Cold Execution

An executioner never announces his presence; he merely settles the ledger. Drifting through the blackened rafters high above the fallen assembly court, I observed a weathered surveyor pylon standing solitary upon the cracked flagstones fifty paces below. Ghost-quiet, I shifted along the steel beam, drawing my heavy cannon into its elongated precision profile with a muffled, mechanical latch. An assassin’s discipline tolerates zero errant sound. Lowering into a crouch while steadying a reverse-gripped kunai in my off-hand, I aligned the crosshairs squarely over the pylon's primary stress seam. A true Decepticon does not waste kinetic force on theatrical noise—he delivers cold, absolute finality. With a single suppressed pulse, the stone cleaved cleanly in two.