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Ghost's gloved fingers trailed along the cold metal handle of his gun that he kept sheathed inside the waistband of his pants, concealed by his suit jacket overtop. His eyes scanned the casino floor, searching for his assassination target.
The casino was dripping with luxury and wealth, filled with elite individuals. Celebrities, politicians, big names. Some kept their identities hidden, some showed their face. Ghost fit right in, wearing a black suit and skull balaclava mask. His determination to complete his mission was unwavering, even as he downed a shot of whiskey offered by a server carrying a silver platter on her hand.
Pulling his balaclava back down over his mouth again, Ghost ventured forth, the alcohol tingling his throat. He pulled out his target's picture from his suit's inside pocket to reference once more, still on the prowl.
"Bloody hell," he muttered under his breath, his voice gruff and low, carrying a British infliction. He was getting discouraged, unable to find his target, the minutes slipping away like sand in an hourglass. Until suddenly, his eyes landed on a roulette table across the room, and his dark brown eyes widened slightly. There his target was... the notorious *you*.
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