PART I
The small, moist, concrete room resonated with the steps of the burly soviet man's heavy boots, striding fearless, but lackluster, side to side across the pavement. A light, musty smell enveloped the cool, underground room, as tiny droplets of perspiration leaked from the moss-infested ceiling. Their ears were filled with the droning sound of the low, artificial light that trembled its intensity every once and a while. It might have been almost pleasant, not considering the aching bruises, and the somewhat uncomfortable situation.
"No one's coming," said Private Jonathan Amerstin, as he hung languidly from the thick, coarse twine bonding his hands to a pole, armslength above his head.
"Ya dun't know thait," said the ever-optimistic Private Ace Gatsby, looking over to Jon's direction best he could, "Thay cudd hayve a squahd comin' fer us ahs we speyuk."
"A squad?" Jon replied, "Yeah, right, like they're gonna send more soldiers into this hell-hole to get killed."
"Maybee dey won't seend a squad," chimed in Private Julian Alejandros, "Maybie iit'll just bee one guy."
"Are you kidding me? You really believe that 'American Super Spy' crap? You've been playing too many video games, Jules."
"B-but.but Scott said that wheen hee was captured during the Geogian Iinformation crisis."
"Scott also said he made it with Sgt. Moore.and Laticia from the weapons department...and General Wilkins' secretary. Dude, I heard she was married. Scott's a fuckin liar."
"Jennay's mayrrid?"
"Ey, you lowlifes, shut vit your mouves. I am sick und tired uv your stupid voices," said the Russian officer, turning to face them, "If you dun't shut up, I'm vill.vhat the hell?! Uh-!"
The soldiers jumped, fearful, as a small spurt of blood flew from between the man's eyes, and he fell, his cotton clothes making a soft rustling as they hit the cold, unyielding concrete. They hung there in shock, eyes wide, lips quivering, watching as blood poured out over the man's head, squirming down his face like a colony of ants, fleeing their hill. Jonathan shook his head in disbelief. "Wh-what the hell happened, man?" he asked, his voice undulating, "What the fuck ha-"
He gasped upon turning his head to right and finding himself face to face with three ghostly, glowing green eyes, round and emotionless, staring back at him.
"Hi there."
The voice was deep, and obstinate, but still somewhat comforting and pleasant to the ear, strange as it may seem; it made the soldiers hope, on many levels that the person to whom it belonged was, in fact, on their side. Jon saw the eyes look upwards, and soon the fluttering florescent light was out for good, shards of glass raining from the ceiling. The room was pitch black now, and the soldiers froze, trembling, waiting to see which would be cut; their ropes or their throats.
A series of soft clicks flitted across the floor, and soon they heard the sound of dragging, coming closer, somewhat, then away again, until it was stopped abruptly, and the clicking of the boots began again. Julian could hear them coming for him, and he could see the ethereal green lights floating towards his body. He closed his eyes tight, as his lips softly began to recite a Spanish prayer. He heard the unsheathing of a knife, and then felt foreign hands upon his wrists, and his voice heightened in tone and volume. There was a soft, undulating sound of something tearing for a second or two, then they heard their comrade drop like a stone.
"Oh dear God." cried Jon, and pulled on his ropes weakly, fatigued from days of hanging from coarse ropes and being beaten so many times. Ace took a deep, inward, shuttering breath, closing his eyes tight, before hearing a familiar voice echo through the dark room.
"Am.am I dead?" asked Julian, to no one in particular.
"No, kid, you're not dead," answered the figure, as it stood over his exhausted body, pulling the leftover rope away, "I hope you can stand, because I certainly can't carry all three of you out of here."
Ace laughed with full relief. "Oh, ahre we glahd ta see you! See, Ah told ya, Jon, Ah told yah thay'd come ta save us!"
"I'm still somehow morbidly amused that you three have been here for a week with barely any food or water, getting beaten every day, and you're gossiping like a Goddamn quilt circle of old bitches," the figure said condescendingly, as they cut Ace's bonds and moved on to Jon's.
The soldiers were, at the moment, to relieved to take much offense to the comment, and before any of them could thank their savior again, they began giving them orders.
