Sniper: Ultimate — Kill

"He’s got a thermal," Beckett muttered. "He's waiting for us to sweat." "Then don't," Miller replied.

"Wind is shifting, three o'clock," Miller whispered, his voice a dry rasp. "Range is eight hundred meters. He’s in the bell tower, third arch from the left." Sniper: Ultimate Kill

Beckett didn't cheer. He didn't move. He stayed on the glass, watching the tower until the dust settled. "He’s got a thermal," Beckett muttered

His target was "The Devil," a legendary cartel sniper with a penchant for high-caliber precision and zero mercy. For weeks, the Devil had been picking off high-ranking officials with impossible shots, paralyzing the city of Bogotá with fear. "Range is eight hundred meters

The recoil punched his shoulder. Before the sound could even echo off the surrounding hills, the glass glint in the bell tower vanished.

The sun over the Colombian jungle didn’t just shine; it weighed on you like a wet wool blanket. Marine Sergeant Brandon Beckett lay motionless in the high grass, his breathing so shallow it barely disturbed the barrel of his rifle. He wasn't just hunting a man; he was hunting a ghost.