killing epoch verseXoropherion

[Verse]

Once upon a time there had been common interest between the Shichen and the Vory.

The centuries old bloodlines of the Shichen treasured good genes over all. And as this new era had cured them of prejudice such a purity of origins and noble names, they roamed the modern world looking for ways to enhance their warriors, still sought after in dark channels of never ending, power struggles. And lately, at least from a historical perspective, some interesting theories were being pursued in Russia. Good money and aligning fundamental views made a marriage of convenience, promising to yield somethin useful for both the Vory and the Shichen.

That truce was long gone now, in a Vory stronghold.

This storage building front was a headquarters for a lot of Russian, criminal activity. While there were still some initiatives within the organization to further strong blood and flesh, it had been mostly taken over by short-sighted greed. That was why this conclave of illegal work was predominantly contraband focused; capital of violence, and its own perpetuation. And, sometimes, when you peddle pains, you will get them back.

A long shadow had visited the tall place. The ceramic plates on his torso, over the body-close, black keval mesh, was mostly shot up, so the figure was coming through the Vory-owned corridors dressed in matte-anthracite shards. But apart from the gray-on-black layer, there was a coat of crimson that reflected the pipelights overhead, whenever he didn't slip out of sight. It was of course blood from the motherland; Vory soldiers who'd been made martyrs for the family's illegal cause, turned into the sum of their fluids on the teachnological armor of the intruder.

Wou Li Youn had been steeped in the traditions of the Shichen. Raised into a monster and hammered into what he'd become. A prince of a hidden kingdom that sought expansion by simply broadcasting their strength, and taking work with whoever had the right mission, and the right amount of gold. His job was to live his life, acquiring more strength; for himself, for the Shichen. Tucked away, somewhere, he had had one of three sisters, who'd been a promising collection of biological ventures once. He questioned her of what she remembered of her days in a lab, so he may find it, on day. Her fevered confessions through chapped lips that smelled like his cum had lead him here.

Now he was cutting his way through the automatic-equipped guards and their ilk to dig out the Vory's old secrets through their new inventory of drugs and stolen goods. The small things that the girl still remembered was hazy at best, but he had been able to confirm some of the machines she described already. Maybe there were more trails, laying around.

Full of the fire of youth, Wou Li had a furnace of energy in his guts to draw from when the overwhelming forces of the Vory became privy to the intrusion. The alarms were loud, and even though he should retreat, he thought this might be an opportunity to show the Vory there was something hunting them. Time to carve out a fairytale for the Russians to blow out of proportion by the campfire.

Three military-grade individuals came into the already shot-up lab, with workers strew about on each other's allocated limbs. The first one, with the close-quarters firearms most suited for this tight space, suddenly groaned through his balaclava and fell to his knees, bleeding through his chest-rig until his cargo pants went from the urban-camo pattern to simply a dark red stain. As his two associates looked back and then twisted their sights about the room and its metal tables and machines to see who'd done it, they missed that their fallen friend was one knife short in his belt. It was returned to the mid-range specialist still standing. The black blade crushed three front teeth on its way it, lodged so deep the only sound the soldier could make on his way down was a pressurized hiss. Perhaps the Intruder had not liked the screams of the first guard dying.

The last standing guard fired around himself; a concentric delivery of bullets. But a shrill sound and the halving of his bulky rifle brought that waste of ammunition to a halt. He yelled in fearful frustration, and pulled out a machete and a handgun. The blade rung in the silence, and it enticed the otherwordly visitor.

Out of a pile of human parts, built by the very same, a long figure stood; forearms and thighs and larger organs pouring off him and his shattered but still attached armor. Wou Li Youn, of the Shichen, a half-length black sword in hand. He pulled his black mask off, to provide the Vory guard with all of his features, instead of just the slit for his eyes. A young asian male with deep cheeks and proud cheekbones. Long hair to his jaw. The Vory solder roared and Wou Li stomped over gore to get to him. The handgun slowed the sprint down to back-jerking strides, but soon the soldier swung at the Shichen shadow. Wou Li blocked with the still intact plate on his wrist and punched with his sword-holding fist. It brought the guard back, one step. Wou Li waited for the disheartening clicks to tell the guard he was out of bullets.

The machete swung downward and Wou Li let the edge slide off his tilted sword. A dismissive twitch nicked the guard's gunhand, and had him drop the useless trinket. Wou Li humored the guard and his deft waving of the machete. There was some training there, he could tell, by the conserving of energy and powerful angles. But, as had been the theme of this headquarter; the sword art was underwhelming. Fitting in shallow cuts between the blatant unguarded turns, Wou Li had soon reduced the guard to a tattered scarecrow, with his tactical gear falling off his sliced torso.

