“Target located. Line up your sights cadet. “

Cadet Flowers looked down the length of his rifle at a man sitting peacefully on a park bench. He had a newspaper unfurled across his lap that he was casually scratching on with a pencil between glances at the birds and trees that rustled around him. No lines of worry marked his face, no nervous tick disrupted his actions. He had no idea what was about to happen to him.

Flowers looked away from his rifle and back towards his commander, who was seated towards the front of the van with a pair of binoculars and a digital wind reader in hand. His dark suit contrasted starkly with his hair, which was nearly white save for the slight tint of red that stubbornly clung to what was left of his regulation length locks.

“I’m not sure this is right, sir. What did these people do to deserve this? Are they even-“

“Not our call cadet,” the officer said in his clipped manner, “The brass call the shots, we take them. No questions asked. Do you have your target?”

“Yes sir.”

“What are your adjustments?”

“Two clicks left to account for wind speed and one click for bullet drop.”

“Good. Concentrate on your target. The other teams are in position elsewhere in the city with their own marks. I don’t want you to be the only one to miss theirs.”

“Yes sir,” Flowers said, and turned back to the open van doors.

He had his rifle extended out the rear doors of the van and resting on the edge of the cement barrier that surrounded the parking garage they had set up in. It provided a perfect view of park below. Only a single pair of low buildings separated them from their target.

Flowers pressed his cheek up against the stock of his rifle and re-centered the crosshairs on the man’s chest. Spreading himself out more widely on the van floor, he centered himself and measured his breaths, waiting. Down below a woman in a crop top and running shorts was walking her dog towards the target.

A voice crackled over the radio and the officer spoke the affirmative.

There was a digital beep and then the officer’s voice started in a rehearsed speech. “Log start. Training session for the assessment of Cadet Flowers. Operation VD is greenlit. Date: Two dot One Four. Time: Two dot Three Six. Target in sight.” Then, in a more natural voice, “take the shot, cadet.”

Flowers took a breath, held it, and slowly pulled the trigger.

The rifle made a pop like a firecracker and pushed just a little into his shoulder. Through the scope he saw the little red projectile zip down just in front of the woman and strike the man just as he looked up. The man jerked upright, clutching his chest, and stared at the woman as she walked by.

Slowly his hand fell away to reveal a little red heart stuck to his chest, beating furiously as it quickly evaporated into nothing. The man slowly rose to his feet and moved to catch up to the woman, dropping the newspaper absentmindedly in his haste.

The officer’s voice rose up behind him “Strike team C12. Operation success. Returning to base.” It was answered by a garbled reply from the radio and another digital beep.

Flowers kept his eye trained though the scope, watching as the newspaper drifted to the ground and, with a small gust of wind, landed face up. The title was decorated with red ink and a pair of heart shaped arrows.