"Now, if the three of you want to get out of here alive, you have to do exactly what I tell you to, no questions asked. From now, until you get in the extraction chopper, I am your commanding officer. Understood?" The soldiers all replied audibly, and the figure nodded. "Good. From now on, no talking. You have to be as quiet as you possibly can. Now follow me."
They didn't have to be asked twice.
The unearthly figure led them out into a hallway, which was not lit much more than the room had been; there was a heavy, orangey light beaming from a hanging lamp at the end of the hall. The figure motioned to them, and the little procession snuck down the hallway, hugging the wall. Taken out of context, it probably would have been quite comical. Their temporary leader began to slow, drawing a small arm from a holster on their leg, and lifting it slowly to their cheek. The soldiers looked at each other questioningly, shrugging and mouthing words. Finally Julian, curiosity about their strange savior drowning out his fear of it. "Uh.uhm.Commander? I know you told us not to talk but.well.are you.are you really-" The soldier was hushed, as the figure's neck craned, head tilting ever-so- slightly. They rose gradually, stepping widely, but silently, towards the corners edge. The hand that held their pistol moved around the corner, then slowly pointed downward, and pressed firmly against the top of a black- haired head. "Sam Fisher.fancy meeting you here."
Sam pulled out his camera disruptor, aiming it at the whirring, moving object, as his boots clunked noisily on the metal walkway. Once he was again committed to the shadows, he traded the tiny, cumbersome piece of technology for his SC-2K. He found himself in a concrete hallway, with soft, ocher lights streaming down from lamps hung in series down the hallway, specks of dust dancing in the illumination, creating circles on the floor. He crept under the first and aimed upward, ready to shoot out the bulb, until he heard voices. American voices. His eyes narrowed, and he knew he was close. He shot out the first bulb, hoping to perhaps lure their guard from his post, but alas, nothing. He crept closer once again, until he was immediately under the second of the three lamps. Again, a quite audible burst from the bulb, the tungsten's glow fading within seconds, and shards of glass showering haphazardly down onto him. Futile. The last light illuminated the corner, and Sam dared not attempt to get under it, to the only place he could effectively raze the bulb. He pressed his back firmly to the wall, and crept slowly along it, his suit sometimes sticking to the thick line of dust and dirt collected on the moist, underground wall. He reached the edge, and twisted his neck as he leaned closer to the corner, peering down the next hall. By the time he realized what had happened, there was all ready the barrel of a gun pressed mercilessly into the top of his head.
"Sam Fisher.fancy meeting you here." "Pandora." He said, recognizing her denigrate voice, "I should have known it was you from the stench drifting down the hall." "I bathe regularly, thank you," she answered, unphased, "I'm a little disappointed, Sam, to be painfully honest. I heard you shuffling around like a buffoon more than a minute ago. You're getting sloppy." "And you're getting cocky." "Getting?" she asked, a lustrous grin spread across her lips. "Good point." She laughed her wicked, deep, menacing laugh, dripping with painful condescendence. "That's what I always liked about you, Sam. You can crack jokes, even with a gun to your head." "Sorry to say the feeling isn't mutual." "Oh, pity. You're one of the rare few men who's actually in my league.in more ways than one," she finished, her words squirming and writhing under Sam's skin. God, how he hated her. "Fess up, Pandora. What are you doing here?" "Oh, I was just sitting around on my leather couch watching the news on my 52-inch television, and thought 'Wouldn't it be funny if me, Pandora, International Criminal Extraordinaire, rescued the captured American troops.and you didn't?'" "Me? No one would know it was me in the first place." "You meaning your lovely government, of course. You two are one and the same, aren't you? For the love of your country, the right to all freedoms, purple mountains, fruited plains, and all that. How deliciously archaic." "Your little anti-American soapbox is no good here, Pandora. You're preaching to the wrong audience." "Oh, Sam, you know I just like to hear myself talk. I am a woman, after all. Now, why don't you run back to third echelon like a good little boy and let me finish my job." "I couldn't do that if I wanted to, Pandora. But I don't really want to." "I figured as much. Boys, you sit tight there, this might get noisy."