"Where is the old archives?" he asked in English, with a subdued but present accent. He cut the man's free hand off at the wrist and repeated the question. He went through the process at the middle of the forearm, the elbow, and at the belly of the bicep before the guard stuttered through his crying; noises that sounded like three numbers in his mother tongue. Wou Li nodded and stepped back, out of range from the machete, and sheathed his sword on his back. But he drew it soon again, sensing someone else coming. The footfalls were not that of traditional Vory staff.

 

[oropherion]

The Grigorievna Manor looked like a home right out of a fairy tale with its large, stone steps and neatly trimmed hedges, with vines crawling up the walls, giving it a very naturalistic feel that would be inviting. On the outside it seemed cozy and warm, but the walls within were cold and cruel. Shadows lurked in every corner, memories plastered to the very fiber of the house. Years of torture and unbelievable horrors stained the floorboards, leaving it with ghosts that haunted its every inch. A ghost of the past lingered in the shadows of the foyer, a trail of death lying in her wake. Guards that had patrolled the courtyard were now hidden corpses; two puncture marks in their jugulars and veins bulging with expressions wrought of pain and immediate suffering. For the person who had grown up in this Manor and knew all too well the shadows and overlooked spots, it was easy to sneak her way inside unannounced. It had been five years since Alenina Vasilisa, Isla, had stepped foot upon this property. At sixteen, she had escaped and disappeared into the woods with no plans to ever come back here. There was nothing more tying her to this place. Her one twin sister, Vika, had died at eight years of age and her remaining sister, Sasha, had been married off to some unknown man at the age of fourteen. Then two years after escaping and becoming feral from surviving out in the woods by herself, she had stumbled into the streets of Moscow and had been found as a scrawny, filthy and jumpy wench by a man named Barkov Dmitriy Semyonovich, more so known as Dima.

It was Dima who had helped shape and make Isla who she was today and how she had come to be back at this house of horrors. He had given her a purpose, reminded her that there was still one person that needed her and he had the way for her to get her back. To get her power and control back. Two years was such a short time to become a trained assassin, but Isla was like a prodigy. She was quick to learn, determined now that there was a way to make her grandparents and all those men suffer for the pain they had inflicted on her and her twins. Dima taught her about the Vory's, the connection between one of the largest Russian Mafia groups to the Grigorievna's, and why it was important for them to cut the heads off of the beast so they could bring down that empire. The first murder was the hardest, but after the first taste of blood, of realizing she was capable, Isla felt no remorse or regret. Her emotions were locked away and pain was trained out of her body long ago. The intensive, mind and body breaking lessons were nothing in comparison to the suffering she felt as a child. It just made her stronger, better, and gave her more incentive. It had taken a while for her to gain the trust of Dima and his colleagues to allow her to take on more solo missions, but with the rise of her success came that freedom. Which led her to this moment.

Isla had crept her way to the staircase, cramming her slim body between a shelf and the wall as she listened to heavy booted steps coming down the stairs. Her eyes were closed as she focused, determining whether or not the footsteps belonged to multiple men or a singular one. There was no echo, no voices, beyond the clanking of armor and heavy thuds of boots against polished wood. The familiar squeak of a step informed her how close her target was and one more step made her launch into motion. She was as silent as a whisper, which was how she had earned the nickname 'tikhaya letuchaya mysh'; the Silent Bat. She had swung her foot out, the hidden blade snapping out to slice the Achilles heel and just at the same time she was unfolding herself from her position and swiveling herself behind him as he fell forward. Every motion was a split action. Before he could scream and alert anyone, she had already driven a dagger into the back of his neck, severing the spinal chord as she twisted the blade then yanked it free. She watched his head bobble as he crumpled and she quickly pushed him into the same corner she had sprung free of. Propping him up against the wall with his gun leaned against his slumped form and then she was nimbly and silently making her way upstairs.

