Project Jet
This is a story I’ve been working on for a few years - someone (unlikely) may recognise this piece from a school publication…
A dark figure dashed across the rooftops, a silhouette in the midst of a blinding glare of sunset. Few people noticed her, and as soon as they looked a second time, she was gone. Below her sprawled a cramped metropolis, a mirror of life in the western countries. This middle-eastern city was an oasis in the desert, crammed full of wealthy merchants, poor farmers, and laughing children. Car horns sounded, and a car raced along a highway, being chased by a police car, with sirens blaring and lights flashing. On ground level, the noise was almost deafening. High on the rooftops, only the loudest noises could be heard. It made for a peaceful quiet, and with the breeze blowing, many workers would spend their evenings outside, high above the rest of the world racing on down below. Looking past the cityscape, you could even see the sand dunes of a vast desert, and the mountains on the horizon.
But she was not interested in the view, the sensations of the city. Behind an unused air vent, she readied her weapon. Using her laser sights, she aimed at a businessman dining at a side street café below. He was relaxing with clients, who were looking to buy shares in his wealthy oil company. He had grown cocky, buying into things which he should have stayed out of. The government had to get rid of him to stop money flooding into the country’s black market.
She looked more carefully at her target. He was laughing at a joke he had made, his greying, bushy beard flinging cake crumbs onto the table. His clients laughed feebly along with him. One man was about to say something, but one of the massive bodyguards surrounding the table cracked his knuckles, and the man fell silent.
Steadying herself against the air vent, she fired. Immediately the scene on the street burst into chaos. Bodyguards rushed to the businessman, checking for vital signs of life. His clients tried to scatter, only to be caught and held by another guard. People in the street crowded around the table, obscuring the oil baron’s body from view.
The dark figure on the roof grinned as she packed up her equipment. Checking there were no traces of her being there left, she fled. Once on street level, she casually strolled over to look at the carnage she had created. The body had disappeared, no doubt rushed out of sight by anxious bodyguards. People still crowded the scene, with reporters already on the scene, questioning witnesses. Cars had stopped to see what was happening, which jammed up traffic in the streets and intersections behind. Angry drivers, fed up with waiting in their cars, strode up to give a few people a piece of their mind, only to stop and see what all the fuss was about. She smiled. This was the kind of thing she enjoyed.
In the midst of all the panic, she slipped over to a dark corner of the street. Unnoticed, she dialled a number very few people knew.
“It’s done”.