Henry stood back, watching Chance prepare in another holo training session. He hadn’t spoken in nearly five minutes, wanting to just observe. He needed to see where his son was at. The idea of Chance actually going on an assignment made him nervous as hell, but he understood the motivation. If he was in his son’s shoes, he’d be reacting the same. The difference was, Henry had a lifetime of experience in this and his son did not which was literally the difference between life and death.

 

After having put the long firearm together, Chance set it up on the makeshift stand, which was a berm that looked down on the house…no, it was more like a chalet, in the forest. The trees and lower foliage gave them some cover. Their clothing and face paint finished the job of making them nearly invisible to anyone who would be below. He made sure the rifle was resting on three points, aimed toward the large pool, but more specifically at the man who appeared much younger than he really was, reclining on a double-wide lounge chair, a woman on each side. It was a double whammy because, not only did the closer woman present a blocking problem, but the recreational activity was enough to fuel Chance’s desire to see this through.

 

He knew he was being watched, graded on his performance, but his father had gone over the details with him many times since Chance had approached him about it. In that time he’d become more comfortable with the rifle, having also practiced many other times since the floral delivery. So practiced that he’d made his adjustment marking in the viewfinder. He knew where he needed to be for this distance, and to counteract the rifle’s own flaws.  

 

“What do you see?” Henry’s voice was quiet but firm. “How many guards? Any possible variable that makes you need to abort?”

 

Chance didn’t move his body at all, and barely moved his head away from the site to take in the building below. “Three…no, four guards. All but one are mostly out of sight: inside the house, but just posted at the doors.” He paused. “Could wait it out, for shift change or something, but doesn’t seem enough to abort.”

 

“Where are you aiming?”

 

He shifted his view back to the scope. “At his temple, if he stops moving for a moment.” The agitation in his voice was evident, but whether it was for a moving target, or the target itself couldn’t be said.

 

“Why the temple and not the middle of his forehead?”

 

“Because the line to his forehead is perpendicular to us. His temple is what’s presented to us.” He had a feeling there would be something wrong with that answer, and that added to his agitation.

 

Henry could read that agitation like a book. “Shoot the girl to his left.”

 

That made him sit back and look over his shoulder, “What?” He had enough sense to shout in a whispered tone, but he immediately knew losing his placement was a big mistake and he cursed under his breath.”

 

“Shoot the girl to his left. He’ll react, sit up, and it will open the view to the forehead, right between the eyes.” Henry said it clinically, a tone Chance had heard his wife use for years.

 

“But she’s not my target!”

 

“He is, he’s the priority, she doesn’t matter.”

 

Chance stared at him for a moment, but looked away, knowing that was the mindset that was needed, but feeling far from having it himself. His view turned back to the pool, and the continuing activities. “They’re bound to change positions, I could just wait for a better sightline.”

 

Henry shook his head, more to himself than outwardly. “You can’t be a doctor and a killer.”

 

The younger man was sorely tempted to shut down the simulation. He came close, but he suspected that would also be a point against him. Stating the obvious wasn’t helping, but it occurred to him that that was the purpose. They’d talked about it, but his dad still didn’t want him to be the one to take the shot. Chance wasn’t under any impression that he wanted the kill for himself, but rather thought he was protecting Chance from the psychological aftermath.  

 

That might have just pissed him off even more.

 

Without another word, he turned back to the rifle, carefully went through the process, step by step, to setting up his shot. He checked his surroundings, checked what counted for the wind flag, and looked back to his scope. He paused a few seconds to see if his scenario might play out, but it didn’t. He made one small positioning adjustment, paused, took a breath and let it out slowly, then took the first shot. Two seconds later, the closer woman’s shoulder snapped forward and she screamed. Chance shifted his aiming point straight above the previous one, and sure enough, the bastard sat up and put himself in the crosshairs. Without flinching, Chance took the second shot.

 

“Nice shot. The shoulder was better than a headshot. Splattered brains might cause him to duck for cover.”

 

The objective completed, Chance ignored the fictitious commotion below and turned back to his father. At any other time, the compliment would have been bolstering, but not at the moment. “Stop trying to protect me. I need to do this.”

