The Warren Commission Will Have A Field Day With This

Pardon the pun. (You'll soon see why).

This is a record I'll leave here, and hope someone reads it. Though it really doesn't matter, you don't know me, and I won't ever be able to tell anyone in person - which, is a shame, considering my job has led me to do some very influential things. Horrible, yes, but influential. You've probably seen my work. Below lies an account of the most (in)famous job I've done yet. I hope someone knows what to do with it.

14 October, 2003 ---
A half-burned cigarette hung from my mouth, as I stared out into the crowd, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. I scanned faces, read lips; it's easy to figure out so much about a person just by looking at them walk, talk, even stand for a few minutes. I wait.

I've spent years preparing for moments such as this. I've staked out this spot based on countless hours pouring over reconnaissance photos, studying angles, calculating probabilities, anticipating the unexpected. Thousands of preparatory hours drain like sand into a few seconds of action.

I am ready; I'm a face in a crowd, blended into this throng of people, identifiable only by a name which isn't even mine. With luck, they won't even remember I was here. Conversation surrounds me like a comfortable blanket. The sheep protect the wolf when they think he's one of them.

I hear my signal, a crack that echos across the buildings. It sounds agreeably like a starter's pistol, spurring me to use the stairs I waited on as starter's blocks, propelling me towards my goal. I see my target now, spiraling towards me, our collision quickly becoming a conclusory exercise in physics. Now, mid-flight, I plan the second act: the escape.

My exit strategy focuses upon the man sitting in Aisle 4, Row 8, Seat 113. Unassuming, wearing headphones, a face in the crowd who will be soon much more than that. He's the closest one to where I'll need to be, and for this sole reason, he becomes my patsy.

The ball falls down from its lofty heights, the outfielder moves in to catch it, and in this moment, I act. I move with my mark, mimicking his actions at first, then extending outwards to intercept the ball before it reaches the safe confines of the outfielder's glove. He doesn't notice, no one notices, and I slink away, a shadow, a void. It's amazing what the human mind will do when a gap of information occurs. You knew he was the one that did it, right? He thought he did it too.

That's not the only job I've done, nor is it the last. In the established structures in our society, there are always hidden conduits where information is shared and the structures are subtly altered. I'm just one of those conduits.

This is obvious.