Bullseye had accepted the assassination job with complete confidence, convinced it would be a piece of cake.
After all, even if his target was a pampered playboy and a genius, there was no way he could stop a 7.62-millimeter sniper round, was there?
As for the hero rumored to have rescued Tony from the Ten Rings Gang, Alvin Valshius was even less of a concern.
Of course, as a professional killer, Bullseye still didn't underestimate his target.
He'd chosen a sniper's nest about 150 meters from the mansion, with rocky terrain for cover and the sea behind him so he could make a quick getaway if anything went wrong.
His AWM sniper rifle was set up. Through the scope, he could clearly see the three people inside the mansion.
Bullseye had been born with an almost freakish level of accuracy. At a distance of 150 meters, he could hit an enemy's vital spot with a toothpick. And now he had a gun in his hands.
But things seemed to have gone slightly differently than he'd expected.
The woman reacted quickly. She seemed to have sensed the murderous intent on instinct, allowing one of his targets, Alvin, to dodge the first bullet.
"Interesting. That woman's got sharp instincts."
Bullseye pressed his eye to the scope, the corner of his mouth curling up. His composure hadn't been affected in the slightest.
He was a professional killer. One failed shot didn't mean anything. On the contrary, his target's keen senses gave him the same thrill as a cat playing with a mouse.
"That's it. Run like a little mouse." He was good at playing cat and mouse, especially when he could gradually narrow down their room to escape, crush their hopes bit by bit, and savor the fear on their faces. Only then