She deftly lifted the pistol from atop his head and spun into a standpoint, the gun still pointed at his head. Sam stood slowly, his sunken amber eyes fixated on her swift, smooth movements. "No guns?" she asked. "No guns," he answered. A wicked smile crept across her darkly-lit face, and she tossed her pistol carelessly to the side, and took a stern fighting stance, both her hands up, palm-open, except for two fingers, her pinky and ring, folded down on her right hand. He lifted his fists, and moved his fingers stiffly, and slowly, creating a series of tiny cracks firing off across his knuckles. They circled like vultures, each sizing up the other, eyes locked, brows furrowed, the edges of their mouths lifted into a smirk. It had been a long time since they'd matched up against each other, under much different circumstances. But old habits die hard.
Pandora began, as per usual, and came after him with a low kick and series of punches, all of which Sam blocked easily.
"Never one to wait, were you?" he mocked, smiling.
"Look whose talking, minute man," Pandora countered, spinning into a roundhouse kick. Sam's thick forearm took the blow.
"Awww, afraid I'll break your pretty face?" she asked facetiously, thrusting out the heel of her hand, attempting to strike his solarplexes.
"Actually, I thought you'd be," Sam grunted, his arms again receiving the blow before attempting to elbow her ribs.
"Nah," she said, striking his elbow away with her palm, "I can always turn off the lights." Pandora began pummeling Sam with a series of strong hand strikes, his head catching the remaining lit lamp as Pandora forced him backwards, blocking over and over again. The soldiers watched them disappear, leaving nothing behind but the lamplight swinging eerily, back and forth, the light undulating down the hallway, briefly illuminating their terrified.and confused faces.
"Nice work on the lighting, Sam. I can't see what the hell I'm doing," Pandora whined as they moved farther down the hall, still running her monotonous series of upper-body strikes. "Well, that never stopped you before," retaliated Sam, his boots crushing the broken glass like eggshells. "My my, you're just full of one-liners tonight, aren't you?" she asked rhetorically as she lifted her leg for a knee-high strike. "Actually, I'm just trying to distract you.gah!" Fisher exclaimed as he felt Pandora's boot dig into the side of his knee. "Yeah? How's that working out for yah?" she asked, as she brought her leg up for a higher kick. "Not as well as I remembered," he said, grabbing Pandora's ankle as it came up near his torso, "Gotcha." "That's what you think," Pandora retorted, launching her body with her free leg and doing a midair twist; it was a suicide move, sure, but it brought Sam down with her. The two rolled over to opposite sides of the hallway, now unable to locate their opponent. "Night vision?" "Night vision."
The two simultaneously flicked on their night vision, and their glowing green eyes met.
"The three freaky green eyes, the grainy black and white screen.it's just so romantic, don't you think?" Pandora mused, rising as she flew to the side, bounding into a stance again. Sam stood firmly as she came at him again, frustrated, all of her attacks thwarted by Sam's razor-sharp reflexes. She bought her leg up for a strong central kick, and Sam deftly absorbed the strike by tightly grasping her foot with one hand, and haplessly grabbing her buttocks with the other.
"Oh!" Pandora squeaked in an offended voice, giving him a firm, full slap across the cheek. "Goodness, Sam, what kind of girl do you think I am?" she asked with faux innocence, forcing her elbow down onto Sam's forearm, forcing him to release her leg. "Not an innocent one, that's for damn sure," Sam countered, finally getting a chance for a swift jab aims strait between the eyes. Pandora's body tilted rapidly to the side, her eyes following his powerful fist, the wind brushing her ebony hair, it's highlights glittering in the newfound overhead light. "Nice." Sam's heavy footsteps rang out on the metal grating, screaming and shuttering, whereas Pandora nearly floated across the walkway like a ghost, her black eyes glittering with vicious superiority. They approached another lit area, and Sam's ears perked to a familiar, ominous whirring sound, and a bell went off in his head.
The camera.
