Petyr Sokolov~ Wrong target?

Petyr had been doing his line of work for six years now, three of them dotted around Russia and Eastern Europe before moving overseas to America where he was now. It wasn't out of any particular desire for the States, he just went wherever more work was offered. The city he had found himself in now was the place with the most corruption. Police barely kept people in line, only enough to not cause a total carnage for those few ordinary people. Everyone relied on men like Petyr even if they refused to admit it. People paid to do a job and cross a name off a list. Some worked for the gangs that surfaced at night and some, Petyr in particular, preferred to work by themselves.

It had been another night like any other. Petyr had fed Simon before cleaning and stripping all his equipment until he was satisfied. He looked at the burner phone when the notification came. A name, last known address. Everything seemed simple until Petyr noticed the specifications. In person, a gun to their head instead of across a building rooftop. His jaw clenched slightly with the added risks but he knew he couldn't refuse. In some ways, that was worse than pulling the trigger himself.

He waited until the rain gave him a perfect cover before slipping outside his apartment building and into his car, a sleek black thing that was almost invisible in the shadows of broken streetlamps. Petyr parked two blocks away from the building and scouted out the area. Seventh floor, third window across. When Petyr had triple checked his equipment and was satisfied, he began to move. He ignored the rain hammering against his clothes as he found a back stairwell and broke the lock on the door.

Petyr took the stairs two at a time while also keeping his footsteps silent. He paused anytime that he heard a noise close to him, hand dropping to his gun while also knowing he wouldn't use it on anyone but his target. When he finally got to the seventh floor, his body tensed up instinctively. He stayed away from the flickering lights and the hidden security cameras until he found the door he'd been looking for.

It took less than ten seconds to get the lock open which said more about the state of the city than anything else. Petyr's hand slowly pulled out his silenced pistol, his mind going through the motions. Don't say anything, shoot the target, check for death, leave. It was something he'd done more than he could count.

A shuffle from the kitchen caught his attention and Petyr froze. He pressed himself against the closest wall and forced his breathing to shallow. When the sound faded, his feet brought him closer. Petyr didn't look for family photos, confident in his own abilities and the competence of his supplier. When he was finally close enough, he rounded into the kitchen with the barrel of the pistol against the targets head.

Except the light of the kitchen caught a figure much different than who he had been expecting. Petyr looked them over, the civilian clothing, the fear in their eyes. He slowly moved his gaze over the room with a cold realisation in his chest. "You. You are not target."

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