"Do you have the list?", a woman says as she leans in for a kiss.
A heavy set man reaches into his coat pocket and grabs his tablet, opening it to show the woman a written file.
"I do..."
The woman hands him a bag of food and wishes him well before a red strobe light ignites the room. The sound of an alarm is the only sound that can be heard until a large door opens, revealing a winter tundra just outside.
Yelling over the screeching wind and blaring alarm, the woman has one last message:
"I'm sure this time you'll get him".
She slips him his 9mm pistol, which he tucks into the same pocket as his tablet.
"GIFTER01, cleared for takeoff."
The stomping of hooves begin syncing in rythm as the aircraft begins dragging across the floor, gaining momentum and sailing away into the moonlight.
The woman watches as the silhouette of a sled becomes smaller and smaller. The doors shut and tired crew walks out of the now quiet room.
"I hope he knows what he's doing".
-SOMEWHERE ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE EARTH-
The tired old man can peeks out of his window to see his son kicking a soccer ball.
"Inside! It's getting dark", he yells as he looks to the sky.
The boy walks in but not without protest. His father has become increasingly paranoid over the years and it's garnered the attention of the family. He's built his house with walls instead of fences, formed friendships with local police he knows will check on him and is too shy to show his face around town.
"You will be fine, my love", his wife says to comfort him. "Let him play".
The man checks his watch and knows his clock is ticking.
"It's just a matter of time now", he depressingly states as he heads up to his room.
"Keep playing, darling", she says, rolling the ball outside. The boy looks to his mother. That too familiar look, after years of moving house to house, country to country, due to the paranoia of his father.
"Nothing bad will happen", she reassures him.
-THAT NIGHT-
The sled comes dropping through clouds, revealing a beautiful landscape. With his pistol in his pocket, the heavy set man commands his ship even lower when disaster strikes.
"Oh ho ho no!"
He screams, trying to pull up to avoid q low flying helicopter but it's too late. His ship clips the underbelly of the helicopter, sending the chopper spiraling down into the yard of the man he's waited years to get. The chopper settles in the dust as the pilot screams in confusion.
"What the fuck was that!?", the co-pilot says. "It didn't show up on TCAS, some other chopper"?
"No time, go".
The side of the helicopter opens as men stumble out with rifles, flipping down night vision goggles and collectively storming the building in unison.
They blow open the door, searching room after room until there's one left. Two men pull ahead of their peers and bust down the door.
In awe, they find that their target is already dead. They look around confused before radio'ing in to their command.
"Geronimo. Geronimo. For God and country. Geronimo".
-MEANWHILE, IN THE UNITED STATES-
"They got him"?
A General and Admiral stare blankly at the predator feed, puzzled.
"They didn't even fire a shot. How is this possible"?
Radio silence is again broken by one of the men, who gives further details.
"[Radio chatter] sir... there appears to be some [inaudible dialogue] of a 9mm round... [inaudible dialogue] and half eaten cookies".
The admiral turns to an administration official.
"The President had to go live with this to control the narrative... go live... and tell the world we killed Bin Laden".