Why Women Make Better Assassins
The CIA was on the hunt for their next top assassin. After rigorous background checks, interviews, and exhaustive testing, they narrowed the candidates down to three finalists: two men and one woman. For the final test, the CIA agents led the first man to a heavy metal door and handed him a gun.
“We need to know that you’ll follow orders, no matter the circumstance,” the agent explained. “Inside this room, you’ll find your wife sitting in a chair. Your task is simple: kill her.”
The man looked horrified. “You can’t be serious. I could never shoot my wife.”
“Then you’re not the right man for the job,” the agent replied. “Take your wife and go home.”
The second man was given the same instructions. He took the gun, went into the room, and for several minutes, there was nothing but silence. When he finally emerged, tears were streaming down his face. “I tried,” he confessed, “but I just couldn’t do it.”
“You don’t have what it takes,” the agent said. “Take your wife and go home.”
Finally, it was the woman’s turn. She received the same directive: kill her husband. She took the gun, walked into the room, and immediately, the agents outside heard shots ring out—one after another. Then came the sounds of screaming, crashing, and violent banging against the walls.
After a few intense minutes, all went quiet. Slowly, the door opened, and the woman stepped out, wiping sweat from her brow.
“This gun was loaded with blanks,” she said, catching her breath. “I had to kill him with the chair.”
“We need to know that you’ll follow orders, no matter the circumstance,” the agent explained. “Inside this room, you’ll find your wife sitting in a chair. Your task is simple: kill her.”
The man looked horrified. “You can’t be serious. I could never shoot my wife.”
“Then you’re not the right man for the job,” the agent replied. “Take your wife and go home.”
The second man was given the same instructions. He took the gun, went into the room, and for several minutes, there was nothing but silence. When he finally emerged, tears were streaming down his face. “I tried,” he confessed, “but I just couldn’t do it.”
“You don’t have what it takes,” the agent said. “Take your wife and go home.”
Finally, it was the woman’s turn. She received the same directive: kill her husband. She took the gun, walked into the room, and immediately, the agents outside heard shots ring out—one after another. Then came the sounds of screaming, crashing, and violent banging against the walls.
After a few intense minutes, all went quiet. Slowly, the door opened, and the woman stepped out, wiping sweat from her brow.
“This gun was loaded with blanks,” she said, catching her breath. “I had to kill him with the chair.”
