At the Stroke of Midnight

[Nichalus]

Sabastian strolled through St. Petersburg's Palace Square, a tourist among tourists. The sky above was a perfect shade of blue, the sunlight making the patches of melting snow on the cobblestones sparkle. His attire screamed “out-of-towner”—a wide-brimmed hat, colorful scarf, and a camera slung around his neck. His bags were filled with trinkets and souvenirs, all bought from the bustling local shops. He snapped pictures of the grand architecture—the Winter Palace, the Alexander Column—and smiled awkwardly at the passersby.

To anyone watching, he was just another tourist, stumbling through broken Russian as he asked a street vendor for directions or haggled for a matryoshka doll. In reality, Sabastian could speak Russian as fluently as any local, along with dozens of other dialects. But his mangled attempts at communication, his exaggerated gestures, and the tourist-friendly clothing all served one purpose: to blend in. He was a ghost amidst the crowd, utterly forgettable.

Beneath the oversized jacket, Sabastian’s body was taut and muscular, honed through years of relentless training. His movements were calculated yet relaxed, not a single muscle tensing unnecessarily. Every step, every glance was measured, part of a carefully crafted façade that concealed a man who was anything but ordinary.

But it was his eyes that held the real secret. Hidden behind reflective sunglasses, his right eye—though indistinguishable from his left—was a marvel of modern technology. It was one of the most advanced cybernetic implants ever made, able to process information faster than any human eye could. Every snap of his camera was redundant; the eye itself recorded high-resolution images and videos, silently capturing everything he needed. He zoomed in on far-off details of the square, scanning the crowd, while appearing to marvel at the local sights like everyone else.

His mission was clear: locate the target and eliminate them.

As he moved through the square, casually snapping photos of tourists, his cybernetic eye was hard at work. Facial recognition algorithms filtered through the faces in the crowd, cross-referencing with his internal database. His right hand, tucked into his jacket pocket, brushed against the small, unassuming device that concealed enough power to end lives discreetly. It was designed to be quick, silent, and effective. Sabastian had done this many times before, though each mission was different.

Suddenly, his eye flagged a match. A figure near the edge of the square, standing beside a statue, blending in just as well as Sabastian himself. The target was alone, dressed in inconspicuous clothes, much like any other traveler.

His heartbeat remained steady. Sabastian turned his head slightly, pretending to focus on a nearby building, while his implant zoomed in on the target, analyzing every possible angle. He calculated the distances, the exits, and the potential for collateral damage. This wasn't just another assignment; the person standing there was dangerous. His presence in the city meant trouble for more than just Sabastian.

His mind ran through the various methods of approach. A quiet confrontation in an alleyway? A quick strike in the hotel lobby? No, it had to be here. The target was slipping away, and this needed to be resolved now.

Without breaking stride, Sabastian began to move closer, maintaining the guise of a tourist fascinated by the grandeur of St. Petersburg. His movements were smooth, natural. He couldn’t afford to let anyone sense the danger that simmered just beneath the surface. As he approached, his hand tightened around the device in his pocket.

In a moment, it would be done. Just another part of the scenery, another piece of history recorded by the many tourists in the square. But none of them would ever know what had truly taken place beneath the clear blue sky.

[Nichalus]

As Sabastian closed the distance, his every sense was focused on the target. His fingers curled around the 'Popper' in his jacket pocket—a small disk-shaped device designed for precision kills. It had never failed him before. The plan was simple: get within range, release the Popper, and aim for the head or chest. The tiny shape charge of C-4 would fire a titanium bullet no larger than a BB into the target’s brain or heart. Instant, silent death. The perfect assassination tool.

As Sabastian approached, closing in on the perfect range for the kill, five small children suddenly burst through the gate next to his target. For a split second, his muscles tensed as his instincts warned him of the change in circumstances. But what happened next took him by surprise—the target, a man known for his cold, calculating reputation, smiled warmly as the children ran toward him. He crouched down, embracing them all at once, his hardened exterior melting as he asked if they’d gotten what they wanted from the store they had just left.

The laughter of the children filled the air, their innocent chatter forming a stark contrast to the lethal mission that hung in the balance. Sabastian's focus didn’t waver, but internally, calculations were being made. The Popper was already in his hand, primed for deployment. He could release it now, send the small disk toward its intended mark, and complete the mission as planned. But with the children so close, the risk was too great.

Sabastian’s hand relaxed slightly, his thumb hovering over the activation button. With a flicker of decision, he released it, deactivating the Popper without hesitation. His face remained impassive behind his sunglasses as he blended back into the flow of tourists, continuing to snap pictures of the picturesque square as though nothing had happened.

His thoughts were clear and precise. The mission wasn’t over—it was simply postponed. Sabastian had no qualms about killing, but he was a professional, and collateral damage wasn’t part of his method. The target’s estate, heavily guarded and equipped with top-tier security, was a much riskier prospect. But Sabastian had long since stopped seeing obstacles as problems. They were challenges to overcome, puzzles to solve. And his mind was already piecing together the next steps.

He strolled casually past the target and his children, angling his camera upward to photograph a nearby building as if admiring the architecture. His cybernetic eye discreetly captured images of the target, his children, and every detail of their interaction. He observed the body language, the subtle gestures that indicated familiarity with his surroundings, and the way the target looked over his shoulder every now and then. Paranoia, but not enough to be aware of Sabastian’s presence.

As he moved farther away, Sabastian’s thoughts shifted to the estate. From his extensive research, he knew the security layout by heart: motion sensors, thermal imaging, encrypted access points, and a well-trained security detail that patrolled the grounds. It was a fortress. But even the most secure places had weak points, and Sabastian had always been adept at finding them.

He knew the target’s routine, knew when he returned home, and where the security blind spots were. Taking him down at the estate would be more complicated, but Sabastian wasn’t one to shy away from a challenge. He had tools for every situation, from silent kills like the Popper to more aggressive methods. His mind was already considering the possibilities.

Perhaps a diversion to draw away the security teams, or infiltration through a service entrance during a shift change. His cybernetic eye would be invaluable, able to see in the dark and analyze heat signatures through walls. He would need to be patient, wait for the perfect moment, just as he had today.

As he walked through the bustling square, Sabastian’s demeanor remained that of a casual tourist, enjoying a sunny day in St. Petersburg. But beneath the surface, he was a predator, biding his time, waiting for the right opportunity to strike.

The children’s laughter echoed behind him as he made his way toward the estate's direction. The mission was far from over. And Sabastian would make sure, when the time came, it would be executed flawlessly.