Several more guards fell just as swiftly. Whether from a well thrown dagger to the heart or to a wire wrapped tight around the neck. The death toll was already piling up at around ten bodies thus far. And there were still two more that Isla was determined to add to it. And once they were taken care of, she'd hunt down the so called scientists that had experimented on her and her sisters and make them pay. It was easy to find the office, a room she had stood in the middle of many times in her youth. Where she had suffered from beatings to floggings, to inspections, to cruel mind games, to tongue lashings and everything in between. It had made her 'grandparents' feel so strong and powerful to make her cower and quiver in fear and pain. There was no love, no warmth, no bond between them and it made sense now that Isla knew that they were the victims of a kidnapping and trafficking. Stolen from their poor parents and sent off here to repay debts. Haughty laughter and voices filtered through the thick door telling her that they were indeed in their office, perhaps with a guest or two. The Silent Bat listened intently, picking out each voice. Four total, maybe a silent guard was present but she doubted it. They would have been stationed on the outside rather than in and she had already disposed of those guards.

Isla hurried off into the room next door, silently relieved to find it empty as she rushed to the window. She peeked out the gauge if scaling the outer wall was a possibility to sneak onto the balcony of the office and determined it was possible. Carefully, she maneuvered out of the window and clung to whatever grip holds she could find before silently swinging herself onto the balcony rails. She sidled up to the door frame leading into the office and took a careful peak. She was correct; her grandparents were sat upon a cushioned couch across from two men in suits. They were caught up in their conversations that they didn't catch her slipping in behind the curtains and into a crevice behind some furniture. She slouched down, crawling her way closer. The leather she wore was smooth as butter and made no sound, especially upon the carpeted floor. Stoic and smooth as always, she pulled out her pistols. The silences were quickly and quietly attached and the next second she sat from behind and aimed them at the back of the two unaware Vory men and pulled the trigger.

Blood and brain matter splattered down between her legs, along the back of the couch and the men's chests. Yells of shock escaped the two older folk as Isla slowly rose from her position, guns aimed to keep the two in their spots. "Babushka. Dedushka." She greeted coldly, watching and waiting for the recognition to cross over their faces. Senior Grigorievna lurched as he realized who was standing before him, pointing and starting to rise from his seat, furious, until a bullet was lodged into his left thigh dangerously close to his groin and caused him to fumble back with a loud curse. Quivering, wrinkled hands pressed against the bleeding wound as she slowly walked around the opposite couch, pushing the two dead men's bodies aside as she plopped down and pointed the gun at his wife, putting a bullet in her shoulder to keep her in place as well. Their cries and hisses of pain was like a melody in her ear, but it wasn't long and beautiful enough as she eyed their flushed and startled faces. "What are you doing here, you little wretch?" The elder Grigorievna woman spluttered through yellowed teeth, gnawed hand pressing to her shoulder as she glowered at Isla. "You got away, so why come back?"

"Where is my sister?" Was all Isla asked which earned a gargled laugh from the husband as he sneered at her.

"Long disposed of, my dear. All her organs sold off, the rest of her tossed in the oven. You already know that though or did the drugs addle your brain so much you've forgotten?" The sarcastic answer earned a bullet to the other thigh making him scream and thrash as Isla stared at them with piercing blue eyes.

"Sasha. Where is Sasha?"

"Hm, I can't quite recall. But no doubt she's been used up and tossed aside, probably buried in some nameless lot. Wasn't my place to keep up with her any longer." Their gargling and sinister chuckles made Isla's blood boil, but she did not outwardly react. Instead, she just stood and shot them both each in the hand and each in the foot. Blood was pooling on the couch soaking into the cushions and dripping down to the ornate carpet. They were writhing now, sobbing in pain as Isla pulled her dagger out and stabbed it through the man's groin, twisting and tugging as he cursed and gurgled on his own blood. Even when he tried to reach out to grab her, she just sliced at his wrist until it uselessly flopped to the side and finished him off with a stab through his jaw and into his skull. His wife fared no better. The Silent Bat happily sliced her nose off and cut out her screaming tongue before flinging it into the fire pit. She listened to it sizzle as she gutted her and left her slumped against her husband. She hadn't gotten the answers she was hoping for, but she had doubted they would give it to her as she perused through the desk. She found no files, no documents, not anything telling about her or her sisters. She then remembered the old archives and was sure that any thing related to them, their experiments, and perhaps whereabouts were probably there.

