Mike rode passenger-side down the highway, the blonde driving and looking bewildered. He checked his mirror for lights and sirens. Nothing.


    “That was terrifying.” She sighed. “Where are we going? You wanna stop at a hotel?” she asked.


    “The plan was the cabin, not a hotel. You know, I perform better at home with my tools than improvising.” He said, still swigging on the bottle, and getting drunker by the minute. “I’m sorry, I mean…it’s a surprise, just follow the GPS…better?” he asked, chuckling.


    “You’re one unhinged son of a bitch, and I fucking dig it.” She smiled.


    “You know, your acting skills are even better than mine. I don’t mean to break the role-play again, but was your mission successful?” he asked. She looked confused and decided to play along, intrigued and toying with the dangerous renegade.


    “Of course, Mister Black. Just as planned. We make a great team. I bet after that, you’re gonna do some bad things to me.” She smirked.


    “Horrible things. Unspeakable things, illegal in every state. I have the tools ready and everything, just like you wanted. Perfectly on schedule, stroke of midnight still the plan? How do you do it…look so different, yet so obviously desirable? Exactly what I wanted to find, without even saying it, you just…read my mind and stroll up to me with that look in your eye and that swagger that just says hurry up and do the job so you can fuck me. And you never break character.” He said, as his vision blurred slightly, pupils dilating.


    “God you have a way with words. And what character?” she gasped with a fake look. “I’m Bonnie and your Clyde, your partner in crime and your hostage, Michael.” She smirked, eyes giving off the slightest hint of a strange animalistic reflection in the headlights passing.


    “You do make it tempting to just pull over and tear into you like a Christmas present, but…it’s always better if you wait till Christmas morning, isn’t it?” he asked cryptically. “Makes the drive seem longer though, seeing your present all covered up right there looking at you, nothing stopping you but a verbal agreement and a theme, knowing what’s under the wrapping paper, knowing it needs to be the right timing, or it spoils the magic.” He waited, examining her shape.


    They hit the cabin door, already clawing each other’s bodies, their tongues dueling in the dark, as they broke free long enough to get inside and close the door.


    “To be honest, this is kind of terrifying, but I’m not saying no.” she whispered, as he lifted her and made his way to the living room table.


    “Isn’t it always?” Mike asked.


    “You’re just…different.” She gasped.


    “I’m evolving, becoming a better monster. You do that to me. You know you do that to me, and you fucking do it anyway with that look and that outfit.” He breathed, checking the clock and tightening his grip on the table as he waited the last 4 minutes.


    “So what''s next, Mister Black? Gun on the table? Handcuffs?”


    “Too predictable, as you just proved. I never like to repeat myself. We’ve done that before.” He hinted.


    “Of… course we have… Now since everyone thinks I’m your hostage and not your accomplice, I’m not in any danger of going to prison, am I?” she asked.


    “Yea right, like you’d ever see a prison cell. I’d be amazed if you ever spent more than 15 minutes in questioning. I’m the one risking prison time if you said anything. But you’d never give up your favorite plaything.” He growled, watching the clock tick down as the sound of a car pulling up got their attention.


    “Who’s that?” she asked, nervously.


    “Probably Yuri, always showing up too damn early for work. Door’s locked, he can just wait. He can wait all damn night for all I care. He wouldn’t dare interrupt or even knock. He’s got a radio in that car, he can stay busy till we’re done.” he said, suddenly grinning and tying the ropes around her wrists, as she looked more concerned. He stood up, watching the clock strike midnight, a switch-blade clicking out into position in his right hand. “Finally, time to open my present.” Mike grinned.


    “She shot me in the fucking glasses!” Yelled president DuPont at the screen, and the face of President Ivanova, chuckling at the 2 stitches on the bridge of his nose.


    “William, if she just shot you in the chest with fake bullet, how would the news cameras get the slow motion video? We gave you adequate body armor, no serious injuries. You are on national news and the internet getting a live round 2 inches from your head, a real scar on your nose from broken glasses, and a few bruised ribs. Nobody, not even president DuPont himself, is insane enough to let a planted shooter take that shot. It looks real, because your reaction was real. No acting, no doubt. Mister Black tried to kill you, and you narrowly survived. Congratulations.”


    “She shot a live round at my face from 600 yards. That could have killed me.” DuPont barked.


    “She only misses when she wants to miss. It’s over now, you''re not faking anything, the video is viral, and your involvement in this is no longer in question. There are shooters everywhere, killing hostages and people backing both parties, real copycat groups. Channel 12 just aired an episode questioning whose side the Archangels are on, why they seem to have vanished just before your assassination attempt, and why the now publicly leaked secret leader, Gabriel Gram’s younger brother, was involved in a murder and gang activity before he died. Everyone is confused, and the air is full of smoke and lies, William. You could shoot president Bloomberg yourself at the debate and people would question if it was actually you. Fortunately, we’re not asking this. You just have to show up at the debate and take cover when the shooting starts. Archangels will be there, defending you from Terrorists, and the terrorists will be taking off Bloomberg’s head, and missing you by 4 feet. Paid witnesses will say the terrorists tried again to kill you, and the Archangels you personally damned and offered a reward for catching, will be blamed for his death. Rumors will vary, witnesses will give different stories, and cameras will show nothing but shots hitting the stage and panic.” President Ivanova shrugged.