Sam's right hand flung into his pocket, pulling out a tiny device and aiming it, as best he could, over his head at the source of the noise, blocking Pandora's attacks, again best as he could, with his left hand, taking blow after blow, his concentration focused elsewhere until finally they again retreated to a shadowy haven. Pandora's foot met his hand with pinpoint accuracy, her eyes slitting contemptuously as the tiny device flew off the walkway, never to be seen again. "Do you mock me?" she asked, affronted. "Not at all," he replied, breathless. He began to swing a number of stiff boxing moves at her, as she dodged somewhat frantically, body language revealing what her tone of voice certainly did not. "You probably.shouldn't try.stunts like that." she said, breathlessly through her frenzied dodges, "Multitasking was never your forte." Pandora did a little spin under one of Sam's powerful punches, and slipped flawlessly onto the railing of the walkway, standing on one foot like poetic ebony crane. She smirked, but Sam's face lacked all humor. "Watch your ass, Pandora." "Why? You're watching it enough for the both of us," she said, deftly jumping from one foot to the other, the tip of her foot contacting Sam's jaw, knocking him backwards. A victorious sneer spread across her cruel, smug lips. Sam was layed out, belly-up, on the grating, his forehead wrinkled, his thick, grey brows shadowing his livid, jade eyes. He merely lifted his powerful boot, and gave the railing a potent kick. Her eyes widened, she wavered, and fell.
Sam closed his eyes tightly, standing slowly and walking back towards the soldiers leisurely, careful to avoid the camera manually by sneaking underneath, in its blind spot. He couldn't help feeling a glitter of guilt; she shouldn't have died. Not like that. Just that moment, however, a deafening scream resonated off the enormous concrete room, large red lights going on and off, coloring the world crimson every other second or so. Sam turned around to find a furious Pandora charging at him like a freight train. He barely had time to block her first rage-filled blow, before they began raining down on him in the dozens. "Intruder Alert! Security has picked up an enemy on the 5th floor thoroughfare! Repeat, Intruder on the main walkway!" rang out crackled Russian voice. All he could do was move his body inward, arms up to guard his face; her blows were not focused, not planned, not strategic in any way; they were purely rage.
"Fisher!" Lamberts harsh voice shrieked in his ear, "What the hell is going on in there?" "I'm a little busy right now, Lambert," Sam mustered out between clenched teeth, in constant movement. "God Damnit, Fisher, stop dancing around like a dimwit. Where are the soldiers?" "I'm getting to that." "Getting to it?! Have you lost your marbles?! That's it, Fisher, if you don't get those soldiers NOW, the mission's-" "Don't even say it." He began leaping back, dodging, trying to watch her moves flashing in the intervallic crimson illumination. "Stay still, you bastard!" she screamed with rage, running after him blindly. Sam spun dexterously, and flung his hand into her spin, knocking her onto her face. Beads of sweat rained down her rippling forehead, her chest heaving, adrenaline drowning exhaustion. She desperately rolled out of the way, and darted to the right frantically, spinning, and leaving her back exposed. Had he the time, Sam would have smiled, as he slipped in for the final blow, only find cold metal pressed against his forehead. They sat there, for what seemed like an eternity, as his muscles slowly relaxed, and they crouched there, chests heaving as the rested their adrenaline-rushed bodies much as they could, with the barrel of her 5.77 mm pistol pressed firmly against Sam's cranium. "You said no guns." "I lied." It was a soft noise, like the sound of a butterfly's wings touching together. Sam had heard it many times, yes, but perhaps never this close..it sounded so much more.poetic this way. The bullet pierced skin and bone, and the pain tore through him, leaving a burning winding path that spread from his chest and writhed through his entire torso. Rippling and worming its way through his muscles, seeping through his body slowly, like a sponge absorbing water. Blood spat out of his left shoulder, sputtering and leaking down his black, skintight suit. "You missed," he uttered though clenched teeth. "I know," she said in breathless whisper, before holstering her gun next to her thigh and beckoning to the soldiers, "Come on, boys, we've waited around here too long. One of you grab him, and follow me." "No way!" one of the soldiers said in a fierce whisper, "You just fucking shot him, after you two agreed not to use weapons! You're an enemy of the states just like the rest of them!" She leaned down, her face inches from his, staring him with unyielding, unwavering eyes. "Maybe so," she said, "But I'm an enemy who saved all your asses. I dare say you don't have a lot of options at this point. If you wanna stay here and get killed, that's not a problem of mine, but right now I'm your only hope. Take it or leave it." With that, she stood, turning her back to them and walking away, knowing exactly what they'd do, and they did, of course. He felt himself being lifted, and he grimaced, trying to suppress his urge to scream. "Ai'm sorry 'bout this, sir." said one of the soldiers in an honest southern voice. Sam mustered a barely audible 'don't worry about it' before he let himself drift off to unconsciousness, wondering whose face he'd wake up to.
