BIA Ch. 147

But contrary to his resolve, the hand gripping the rifle kept trembling. Even though he was certain all calculations were correct and his decision wasn’t wrong, it still happened. He had already released the safety, yet strangely, he couldn’t calm down. He had held a gun dozens, no, hundreds of times before, but this was the first time it felt like this.

The thought that everything—not his own everything, but Bran’s—depended on this single shot made it impossible to remain composed. What if he failed? Countless subsequent imaginings clung to his mind, refusing to leave.

It was a fear he had never experienced before. Even when he first held a rifle, he had pulled the trigger calmly, without any fear, thinking, ‘What’s the worst that can happen if I fail? I’ll just die.’ In fact, deep down, he might have even wished for failure. Because then everything would end. It was a life lived on borrowed time anyway, with nothing particularly enjoyable, so ending it here wouldn’t be so bad.

So why was he trembling like this now? Why was he so afraid? Was it because what was being decided here might not be his end, but Bran’s?

It was truly a pathetic excuse. Either way, his own end was already as good as decided. And ‘the end’ meant the end of everything, including all remaining regrets, worries, and attachments. Wasn’t that why everyone wished for a death that could end it all at once? To put it bluntly, death was the end of everything.

But trembling for someone who would remain, even when facing his own death, ultimately meant he wasn’t prepared to face death at all.

“Want one?”

Suddenly, something was thrust towards him from the side. Isaiah instinctively took his eye off the scope and looked at Kestrel’s hand.

Resting on the thick palm was a small, white pill. Isaiah didn’t bother asking what it was. If Kestrel had it, it was obvious. A colorless, odorless pill, smaller than a pinky nail. It was Rohypnol, chewed like gum by snipers.

“It’s a weak one. Only 0.5 mg.”

Though now infamous as a date rape drug, Rohypnol was originally prescribed as a powerful sedative-hypnotic. 1 mg would put anyone to sleep within 10 minutes. 0.5 mg was enough for someone without tolerance, but for an addict like Kestrel, it was negligible. He probably wouldn’t even feel drowsy. Instead, the tension throughout his body would release, making him extremely calm, and his heart rate would slow. That’s why it was the drug most sought after not only by snipers but also by bank robbers and terrorists before a big job.

“If you’re scared, just take half.”

Want me to break it? Just as Kestrel picked up the pill from his palm, the office door opened, and Samuel and Mickey entered. Sensing the distinctly tense atmosphere, different from moments ago, the two momentarily froze.

“What’s going on? Who are you aiming at?”

Samuel was the first to rush over. Having had experience in Tayten, Mickey quickly rummaged through a bag on the desk and pulled out a spare scope. Standing next to Kestrel, he immediately raised the scope towards where Isaiah’s muzzle was pointing. When he increased the magnification by about half, Mickey recognized the old man loitering nearby and exclaimed in surprise.

“Cedric?”

“What? Don’t tell me you’re trying to shoot Cedric?”

Samuel shouted, realizing belatedly. Kestrel chuckled, “Looks like he’s shaking, though.”

“Here, hurry up and take it.”

Seeing the pill in Kestrel’s palm, Samuel frowned, saying, “Hey…” But he didn’t actively try to stop him. Perhaps he knew it too. That in the decisive moment, many snipers choose this pill before prayer.

God was too far away, and time was too short to wait for an answer. But ten minutes were enough for the drug to take effect. And its effect was outstanding.

Isaiah knew it too. He had taken something similar before, though a different type. Just one pill, no more, no less, would be enough. He knew this single pill would instantly calm his racing heart and steady the hand pulling the trigger.

However, a strong effect also meant strong addictive potential. Of course, there was no guarantee he’d get addicted from this one pill. But there was no guarantee he wouldn’t, either. It always started with just one pill, just one drop, just one time. There were absolutely no exceptions to that.

“You quit this line of work anyway. You won’t have a reason to take it again,” Kestrel said, as if reading Isaiah’s mind. He was right. Isaiah wouldn’t be holding a gun anymore. Besides, thinking about meeting Martino after midnight, it might even be better to be under the influence of the drug. If he took this pill first to calm his pounding heart, and if that allowed him to blow Cedric’s head off in one shot, it could be a very rational choice. Honestly, there was no downside. For everyone gathered here.

But for one person.

「I have to swat away the bugs for you, make sure you never have to do things you hate just because others tell you to. In place of unworthy parents, I have to cherish and treasure you many times over.」

He was certain that Bran, who wasn’t here, would hate it. And Isaiah didn’t want to destroy with his own hands the precious existence Bran had painstakingly protected. Absolutely not.

