peered through the sniper scope at the central square from the ventilation window.
The room was dim and silent. Motionless, her black sniper suit made her nearly invisible in the space, blending in like one of the statues in the square. Only her narrow eyes occasionally flickered.
Angel—this was the codename given by the organization, for her hands had never failed to send people to heaven. Those in the know understood that aside from the sniper codenamed "Death God," the most terrifying sniper bore this gentle, beautiful name—a cruel irony.
A deep baritone voice came through the communicator: "Outdoor temperature 26°C, wind force level two, excellent visibility, humidity 43%..."
A perfect sniping environment! Angel silently praised.
At 9:15, the square grew increasingly crowded.
"All units, target approaching within five thousand meters, over," another voice quickly reminded through the communicator.
Angel made one final check. Her right hand, clad in a black glove, rested on the trigger.
Vehicles could only move slowly in the bustling district, taking nearly three minutes to enter firing range.
Through the sniper scope, Angel fixed her gaze on a white Bugatti.
No further reminders came through the communicator. Angel estimated the distance to her target at over two thousand meters.
In another skyscraper.
The commander sat calmly before the monitor, wearing a headset. Angel's record was 1,977.5 meters—achieved under worse conditions than today. As long as nothing went wrong, her success rate exceeded ninety percent. This was one of the main reasons the organization had assigned her the mission.
The car stopped at the building's entrance, and the door opened.
At this critical moment, Angel's breathing remained steady, no different from usual.
Through the scope, she saw a middle-aged man step out. His well-tailored dark gray pinstripe suit accentuated his fit frame, making him appear around forty, though records showed he was nearly fifty.
Angel's rifle locked onto his head.
A sudden glint of light flashed from the opposite side. Immediately, the assistant sniper's tense voice came through the communicator: "Enemy sniper spotted. Angel exposed."
Then came dead silence. The commander issued no orders.
She could save herself by jumping off the crates right now, but Angel ignored the warning. Her dark eyes remained fixed on the target through the scope, like a hunting hawk.
In the scope, the target was already ascending the steps under the escort of bodyguards.
Ten more meters, and he would be out of range!
Target locked.
Angel quickly calculated his walking speed and the bullet's trajectory. She had to precisely aim for where he would be seconds later as he moved.
Over her half-month stay here, she had rehearsed and calculated this scenario thousands of times in her mind. A second later, she pulled the trigger without hesitation. The silenced sniper rifle fired a bullet without a sound.
At the same moment, a deafening crash erupted before her.
She clearly saw a bullet shatter the frosted glass of the ventilation window, hurtling straight toward her.A sudden chill swept across her forehead.
The voices of the commander and the assistant shooter crackled simultaneously through the comms.
"Target hit. Retreat."
"Angel, status report? Over!"
Angel slipped off the crate. Her wavering gaze caught a glimpse of blue sky through the shattered vent window before darkness gradually consumed her vision.
It was a flawless snipe—a perfect full stop to her life. At least, since she began missions at sixteen, she'd never missed a shot.
They say people recall beautiful memories when dying, but her mind remained blank. Only that fragment of blue sky etched itself deeply into her heart.
Inside the building, the commander exhaled slowly. After a long silence, he lit a cigarette.
He hadn't seen the footage, but he knew she was gone.
The organization had chosen Angel for this mission not just for her exceptional sniping skills, but for another crucial reason—she was the perfect killing machine. Unless recalled, she would complete the mission without psychological hesitation, even at the cost of her life.
The man's slender fingers held the cigarette as he issued a somber command, "Bring Angel back."
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