David squeezed the trigger, the gun spitting silently in the night, smoke rising almost lazily from the barrel. The figure at the far end of the block jerked and crumpled to the ground.
David lowered his gun slowly to his side; he did not hurry away from the scene, he did not skulk or even walk fast. David approached the cooling body on the pavement and looked down at the once vibrant face of the woman. He told himself that it didn't matter, that she was a traitor, that he was just doing his job. He wondered however, why the gun felt so heavy at his side.
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