Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - The Art of Assassination Zoe Horn’s Deadly Double Life and a Perfect Kill #66

Episode Date: July 18, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales#assassination #deadlydoublelife #perfectkill #shadowagent #silentkiller  The Art of Assassination: Zoe Horn’s Deadly Double Life and a Perfect KillZoe Horn lived two lives: one as a charming artist in the city, the other as a cold-blooded assassin who never missed her mark. When a mission to eliminate a high-profile target takes a sinister turn, Zoe must navigate deception, danger, and the shadows of her own mind. Perfection in her craft comes with a price—and sometimes, the deadliest secrets are the ones closest to home.  horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, assassinstory, doublelifehorror, silentkiller, shadowassassin, deadlymission, perfectkillstory, darksecrets, twistedmind, psychologicalthriller, urbanassassin, dangerlurks, deadlyart, covertoperations, killerslife

If a well-executed hit was a work of art, then Zoe Horn was Pablo fucking Picasso. She could create a pseudo-accident so believable that homicide detectives would laugh out loud if anyone suggested foul play. She could frame a former lover with such conviction that their own lawyer would recommend plea deals before the defense attorney could. She could stage a suicide that would fool a coroner and leave grieving family members hurrying to start a nonprofit for mental health awareness. As international assassins go, Zoe's code was rather typical, no kids under 15 and no members of her own family. While she didn't take any pleasure in civilian casualties, there were no guarantees in this business. Sometimes this shit just involved ending innocent lives. As a freelance journalist, Zoe had the perfect cover.

Her constant travel did not raise suspicion. She gained access to public figures, all but invisible to. to security with her press pass. She could, and had on more than one occasion, write engaging articles about the life and deeds of the same public figure she had just assassinated. Her editors were constantly pleased with the quality of such articles delivered so quickly after the tragedy, and Zoe always accepted the praise with the appropriate amount of modesty. Zoe had a handler that rendezvoused exclusively by phone to set up her hits, and she had two loving parents that recently figured out how to FaceTime, and now used it with frustrating frequency.

Zoe's extravagantly large Swiss bank account for her assassin-based earnings dwarfed the typical lower-middle-class Bank of America account where she deposited her freelance-based earnings. She was just as comfortable playing high-stakes baccarat in a Moroccan penthouse as she was gossiping with her university friends at a baby shower in the Chicago suburbs. Having done this for nearly a decade now, she had come to enjoy her double life. She loved that the radius of one life didn't overlap with the radius in the other, like a Venn diagram that didn't quite Venn. There was a certain freedom to leaving Zoe Horn's average life behind for days or weeks at a time, knowing she could come home and pick up right where she left it once the job was finished.

She had some help, of course. All international assassins have a network. However, Zoe's network consisted of just one person. She only knew him as machine teddy, a moniker. she had come up with in lieu of exchanging real names. Machine, because A, his work with tech and advanced robotics was second to none, and B, he worked tirelessly once he received a job. Teddy, because well, the guy just looked like a teddy bear, round face and tummy, brown hair, and scraggly beard. When Zoe asked him to pick a name for her, he kept it simple, calling her,

Jane. She was a bit disappointed considering he chose the name after she had dubbed him Machine Teddy, but she didn't make a fuss. She should have expected a tech geek to have the creativity of a fucking lamp post. Two weeks ago she'd received a contract calling for an accidental death. After a week researching the target, she figured out the perfect way to handle it. The solution required some nuanced tech, so she contacted Machine Teddy. He said he could make the device she requested, he just needed seven days to build and properly tested. Those seven days, days were now up, and Zoe trekked to a grimy, abandoned warehouse on the north side of Washington, D.C. The building was two stories and machine teddy had taken over the second floor. Ten cages,

each holding a dead animal, were lined up side by side against the back wall. Zoe counted three mice, one parrot, two cats, and four dogs. Their stench was almost physical, a pungent combination of shit, piss, and the early hints of rot. Zoe breathed through her mouth to keep from gagging, but Teddy seemed unaffected. She assumed he must be nose dead after a week in it. Either that or he grew up in an alleyway dumpster and just enjoyed the nostalgia. You're sure it works. Zoe asked.

She sat in a folding chair opposite Teddy. The remote device lay on an upside-down cardboard box between them. I'm as sure as one can be. Teddy jerked his thumb at the cages behind him. After the last round of animal testing, I increased the output power a hefty amount just in case it needs an extra push for humans. So it just shuts off the pacemaker. She asked. Teddy shook his head.

