As far as he could (or liked to) remember everyone used to call him Sniper. He found this to be as accurate as he was and so it stuck. There was his so called "real name" before that of course, but it had never really excited him. When his parents would call, the only emotion that their protracted and obstinate beckonings produced in him was utter boredom.
When naming someone (excepting persons of pure evil who have their own naming conventions), you pick something that you wouldn't mind being called yourself or just something that for whatever reason takes your fancy, the rationale being that at least you'll be able to designate this child from that especially in the case of twins. Sniper liked the practicality of a good descriptive name, if he had the time or the inclination he'd legally change his, as it was the jurisdiction of both federal and natural law held no sway over his current state of existence.
Naming the old fashioned way was unsatisfying in that it was so haphazard. How many children in the history of the world had names that were intentionally or unintentionally category mistakes? Apple? Blanket? Steppenwolf? The limitless list was beyond preposterous. With this child there would be no such error. Names should convey purpose. There should be no mistake about the intended target. Sniper corralled the tiny infant in his arms.
"I will call you Head. A wonderful name."
One day Head's head would be harvested to replace Sniper's. It was only fair, after all Sniper would go through all the trouble of raising the young tike. He whistled as he stepped out into the stereotypical forest, with its predictable trees everywhere, following the path of the Mayor who'd earlier caught him shooting babies from the sky. Head would be hungry soon and Sniper lacked the necessary equipment to see to all his young squires needs, perhaps the Mayor would be kind enough to help out.
What a strange world it was. Sniper headless and breastless, missing parts vital to survival. Why do we come into the world so ill equipped and unprepared for the perilous challenges we're destined to face? If he had a head he would have shook it in disbelief.
A few feet behind him two baby girls cried, if they had developed the necessary grasp of language they would have no doubt wondered the same thing Sniper had only seconds before. He'd shot them down and as fate would have it, although he entertained the thought of mammary glands he didn't like the idea of one day having a female head, so he left the infant girls to the mercy of the generic forest.