“I don’t need it.”

Isaiah turned his head away.

“Suit yourself.”

Kestrel pointedly tossed the pill from his palm into his mouth and started chewing. He grinned while watching Isaiah put his eye back to the eyepiece and turn the fine-tuning dial to correct the focus that had shifted.

“If you make the shot from here, I’ll call you a god then.”

I am already a god.

Isaiah retorted inwardly. He couldn’t make a sound. The movement of his facial muscles could disturb the focus he had just managed to set. Isaiah breathed as shallowly as possible, waiting for the objects within the crosshairs to become clearer. He kept repeating inwardly.

I am the god and salvation of all snipers. Anyone who believes in and relies on me has nothing to fear. The same goes for me. I am my own strength, my own song, my own salvation.

His breathing grew fainter and fainter, and his heartbeat began to slow. The pounding sound that had been thundering in his ears abruptly quieted, until soon, he couldn’t hear anything at all. Not the voices of others, not even his own breath.

His vision flickered, slowly narrowing. The world within the circular scope shimmered, and the image focused in the sight grew blurry.

But it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered anymore. Possible or impossible. Right or wrong. All that was logic outside the circle. The logic within the circle was extremely simple. If it enters the crosshairs, shoot. Unconditionally.

Finally, abruptly, someone entered the circle. He couldn’t tell who it was. Whether their hair was white or black. Whether their eyes were blue or brown. But it didn’t matter. They had entered the circle. Whoever it was, they had entered the circle, so he just had to shoot.

Isaiah pulled the trigger. The power of the potent 8mm class magnum transferred directly into his shoulder. To prevent the impact from pushing his shoulder back, Isaiah used the recoil to grip the rifle even tighter. It would take 3 seconds for the 250-grain Lapua Magnum bullet to travel 1480 yards and reach the target. If he missed, he would have to shoot again immediately after those 3 seconds. Cedric would surely move in that interval, and he’d have to predict that movement and shoot, requiring intense concentration. This was precisely why the second shot was typically considered twice as difficult as the first.

After 3 seconds that felt like they would never pass, Cedric finally crumpled to the ground. Police instantly swarmed around the fallen old man. The four or five officers already beside him seemed unable to believe a bullet had flown through such a narrow gap; they crowded even closer around the collapsed Cedric, constantly looking around. Because of this, it was impossible to confirm Cedric’s condition, but judging by the amount of blood flowing beneath the officers’ feet, the possibility of him still breathing seemed extremely slim.

“Crazy bastard,” Kestrel muttered quietly beside him.

“You really are a crazy bastard.”

“You should call me a god.”

“Hey, God. Please come back to WD. You have to shoot. If you don’t shoot, who will?”

Isaiah didn’t respond to Kestrel’s words, merely turning the muzzle in the opposite direction. More accurately, he shifted the scope’s position.

Bran stood in the same place as before, a short distance away with his lawyers. Half the police officers guarding his vicinity had run towards Cedric, making Bran’s face more visible than before.

Amidst the surprised and murmuring crowd, Bran alone wore a blank expression. It was impossible to know what he was thinking, but he clearly looked angry. Probably because he knew who fired the shot.

Even so, Bran never looked this way. He must have known the shot came from the The Bell building, yet he just stared coldly towards the gathered crowd, never turning his head until the very end.

A moment later, Bran, handcuffed on only one wrist, got into a police car parked right beside him. It seemed to be an earlier departure than scheduled, as the officers standing around him belatedly scrambled into the car. Someone closed the door from the outside, and the car drove away from the church parking lot.

“Let’s go too.”

Isaiah finally spoke as he removed the scope attached to the rifle. Mickey quickly brought over an empty caddy bag from the desk. Isaiah detached the rifle’s barrel and receiver, placed them in the bag, and added the scope. He folded the bench rest and tucked it into an outer compartment. While he did this, Samuel and Mickey gathered the notebooks from the desk and put them into a fishing bag. Busy packing the gun, Isaiah didn’t see the two exchange glances as they handled the ledgers.

“So, where are we heading now?” Mickey asked, shouldering the fishing bag containing the ledgers.

“We need to go to Liberty Harbor,” Isaiah said, picking up the caddy bag.

“Liberty? Why there?” Kestrel asked. Perhaps the drug had started to take effect, as his speech was noticeably slower and calmer.

“You don’t need to know.”

Isaiah was shouldering the caddy bag, about to leave the office first. Suddenly, Mickey, standing beside him, grabbed Isaiah’s waist and threw them both to the floor. Almost simultaneously, BANG! A loud gunshot echoed from behind.