The assassin was in position, perched high above the city. The sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon, casting long shadows. His heart was calm, his mind focused.

He checked his rifle, the cold metal familiar in his gloved hands. The gun was a masterpiece, able to penetrate even the strongest armor. It was his lifeline, his weapon of choice.

The wind was optimal, the clouds scarce. He had memorized the layout of the building, every escape route, every possible obstacle. His high IQ allowed him to calculate every possibility.

His target was a corrupt president, a man whose actions had destroyed countless lives. He was a necessary evil that needed to be extinguished.

The assassin was a ghost, a silent shadow in the night. His identity was a mystery, even to his closest friends and family. To them, he was just a regular man with a regular job.

The assassin's skills were unmatched. He could hit a target from 200 feet away, a feat most would deem impossible. But he thrived on the impossible.

The time drew closer, his heart rate remained steady. He knew the president's schedule, knew when he would be most vulnerable. It was just a matter of waiting.

The city was awakening, oblivious to the impending chaos. The assassin was a phantom, an unseen force ready to strike.

The president emerged from the building, surrounded by his security team. The assassin watched him through his scope, his finger hovering over the trigger.

The moment came, the world seemed to slow down. His finger squeezed the trigger, the bullet flew, piercing the morning air.

The president fell, his security team in disarray. The assassin remained calm, quickly disassembling his rifle and packing it away.