Tracing: The root of all evil...sometimesFirst, let me just get the formalities out of the way;alexpeanut
THIS IS MY PERSONAL OPINION AND DOES NOT AFFECT OR REPRESENT ANYONE ELSE'S EXPERIENCES, JUST MY OWN.
Big enough? Yes? We're good to go? Awesome.
So I'd like to talk about inspiration, motivation, and personal drive, all under the guise of expressing my take on the tracing debate.
I am a tracer. I've never taken steps to hide this fact, but I also don't broadcast it because the title carries an intensely negative weight with it. The community has been trained through countless reaffirmations that tracing equals stealing. That it's a lesser, baser form of expression and one to be shunned. This is logical, I suppose, at least to a point. The problem is that for me, a tracer by choice with no drive to improve who focuses on the legal, stock-based style of tracing, getting lumped in with the illegals can be a hassle.
You'll notice I said "no drive to improve". Yeah, wasn't kidding there. I'm about to drop a bombs
Introducing.... a new storyline!
The world went silent as he was given the order. All he could hear was his breathing slow into a regular rhythm as he prepared for the shot.
Adams was meant to be taking down an operative who lived in a small village, compromising of only a few basic houses. The children had drawn out a football pitch in the dirt and were playing a game with a small ball made out of scraps of fabric, bags, rope, anything they could find. Some of the parents, including the operative were standing outside, despite the sweltering heat, watching the game.
By the time the army has discovered this operative, who once worked for them, had changed sides, he had formed his own family; a wife and a two year old daughter. This was going to be a hard shot, but nothing much worse than Adams had done before.
The operative tilted his head down, to speak to his daughter, giving him the perfect shot. It was now or never. He lined the shot up carefully, making sure he’d hit the right place, just as he’d done the other 43 times and pulled the trigger.
Silence. But only for a moment. At the precise moment the shot had been taken, the operative had picked up his young daughter, resulting in the bullet piercing the child’s skull.
Adams froze. He watched from his position, the life drain from the child’s body in his father’s hands. Even though this man had done awful things, he was still human, and he broke down in exactly the same way as any other father would. His legs gave out beneath him and he sat on the floor cradling his daughter. The football players were looking around to see if they could see where the shot had derived from, but they didn't really care. The whole community had come to care for all of the families in the village and all huddled around the operative, saying prayers, and trying to soothe the mother, who was now also wailing out for her child. It was a scene of devastation.
Adams drew his weapon back on slouched himself behind the defenses, and reached for his radio.
“One shot fired. One assumed dead. Target alive.”
The reference for the person and gun came from google