If Mahan Could See Us Now

Time seems to slow down as the mans words trickle into your brain and you realise he is quite confident about his reason for being in your apartment. Without thinking you glance left and right, looking for something to throw that isn't going to set the entire room on fire as the lamp would. There's nothing, and if he's here to kill you then how useful would throwing a book be anyway.

The pistol on your belt is the only option. You can't see a gun in his hand, not that that means much; yours isn't in yours after all. But maybe, just maybe, he doesn't want that much attention drawn to the fact that he is here. Gunshots are an uncommon sound in Polyapavlosk this far from the Marine barracks. Perhaps you'll draw enough attention that someone will call for help. Perhaps that help will even arrive before he kills you.

"It's no use trying to run, Valentina." He says, a nasty smile lighting up his face when he sees your eyes dart around. "Just put the lamp down and don't struggle. There's no reason to, after all."

A sudden flare of anger makes your mouth go dry, adrenaline's acid taste washing over your tongue. He was not the first man to underestimate you and now you are suddenly certain that you're going to make sure he's not the last. You lean, slowly lowering the lamp onto a dresser with your eyes fixed on his.

Then, sudden and explosive movement and time speeds up again. Your hand goes to the butt of your pistol, his eyes widen, You're drawing, leveling the cold metal at his face. His hand snakes inside his coat inhumanly fast, a gun appearing in it as if from nowhere. The trigger pull is firm, well practiced, but you've never squeezed in anger before. The explosive report is unimaginably loud, making your ears ring even as you're snatched off your feet by a hammerblow.

Darkness gives way to blinding light and blinding pain. A keening noise, the whine of a wounded animal is all you can hear but it takes longer than it should for you to realise that it's you that's making it. Your chest is hot, breathing hard. Every nerve in your body is screaming.

"Oh, you fucking bitch!" The assassin shouts, furious invective flying with spittle. You blink away stars and see him clutching the bloody mess that is where his hand once was, his pistol gone somewhere. Apparently you hit him. "I was going to make this easy, but no." He walks over, dropping to his knees and reaches for your throat with his good hand. Breathing gets harder. You hear yourself choke as if it's happening to someone else. Your shoulder burns. Desperately you scratch at his hand, trying to catch a breath as the edges of your vision go dark and lights dance in your eyes again. You don't wanna die. Don't wanna die. Not gonna die.

A solid thump and your door crashes into your wall with an enormous noise. A sudden 'What the fuck!' From the man on top of you and then the weight is gone and the hand on your throat is gone and you're sucking air in great gasps that make you want to sob from the pain but at least there is air in your lungs.

Another gunshot, a crash of breaking glass. Another person, kneeling next to you, hands pressing on your shoulder. Murmurs of survival and shouts for help that you barely hear. Everything finally goes blank and you forget your pain.

---

The Navy hospital in Polyapavlosk is the most modern in the region and specialises in shrapnel and gunshot wounds. You feel lucky to be here. At least, that's what you've been told to feel by every medic you've met since you woke up. Really you feel tired, hurt, upset. Scared. The hole in your shoulder made you want to cry every time you shifted your weight. Even breathing hurt.

The door opens slowly and you flinch, prepared for the assassin to return, to finish what he started. It's amazing how resigned you can become to your own death in the moments between a door opening and a recognisable face striding into the room.

"Major Beresev. I'd salute but…" You gesture vaguely with your left hand at the carefully wrapped beige bandages.

"I wont take it personally. I'm afraid we haven't found your attacker. We thought we'd got the entire ring, but it appears we had not." She explains and you realise it's the closest you'll ever come to getting an apology from the Zaschita. It's probably the closest you'll come to sympathy too.

"Did you have someone watching?" You ask, thinking of the person who'd come to help. All you remember is a rough voice and kind hands.

"If we had, we'd have our man already. No, apparently one of your neighbours fought in the last Stoli war. Kept her carbine, lucky for you." She pauses, frowning. Firearms are supposed to be carefully controlled in Kevian cities. "We wont be going after her, though the local police might decide differently."

"Thank you."

Beresev looks at you and you at her. There might be more to say but the Zaschita isn't going to tell you about it and Beresev might as well be the Zaschita incarnate.

"What do I do now?" You find yourself asking.

"You return to work, same as before. Once you've healed, at least. This is very much over."

"Is it?" You'd thought that once and it had landed you in a hospital bed with a bullet in your shoulder. Beresev frowns.

"You should take care, Leytenant. This is why most people play at neither revolutionary nor spy. Both can put you in the ground if the wrong people catch wind of it. Good day."

With that ominous remark the Major snaps a salute and leaves. The door shuts with a quiet click, leaving you alone with your thoughts once more.

End of Chapter 2! Choose two character bonuses:
[ ] Improve Diplomacy
[ ] Improve Strategy
[ ] Improve Tactics
[ ] Improve Prowess
[ ] Improve Subterfuge
[ ] Improve Technical
[ ] IC bonus (write in, GM veto option)