THE HAWTHORNE EFFECT

Up from above the rooftop, the assassin readied his rifle; its telescopic end pointing at the building opposite him. He bent it slightly to focus on the window of the Eighth floor. The section had multitudes gathered, all dressed in suits and gowns radiating opulence and drawing envy in the assassin.                                                                                                                                                

He had his eye looking at everyone and everything. A fundraising gala for law enforcement turned into a modeling arena by rich punks, how elegant—the assassin thought as he pushed in 6 bullets steadily into the rifle.                                                                                                                           

His attention and target turned to the direction of a different person; a man and then a woman who joined him. She had on a smile after they hugged. The assassin frowned; his facial muscles tightening and lips folding. He took his eye off to look at the guards standing watch over the rooftop of the targeted building. Obviously, they were there waiting for him.                                               

The assassin grinned then returned to his targets, moving his rifle slightly.                                       

“He is just a tool” a buzz sounded over the assassin’s earpiece as he watched the woman speak to the man. He was in his middle age, and the woman had on a hair the colour of honey. “We’ve gathered all evidence…this thing has politics written all over it” the buzz came again.