The small, moist, concrete room resonated with the steps of the burly soviet man's heavy boots, striding fearless, but lackluster, side to side across the pavement. A light, musty smell enveloped the cool, underground room, as tiny droplets of perspiration leaked from the moss-infested ceiling. Their ears were filled with the droning sound of the low, artificial light that trembled its intensity every once and a while. It might have been almost pleasant, not considering the aching bruises, and the somewhat uncomfortable situation.
"No one's coming," said Private Jonathan Amerstin, as he hung languidly from the thick, coarse twine bonding his hands to a pole, armslength above his head.
"Ya dun't know thait," said the ever-optimistic Private Ace Gatsby, looking over to Jon's direction best he could, "Thay cudd hayve a squahd comin' fer us ahs we speyuk."
"A squad?" Jon replied, "Yeah, right, like they're gonna send more soldiers into this hell-hole to get killed."
"Maybee dey won't seend a squad," chimed in Private Julian Alejandros, "Maybie iit'll just bee one guy."
"Are you kidding me? You really believe that 'American Super Spy' crap? You've been playing too many video games, Jules."
"B-but.but Scott said that wheen hee was captured during the Geogian Iinformation crisis."
"Scott also said he made it with Sgt. Moore.and Laticia from the weapons department...and General Wilkins' secretary. Dude, I heard she was married. Scott's a fuckin liar."
"Jennay's mayrrid?"
"Ey, you lowlifes, shut vit your mouves. I am sick und tired uv your stupid voices," said the Russian officer, turning to face them, "If you dun't shut up, I'm vill.vhat the hell?! Uh-!"
The soldiers jumped, fearful, as a small spurt of blood flew from between the man's eyes, and he fell, his cotton clothes making a soft rustling as they hit the cold, unyielding concrete. They hung there in shock, eyes wide, lips quivering, watching as blood poured out over the man's head, squirming down his face like a colony of ants, fleeing their hill. Jonathan shook his head in disbelief. "Wh-what the hell happened, man?" he asked, his voice undulating, "What the fuck ha-"
He gasped upon turning his head to right and finding himself face to face with three ghostly, glowing green eyes, round and emotionless, staring back at him.
"Hi there."
The voice was deep, and obstinate, but still somewhat comforting and pleasant to the ear, strange as it may seem; it made the soldiers hope, on many levels that the person to whom it belonged was, in fact, on their side. Jon saw the eyes look upwards, and soon the fluttering florescent light was out for good, shards of glass raining from the ceiling. The room was pitch black now, and the soldiers froze, trembling, waiting to see which would be cut; their ropes or their throats.
A series of soft clicks flitted across the floor, and soon they heard the sound of dragging, coming closer, somewhat, then away again, until it was stopped abruptly, and the clicking of the boots began again. Julian could hear them coming for him, and he could see the ethereal green lights floating towards his body. He closed his eyes tight, as his lips softly began to recite a Spanish prayer. He heard the unsheathing of a knife, and then felt foreign hands upon his wrists, and his voice heightened in tone and volume. There was a soft, undulating sound of something tearing for a second or two, then they heard their comrade drop like a stone.
"Oh dear God." cried Jon, and pulled on his ropes weakly, fatigued from days of hanging from coarse ropes and being beaten so many times. Ace took a deep, inward, shuttering breath, closing his eyes tight, before hearing a familiar voice echo through the dark room.
"Am.am I dead?" asked Julian, to no one in particular.
"No, kid, you're not dead," answered the figure, as it stood over his exhausted body, pulling the leftover rope away, "I hope you can stand, because I certainly can't carry all three of you out of here."
Ace laughed with full relief. "Oh, ahre we glahd ta see you! See, Ah told ya, Jon, Ah told yah thay'd come ta save us!"
