🌹FROM
https://archiveofourown.org/users/Profrock/pseuds/Profrock
Assassin! Phil
Words:5850
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Phil gazed down the sight of his sniper rifle. He shifted his hips, grimacing as the hardwood floor pressed uncomfortably into his crotch. Trevor Warren entered the scope, obliviously going about his business in his hotel penthouse suite. Phil was camped out in the only perch he could find that was at the right angle and height to see into the window of Warren's suite: A random bloke's flat he had taken over for thee past five days. Phil's intel told him that one Mr. Daniel Howell would be out for at least another week according to the plane tickets on his credit card records, giving Phil ample time to complete his contract on Warren. Phil's contract consisted of the relatively simple task of offing the billionaire, in return receiving nearly half a million pounds. Why he was being contracted to kill the man was beyond Phil; he learned quickly that in his line of work, you don't go asking questions unless you have the bullets to take on whatever the answers may bring. Digging into business that wasn't your own was a quick way to stop your heart from beating, and Phil was rather affectionate of his cardiovascular system and preferred that it stay in working order, thank you very much.
Warren pulled his mobile from his pocket, dialing a number and pressing the device to his ear. Phil watched for another number of agonizing minutes as Warren wandered aimlessly around his flat, talking down the line. Finally, Phil had him parked in front of the window, all attention given to the person on the other side of the call. Phil's finger twitched and he pressed the trigger, his bullet puncturing a perfect round hole in the window of Warren's suite before finding itself planted firmly in his forehead.
Phil only allowed himself a heavy exhale as a celebration, immediately beginning to dismantle and pack away his gun. Being twenty-eight but appearing nearly a decade younger worked in Phil's favor, being able to hide his weapon in a small backpack. He would exit the flat and blend in with the late-night University crowd, completely unsuspected on his bus ride home.
Phil heard a door slam and something heavy drop to the ground. A young man stood in the doorway, brown eyes blown wide and a hand covering his mouth. Phil whipped a pistol out of his belt, pointing it directly at the man's – he couldn't be older than eighteen though, really – head.
"Dan?" Phil asked calmly. The guy nodded, slumping involuntarily back against the door, his hands trembling.
"You aren't supposed to be back from Las Vegas until next week," Phil snarled, cursing himself. He checked his watch. He had seven minutes at most to pack up and get the hell out of there before the cops showed up. Probably less.
"Get – stay there," Phil said, flicking his gun over to the corner of the room. Dan inched his way over to where Phil motioned, swallowing heavily.
"What's – what's your name?" Dan asked, voice shaking. "Who are you?"
Phil snorted. "I'm pointing a gun at your head and you want to know my name? You're cute Dan, very cute."
Shoving the pistol into the back of his waistband, Phil grabbed the suitcase and backpack Dan had dropped and dashed quickly to Dan's bedroom. He tossed the case and backpack on the bed, quickly unzipping them and throwing a few handfuls of clothes into the hamper at the foot of Dan's bed, as well as unpacking a few other things and placing them on the bed.
Phil worked quickly, making it seem as if Dan had been back in his apartment for at least a little while, just enough time to begin to unpack and resettle into his flat. He moved quickly back into the living room, finding Dan knelt over his duffel bag, rifle in hand.
