Tomb Raider: The Plight of Aeneas
Prologue
Istanbul, Turkey - August 16th, 8:52 PM
A volley of shots thundered overhead, pounding through the large window and slicing into the night. Lara dived from her cover and held down her triggers until she crashed into the chair at the end of the room and came to a halt. A bullet soared past. She thrust the chair in front of her – black leather, not safe for long. Another hail; the seat weathered accuracy. The window, now interspersed with white impurities, gave up its vigorous struggle and buckled, smashing to the floor in a deafening loose haze of crystalline shards.
The chance was ripe. She leapt atop the barricade and fired in a loose arc. Two fell in expansive haematic clouds – something cold swept her legs and she landed uncomfortably on her back. She glanced up and rolled instinctively. The crowbar missed by barely an inch and the would-be assailant received a boot to the face, knocking him backwards.
Mr. Gonzalez was a particularly ugly man, so much that the trait extended beyond his physical appearance of a sweaty, stubbly and grubby man with a nose misshapen from numerous impacts in time past, and infected his very personality. The crooked smile was not toothless, but his teeth decayed after years of neglecting the healthcare such a prestigious position permitted him. Despicable.
"Miss Croft, it ends here. I'll be taking the money now!"
Bold words; stupid, too. The man honestly thought he'd still come out on top. Truth be told, there would be no trouble in stunning him and forging the opening for a getaway – but he had tried to kill her, and that made all the difference.
"I hardly think so. After all – and this is what you're forgetting – I have the helmet safe and secure. Without me, you'll never find it."
His face fell for a moment, before twisting into contempt. He was dead before he hit the floor at her feet, Lara ejecting the spent clip which clanked onto the metallic flaw.
A simple business transaction. Shame it had to come to this, really, but similar results with the wrong sort are usually inevitable and the conclusion was, if anything, more beneficial. At least the more annoying of goons wouldn't be about to hound her further. The little room had been quite pleasant, however, and such dilapidation of artistic attainment is never pleasant to behold. At least the gargantuan bronze bust, overseeing proceedings from its elevated plinth opposite the window, remained intact. Was everything in this place so large? She had quite lost count of the storeys she'd climbed to reach this top office of the tower block – not that she'd really been counting anyway.
It was becoming quite chilly, doubtlessly on account of the newly-enabled access to the outdoors. A steady exit, then. Kneeling down into the comforting consumption of the bust's shadow, she disposed of her Uzis and gathered up the suitcase to be instantly challenged by the sound of heavy feet a little down the corridor. The cavalry had arrived, albeit yet again too late. Gonzalez had a notebook coated in ivory that he had so loved to flaunt, secure in his jacket's inside pocket. Lara took it - and in two deft steps launched herself out of the window. Then the door was smashed through, but there was nothing but confusion to welcome the visitors.
Perhaps it was time to deploy the grapple, but she allowed herself a little longer to relax in the downwards plunge, faster and faster, flanking the vertical blackness of the Hyperious Corporation's structure, descending into the lively world below. This was living; the feeling of air brushing past, caressing the robust holiday outfit she'd selected at the annoyance of security, the excitement brewing within of plummeting through time, unperturbed and carefree. She closed her eyes, the luminous cityscape below vanishing into blackness. Time. The grapple whipped out and attached itself stubbornly to the steel wall, the string becoming taut to prevent her careering into the pavement.
This shock was the climax, that superlative surge of pleasure before the bastard conclusion tore it all away, sealed it up and dissolved into eternity, forcing reality to rush in to fill the void. A satisfactory catharsis is far rarer than most think. At least that had been interesting. It was just unfortunate that nobody had cared to witness her little feat, as surely it would have been a little spark in his mundane existence. No time to dwell, however. She let herself down before retracting the device. The suitcase lay on the ground, dropped moments before the end.
It was occasion to hit the town, so to speak, although the interested young men (and disturbing young women) congregating outside nightclubs had no lure. She was exempted of gregarious tendencies. The bank it was, then. Nothing save the matter of a few hundred thousand dollars remained – why couldn't they just use the fair more convenient Sterling? – and in a manner of minutes it was cashed safely. Lara had always found it better not to pay heed to the disdainful glances from the staff, as the premise of a millionaire with taste was all too foreign to their sheltered perceptions of life.
Affairs were now wrapped up nicely. Naturally, she'd been using Gonzalez all along, though he had been quite uncooperative. The helmet of Achilles was a myth discredited by many – how could the imbecile really have thought that it'd appeared in the ruins of an ancient Cretan town? Like the thrill of gliding through the air with nothing but sharp wits to cheat death, nothing truly of value comes easily. Furthermore, why would just the helmet be emancipated from the rest of his armour and remains – and why in Crete, of all places?
Pedantry can surreptitiously suffuse into thoughts when they are allowed to wander without a specific purpose: tonight offered no further objectives as such, except to prepare for the departure tomorrow morning. Sometimes it was better to tackle the things one hates with inviting, open arms, and thus, breathing in the busy city air, Lara took to the street and began to walk, absorbed in the sights and sounds of a bustling metropolis.