Vengeance. . . . Reviews Are Welcome!

The night breeze was slow and chilly, the night itself, deathly silent and black; every night creature seemed bizarrely quiet and the moon hid beneath a thick blanket of clouds, as if in anticipation of what was about to happen.
It was 1.13 a.m. and they were gathered in a loose circle; some upright, some on their haunches, whilst others leaned against wilted remains of trees and rocky outcrops, in the bushes just beyond that, was once upon a time, a quarry site. He laid his head to rest once more upon the barrel and felt the cold sting as metal met flesh. Slowly he moved, birds eye view through the scope, picking and discarding head after head, tracing out the outlines of each face from the light of the cigarettes in their mouths. He was searching for the piece of highest value on the imaginary chessboard that was spread out beneath him and he was intent on taking his time and getting it right this time.
Perched atop the engineering building, which was a few meters from the solid concrete fence that separated the serene, academic grounds from the wilds beyond. He could see every one of them and their apparent ignorance of the fact that someone was watching their every move made him feel god-like!
The search continued as the swatch on his left wrist continually ticked in tune to his heartbeat. Finally, he spotted that which he sought. The head of the pack! “Edmondo – The Animal.” He was leaning against a three feet stock pile of rocks, head raised to the skies, reveling in the marijuana-induced high, right hand suspended in mid-air, just over his mouth; faint silhouette casting the caricature of entrancement.
Suddenly, the silence is broken by a rent of obnoxious chants and squawks that fill the still night as members of the group burst into a drug induced frenzy; gyrating to the sounds of drumbeats from a corner of the circle. All but one moved from their positions in the ensuing frenzy. He sucked icy, cold air; steadied his aim and released the guage of the Weston Essex, pulled back the trigger and let fly. “Whish, whish” was the report as two bullets left the silenced gun’s ultra-slim nozzle and cut through the cold, still air headed straight at the base of the jaw of the un-moving, unsuspecting leader of the Black Cats confraternity.
He bothered not to double check to see if the target was hit… there was no need to; the hue and cry from beneath told him all he needed to know.
What was once a deathly silent night, broken by the discordant hums of a drugged and drunken choir; was now a stage of full-scale bedlam! Gun shots rent the air in all directions, as the Black Cats took fired round after round into the night at their invisible assailants as they made their get-away from the site leaving behind the partially headless, lifeless body of their leader.
Deftly, he dismantled his weapon of destruction into little units and stuffed them in the false bottom of his black “Snoop Dogg” duffel bag, pushed the bag up against the side of one of the four raised embarkments that blocked off the view of the buildings decked summit from its surroundings and laid down his head on it as he awaited the stir below to subside with the coming of dawn.
This was only just the beginning he thought to himself – only the beginning!

apart from all that suzanne has pointed out
your tale is quite gripping, it\'s an impressive effort.

let\'s have more of it please.

Nice work, strong literary skills. Please keep it up.

I like the imagery. I could see, and feel it happening.