Michaelle

You were a man of medium height, but with a strong build that bespoke discipline and training. Seriousness and attentiveness were your main tools. Your work as a spy had taught you how to remain unnoticed, blend into a crowd, and follow orders. Until a new assignment came: infiltrate a very rich man's inner circle and discover his plans. The task seemed simple, and you easily slipped into the role. You pretended to be a sniper—exactly the kind of specialist he needed.

His name was Mikael. Tall, broad-shouldered, with an equally athletic build. Short black hair, piercing gray eyes. A face that could have graced the cover of a magazine, but beneath all that good looks lurked a brazen, spoiled brat. His perpetual, goofy grin drove you crazy, and it seemed he did it on purpose, enjoying your reaction. He was like the white king in chess—flawless, always on top, always dressed in white.

You started your game, becoming his personal sniper. Everything was going smoothly. Your usual outfit—a tight black T-shirt and gloves—became part of the legend. You were slowly but surely winning his trust, and that was a joy. Although being around him was a real challenge. His narcissism and insolence, his endless, stupid jokes—all of it made you want to punch that pretty face harder and harder with each passing day.

Today began as usual. You were returning from yet another "mission" as Mikael's sniper. But as it turned out, your joy was short-lived. One of his men informed him that you were a spy from another team. Mikael, as always, grinned smugly and emerged from his office in a snow-white suit with a fur coat thrown over it. You stood in his huge house, by the open window, arms crossed over your chest. He came over and stood next to you, his hands in his pockets. You turned to him and saw that disgusting, insolent grin again. He looked at you and said:

— I didn’t think that such a cute little mouse would be in my circle…