The Interview

One interview to go. It had been a grueling process, meeting with several people over the three months, performing tasks to demonstrate my abilities, but today it would finally be over and I would know if I was worthy enough to join Slayers, Inc., as they humorously liked to call themselves.

"Ah, welcome, John. Please, come on in and take a seat."

So far, so good. The elusive Mr. Fortesque seemed friendly. I shook his outstretched hand, firmly, but not too firmly, smiled, but not too cheerfully, and waited for him to sit before sitting in the chair opposite. He offered me a drink and I politely refused. I didn't need distractions to get in the way of this meeting.

"So, John, what are your thoughts on joining our elite little group?"

"Well, sir, I have been so impressed with everybody I've met. It would be an honor to work for you."

"Excellent. And you think you are up to the task?"

This was going better than I had hoped. He seemed to be genuinely interested in my joining them. "Oh, yes, sir. Absolutely." I stopped there, wanting to appear confident, but not so much so that I came across as arrogant.

"Well, your rifle and handgun results are certainly impressive, I must say."

"Yes, thank you, sir. I am quite confident in my ammunition skills. I've been using firearms since I was a kid, so I'm completely comfortable around them."

"And, well, I suppose this is the number one question; how do you feel about using those gun skills to kill what you may perceive as innocent people?"

Of course, I had been expecting the question. All I had to do now was give the correct response, without it coming across as rehearsed. "Yes, sir. I have to admit that is not something that comes naturally to me...", I paused for a moment to emphasize that I had thought about this difficult subject, "but in the end, it simply comes down to trusting your organization, which I do, 100 percent. I believe if the president of the United States knows what he is doing, it is not for me to question his decisions."

"Very good, John. I know it's not easy to kill a fellow human being when there is no context to why you are killing them. To be perfectly honest, even the president doesn't know what we do here. I think it's best that as few people as possible know."

I blinked at those chilling words, but tried my best to show no reaction. I wondered if he had let slip, or if he really wanted me to know that they were acting autonomously.

"Actually, just to correct you, sir," I decided now was as good a time as any, "you are right that the president didn't know..." I quickly reached into my pocket, pulled out the Glock, and pointed it at Mr. Fortesque. "Not until recently." I fired off a perfect shot, right between the eyes.