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Fun In Rio

"Tomorrow is your first wet, sniper exercise," I said to Parker and Toliver, Group-5's newest assassin interns. They yelped, shook hands, patted each other on the back.

"You get to pick your targets. And here in Rio during Carnival, the pickings are unlimited."

"I'll eliminate the dregs," Toliver said.

"Me too," said Parker. "Brazil is teeming with human garbage."

"Before you get over-enthusiastic about cleaning up Rio, you're authorized to kill only one person, each."

They looked disappointed.

"Group-5 will deposit $20,000 in your Swiss accounts for a minimum score of 90%. Add $2,000 for each tick up to 100%. Your scores will appear in your satellite-monitored sniper scopes the instant you fire. I'll be in Control Central monitoring your activities, via satellite."

I wished I could join them. Nothing warms my heart better than a clean kill.

Parker scored 92. But Toliver did everything wrong from the moment he powered on his sniper scope. His pulse rate was unacceptable, his blink rate was off the charts. He kept muttering something unintelligible in a shaky voice.

I pressed DELETE on my computer to launch a nano rocket from within Toliver's scope. It pierced his eye and burst his brain.

When a recruit joins Group-5, he signs the contract in his own blood. His acceptance is conditional, pending intensive vetting.

Toliver passed all tests, except the last. He knew the risks. He accepted them.

He's better off dead.

Story by:

Michael A. Kechula

m.kechula@att.net

submitted at 6:11pm

30 September 2010