Unaware of another stranger killing his way into the lab, Isla hurried out of the office and back to the first floor. The closer she got the lab, the more her hair stood on edge. Goosebumps prickled her pale flesh as she realized that there should have been a lot more men in this area guarding the place. The sight of lifeless corpses told her something was wrong. Those weren't her doings. She found the door leading to the lab swung open and bloody. Frowning, she drew out her gun and followed the trail of bodies. It was hard to mask her soft footfalls on the stone steps, even whilst carefully maneuvering over dead bodies. The familiar stench of must, dank air and the chemicals that were often a commonplace aroma down here burned at her nostrils. She felt her guts twist in disgust and anxiety, her heart pounding so loudly she feared it might burst from her chest. And while her subconscious was telling her to get out of there, she steeled herself and pressed on. Fear had been trained out of her, or at least she'd like to think, and if she ran now, she may never get the answers she was looking for. And she wasn't sure she should leave whoever did this alive in her wake. Another assassin? A traitor among the Vory? It was hard to tell, but as she pressed against the frame and slithered into the large room, her eyes were stunned by the gory scene she had walked into and the equally gore-covered man that stood among the corpses with his sword drawn.

Immediately, she raised her pistol, shoulders tensing as she stopped moving. She knew she should shoot now, ask questions later, but something about the man made her hesitate. Mostly because he didn't look Russian and his weapon was clearly not of Russian make. The fact that he had slain so many Vory's told her that he wasn't an ally of theirs. "Who are you?!" She demanded, her voice thick and sure in its accented tone as she zoned out the rest of the scene around her. The familiar metal tables, the beds with their leather cuffs, the cabinets full of medicine and chemicals, shelves filled with a variety of tools that she was all too familiar with. "You are not Vory. You do not belong here."

 

[Verse]

Wou Li recounted the memory of the sound of footsteps. Even if it hadn't been in his direct focus, his sensory information had recorded it, and he just needed to backtrack through that to analyze the footsteps since before he noticed them. It was a technique that usually took a lot of calm, but he had plucked out what he could read, even when he was wrought with adrenaline. Lighter footwear, careful. Someone was mindful of the noises he was making, rather than barging in to make a paycheck. Not soldiers. And not male. The best of the Shichen sons had his head lowered, blood saturated hair obscuring his eyes, when the visitor came into this redecorated and repainted laboratory. He looked at her and squeezed his sword tighter when he saw. Not a lot of things could rattle him, but he recognized her. No wonder he hadn't known the rhythm of her feet. The one he knew her as hadn't had her right leg in quite some time. He should have known he was destined to meet this pretty face in its other form, one day. He kept most of his thoughts out of his face. She was not a threat then, even with the gun aimed at him.

She was barking orders even if he had built this tapestry of death. So confident. Unlike someone who looked just like her. He tilted his head. His sword arm was relaxed, the sharp weapon trailing behind as he made his way over body parts and red fluids. "Are you vory, then, printsessa?" he asked, humorless. Flashes of her moaning face, and those blue eyes wide with shame and ecstacy and pending death before he saved her from it, so he could have more of her. He bet their cunts smelled just the same, too. He knew what drove this girl. She was beautiful in her athletic perfection. Stronger than the example he had at home. Good thing he'd scrubbed himself of those scents in order to do this job. He stopped before armslength, but either of them could reach with the weapons they held. He was always willing to bet on being quicker than his adversary, but he wasn't going to risk it. Not when she was so much more interesting alive. "Look around. I do belong. This is my kingdom now. I gave them all my gift." He was a bit more amused by himself now.

He stewed in his own, quiet amazement when he stood there. It almost made him giddy. His job and destiny was to further the Shichen. The higher levels of the warrior cast in the hidden family was still beholden to the rules of it's bottom tier; collect strength. He had gotten his from the generations before, both from their blood and knowledge. He was raised in repaying them by making those who came after stronger still. As this copy of his Golden goose stood before him, he knew he was following the right trail to do all of that; power locked away in her story. But she also signified something for him, personally. The red hair and blue eyes and pallid skin spoke to the tastes he'd acquired in his marriage, as secret as the family itself. She had looked at him like he was unwelcome, but also like he had confused her. How often had he seen a similar expression in the dark, while he indulged in his baser wants? He knew how to control this energy. At first by giving her what she wanted, and then keep it away. Another version of her would start to beg under such treatment.

His free hand lifted to offer some kind of peace, but he didn't sheath his sword. It may look like a herder trying to calm a wild animal. "You're here because you want information." He said. It should have been a question but he was telling her. He made a show out of looking at her face. He made sure she knew he'd seen it before. He knew that she was inclined toward such mysteries. He also knew she had a gluttonous body, if you knew how to activate it. If she at any point tried to pull the trigger, a quick rising swipe from the sword would relieve her gun from most of its barrel, avoiding her trigger finger just barely. Of course, if she killed him, there'd be no answers for her. "I am going to the archives." He said, knowing there was a chance that's where she was headed, given where this lab was located. There were few other places of value to invaders that hadn't come here for the riches. This version of her genome did not seem like a thief. If she let him, he would move around her to the door, and made sure to sample her scent on the way. Familiar sweetness in her sweat, mixed up with the blood of others. How romantic that she'd find him in a different form; How new she looked, unmaimed.

