Estate of Colonel General Pavel Aleksandrov, Rural Outskirts of Rodshyadam, Radin Oblast, Trigunia
7:30 AM, 17 December 4365
Alexei Kunetzov heard the crunch of the snow beneath his boots as he walked along a hiking path, a rhythmic "Chrk chrk" as he made his way towards the grand estate of Pavel Aleksandrov, a Colonel General and Chief of the General Staff of the Trigunian Armed Forces. A noted monarchist, he had pursued harsh actions against operatives in the Red Hand. He had to be "relieved" of his duties, effective immediately. He was nearing the backyard, and could see it through a gap of trees in the forest he traversed. The backpack he was carrying merely consisted of a case with a pistol in it, along with a silencer. There was a river separating one side of the land from the other. If he jumped it, he could make it over, and hop a fence, dropping him right in his backyard. He took a running jump and made it, nearly dipping his right foot into the icy cold water. Some of it splashed onto his heel. "Damnit, will have to drop my boots at the door. Already make enough noise, now one of them will squeak. Couldn't they have given me something... Lighter? Oh well." He took a knee right before the last of the trees opened out into the fenceline and took off his backpack, opening the case. He brandished the pistol they gave him in his gloved hands. He removed the silencer from the foam holding it, and screwed it on. He then looked across the back of the Colonel General's estate, and made a dash for the backdoor. He must've run about one football field's worth. He cursed under his breath. "Damn bourgeois and their need... For vast backyards!" He took off his boots at the backdoor and quietly opened the door, being greeted with a pleasant warmth. The room he found himself in was the kitchen, the room alone being bigger than his apartment downtown. He heard classical music one floor above him, and muffled muttering, along with a faint flutter of papers. "Must be the study. That's where they told me I'd find him." He quietly shuffled from the kitchen into the foyer, holding the silenced pistol tightly in his gloved hands, his socks somewhat muffling his footsteps. As he made his way up the stairs, his forehead began to form beads of sweat, and his hands began to tremble. This was the first time he had been tasked with assassinating a monarchist before, and despite being run through training several times, the real thing was always more nerve-racking. He found himself at a hallway, with the music being more prominent at the left side. He continued to the left, finding a room spilling light out into the end of the hall. He placed himself near the threshold, the gun close to his head, sweat beginning to trickle down his forehead. He took a brief glance inside, and saw Aleksandrov plunged deep into a stack of papers, studying them intently. His study was also larger than Kunetzov's apartment, with the centerpiece of his room being what seemed like a military map of Trigunia, showcasing current military personnel on each of the islands, as well as the locations of military bases, and even a few bunkers. The Red Hand told Kunetzov to make it seem like a suicide, so a forehead shot would seem the most plausible to the police to assume such. He wanted to yell at him to divert his attention, but his expression would be changed, making it seem more like a murder. He waited for the man to do something that would get a good shot at his forehead. From the corner of his eye, Kunetzov saw the man raise his head and grab at his nose, most likely relieving himself of a runny nose. "This is my chance. Death to you, bourgeois!" He snapped around the corner and aimed quickly, seeing Aleksandrov begin to raise his eyebrows, disoriented but rapidly realizing what was about to happen. Despite only lasting some two to three seconds, Kunetzov felt as if it lasted an eternity. He had done it. He nailed a perfect forehead shot, with the round trailing out the back of his head, splattering blood onto the wall behind him and some window curtains, before embedding itself in the window's wooden frame. He saw him slump downward and his head fall sideways onto the papers he was studying, a pool of blood soaking them and expanding out onto the large wooden table. And after that, the room was still. The music was still playing, with the smell of gunsmoke lingering around the room. The assassin took off his backpack once more, and opened the case, screwing off the silencer quickly before he burned his glove from the extreme heat, and walked over to the lifeless mass that was previously the most powerful man in the Trigunian Armed Forces. He placed the pistol in his left hand, and packed up his things before moving over to the military map. He took out a burner phone that they gave him to use in emergencies, and snapped a few photos of the information presented there. He followed it up with a text message reading "Thought I'd need to show this to you. Would certainly aid in our takeover in strategic positions during the revolution." Kunetzov slinked his way downstairs and exited as he came. He stopped at the kitchen and swiped himself a bottle of water from the fridge, opened the back door, put his boots back on, and began walking towards the hiking path, his feet being greeted once more by that familiar "Chrk Chrk".