Widowmaker Sniper Novels & Stories

Warren could only listen in silence. "I followed you, I made it my mission. Though it was difficult, I tried my best and hardest to keep up with your superhuman movement. Then one day I saw a sniper on the roof of another building. I had a camera that Shirley, who died in the explosion, gave me. I was going to film what he was doing. But then a shot went off, and soon after that, you appeared and killed the sniper. You killed your own friend," Maria was holding back. She reminded Warren about the darkest day of his life in such detail that Warren's breath was racing.

The woman asked. "Who the hell are you?" The sniper asked, his finger on the trigger. "Don't move, and just answer my question." In a startling display, the woman moved with an astonishing speed that seemed almost unreal. In the blink of an eye, she closed the gap between her and the sniper, leaving him speechless. Before he could react, she was right next to him. With a quick and skillful move, she disarmed him, making his gun fall to the ground. Then, in a single, fluid motion, she kicked him hard in the chest, sending him flying backwards.

After reading that note, he then shifted his gaze to the silver flashdrive on his palm with a label 'open me' and a skull symbol after that. Inserting it to a laptop seeing a single video file, he clicked the play button. " This is Hugh Henrich reporting live from Shepherd's District hospital, regarding the shooting incident this afternoon. A civilian was shot dead by thugs as they rained down bullets at his store leaving no chance for survival. The victim was identified as Tobias Ragewarden, a hardware store owner. There are still no leads about the suspects motive but according to a reliable source, it appears that he was a former member of the underground assassination organization, inf

With a heavy, mechanical clunk, the back of the oven rotated, revealing a vertical rack of blackened steel. ​Assault rifles. Flash-bangs. Ceramic plating. And my favorite—the long-range suppressed "Widow-Maker" sniper rifle that had been my signature during the Paris Purge. ​I stripped the silk robe, standing naked for a fraction of a second in the red light before pulling on a charcoal-gray tactical bodysuit. I cinched the belt, checked the mags, and felt the familiar weight of the "Huntress" settling over my shoulders like a shroud. The baker was dead. Long live the Queen.

"I just realized it myself. She is gone so soon. Your wife, I mean. And in such a horrible way at that." 'Wife? We are not married yet.' The sniper thought, curiosity slowly eating at him. Right now, he wanted to just take a quick glance at where she was but he knew he would hundred percent lose sight of Wilson if he as much as turned his head. It seemed like this their target is not a rookie as he had initially thought: He knew how to escape one's line of sight, could pick good hiding spots from snipers and even knew how to say words that was sure to cause anyone to lose focus.

"The shooter is still alive. Still in the city. They're planning something bigger. You need to find them before they try again." Morrison realized in that moment that multiple organizations were hunting for the same person. The Commission. The police. Maybe others. A sniper who'd shot a billionaire's bride at her wedding and was still alive. Still planning. Morrison pulled up the file on the shooting again. Studied the thermal image. Studied the angle. Studied the precision of the shot. 487 meters. Professional. Military-trained. Survived something (based on the Dante team's theories about hospital visits, missing eyes, broken bones).

I thought about Nathaniel and the way he had agreed to marry me and the way he seemed almost pleased when I showed up at the investor dinner and I did not think he would do this because it made him look bad too. But Victor would. Victor would leak this story to paint me as a gold digger so that when I married Nathaniel it would look like I was just moving from one brother to the next for money and nobody would take me seriously if I tried to make accusations later. "It was Victor," I said. "Can you prove it?" "Not yet. But I will." I hung up and opened my laptop and started searching for more articles and I found six more on different websites and they all said basically the same thing which

I wonder what kind of face he's going to show me once I crack his mask. He's going to stay in Giuseppe's safehouse for some time. Someone out there hired a fucking Polish sniper to kill him. The best sniper in the world. No one's seen the guy, they've only heard his name. A legend. A ghost. His sister, Adela Kowalski, was also a legend. The first female Polish sniper. I heard that she was killed by someone. The scene was wiped clean afterwards. Suspicious.

Ten miles away, on a rooftop across from Blackpine’s estate, a sniper adjusted the lens on a modified thermal scope. “Confirming target,” he whispered. Inside the scope: a faint heat signature, child-sized, walking toward a balcony window. “Target moving. No security detail.” The woman on the comms replied coldly, “Execute. On my mark.” But as the sniper adjusted, the scope glitched. Then went black. Then overheated—the screen flaring red before the device sparked and burned in his hands. He swore, dropping it, fingers blistering. And in the moment between pain and confusion, the wind rose—sharp and wrong.

"She acts the grieving widow, but she's been trying to trap me, just because I look like my brother. It's pathetic, really." Hearing the title "Commander," my mother-in-law threw herself to the floor with a fresh wail. "You have to see the truth, Commander! My poor son provided for her, and what did she give him? Just a girl! Now she wants to rob us blind! She's a leech on this family!" Catherine peeked at the commander, then buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking with delicate sobs. "Sir, she tried to take my husband and hurt my unborn child... What kind of woman does that?"