"Target sighted."

"Copy that. Proceed with the mission," Blaine subvocalized over the commlink. He watched the target from across the street, sitting at a bench, looking like just another sprawl resident reading the daily screamsheet. Blaine had rugged good looks, with an athlete’s build, a square jaw, and close-cropped dirty blonde hair. Some people might mistake him for a pushover, but they would be very wrong. He was one of the most dangerous people in the sprawl, a street samurai with attitude.

He looked up from time to time, watching the Corporate troubleshooter from behind his glasses. A few days ago, Blaine and his partner had discovered that this man was responsible for setting up the team they were working with. Several of the runners had died as a result of the guy’s machinations. Now it’s payback time, Blaine thought. He made sure to keep a close eye on the company man’s bodyguards, to ensure they didn’t get in the way of the shot, and he could take them out if they happened to spot his partner, which was highly unlikely.

The next moment, the corp stooges went into a frenzy, as the top of their boss’s head exploded in a shower of brain matter and blood. They began scanning the rooftops and the rest of the area, trying to find whoever had done this. The rest of the pedestrians scattered about in a panic, not wanting to be the sniper’s next victim. With a slight smile on his lips, Blaine merged with the crowd, pretending to be in as much of a panic as everyone else. He was completely satisfied with the results of the job, and was confident that his partner could make the escape as easily as he had.

Approximately two minutes before:

Atop the roof of a building across from the Seattle Hilton, a lone warrior crouched, waiting for his opportunity. Cradled in his arms was a weapon from which he’d taken his street name (at least in part); the Barret Model 121 sniper rifle. He sighted in on the spot where his target’s car was parked, waiting. Barrett could wait. His patience was one of the qualities that made him a great assassin. He always knew just the right time to strike, and would wait for it.

Patience was also a virtue for him in other respects; his species made him more subject to bigots and their ilk. He was a Night One; a race similar to elves, but with a distinctly different appearance - Night Ones were born with a layer of fur covering their bodies, usually of one of the darker colors of the spectrum. Their skin and eyes were usually a shade of their fur color, and Barrett was no exception. In his case, it was dark blue. This was very advantageous in the dark, as he blended in as though he were one with the shadows.

Finally, he spotted the man he’d been waiting for. Mr. Shiro Toriyama had caused trouble lately for Barrett and some of his chummers. Barrett didn’t like that. When some of them turned up dead, he and Blaine came to the decision that the man had to go. They got a copy of the man’s schedule thanks to a decker chum, and came up with the time and place that this thing was going to go down. Knowing approximately what time the man was coming out, Barrett had gotten into position well in advance.

Finally, he spotted Toriyama coming out of the Hilton. To make sure, he sighted the man in with the scope of his rifle. It was him.

"Target sighted," he reported over the commlink as he tracked the man’s movement with his gun.

"Copy that. Proceed with the mission," came Blaine’s response. Without hesitation, Barrett squeezed the trigger. The gun made no sound as the bullet left the barrel. It also gave very little muzzle flash. His aim was true, and almost as soon as he fired, he watched the top of the corporate drekker’s head explode. The man dropped to the street, convulsing violently. The people in the street started to panic, and the bodyguards started looking around for the shooter, guns drawn. Barrett was fully aware that they’d probably search the building he was on, which was why he’d worn gloves the whole time he was there. He also wore a bandanna, to keep any fur he shed from being left behind. In seconds, he had disassembled the rifle and placed each component into its own individual pocket under his coat. He then headed for the stairwell to make his escape.

Unfortunately, the sec-men were already on their way up, having decided to check all of the buildings. Two of them burst out of the doorway just as the furry assassin was about to leave. With surprising speed, Barrett cartwheeled out of harm’s way, just as a slew of bullets would have ripped into him. Before the men could react, the assassin was on them. The first man turned, trying to bring his gun to bear. Quickly but calmly, Barrett grabbed the man’s gun arm, holding it out of the way, and proceeded to thrust his Cougar Fineblade straight up under the man’s jaw and put a new hole in his head. Before his partner could recover, the Night One drew a Savalette Guardian and triggered a burst into the stooge’s face. He holstered his pistol, dropped the lobotomized bodyguard, and calmly started down the stairs. As he neared the bottom, more men appeared. As most people used the elevators, and didn’t have blood on their sleeves, the guards perceived him as a threat and opened fire. Barrett swiftly dodged behind the wall of the stairwell he’d just left, and drew his gun. Whenever he felt an opening, he swung around and fired. There were six men shooting at him, some with SMG’s. He considered himself lucky that he hadn’t been hurt by any ricocheting rounds. He managed to kill one, and wound another. He had a feeling they were going to try and hit him with heavier artillery, but he wasn’t about to give them a chance.

"Eyespy, this is Flatliner. I have a situation here that could really benefit from some interference," he sent over the commlink. A few seconds passed, and there was no response. He emptied the Guardian’s clip at his attackers, and quickly reloaded.

"Eyespy, are you there? Do you copy?" Still, there was no response. He was starting to worry now. Something must have happened to Blaine for him to not respond. Barrett triggered another burst into the group. He was about to attempt something drastic, when suddenly he heard the cough of a silenced pistol, and men’s shouts of pain and surprise. He poked his head around enough to see the carnage. Blaine had emptied the clip of his Browning Ultra-Power, and had only a couple of opponents left. One tried to bring his weapon to bear. Blaine got a controlling grip on the man’s arm, and then popped the razors of his free hand. Before the goon could react, Blaine slashed the man’s carotid artery, killing him instantly. The other goon blasted him in the chest, but the shadowrunner’s armor absorbed most of the shot. Barrett took his opening. Having forgotten momentarily about the Night One, the sec-man never stood a chance. Barrett nearly decapitated him with another burst. He then darted over to check on his accomplice.

"What was with the silent treatment?" Barrett asked.

"Y’know," Blaine said as the assassin helped him to his feet, "could you be more grateful?! I just damn near got a half-dozen holes blasted in me! Besides, if I’d said anything, I would have lost the element of surprise."

"And you thought you’d make me sweat a little."

"I’m hurt, really I am. I go to all the time and effort of coming up to save your fuzzy hoop, and this is how you thank me?"

Barrett gave him a look as if to say "Yeah, right".

"Well, okay, it might have had a little something to do with it," Blaine said with a wolfish smile.

"Well, now that you’ve had your fun, don’t you think we’d better get out of here?" Barrett asked. Blaine nodded. The two men holstered their guns (after Blaine slapped in a fresh clip), took some of the dead men’s credsticks and ammo, and booked.