"I'm still somehow morbidly amused that you three have been here for a week with barely any food or water, getting beaten every day, and you're gossiping like a Goddamn quilt circle of old bitches," the figure said condescendingly, as they cut Ace's bonds and moved on to Jon's.
The soldiers were, at the moment, to relieved to take much offense to the comment, and before any of them could thank their savior again, they began giving them orders.
"Now, if the three of you want to get out of here alive, you have to do exactly what I tell you to, no questions asked. From now, until you get in the extraction chopper, I am your commanding officer. Understood?" The soldiers all replied audibly, and the figure nodded. "Good. From now on, no talking. You have to be as quiet as you possibly can. Now follow me."
They didn't have to be asked twice.
The unearthly figure led them out into a hallway, which was not lit much more than the room had been; there was a heavy, orangey light beaming from a hanging lamp at the end of the hall. The figure motioned to them, and the little procession snuck down the hallway, hugging the wall. Taken out of context, it probably would have been quite comical. Their temporary leader began to slow, drawing a small arm from a holster on their leg, and lifting it slowly to their cheek. The soldiers looked at each other questioningly, shrugging and mouthing words. Finally Julian, curiosity about their strange savior drowning out his fear of it. "Uh.uhm.Commander? I know you told us not to talk but.well.are you.are you really-" The soldier was hushed, as the figure's neck craned, head tilting ever-so- slightly. They rose gradually, stepping widely, but silently, towards the corners edge. The hand that held their pistol moved around the corner, then slowly pointed downward, and pressed firmly against the top of a black- haired head. "Sam Fisher.fancy meeting you here."
Sam pulled out his camera disruptor, aiming it at the whirring, moving object, as his boots clunked noisily on the metal walkway. Once he was again committed to the shadows, he traded the tiny, cumbersome piece of technology for his SC-2K. He found himself in a concrete hallway, with soft, ocher lights streaming down from lamps hung in series down the hallway, specks of dust dancing in the illumination, creating circles on the floor. He crept under the first and aimed upward, ready to shoot out the bulb, until he heard voices. American voices. His eyes narrowed, and he knew he was close. He shot out the first bulb, hoping to perhaps lure their guard from his post, but alas, nothing. He crept closer once again, until he was immediately under the second of the three lamps. Again, a quite audible burst from the bulb, the tungsten's glow fading within seconds, and shards of glass showering haphazardly down onto him. Futile. The last light illuminated the corner, and Sam dared not attempt to get under it, to the only place he could effectively raze the bulb. He pressed his back firmly to the wall, and crept slowly along it, his suit sometimes sticking to the thick line of dust and dirt collected on the moist, underground wall. He reached the edge, and twisted his neck as he leaned closer to the corner, peering down the next hall. By the time he realized what had happened, there was all ready the barrel of a gun pressed mercilessly into the top of his head.
"Sam Fisher.fancy meeting you here." "Pandora." He said, recognizing her denigrate voice, "I should have known it was you from the stench drifting down the hall." "I bathe regularly, thank you," she answered, unphased, "I'm a little disappointed, Sam, to be painfully honest. I heard you shuffling around like a buffoon more than a minute ago. You're getting sloppy." "And you're getting cocky." "Getting?" she asked, a lustrous grin spread across her lips. "Good point." She laughed her wicked, deep, menacing laugh, dripping with painful condescendence. "That's what I always liked about you, Sam. You can crack jokes, even with a gun to your head." "Sorry to say the feeling isn't mutual." "Oh, pity. You're one of the rare few men who's actually in my league.in more ways than one," she finished, her words squirming and writhing under Sam's skin. God, how he hated her. "Fess up, Pandora. What are you doing here?" "Oh, I was just sitting around on my leather couch watching the news on my 52-inch television, and thought 'Wouldn't it be funny if me, Pandora, International Criminal Extraordinaire, rescued the captured American troops.and you didn't?'" "Me? No one would know it was me in the first place." "You meaning your lovely government, of course. You two are one and the same, aren't you? For the love of your country, the right to all freedoms, purple mountains, fruited plains, and all that. How deliciously archaic." "Your little anti-American soapbox is no good here, Pandora. You're preaching to the wrong audience." "Oh, Sam, you know I just like to hear myself talk. I am a woman, after all. Now, why don't you run back to third echelon like a good little boy and let me finish my job." "I couldn't do that if I wanted to, Pandora. But I don't really want to." "I figured as much. Boys, you sit tight there, this might get noisy."