Much more than that. It turns the pacemaker against the wearer. The device hacks the electrodes and directs the generator to dash, fucking English, man. Teddy nodded apologetically. The remote speeds the pacemaker up to dangerous levels and then dash, he snapped his fingers, fatal heart attack. How close will I need to get? Zoe asked,

Will I need to aim it at the target? Aiming is not necessary. It should engage any pacemaker within a 15 or 20 foot radius. Show me. Machine Teddy smiled, revealing teeth the color of earwax on a used cute. tip. I thought you'd never ask. He walked toward the cages, stopping in front of one that held a black lab Zoe was confused as to how he'd demonstrate anything on a dead animal, and then the dog opened its eyes. It hadn't been dead, just sleeping. She quickly re-examined the other cages.

None of the others could be alive, they laid too heavily. Teddy snagged the dog by its collar and led it back to Zoe. The pitiful animal stumbled a few times. times, forcing Teddy to drag it the last few feet. Zoe assumed it still had some sedatives in its system. Initially, I had planned on using this one and its twin to test how well the device works in duplicate DNA pairs, he said. But his brother escaped after I implanted their pacemakers two days back. Lucky him, Zoe said. Teddy tied the dog's collar to a metal beam near Zoe then reached for the remote. He paused halfway there. Would you like to do the honors? I would. The remote was the length and width of a credit card but as thick as three on top of each

other. There were only two buttons. She glanced up at Teddy. The top button powers it on and the bottom button engages the pacemaker. It's already powered on. Zoe took 15 deliberate paces away from the beam. She held the remote and despite not needing to, she aimed it toward the animal. The dog watched her with the depressed, guileless eyes of an unloved pet. Sorry, pal. Those sad eyes never worked on me. The family dogs I lost, growing up can attest to that. She looked the lab in the eyes and held the button down.

Before she could finish counting to two in her head, the dog twitched. It flipped over onto its back and began. seizing. The yelp that came next was wildly similar to the animalistic howls of a dying human. Three seconds later the dog was still. Zoe walked to the animal and kneeled down, searching for breath or heartbeat with her hands. Perfect. She stood up again, grinning. The device had surpassed her expectations. Although it was taboo to speak of another assassin's hits, word of her work today would spread in certain circles. No one but Zoe could have come up with such an elegant solution to this particular contract.

So, you are satisfied? Teddy asked. Very. Zoe pocketed the remote then tossed Teddy an envelope from her back pocket. His toothy smile matched the manila of the envelope as he examined the bills. $225,000 in total, a worthwhile expense considering the payout. she'd receive at day's end. Before leaving, she gave him a new burner phone for the next time she might need his services. Teddy thanked her and began dousing the dead animals in gasoline.

Zoe parked her car, a cheap and previously used Mazda, near an apartment building six blocks away. As she walked along the sidewalk, she wondered whether Teddy would control the burn or let the whole warehouse catch fire. But before expending too much thought on it, Zoe decided she honestly didn't care either way. Two blocks later, Zoe passed an alleyway and had to double take. A black lab, identical to the dog she had just killed, lay on its back against the curb. Its wide open eyes and stagnant chest waylaid the possibility that it was just having a nap. Not so lucky after all, Zoe thought. Don't worry, buddy, your twin only lived a few days longer. Zoe heard the wails of a far-off siren when she reached her car.

She turned around to check the warehouse, but it wasn't a flame. And even if it were, she highly doubted machine Teddy would have called the fire department. The sirens volume increased steadily as its source, an ambulance, rounded the corner. Zoe lit a cigarette and watched with the professional curiosity of a fellow tradesman in death. Two EMTs hopped out of the truck, grabbed a stretcher from the back, and hurried into the nearby apartment building. Zoe's phone buzzed, a call from her father which she promptly ignored. She felt a little guilty, considering he and his surgery were her inspiration for the device, but not so guilty to answer his call on the day of a job.

She wasn't Zoe Horn, loving daughter, today. She was Zoe the international assassin. The E.MTs reappeared carrying the body of an old woman on the stretcher between them. The look on their faces combined with the lack of hustle toward the truck. told Zoe all she needed to know, the woman was as dead as the black lab in the alleyway. They loaded her into the truck and sped back toward the city. Zoe ground her cigarette into the sidewalk with her boot then climbed into the front seat of the beat-up Mazda. Two cigarettes and 20 minutes later, she had found a parking spot on the

fourth floor of the Washington Convention Center parking garage. Around the corner, a long line was forming at the entrance to the convention center. There were well-dressed politicians, and business folk. There were polysci students gearing up to write their various theses. There were parents leading their children, eager to hear the front-runner for the next presidential election speak. And finally there were the thrift store-clad hippies ready to protest and boo every remark. But the line held no issue for Zoe.

