The assassin - creative writing.

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It is dark, pouring with rain, but he does not shiver. He crouches in a small puddle under a large dead oak tree near an old wooden bridge; waiting. A full moon shines through the bare branches of the tree, casting ghostly shadows on him. He is wearing a trench coat and a large pair of boots. A cigarette is lodged in a gap in his teeth, unlighted. Over his eyes is a pair of dark sunglasses. One would not expect him to see, except this is no ordinary man. Cloned for one purpose, the assassin sees perfectly well and knows what he is meant to carry out. The time is near. A small, old car with a damaged headlight approaches the bridge slowly but, just before it changes gear, the assassin pulls a weapon resembling a long and shiny piece of metal from his trench coat. He points it in the direction of the speeding car and fires, once.

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The only potential threat has been countered. There is only one thing left to do. He breaks from the crouched position he was in, and makes his way to the old and dilapidated house that looms strikingly in the reddish-black sky. A flash of lightning briefly illuminates the house. It is large, with hefty walls and a great wooden door for an entrance. Some windows are broken, but the superstructure is sound. The car stops just a few metres from it. The driver inside the car has literally been frozen stiff by the advanced weapon the assassin used. She is ...

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