The lone cloud above the man in the canyon top silkily slid across the deep blue sky. His submachine gun was pristine. The ripper catching sun and shadow in its malevolence.
The man was patient, waiting for the right time for his assault. It was imminent, as the doomed enemy platoon squeezed through the canyon floor.
More interested with the cloud he pondered when his time would be done with the military. Home is where his mind chased the cloud that led to vengeance on those who killed his young son. He had only just learned that this occurred as word reached him on the front line. A mob hit retaliation gave birth to an assasin set forth to kill.
But all the man saw through his eyes was the cloud and his building urge to kill. He pops up out of cover momentarily to scan his pray and lets out a burst of silenced fire into the skull of the tail soldier. The ripper erupts death and dreams crumple to the ground in a spray of red.
They all fall and the only sound is clinks and rubble under running boots. Time for home.
Smooth plane rides and decent food and a fine ass stewardess glide me like a cloud. They dont know what’s coming for them. Lots of grenades. The ripper must feed on dreams. He is alone in the canyon.