She was press. A security guard saw her badge and waved her ahead. Her press pass was for a mid-tier online publication, so she was in the second row rather than the first. That put the speaker's podium about 14 feet from her. If the remote worked at the range it did in the warehouse, then she should be close enough. Then again, she highly doubted Machine Teddy did any testing on the device

around enough sound equipment for a Stone's concert. But the senator was set to take questions from the press after he spoke, so if the remote didn't work now it certainly would later. While the rest of the crowd slowly piled in, Zoe pulled a notebook from her book bag. As the only member of the media who knew that the candidate was going to die today, Zoe pushed her advantage. She quickly outlined two versions of the story, depending on the success of the pacemaker remote's range. The first version assumed the senator died on the podium mid-speech. Zoe figured she'd try, as reverently as possible, to link it with

his age and the extreme passion with which he campaigned. The second version assumed he died during press questions shortly after the speech. Zoe thought it might lead nicely into a subtle reprimanding of the intensity and overzealousness of the media surrounding U.S. elections, one of those self-righteous, we can do better, type of articles that people seem to really get behind. The seats filled up throughout the room. By the time Zoe finished each rough outline and put her notebook away, the senator's wife, a former member of the U.S. House of Representatives, walked on stage to introduce her husband. The crowd greeted her enthusiastically and she returned the fervor by delivering an impassioned

speech about the change in Washington that her husband would usher in. And now, she finished, it is my absolute pleasure to introduce my husband, and your 28 presidential nominee, Senator Michael Wilkins. The crowd erupted, giving the senator a standing ovation. While they applauded and the senator hugged and kissed his wife, Zoe palmed the pacemaker remote. She powered it on. Senator Wilkins took the podium. He quieted the crowd and thanked them for the show of support.

He thanked his wife for the introduction. Zoe waited. Senator Wilkins thanked the Washington Convention Center for putting on the event. He thanked his campaign team. He thanked his political party. Zoe waited. After a few paragraphs lifted directly from his various stump speeches, Senator Wilkins dove into the current political climate and the state of the country. He spoke about where he came from and where he grew up. He mentioned all the ways his parents had influenced him.

Zoe waited. The senator brought up his political opponent. His volume increased, his hand movements intensified. The senator spoke fiercely about the corruption in his opponent's campaign. Zoe let her thumb hover above the button. The senator pounded on the podium with his fist. His face reddened. He waved a finger into the crowd. Zoe looked him in the eye and pressed down, holding the button for four long seconds. At first nothing happened. Then dozens of things happened in quick succession. The senator stopped speaking. The crowd hushed. The senator groaned into the microphone and grabbed the podium with both hands. The crowd murmured and whispered. The senator clutched his chest. Help. A strained voice in the back shouted.

Zoe turned around and her eyes went wide. Two dozen elderly men and women were standing around the room, hands on their hearts. One by one they'd. They'd toppled and began to seize. Someone in the front row gasped. Zoe turned back to the stage just in time to see the senator fall on his back. He didn't even seize. He was dead before he hit the floor. Security rushed the stage. More shouts from the back of the crowd for help. Some people hurried to the fallen. Most hurried for the exit. Zoe grabbed her book bag and fled, blending in with the latter group as best she could. She knew her editors would be pissed if they found out she left the scene so quickly, but she didn't care.

She wasn't Zoe the freelance writer right now. She was Zoe the assassin who just accidentally killed a bunch of fucking civilians. Emotionally, the casualties didn't bother her, but eventually someone would put together that every death involved a pacemaker. She could not risk being caught in a convention center with the device. The main lobby was chaos as hundreds tried to squeeze out of two exit doors. Security was trying to lock down the convention center, but they couldn't handle the force of the crowd. The people finally broke through, Zoe along with them. The scene outside on the street was just as hectic.

Two ambulances were already on the scene. EMTs pushed through the crowd to get into the convention center. A handful of bodies littered the street. Some were protesters. Some were office workers. Some were tourists. All were elderly. How large is the radius on that fucking device?

She hurried down the sidewalk to the parking garage. Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She ignored it and broke into a run. She didn't care which of her two lives the call came from, her handler, her editor, it didn't matter. She needed to get to her car. She needed to leave the scene. Zoe skipped the garage elevator and took the stairs.

She climbed two at a time until she reached the fourth floor. She sprinted to her Mazda. Once in the driver's seat, she finally let herself breathe. Her phone buzzed again and she fished it out of her pocket. It was her mother. Of course. All of that was broadcasted live. She just wants to know if I'm safe.

I can put my loving daughter hat on for a woman. a few seconds. Mom, I'm fine, Zoe answered as calmly as she could. Oh, thank goodness. Are you with your father? I can't reach him. Why would I be with dad? He was at the event. He went to see you. CNN said people in the crowd were fainting. They think it could be a gas leak. Zoe, are you there? Zoe? The end.