One Shot, One Kill

When a man meets a beautiful woman, his instinct is to get close.

When a man gets a new weapon?

He wants to test its bite.

That drive—it's primal. Even as a kid, you'd grab a sturdy stick and start pretending it was a sword.

So when Ethan Cross laid his hands on a sniper rifle—a weapon most civilians in America only saw in video games—there was no way he wasn't going to fire it.

"Let's see what this baby can do."

He pulled the sniper from his dimensional storage and took position on the 24th-floor balcony.

Through the 8x scope, the snowy world below came into sharp focus.

Earlier, the retreating gang members had looked like ants.

Now?

Every detail—down to the snow crunching beneath their boots—was crystal clear.

Ethan held his breath. Not just to steady his aim, but to keep warm breath from fogging the scope.

Seven enemies, trudging slowly through waist-high snow.

Easy targets.

He focused in on one of them—center mass. Back of the spine.

His finger curled around the trigger.

BOOM.

The shot echoed across the entire complex like a cannon blast.

Dozens of people probably woke up in fear.

Through the lens, Ethan saw his target crumple instantly, blood painting the snow red.

"Holy sh*t. I nailed him."

He blinked.

He hadn't expected to hit.

But he'd felt something—a strange sensation right as the bullet left the barrel.

Some kind of certainty.

"What was that feeling?"

No time to think.

The rest of the Terra thugs had panicked and started running.

Ethan calmly reloaded and took aim at the next man.

There it was again—that sensation. As if his body knew where the bullet would land.

BOOM.

Another body collapsed.

"This isn't luck," Ethan whispered. "This is something else."

"I have a gift."

It wasn't just his dimensional space. He was evolving—his real ability was revealing itself.

In the past, when using pistols or crossbows at close range, he'd just thought his aim was decent.

But this?

This was unnatural precision.

He reloaded, locked onto a third man—headshot this time.

BOOM.

Red mist exploded in the scope.

"Confirmed. I've got a damn superpower."

Excited, he kept firing.

Click. Fire. Reload. Fire.

Each shot sang through the icy air like death itself.

Each bullet found a target.

Before the survivors could make it back to safety, all seven had fallen—bodies sprawled across the snow, blood turning the pristine white into a horror painting.

Seven for seven.

Ethan's lips curled into a satisfied smile.

"From now on, I'm playing god from the shadows."

"No need to fight fair. No need to even be seen."

He was the sniper king now.

—

Down below, the residents of Crestview Heights watched in awe and horror.

They'd heard the shots—each one louder than the last.

Then, they saw it:

One by one, Vincent's men dropped like flies.

"The shots… they're coming from upstairs!"

"It's Ethan! It has to be him!"

"That wasn't a pistol. That was a sniper rifle!"

"Jesus Christ—he's sniping them like it's nothing!"

Everyone stared, slack-jawed.

Some were awestruck. Others?

Terrified.

Because suddenly, they realized—

"If Ethan wanted to kill us... we'd be just as dead."

In their minds, Ethan wasn't just a survivor now.

He was ex-military, black ops, special forces—something terrifying and elite.

"We better keep following his orders…"

"Yeah. We're still alive because he lets us live."

Their fear turned into reverence.

The myth of Ethan Cross was born.

—

That night, across Crestview Heights, people couldn't sleep.

They talked in whispers. Hearts pounding.

Even those who didn't know much about firearms understood:

That wasn't a sidearm.

And in a world where a handgun made someone king of a floor?

A sniper rifle made you king of the city.

Back upstairs, Ethan stretched and rubbed his shoulder.

Sniping from a prone position wasn't easy. His muscles were sore from the recoil.

Still—worth it.

His phone buzzed.

Uncle Ray.

"That was you shooting, right?"

Ray had military experience. He could identify the sound of a sniper round from a mile away.

Ethan didn't hide it.

"Yeah. Got it from the police station earlier today."

Ray paused, then texted again.

"You sure you've never served? What's your unit number?"

"You're shooting like a damn army sniper."

Ethan grinned.

"Just raw talent, Ray. I'm a natural."

Ray assumed Ethan didn't want to talk about it and didn't push further.

"Long as it's you. If it was someone else… we'd be in real trouble."

They exchanged a few more lines before Ethan tossed his phone aside and collapsed onto his soft, warm bed.

—

Next morning—9:00 a.m.

Ethan woke lazily, took his time washing up, and finally unlocked Dr. Chloe's room.

She'd been on lockdown all night, per his usual protocol.

"Let's get breakfast. I want something hot. How about some chili oil noodles?"

Chloe smiled.

"They won't be as good as a restaurant's."

Ethan shrugged.

"That's fine. We've got time. I'm just in the mood for something homemade."

She nodded sweetly and went into the kitchen.

Twenty minutes later, she returned with two steaming bowls.

Ethan tasted it—surprisingly decent.

Just a side note: the entire apartment was under constant surveillance.

Even the kitchen.

Ethan provided all ingredients.

And on day one, Chloe had undergone a full-body inspection—inside and out.

Now, he checked her daily.

Trust? No such thing.

He wasn't about to get poisoned because he was careless.

As they sat eating, Chloe finally asked:

"I heard shots last night… Was that you on the balcony?"