Task Complete

The next day, the assassination that had shocked Britain and America continued to escalate.

The Ministry of Foreign Affairs spokesperson deftly parried with diplomatic phrases like "We are closely monitoring developments" and "We do not rule out taking necessary measures," calmly tossing the hot potato to Scotland Yard.

Faced with overwhelming public pressure, Scotland Yard could only shoulder the blame alone.

The Chief Superintendent stood at a temporary press conference outside 10 Downing Street, sweat trickling down from his temples. Under the camera flashes, his tie seemed tighter than usual.

"This was an extremely heinous..." His voice sounded slightly dry on the BBC live broadcast. "We have established a special investigation team..."

Meanwhile, outside Buckingham Palace, protesters held up signs reading "Britain Is No Longer Safe." A CNN reporter stood beyond the cordon, delivering a live report to the camera.

Beta lay prone on a rooftop, with a phone beside him playing the live news broadcast.

The wind howled across the rooftop, stirring the waterproof tarp draped over him. The fabric snapped in the wind like a restless flag.

Even with the scope set to fifteen-times magnification, the Chief Superintendent within the crosshairs was no larger than a soybean. The crowd surrounding him was packed together like beans in a can, their faces blurry and indistinguishable.

Beta kept his left eye fixed on the scope while his right eye monitored the live broadcast on his phone.

When the Chief Superintendent finished speaking and his deputy stepped onto the stage to reveal details of the case, Beta's breathing gradually slowed. The rise and fall of his chest became smaller and smaller, and his heart rate steadied.

The familiar diamond-shaped pre-aiming frame appeared in his vision again, and the aiming ring began to contract toward the target at an exceedingly slow pace.

The pre-aiming frame had initially been the size of a fingernail. Under Beta's precise control, it gradually shrank to the size of a soybean, then continued tightening inward at an almost perfectly uniform speed.

On the rooftop of the sixty-story building, freezing currents from high above surged freely between the building's facilities.

The fierce wind slammed into ventilation ducts and antenna supports, producing mournful wails as it carried biting cold toward the sniper's position. The waterproof tarp thrashed violently in the wind, snapping in struggle like a trapped beast.

The outline of the pre-aiming frame kept narrowing in his vision until it finally settled at the size of a needlepoint, perfectly locking onto the target's head.

Beta's breathing became exceptionally light and slow, every inhale and exhale precisely controlled. His index finger rested lightly on the trigger as he waited for the perfect instant—between two breaths, in that fleeting moment of stillness.

When the image on the phone screen switched and the female reporter stood beneath the flashes with a microphone in hand, beginning a live report against the backdrop of the chaotic press conference, Beta pulled the trigger.

The recoil gently nudged Beta's shoulder as he lay prone.

The suppressor was still attached to the muzzle. A muffled pop echoed across the empty rooftop before being swallowed by the howling wind.

The .338 Magnum round burst from the barrel, a wisp of blue smoke rising from the muzzle as the bullet vanished from sight in an instant.

Beta maintained his firing position and calmly worked the bolt. A smoking shell casing fell onto the concrete with a cling.

Accelerated by the 610-millimeter barrel, the bullet, with a muzzle velocity of 936 meters per second, traced an arc as it spun toward its target.

One second. Two seconds. Three seconds.

Beta counted silently, the crosshairs in his scope remaining steadily fixed on the target.

The fourth second—

Whoosh—smack!

A sharp, brief shriek of a bullet tearing through the air suddenly came from the live broadcast.

Jasmine, the female reporter who had been delivering an impassioned commentary, violently threw her head back and crashed heavily to the ground with a thud.

The footage shook violently as panicked shouts rang out in the background. "Jasmine! What's wrong, Jasmine?!"

The camera caught Jasmine's body lying on its back, her eyes wide open, the glaring bloody hole between her brows, and the pool of blood rapidly spreading behind her head.

After a heart-wrenching cry of "Jasmine!" the footage abruptly switched to the news studio. The two anchors tried to remain composed, but the panic on their faces was impossible to conceal.

Beta slowly relaxed his tense muscles and let out a long breath.

He neatly placed the ejected shell casing into a sealed bag, stuffed it and the phone into his pocket, then quickly folded the L115A3 sniper rifle and packed it into the bag.

It was the same familiar procedure.

He unscrewed the cap of the plastic bucket of hydrogen peroxide and poured the corrosive liquid over the rifle and its case. He removed the magazine, and the remaining bullets clattered into the bucket of hydrogen peroxide.

After finishing everything, he walked toward the fire exit without looking back. He pushed open the iron door, and his figure soon vanished into the dim stairwell. The rooftop was left with only equipment corroded by chemicals, waiting in the cold wind for the police who might eventually find the place.

A muzzle velocity of 936 meters per second, a flight time of four seconds—this had been an ultra-long-range snipe from 3,800 meters away. Beta did not care whether Scotland Yard could identify the sniper's position. The mission was complete. That was enough.

As for the L115A3, it was not that he did not want to take it with him. He simply could not get it through the strict firearms inspections at customs, so he had no choice but to leave it behind atop the building.

Beta's target this time was neither a wealthy man nor a high-ranking Scotland Yard official, but the female reporter named Jasmine. With her exceptional looks and scheming mind, she had successfully attached herself to several political figures and extracted plenty of top-secret intelligence from their pillowsides.

Unfortunately, the woman did not understand when to stop, nor did she understand the rules of the game at the top of the pyramid. Not only had she failed to restrain herself, she had even started a television column and recklessly exposed insider scandals.

That reckless mouth had ultimately enraged people she absolutely should not have provoked.

Compared with the conventional method of simply sinking the female reporter to the bottom of the sea, the employer clearly had deeper considerations. They did not merely need one person to disappear; they needed a public execution that would strike fear into people's hearts.

Jasmine had to die beneath the spotlights, under the gaze of tens of millions of viewers, so that her death would become the loudest warning.

What death could be more shocking than being shot in the head before a nationwide audience while delivering a live report on a major diplomatic incident? That bullet from 3,800 meters away not only ended a life, but also carved deep fear into the hearts of certain people.

Beta left the building calmly, and the spare phone in his pocket gave a faint vibration.

He did not check it immediately. Instead, he strolled along the River Thames like an ordinary tourist. Only after reaching the viewing platform on London Bridge did he casually take out the phone under the pretense of taking photos.

There were only two short words on the screen: "Good job."

Beta removed the SIM card and threw the card and phone into different spots in the River Thames. Metal and plastic traced two silver arcs beneath the sunlight before being swallowed by the murky water.

The mission had been completed perfectly. Judging from the employer's brief feedback, there would likely be an additional bonus this time.

He leaned against the bridge railing, his gaze aimlessly following the distant glimmering waves. The sunlight reflected off the river was too dazzling, making him squint involuntarily. At that moment, Ashley suddenly came to mind.