American variety show: Sniper Elite

Chapter 12 Matilda
Beta and Matilda sat facing each other on plastic chairs in the amusement park's ice cream shop, two sundaes piled high like small mountains, wisps of white steam rising from the air conditioning.

The strawberry jam slid slowly down the rim of Matilda's glass, and Beta couldn't help but laugh as she tried to catch the dripping jam with her tongue for the third time.

This was the third day since Leon had temporarily traveled to France to hand over his duties.

Beta, the only adult that the reclusive assassin trusted, naturally became the best choice to take care of Matilda.

Over the past 72 hours, they have visited all the must-see places around London, from the Ferris wheel on the Thames to the antique shops in Camden Market.

By this moment, Matilda had shed her initial wariness, and her canvas backpack was covered with various commemorative badges, which jingled as she swung her legs.

When Beta's hands ruffled her short, ear-length hair, the little girl just pouted and continued to focus on dealing with the melting mountain of ice cream, muttering angrily, "Hey, my hairstyle."

Looking at the little girl's pouty expression, a gentle smile appeared in his eyes: "Although you always like to pretend to be an adult, in my eyes, you are just a little girl who is happy about ice cream."

Matilda retorted angrily, "I'm 11 and a half years old! I'm a big girl already! Tell me how old you are!"

Beta said slowly and deliberately, "29."

He gestured: "I've lived one and a half cycles longer than you. The year I officially entered this industry, little one, you weren't even an embryo yet."

Matilda was about to retort when Beta pressed a spoon covered in cream against her nose.

Matilda wrinkled her nose and vigorously wiped the cream stains off the tip of her nose with the back of her hand.

She rolled her eyes in her signature way, her hair bobbing as she did so: "Childish."

Beta wisely stopped joking and instead stirred the melting ice cream at the bottom of the cup with a spoon: "So what are kids your age playing these days?"

He tried hard to recall the items on the convenience store shelves: "Trading cards? Or those little glow-in-the-dark elf toys?"

"Are you an unearthed artifact?" Matilda's phone slid from her fingers onto the table.

“Who still does that stuff these days?” She unlocked her phone, her black-painted nails tapping rapidly on the screen: “We all post on Instagram and make challenge videos on TikTok.”

She paused, looking at Beta suspiciously: "You didn't even have a smartphone when you were a kid, did you?"

Beta tapped her fingertips lightly on the glass, making a crisp sound. "Twenty-nine years ago? Back then, Leon was still playing soccer on the field in his middle school uniform. A smartphone?"

Matilda put her phone back in her pocket and rested her chin on her hand: "So what did you play with when you were a kid?"

Beta's gaze became unfocused, as if looking into the distance through time: "Nine-millimeter submachine guns, .45 Colts, and the most unforgettable thing about AKs is shooting at human targets at the shooting range. Now those safety-first shooting clubs have banned it long ago, saying that it 'easily incites violent tendencies'."

Beta continued to recall: "And what else, oh, someone would sometimes take me with him to complete his rush orders."

Beta's fingertips gently caressed the glass, the cool touch seeming to evoke even more memories.

“The most outrageous thing is,” he suddenly laughed, “that in the winter of 1993, in a Brooklyn bar, he killed three people with just a pencil.”

He casually grabbed a straw from the table and made a throat-spitting gesture in front of Matilda: "Just like that, three slurps, three slurps, and I took down three Russians. The jet of blood gushing from one of their carotid arteries stained the neon sign red."

He tilted his head, as if admiring an imagined scene: "Do you know the most exciting part? That pencil could actually write later." Beta leaned closer and snapped his fingers twice in front of Matilda's frozen face: "So, compared to this, aren't your lip-syncing videos a bit too boring?"

Matilda's throat bobbed, and she found her voice a little dry: "The 'someone' you're referring to, are you talking about your father?"

Beta didn't answer, but instead turned her gaze to the amusement park, eventually settling on the shooting booth covered in colorful balloons.

His gaze settled on the plush toy wearing a fisherman's hat at the very top: "Look at that, a genuine Paddington Bear, complete with a Union Jack scarf. Want it?"

Matilda keenly sensed his intention to deliberately avoid the topic, so she swung her legs in cooperation and joked, "What a surprise, I thought an old fogey like you only knew that foul-mouthed furball from the movie 'Ted'."

Beta chuckled, got up and left the ice cream shop, heading straight for the shooting stall.

He pointed to the Paddington Bear and said to the stall owner, "I want that one."

The stall owner picked up the air gun and handed it to Beta, explaining, "Five pounds, five bullets. If you can hit that moving alien spaceship, you can take it."

Beta took the air gun, handed over five pounds, and glanced at it: "Which alien spaceship? The one hiding behind those two mountains, constantly moving?"

The stall owner nodded: "That's right, that's it."

Beta raised the air rifle, pulled the trigger, and the plastic bullet went astray with a "ding," hitting the tin-covered mountain peak on the right. It was quite normal for the stall owner to tamper with the air rifle.

Beta pulled the bolt to reload and aimed again, but the second bullet passed through the gap between the two mountain peaks and failed to hit the moving alien spaceship.

The third time, Beta aimed and calculated the alien spaceship's oscillation trajectory.

With a crisp "ding," the metal plaque representing the alien spaceship fell to the ground, and the stall's speakers immediately erupted with cheers of "Amazing!"

Beta put down the air rifle, and the stall owner took down the Paddington Bear hanging at the top and handed it to him, praising, "You are really amazing, sir! Not everyone can do that, hitting the target with just three bullets."

He paused, as if suddenly remembering something, and added, "Oh, no... a young man did it before, and he even brought his wife with him."

Beta examined the Paddington Bear in his hands.

He took the doll back to the ice cream shop and handed it to Matilda: "Another travel souvenir."

His voice carried a gentle smile: "Keep it safe. When you're fifty and see this little bear again, you'll remember today that a friend named Salong Wick won this gift for you at a shooting range."

Matilda stuffed the Paddington Bear into her backpack and continued eating her cold drink: "I'll keep it safe."

She tilted her head and looked Beta up and down: "Is something bothering you?"

Beta turned to Matilda: "Oh?"

　Besides the killing spree, I hope to enrich Beta's character and interweave other stories.

　　
　
(End of this chapter)