If anyone has a list, it's Jen Blaylock. There are things to be done. Oh yes, there are things to be done . . .
While she waited for the night to deepen, Jen Blaylock thought about lists. The old year was ticking over into the new, and once again, all the talk was of lists. Things that were best, things that were worst, things that had to be done, things that had to be done differently. Blaylock knew about lists. She had her own. She had many.
One was the everyday loadout of death. It changed according to the target. Tonightâ€™s was simple: C7A1 assault rifle, SIG Sauer P226 pistol, Grohmann combat knife, rope. This kind of list was the most pragmatic. It was driven by the need of the operation. It was driven by the other list. The target list.
Had she ever thought, when she set out to destroy the man for whose sake her family had been killed, that his death would suffice? Had she ever lied to herself like that? She couldnâ€™t remember. If she had, she had no such illusions now. She was always adding to the list. There was no shortage of criminals untouchable by law. Some of them were even makers of law. All the better. She killed them all. She learned who they were, and added them to the list. The roll call grew. She worked hard, but however many names she crossed out, the growth continued.
She would never be done. She knew that now. She rejoiced in that fact, because what she had also come to know was her own truth. Her identity was the driving force behind all the lists. No matter what variations the new year might bring, no matter what changes she made to the target list, no matter what weapons she chose, one thing remained constant. It wasnâ€™t anything as simple as need, as trivial as desire, or as weak as obsession. It was a reality.
She was war.
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