    “Missing by 4 feet…just like how those harmless paintball rounds to the chest were going to hit me, and then that psychopath you give orders to, put 2 live rounds in my direction, almost hitting me in the face and actually cracking a rib.”


    “You bled for your martyr status now, no need for a second time. Taunt them, show no fear, the next rounds will be much farther from you. Consider this a comfort, I have people capable of confidently shooting off your glasses at 600 yards and hitting the exact pocket a moment later, do you think these people could actually put you in danger at 200 yards, while intentionally missing you? They could shoot a toothpick out of your mouth from twice that far, being 4 feet off target and accidentally hitting you is hilariously improbable. Bloomberg won’t be so lucky. Orders are not to aim for his glasses, orders are to aim for the eye socket, and with predicted votes now very even, be glad you have us on your side. Even the damn Archangels are accidentally on your side.” Boris chuckled. “And we didn’t even plan that.”


    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    The morning light shined through the skylight and lit the garage with a natural glow, as Mike carefully placed a long box on the table, the sound of Yuri’s delivery service car driving away, as Nadja strolled in, robe and coffee.


    “Very interesting night, Michael.” She sipped.


    “Your timing is always truly a thing of wonder.”


    “Da, I practice a lot.” She teased.


    "With acting skills like that, it’s almost impossible to trust you to ever tell the truth. Fortunately, it doesn’t matter. But I can’t help but ask how you do it?”


    “Do what…act?” she grinned, taking on a totally different demeanor and posture. “Why, Mister Finn, whatever do you mean?” she said in an entirely new tone and accent.


    “No, I mean possession. Do you have to physically make contact with them, or can you just become them from sight? Are you really shapeshifting, or just hypnotizing me into seeing someone else when I’m with you? Are you taking over the dead, and then returning to Nadja, or am I killing Nadja and you just take the dead girl and become Nadja with that body? You never explain how it works. You take a hostage, you sacrifice the hostage, I get whatever form of you I want to play with, I kill you, and 666 seconds later you’re yourself again, and Yuri takes the dead hostage away. Catherine took a 7.62 round to the face, and yet there she was on my cross, not exact, but definitely Catherine. You sure didn’t capture her conveniently secret twin sister and possess her into going to that Blues Bar for me to hunt. Was she just a blonde that looked close enough like her, and after possessing the dead body, you twisted my mind to see the rest? Was it just Nadja in a blonde wig to everyone else at the bar, and only I saw Catherine?”


    “Michael, if you explain the magic trick, it’s not fun anymore. We have so much fun left to have, why ruin it with details?” She grinned.


    “I’m supposed to be the magician here. Makes me a little nervous when another magician has way better tricks. Ballistic loopholes, untraceable guns, seeing in the dark…far cry from shape-shifting, possession and animating the dead.”


    “Give it time, maybe your magic will evolve and baffle me.” She grinned.


    Mike opened the box and laid out his final order. A look of confusion washed over Nadja’s face.


    “Oh, that’s a thing of beauty.” He sighed.


    “I would be furious and disappointed if I did not know you, Michael. Many thousands of dollars and this is what you ordered? A piece of wood, a bucket of glue, and some wood stain." She joked.


    “Oh, the irony of how close you really are. I promised you a president killing gift, and here is the final piece. A piece of Pao-Ferro wood.”


    “It seems like there would be cheaper options, why wait so long for special wood when barrel is fancy spider-silk carbon-fiber anyway? And how you plan to get that close to your target does puzzle me.”


    “Well, if I tell you the details, it ruins the trick. I can promise you, with this cane, getting close won’t be a problem. This Citizen Cane is destined for murder, and it’s gonna taste presidential blood soon.”


    Tanner and Gabriel sat at the computer, the rest of the group asleep or taking a break. She rubbed her eyes and scrolled more.


    “I mean, it’s so obvious He’s going after the Bloomberg at the debate, I just don’t know how or what can stop him.” She sighed.


    “We can, but not unarmed and if he’s got guns inside. I still don’t understand, he’s been taking shots at DuPont and his supporters. Why do you still think he’s after Bloomberg?”


    “Because, I’ve told you: DuPont is crooked and working for the Russians, and Nadja is either a Russian spy or a Russian demon. Those supporters were the distraction, it’s double reverse psychology. The DuPont assassination was a fake. Look. The weapon recovered was a 12,000 dollar rifle just left behind. That’s Nadja spy level disposable money, 6mm PPC shooting brass solids like Mike uses would have gone through that soft vest like butter. Mike doesn’t miss twice, neither does Nadja. Look at the pictures, hands are too small, that’s Nadja in a Mike suit, Mike did the Lil Bussy kill, or whatever the fuck his rap name was. Lil Infant, Lil Gat or something. It’s all diversion and mind-fuckery.” Tanner sighed.


