You walk into the barber shop, and instantly spy your target. You slide into the back room of the barber shop without anyone noticing, and instantly slip on the barber uniform you’ve stashed in the back for this very moment. You exit the back room, but not until after popping a prolonged cyanide pill that will kill you in exactly 31 minutes and 24 seconds. You exit the back room and approach the barber taking care of your target, slide them a 20 and say, “I’ll take this from here.” You slowly pick up the comb, and start combing around their headphones, preparing them for the fateful moment you know will come soon. After around 23 minutes of precise combing and snipping around the headphones, you know it is time. You slowly raise your hands to the muffs of the headphones, and in what swift motion yank them away from the target’s head, fluidly sliding them over your own ears before sprinting to the exit of the shop. Before you open the door you take one look back at the target slouched over on the ground, whispering, “Breathe, 1, 2, 3,” before exhaling their final breath. You dash into the alley three buildings down and crash against the dumpster. As your final breath leaves your body as the cyanide kicks in, you whisper, “Finally, I have learned to breathe.”