 

“Computer, initiate Crow 112.” The scenery dissolved into an urban alleyway. It was empty aside from some man digging through a trash can. Next to Henry and Chance sat a small table with a pistol. “First off, I will always protect you. Second, for me to be comfortable with this, I need to know you can do this and then go back to being the man you are.” He motioned to the table. “Kill’em.”

 

When the scene melted into the present, much darker one, Chance looked around, zeroing in on the noise first, then the glint off the handgun on the nearby table. His initial reaction to the command was to find any reason not to do it. But he wasn’t dim. He knew the reasoning behind it, and he knew his dad wasn’t wrong. If he had to be the one to finish this, he had to make sure he was ready for anything. And he wanted to come back the same person…well, mostly the same person. Again, he wasn’t under any notion that the personal mission, and the acts he’d have to take to complete it wouldn’t affect him.

 

He took a couple deep breaths, looking from the gun to the person rooting around, and back. After the third breath, he squared up, grabbed the pistol in one hand, cradled that hand in the other, looked down the sights and fired. When he was done, the gun hung from his fingers.

 

“Computer, reset the program, alteration to series two.” The alley reset, but in the place of the man digging through a trash can it was a young woman.

 

“Again.”

 

He briefly closed his eyes. Prophets, if he’d had any delusions of this being easy before, they were quickly being dashed. A couple breaths again, to center himself, he squared up, took aim, and while his finger hesitated a few seconds, he finally took the shot. This time, instead of just being glad it was over, he wondered what the next one would be.

 

He didn’t have to wait long. “Computer, reset the program, alteration to series three.” Now the target was a boy, about the age of Keiran digging for dinner. 

 

Chance caught his breath and turned back. “Are you serious?”

 

“Are you?”

 

The younger man turned back with a scowl on his face, looking toward the target. He paced back and forth a few times, trying to work up his nerve. Trying to cast aside almost his whole life’s training to saving people. He continued pacing, concentrating on the steps, knowing he wanted to devote as little time as possible to thinking about this, and less still to getting it done. In his mind he counted his steps, and counted down at each about-face until he got to one, stopped, fired and dropped the gun on the table. He walked past his father, not even sure if he’d made the shot.  

 

Henry reached out, grabbing him by the bicep. “If you cannot take a shot against a fake child, you can’t take a shot against a man who could bring a world of shit down on billions of people if you miss.”

 

Chance knew what the point of the exercise was, so those words weren’t eye-opening, but this session had taken a dark turn, very quickly. “Fine, but I need a moment,” he said before shaking off the strong grip and continuing his trajectory.

 

Henry watched him carefully, fully aware of the fine line he was walking. “I don’t like what you have to become to do this. I’ve always been proud of the good man you grew to be. I know what it’s like to carry this kind of burden and they never go away.”

 

“Do I have to become whatever it is you fear to do it one time? I’m not making a career out of it. There’s only one guy to take out, then it’s done.” Chance continued pacing. “Y’know, back when he took her and pumped her full of triocaine? You found me in the armory, itching to find him, and you told me then was not the time because she needed me there. Well, if now is not the time, when he’s threatening the family we’ve worked so hard to create, I don’t know what you want me to wait for!”

 

Killing a man changes you. It doesn’t matter if it’s black ops, or a battleground or just walking up to a stranger in an alley. You have trained to save lives. Let me ask you, if he was lying here and you were the only person who could save his life, would you?”

 

“At other points in the past, I probably would have. I’ve looked past dislikes to do my job. But here? Now? James? I’d probably finish the job just to make sure it was done. And maybe I’d second guess myself, or even regret it later, but right now, I’d do it. He’s proven that he’s never going to let it go, and I have to protect my family.”

 

Henry gave a small nod. “Then back to practice. Computer load our initial program.” The alley vanished, replaced by the wooded area from before. “Practice makes perfect, son.”

 

Chance looked toward the rifle and the ridge looking over the chalet and nodded himself. He let out a long breath as he approached, letting out the remaining emotion and tension of the last half hour. It was time to get back to work.