    “Looks exactly like Mike...is she really a demon shapeshifter? Sub .5 MOA 600-yard shot with a folding briefcase rifle, you think she’s so good she risked taking his glasses off with a round? DuPont isn''t a traitor, that was a real attempt on his life.” He insisted.


    “Look at the slo-mo. Copper round, dark gray tip, not a brass solid. That’s a softpoint round, not an armor piercing sniper round, that was intended to stop on a vest at 600 yards. She’s beyond good.”


    “Yea, with those weird eyes of hers. What do you think, magnifying contact lenses, some spy shit that makes your vision sharper?” Gabe asked. "Or just actual evil?"


    “I dont know. Half the time she doesn’t even look at you, it’s like her hands have eyes, or she mentally becomes the bullet or some shit. Her eyes are closed in this frame, and she’s taking a shot almost behind her back with a 5 or 6 inch barrel 22 pistol. Fuck, she may literally be a demon. Even Mike has to look where he’s shooting. Is she just gonna rush the stage and stab him? Just eat 50 9mm rounds to the everything and not die, yank the president’s head off with her hands?” Tanner pondered.


    “They raised security through the roof. Indoor venue, no windows, metal detectors, no re-entry, VIP tickets only, Secret Service for both candidates, there’s no way they can get a damn throwing star in there, let alone a gun, and the place is security swept before the debate, probably during it, facial recognition on all the staff, probably scan cards you can’t fake. She has to be planning to go point-blank and maybe stab him with a poison pen or a damn piece of wood?”


    Nadja strolled into the workshop, looking bored, watching Mike finish his last delicate pass with the sandpaper on the deep brown wood.


    “You’ve been playing on the lathe for hours.” She said


    “Unfortunately, I get one chance to do this. The idea is that it needs to look like one solid piece of wood, so I’m making it from one solid piece of wood, and if I break this part, I start over and have to order another piece of very expensive wood.”


    “You have been wrapping and gluing layers of silk around a metal rod for days, and then you spend all day drilling a hole in this long, expensive piece of wood. Now you have glued this into the wood, and you have shaved down nearly all of it.” she studied closely.


    “Hours of removal to end up with a paper thin layer of wood over a plastic barrel. Like Veneer.” He sighed.


    “And why not just use veneer?” she asked.


    “Because there would be a visible seam. I can’t claim this is one solid piece, if it has visible seams, so it has to be continuous. That’s why I picked a dark figured Pao Ferro. By the time I slather it in stained lacquer, the difference between this and a 15,000 dollar piece of solid endangered rosewood, is indistinguishable to anyone who isn’t a wood expert, and bothers to inspect it closely. The flamed maple inlay pieces hide the cocking lever and trigger, end cap. No reloads, no taking it apart. Once the pieces are glued and pinned, it’s loaded and can’t be unloaded or reloaded.”


    “And you’re confident enough to think one shot is enough?” she asked.


    “Who said this was a single shot? I gutted and modified a Ruger Buck mark pistol, did a casting of the pieces, in carbon-fiber spider silk, not a metal part in this gun except the titanium rifling in the chamber. Just enough to get it spinning. This normal pair of binoculars you can get at any store, modified and re-glued, breaks in the middle, clips onto the little dovetails in the grip. Now you have a scoped semi-automatic rifle, 15 rounds of polymer 22 Igrushka short. Adequate for 200 yard headshots.” He grinned.


    “Where do the rounds eject?” she said looking at the blueprint.


    “They don’t. Combustible cases don’t need to eject, once the round fire’s there’s nothing to expel. No suppressor this time. No reloading, no second chances.” Mike exhaled.


    “What if it jams?” she asked.


    “Then I’m fucked. Once it’s glued into the wood, there’s no disassembly and if cocking it again or violently shaking it doesn’t work, it’s just over. It’s an open-bolt, slam-fire repeater with a fixed pin and direct blowback. It’s as simple as it can get. Why the look, you doubt my skills, or you suddenly don’t like to take dangerous risks anymore? I only need the first one to fire to kill a president, after that it’s just getting out alive, so I’m the one risking my ass.”


    “How accurate will this be?” she asked.


    “Enough. I can’t exactly test it since it can’t reload now that it''s assembled.. This isn’t a very powerful caliber, it’s just as powerful as the gun can handle. Any body armor at a hundred yards might stop it, he might survive one to the chest even if he’s not wearing a vest, which he will be. This is a headshot by faith gun, and I’d have you do it, but you know I need this to truly be complete. There’s no higher kill, no bigger risk and no tier up except killing god himself. Holding my hand on my plan proves nothing, and you need me to become like you. This is everything we both want. I need you to trust me for once when I say I WILL hit my mark on the first shot, and the rest is just escape rounds. I’ve trusted a lot of your ideas, don’t doubt me on mine.” He said, almost informing rather than asking.


    “Keep acting like that Michael, and you’ll be doing more real magic than seeing in the dark. The Judas Cane is perfect. Betraying God and country with a walking stick. How does it feel?”


    “Like I can taste the blood already, and I can’t wait to pull the trigger.” He growled.