He lay down in a bush, it gave him the best cover. Mother nature made the best camouflage, the best cameo gear didn't come close. It could easily be picked apart by powerful binoculars with a keen eye. He moved into the prone position, looking through his night-vision scope. Nothing. He flicked to his infrared. He saw ten hostiles through a wall; then a man walked out of a building. With infrared he could only tell the difference between a cow to a human to a chicken. But he couldn't tell what gender or who it was. He flicked to night vision. If he assassinated the wrong man he would be fired. A helicopter whizzed over head. In its night beams he saw a man flicking a cigarette; it was his mark. He aimed down the scope. On the point of firing he remembered the ruddy great big silencer - a rookery mistake. He slid it on and re-aimed. He checked the wind speed and the distance and adjusted accordingly. Then a thud as he turned the safety off and pulled the trigger...

By magmabuzz, December 16, 2014.

At first I don’t see Carlos's face at all, the morning light streams in from behind him making a halo effect around his head. Now there’s something he doesn’t deserve. He steps in without being invited. Bold. No back-up either, not something the other gang leaders ever do. Or perhaps his goons hang back somewhere on the street. Then it occurs to me that he is covered by sniper. So the Running Blades still have ammo. Interesting. If that’s the way I’m going to go I’ll never know it, here one minute, gone the next. My blade has nothing to say about high velocity tin and gun powder. Then from behind me come the patter of little feet “Mom!” Darwin wraps his arms around my legs, not knowing he just made this so much worse...

By Angela Abraham, @daisydescriptionari, December 16, 2014.

Found in Darwin's Ghost - first draft, authored by daisy.