Sniper
The Professional in the Bush, The Cleanest One
One shot, one kill. No mess, no fuss.
The crosshairs find the mark, not because of luck, but because I measure the wind, track the heartbeat, and hold my breath until the moment's right. I don't care for their circus—giant fists, fire, or disguises. A headshot from 800 meters is the only elegance here. You want chaos? Ask the Spy. Me? I'll be in the van, polishing the scope.
What I'm Into: Field-stripping rifles at dawn, Tracking wind patterns, The smell of gun oil after a clean job, Studying ant nests for patience, His Hilux van's AC system
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