She deftly lifted the pistol from atop his head and spun into a standpoint, the gun still pointed at his head. Sam stood slowly, his sunken amber eyes fixated on her swift, smooth movements. "No guns?" she asked. "No guns," he answered. A wicked smile crept across her darkly-lit face, and she tossed her pistol carelessly to the side, and took a stern fighting stance, both her hands up, palm-open, except for two fingers, her pinky and ring, folded down on her right hand. He lifted his fists, and moved his fingers stiffly, and slowly, creating a series of tiny cracks firing off across his knuckles. They circled like vultures, each sizing up the other, eyes locked, brows furrowed, the edges of their mouths lifted into a smirk. It had been a long time since they'd matched up against each other, under much different circumstances. But old habits die hard.
Pandora began, as per usual, and came after him with a low kick and series of punches, all of which Sam blocked easily.
"Never one to wait, were you?" he mocked, smiling.
"Look whose talking, minute man," Pandora countered, spinning into a roundhouse kick. Sam's thick forearm took the blow.
"Awww, afraid I'll break your pretty face?" she asked facetiously, thrusting out the heel of her hand, attempting to strike his solarplexes.
"Actually, I thought you'd be," Sam grunted, his arms again receiving the blow before attempting to elbow her ribs.
"Nah," she said, striking his elbow away with her palm, "I can always turn off the lights." Pandora began pummeling Sam with a series of strong hand strikes, his head catching the remaining lit lamp as Pandora forced him backwards, blocking over and over again. The soldiers watched them disappear, leaving nothing behind but the lamplight swinging eerily, back and forth, the light undulating down the hallway, briefly illuminating their terrified.and confused faces.
"Nice work on the lighting, Sam. I can't see what the hell I'm doing," Pandora whined as they moved farther down the hall, still running her monotonous series of upper-body strikes. "Well, that never stopped you before," retaliated Sam, his boots crushing the broken glass like eggshells. "My my, you're just full of one-liners tonight, aren't you?" she asked rhetorically as she lifted her leg for a knee-high strike. "Actually, I'm just trying to distract you.gah!" Fisher exclaimed as he felt Pandora's boot dig into the side of his knee. "Yeah? How's that working out for yah?" she asked, as she brought her leg up for a higher kick. "Not as well as I remembered," he said, grabbing Pandora's ankle as it came up near his torso, "Gotcha." "That's what you think," Pandora retorted, launching her body with her free leg and doing a midair twist; it was a suicide move, sure, but it brought Sam down with her. The two rolled over to opposite sides of the hallway, now unable to locate their opponent. "Night vision?" "Night vision."
The two simultaneously flicked on their night vision, and their glowing green eyes met.
"The three freaky green eyes, the grainy black and white screen.it's just so romantic, don't you think?" Pandora mused, rising as she flew to the side, bounding into a stance again. Sam stood firmly as she came at him again, frustrated, all of her attacks thwarted by Sam's razor-sharp reflexes. She bought her leg up for a strong central kick, and Sam deftly absorbed the strike by tightly grasping her foot with one hand, and haplessly grabbing her buttocks with the other.
"Oh!" Pandora squeaked in an offended voice, giving him a firm, full slap across the cheek. "Goodness, Sam, what kind of girl do you think I am?" she asked with faux innocence, forcing her elbow down onto Sam's forearm, forcing him to release her leg. "Not an innocent one, that's for damn sure," Sam countered, finally getting a chance for a swift jab aims strait between the eyes. Pandora's body tilted rapidly to the side, her eyes following his powerful fist, the wind brushing her ebony hair, it's highlights glittering in the newfound overhead light. "Nice." Sam's heavy footsteps rang out on the metal grating, screaming and shuttering, whereas Pandora nearly floated across the walkway like a ghost, her black eyes glittering with vicious superiority. They approached another lit area, and Sam's ears perked to a familiar, ominous whirring sound, and a bell went off in his head.
The camera.
