Not perfect I know, but i can't currently be bothered to add more detail or fix the few mistakes in it. x3
A dark figure quietly roamed the night streets of the city; a city still quite full of life, even at such a late time of night. A shiver ran down his spine as he pulled the flaps of his overcoat tighter against his scaled body. This night was colder than the rest, signaling the coming of fall. He passed smoothly amongst the night commuters. He was like a ghost, there but not. Without notice he ducked down a side alley and into an abandoned building.
"A few clicks down... aaaaand... there. Now, where are you...?" He whispered to himself as his eyes searched through the scope of his rifle. Directly across from him was a shaddy looking building; run down and in disrepair. It was a dying motel, one of many that dotted this section of the city. This was the poor side, the slums, where most of the major drug deals and prostitution sales were carried out. "Ah, sixth floor, room 603." This was the room that his target was in. Francis Ihardo, criminal mastermind and wanted gang leader and drug lord. The local police wanted him dead, but for the past few years, Ihardo had successfully evaded them while still carrying out his business. He had been a lucky man; that was until the police hired a freelance mercenary that went by the alias of "Guardian". The police gave him all the information he needed to know about Ihardo and Guardian did the rest. After only a few days he learned Ihardo's routine and eventually came across the information that lead him to his current position. The curtains of room 603 were drawn but a soft glow from an unknown light source illuminated the silhouettes of his target and his business partner. The reptile's breath was slow, almost non existent as he watched through his scope. This would be a difficult shot only because he had no idea which of the two sitting at the desk was his actual target. He would have to take the shot soon otherwise he would miss his chance. His mind raced while he stared through his scope, trying to think of any distinguishing features that he could make out through the curtain. Then, his mind latched onto something. Ichardo sometimes wore a Fedora. That was it. That was what he needed. He studied the outlines of the two men, looking for that distinct shape. The man on the left had nothing, but in front of the man on the right was the shape of said hat. It might have just been a coincidence. Could the Ichardo's partner really be the one with the hat? What if he was and he shot the wrong man? Ichardo would be alerted to someone after him. He could just shoot both, but his orders were no one but Ichardo dies. He couldn't wait; he had to take the shot. Crosshairs on his target, his breath caught in his throat. All seemed to still around him and all sounds ceased. He squeezed the trigger. Hardly a sound was emitted from his weapon, thanks to the silencer that he had fitted it with. Pop cans really did have their uses. His bullet flew true and struck his intended target in the head, killing him instantly. Packing up his gear the reptilian figure exited the building quickly and made his way down a few side alleys before climbing into a black sports car, speeding off into the night. A few blocks down he could hear the sirens of police cars wailing. "Ah, now to collect my pay and head off to the bar for a celebratory drink."