He had the number of the door that would lead them to the old archives. He was eager for the information in there. Though he had sampled some of it's potential already, he wanted the papers as well. His present new companion would likely have a keen interest. When they got to rummage through the cabinets, he would find the file with her now dead sister, and it made him think of a similar face, slathered in his and her own fluids.

A story in a yellowed cardboard file, told in lab reports and black and white pictures. About triplets and their ill fate, and conclusions drawn from it. If she let them go that far without a fight, he would hold it out for her, at a page that showed her sister. "That girl. I remember her." He said, and hid his sinister smile by sucking in both his lips. He did more than remember her. He had worn her on occasion. But this one didn't need to know that yet.

 

[oropherion]

The logical action when she came up on the scene in the lab should have been to shoot and ask questions later. Yet she hesitated to pull the trigger because this Asian man was clearly not Vory and she couldn't find a reasonable cause to gun him down, at least without understanding his purpose here. She wouldn't call him an innocent, not with how bloody his sword was and the massacre that laid around his feet. A conqueror of this supposedly deadly section of the Vory gang. It was both impressive and frightening how he could have managed to sneak into this Manor on his own and kill all of these men with barely a scratch on his own person, all while she had been busy killing her way through guards to her grandparents. It made her wonder just how long the two have them had been racking up the count unknowingly together. Should she thank him or silence him? That was the question weighing on her mind as she kept her gun poised and ready despite her hesitation as she addressed the stranger. His retort had her lips furling in disgust at even the indication of being one of these bastards and shook her vehemently as she spat on one of the corpses for good measure. "Not a chance." But at least she knew this man wasn't Vory, not that the Russian gangs would likely taint themselves with foreign blood, but they might take up allies if it were profitable.

Isla tensed up as she watched him step over the bodies to get closer to her, her hand tightening on her gun and giving him a warning look that one wrong move would have a bullet between his eyes. Her face became stern and hard, cold as ice and steel, as she narrowed at her eyes at his amused gesture. "You can have it. A rotten kingdom to rule." She sneered as she watched him like a hawk. Her eyes darted to his moving hand, watching it raise and immediately moved her body into a defensive stance. They were close enough that either of them could act with their weapons and one of them would be dead for it. If that were the case, she planned to make sure he was the one. Her suspicion rose when he held his hand up in an almost placating manner, as if offering peace in their little stand-off. But why? She opened her mouth as if to bark at him to explain himself when he spoke first, making her heart jolt in her chest. How did he know? Her cold blue eyes widened a fraction, indeed catching onto the way that he was looking at her. As if he had seen her face before. That knowledge banished any thought of shooting this stranger because he clearly had the information she was seeking, or at least had some idea. It didn't make sense how he would or could even know of anything involving her sister and that made her anxious and angry at the same time.

"What are you looking for there?" Isla demanded as she lowered her gun enough to trail after him. Her body felt cold and numb in her awareness that she was a step closer to finding out any information about her long lost twin. Even more so than what records would tell her, most likely. Was it by chance or coincidence that they had met in this lab? She didn't trust him, but she couldn't quite kill him until she understood more. Once he gave her the answers she sought then she could decide to end his life and walk out of here feeling accomplished and one step closer to Sasha. She began searching for the records alongside the other assassin until she paused noticing him facing towards her out of the corner of her eyes. A yellow file was being held out to her and she stiffened as she reached out to take it and when she did, he would notice that both her ring and pinky finger were missing. Her grip immediately tightened and almost bent the file when she heard his declaration and snapped her hard gaze to his face as she scowled.

"How? Where have you seen her?!" Isla ordered as she straightened her frame, no matter that she remained a few inches shorter than him even in her heels. She tossed some crimson locks out of her face as she snapped the file open and felt her heart launch into her throat. Just seeing those old black and white photographs of the three of them, of little Vika who never got a chance to grow old, of Sasha before and after her leg amputation, and a few of herself. Her throat felt tight and sore as she gazed upon them, old memories playing like an old vintage movie. Her lips trembled and curled and she cursed as she slapped the file down on the desk and stepped forward, pressing the barrel of her gun to Wou's cheek with just the barest of quivers in her grip as she glared into his soul. If he looked close enough, it would almost appear that one eye was cloudier than the other, but she didn't need full vision to blow his brains out. "You'll tell me everything you know. You won't be leaving here until you do. And what are you doing with these records? What price were you offered for this research?"

