This time, the guy had hired a sniper and a good one. No wonder Kardacker loved professionalism. His metallic headplate had saved him this time but he had still felt the shot and it had been well placed. He felt like a complete idiot for making such an easy target of himself. No sun to blind an attacker and his dark clothing made a perfect silhouette of the bright yellow wall behind him. A bullet smashed through the wall only an inch or two away from his ear. This was no place to stay or he'd be as 'holy' as any saint.

He crawled on the floor in search for cover. A new bullet was sent ricocheting of his headplate and into a china vase on a shelf to his left. Dammit! He though. Soon the assassin would stop aiming for the head and then he would be done for. He reached a great chest of clothes and kneeled behind it. He looked around for something to use against the sniper. Nothing. But what could you suspect from a civilian home? Nothing was to be found here. And anything that might once have been here had been grabbed when the town had hurriedly been deserted ten years ago.

Another bullet smashed into the floor right next to him. The sniper was obviously firing from a higher position. Damn the people who had lived here before! The window on the left wall was very large, only a yard of wall on each side, and about a half yard beneath. It was broken now, of course, but the sun made quite an impression when it shone right through the hole, making the shadows play on the yellow wall. Suddenly, Zack got an idea…

Damn! The man had hid away! Jim looked through his scope. No, nothing. Why couldn't the bloody guy look out from behind that blasted chest so that he could pop him! Odd though, the way the bullets seemed to bounce off his head… maybe he had a plate under his hair or something… Well, that won't save neither his face nor his heart Jim thought. He would have to change tactics soon though.

His hirer had said that he needed this 'Dmitri' dead before 1500 hrs and now it was 1449. Maybe he could throw in a flash grenade? Nah, the guy wouldn't be stupid enough to peek out if he got blinded. He was supposed to be an Inquisitor after all! But what was this? A head came out from behind the chest. Oddly, shadows seemed to bend around the face making it impossible to see clearly, but hey! Who else could it be? Jim took careful aim and squeezed the trigger slowly.

Blood spurted out of the head. It was also a great hole through it so it wasn't really very strange. It fell to the floor, dead. No movement. Not even death cramps. The assassins bullet had struck home. Jim cheered inside. The target was down and 50 grand was his to collect. He sat up taking a sip of his hipflask. It was just 3rd rate Amasec but that didn't matter. It was alcohol so that was good. Suddenly he felt a circle of cold steel on his forehead…

“G'day,” a voice said. It was calm and emotionless. It didn't fill Jim with confidence. “…er…” Jim felt his blood freeze as he looked up into two deep, gray eyes. They were placed in a rather peculiar face. It could be of any age. It was thin, but not sickly. It looked weathered but still oddly young. The brow was bent in the knowing way of the old savant yet the man's hair and beard was thick and dark brown. It was the face of his target on close range. It also had the kind of smile you usually only find on a crocodile that knew that it was the largest, nastiest predator around.

“You fired that gun at me,” the face said. “That wasn't very nice. So what's your name Mr. Killer?”
“J-jj-jim…” Jim stuttered.
“Hi, Jim. I'm Zack! How ye doin'?”
“You-you're d-d-dead!”
“No, I'm not.”
“Yes you are! I saw you die!” Jim felt all cold inside. He had never met a ghost before. The people he killed usually stayed dead.
“Well, OK, let's say I'm dead then. You've ever met the Emperor, Jim?”
“N-no…”
“Then be glad. Now you will!”

Zacharias Dmitri pulled the trigger of his stubber. The big hole caused by the man-stopper appeared on Jim's forehead. The sniper fell backwards. Zack put the pistol back into its holster and picked up the rifle. It would make a nice trophy for later. Then he climbed down from the roof of the little outhouse and returned to the room where he had been shot at. While there, he picked up the ball of clothes he had made and used it to clean up the toxin from the floor. It had been a nice trick, he thought. Not entirely new, but not to badly executed. So to speak.