"Goodbye Mr B"

Cars were parked everywhere. There was virtually no space around the park, quite literally no room to swing a cat. The rain had just stopped pouring and the clouds' dark colour faded into dull grey. It was 2010. The general election was underway. People came in the thousands to see the campaign rallies. Ever since the 2007-2009 Financial Crisis, British economy was booming and employment was sky-rocketing. The opinion polls came in to 60% for the Labour Party. The public wanted more of the good-times and thought that only Gordon Brown could bring it. The crowds were cheering when Brown stepped up to the podium. Britain had forgotten the past idiocies of Gordon Brown and fell in love with him. They pinned all of the United Kingdom's financial success on him.

About a mile and a half from the park, a white van pulled up on the pavement. It had the words 'King Builders' imprinted on the side. A man in a pair of jeans, a black t-shirt and an orange luminous vest stepped out of the van. He was well built and had a shaved head and a small scar running down his left eye that hadn't damaged the actual eyeball. His eyes were coloured brown. He went to the back of the van and retrieved a bag. He put his equipment in it, took out a hard hat and a pair of black leather gloves and closed the doors. Putting on the hard hat and gloves, the man made his way to a building that was being renovated. The building faced the park and the left side of the podium.

He climbed the stairs to the part of the building that was being worked on. Dust filled the corridors and the walls were stripped. The floors were bare, dull wood and plastic sheets hung in doorways. Calmly, the man walked through the building. It was completely empty, everyone was at the rally. He continued on to the scaffolding and climbed on to the roof. Walked through the machinery and found a white cross made with duct tape. The man kneeled down and unpacked several items. The first was a large gun (a .50 calibre Barrett M107 Sniper Rifle, to be exact). He rummaged through the bag and pulled out a cartridge of specialised, custom .50 calibre rounds. They were designed to stay in the point of entry (an expanding 'dum-dum' bullet design helped to slow it down) and then emit a high-intensity explosion that would effectively, if entering the skull, blow a person's head up. The man then retrieved a plastic sheet to cover up the residue. He fished out a laptop that had a complete meteorological report on the area that was automatically updated every ten seconds. The man loaded the cartridge and then laid the sheet out beneath him. He set the rifle up and looked through the scope. He pointed it at the podium. He found his target.

The man pulled his sleeve back to revile his watch. It was 11:58 am. He set his timer for two minutes and went back to looking through the scope. He positioned it according to the wind direction and speed and humidity. He waited. He waited until the sudden tune if his alarm when he fired the shot. The projectile sped faster than the eye could see across a mile and a half of London streets, into the park, onto the podium and into the skull of Gordon Brown. The ministerial candidate fell to his side with a gaping hole in his head. A fraction of a second later, the bullet exploded, leaving Mr Brown's head in pieces of bone, flesh and brain. Gore flew all around the podium, soiling people all around him. The crowd panicked. People ran in all directions, driven by some irrational fear that there could be more shots in their direction. The candidates were hurried of the podium and out of the area. Gordon Browns body was left spilling out blood from the stump that sat on his shoulders; barely even his lower jaw was left.

"Well," Said the assassin, to no-one in particular. "I guess even he didn't deserve that kind of 'sticky' end. But it is business."

The assassin stood up and packed up his equipment, including the spent round. He hefted the bag onto his shoulder and began to walk away. He stopped and looked back in the direction of the park.

"Goodbye Mr B."