 

[Verse]

He knew she wasn't. At least not a loyal member. They were owned by this crime family at one time, so technically yeah, she could be Vory. Though, if she was anything like the version he knew, she would hate to have that pointed out. Are pets that run away not still yours? The police brings them right back if they find them, don't they? He watched her as her thoughts spun. Being who she was, and having come all this way behind enemy lines on her own, he was sure she couldn't be fazed by much. But he knew what could get under her pale skin. He just had to play his cards right, and he might not just find something valuable today, but rather, something fun too. He might entertain himself with some lovely new friend, if he found the right opportunity. Would this one moan with an accent, just like his other friend with the same red hair? Wou Li had an unfair advantage from the get go, and it gave him the confidence to near the female assassin even when she was aiming at him, and repositioning as she considered wasting those bullets. But her questions burned too hot inside her.

She was strong, but she had all her nerves out. He could just pluck at them like any instrument in a string quartet. He was sure she'd play to his tune if he did this well. Her aggression melted for her morbid curiosity. In a way he had more power over her than he had over these soldiers in their death. Because she wanted something from him other than his mercy. She could have been rid of him with the fold of her finger, but she needed him now. It had been so long since she'd looked back at him that way. Usually it was for something simpler and more direct. And sometimes it was for mercy, plain and simple. All her expression were subtle, but he couldn't miss them, even when she kept them minute on her face. How prettily those blue eyes widened. He wanted to see what he could make her do if he didn't force her. She was suddenly obsessed with what he knew. The girl had swallowed the bait, and would trail after him just the way he preferred. Beautiful and deadly. And so easily manipulated. She was a nice addition to his conquests in this house, and she didn't even know it yet.

Why was he going to the archives, indeed. "I want to find ways to become stronger." he answered honestly. She had become part of that now. For all the tension he felt when she followed him, none of it triggered his self-preservation. The Shichen believed in all arts of war, even if they mainly followed the path of physical violence. He got to try his skills on her mind, when he knew her body would be formidable. Maybe she would surprise him? They were on this quest together now, because she believed their goals aligned. He would argue that they did, since part of her wanted what he could give her, and it wasn't just the answers, but rather, something else embedded in her very being, even if she'd try to forget and displace it with what he had to assume was hard training and discipline. She was a healthy specimen, and he let himself be distracted by it as he rummaged through the files, knowing exactly what to look for. He was happy to have changed her plans, but more than that, he had actually changed her hope. These girls were so sensitive to hope.

She looked pitiful through her strong exterior when he held up the file to her. She was keeping herself available to him, pretending to be looking for her own answers, but she was focused his way now. All he had to do to betray her, and get the upper hand, was to move quickly, and cut her in a critical way. But he didn't have to, yet. She had just decided his information was worth the risk, and that they were not each other's enemies if they could share the same information. She fell apart further when she saw the file's contents. The female infiltrator was being whipped up from what he handed her. He gasped with withheld excitement when she broke out of her small meditation over her flood of memories. The gun gave him a lasting peck on his cheek. Her eyes were pretty in their asymmetry. It was good to know that was a similarity between her and the girl in the file that was still alive. She stood straight, and he was still looking down at her. He was more and more certain that she would never pull that trigger. She had latched her dream onto him.

He savored her desperation for a moment. And then he opened his mouth, the saliva on his lips popping as they unsealed in the smile. The sound was miniscule, but their senses were clear enough to pick it up. He thrust his head forward instead of answering, teeth catching the slide of her gun. He shouldered her onto the desk. If all of that came to pass, he would end up tearing the gun out of her hand by the bite he had on it, and have her sitting on the desk. He'd spit the weapon out on the floor. While the move had been aggressive, the threat of it ended there. It had been based in speed and misdirection rather than strength. If she had her wits returned, she would know he hadn't made an attempt at her life.

"I saw her picture, but she was alone." he said. "I was looking for other things that would make me stronger. It was in a facility in Moscow." he offered. His hand reached back and rested on his sword. It was a proper warning that he'd retaliate if she thought threatening him was her best course of action. But he didn't draw. "I always thought she was beautiful." he said and looked Isla over. "And if her cunt had the same hair as on her head." he added, dastardly. His head tilted and nodded toward her. "Maybe you can help me solve that mystery, and I'll tell you the address?" he suggested.