The El Paso sun had just begun its descent, casting long shadows over the deserted shooting range where I had come to test the untraceable gun I’d acquired. It was a place of solace, where the only judgment came from the accuracy of your shot, not the murky circumstances of your life. I needed to familiarize myself with the weight, the recoil, and the feel of the weapon that was now my reluctant partner in this deepening crisis.
As I loaded the magazine, the grit of the desert whispered across my skin, an abrasive reminder that comfort was a luxury I could no longer afford. I fired a few rounds, each shot echoing across the empty expanse, a cacophony of lead that matched the turmoil in my mind.
An unwelcome guest
I didn’t notice him at first—the agent, a shadow just out of focus, a ghost against the stark backdrop. But as I ejected the empty magazine, the prickling sense of being watched crawled up my spine. I turned to find him standing there with a badge glinting in the waning light and his hand resting on the holstered sidearm.
“Jack Thorpinski?” he called out, his voice too calm, too collected. “Need to have a word with you.”
The range, my range, suddenly felt constricted, the open air now a cage. “I’m a little busy here,” I replied, hoping my casual tone would mask the quickening of my pulse.
He advanced, his gait measured, purposeful. “Routine check. Heard you were out this way and thought I’d stop by.”
There was nothing routine about this. Rashmoor’s reach was far, and his methods were as subtle as a sledgehammer. The agent was close now, close enough for me to see the intent in his eyes. This was no friendly visit; this was a hunt, and I was the prey.
“I don’t think that’s necessary,” I said, stepping back, my hand instinctively moving to shield the gun tucked away.
I really wish he didn’t try to search me..
He reached out with his fingers grazing the fabric of my jacket, the barrier to my secret arsenal. “Let’s not make this difficult, Jack.”
In a split second, the tranquillity of the range was shattered. I pushed him back with force, more than I intended turning a desperate man’s reflex into chaos that followed. He stumbled, a look of surprise painting his features as he lost his footing and fell backwards.
The sickening crack of skull against the curb filled the air, a final punctuation mark to our brief scuffle. Blood began to pool around his head, crimson against the concrete. My breath hitched, my hand still suspended in the air from the push that had turned lethal.
Panicked, I scanned the area, my eyes darting from one end of the range to the other. Silence. No witnesses, just the whispering sands and the settling dusk.
But relief was a stranger to me now. As I bent down, unsure of what to do, my gaze caught the unmistakable glint of a lens. There, mounted high on a pole, was a camera. It was pointed directly at me, an unblinking eye that had seen everything.
A chill ran down my spine as the gravity of the situation sank in. Rashmoor’s web of surveillance had tightened around me once again, and this time, I had stumbled right into the centre.