Sam's right hand flung into his pocket, pulling out a tiny device and aiming it, as best he could, over his head at the source of the noise, blocking Pandora's attacks, again best as he could, with his left hand, taking blow after blow, his concentration focused elsewhere until finally they again retreated to a shadowy haven. Pandora's foot met his hand with pinpoint accuracy, her eyes slitting contemptuously as the tiny device flew off the walkway, never to be seen again. "Do you mock me?" she asked, affronted. "Not at all," he replied, breathless. He began to swing a number of stiff boxing moves at her, as she dodged somewhat frantically, body language revealing what her tone of voice certainly did not. "You probably.shouldn't try.stunts like that." she said, breathlessly through her frenzied dodges, "Multitasking was never your forte." Pandora did a little spin under one of Sam's powerful punches, and slipped flawlessly onto the railing of the walkway, standing on one foot like poetic ebony crane. She smirked, but Sam's face lacked all humor. "Watch your ass, Pandora." "Why? You're watching it enough for the both of us," she said, deftly jumping from one foot to the other, the tip of her foot contacting Sam's jaw, knocking him backwards. A victorious sneer spread across her cruel, smug lips. Sam was layed out, belly-up, on the grating, his forehead wrinkled, his thick, grey brows shadowing his livid, jade eyes. He merely lifted his powerful boot, and gave the railing a potent kick. Her eyes widened, she wavered, and fell.
Sam closed his eyes tightly, standing slowly and walking back towards the soldiers leisurely, careful to avoid the camera manually by sneaking underneath, in its blind spot. He couldn't help feeling a glitter of guilt; she shouldn't have died. Not like that. Just that moment, however, a deafening scream resonated off the enormous concrete room, large red lights going on and off, coloring the world crimson every other second or so. Sam turned around to find a furious Pandora charging at him like a freight train. He barely had time to block her first rage-filled blow, before they began raining down on him in the dozens. "Intruder Alert! Security has picked up an enemy on the 5th floor thoroughfare! Repeat, Intruder on the main walkway!" rang out crackled Russian voice. All he could do was move his body inward, arms up to guard his face; her blows were not focused, not planned, not strategic in any way; they were purely rage.
"Fisher!" Lamberts harsh voice shrieked in his ear, "What the hell is going on in there?" "I'm a little busy right now, Lambert," Sam mustered out between clenched teeth, in constant movement. "God Damnit, Fisher, stop dancing around like a dimwit. Where are the soldiers?" "I'm getting to that." "Getting to it?! Have you lost your marbles?! That's it, Fisher, if you don't get those soldiers NOW, the mission's-" "Don't even say it." He began leaping back, dodging, trying to watch her moves flashing in the intervallic crimson illumination. "Stay still, you bastard!" she screamed with rage, running after him blindly. Sam spun dexterously, and flung his hand into her spin, knocking her onto her face. Beads of sweat rained down her rippling forehead, her chest heaving, adrenaline drowning exhaustion. She desperately rolled out of the way, and darted to the right frantically, spinning, and leaving her back exposed. Had he the time, Sam would have smiled, as he slipped in for the final blow, only find cold metal pressed against his forehead. They sat there, for what seemed like an eternity, as his muscles slowly relaxed, and they crouched there, chests heaving as the rested their adrenaline-rushed bodies much as they could, with the barrel of her 5.77 mm pistol pressed firmly against Sam's cranium. "You said no guns." "I lied." It was a soft noise, like the sound of a butterfly's wings touching together. Sam had heard it many times, yes, but perhaps never this close..it sounded so much more.poetic this way. The bullet pierced skin and bone, and the pain tore through him, leaving a burning winding path that spread from his chest and writhed through his entire torso. Rippling and worming its way through his muscles, seeping through his body slowly, like a sponge absorbing water. Blood spat out of his left shoulder, sputtering and leaking down his black, skintight suit. "You missed," he uttered though clenched teeth. "I know," she said in breathless whisper, before holstering her gun next to her thigh and beckoning to the soldiers, "Come on, boys, we've waited around here too long. One of you grab him, and follow me." "No way!" one of the soldiers said in a fierce whisper, "You just fucking shot him, after you two agreed not to use weapons! You're an enemy of the states just like the rest of them!" She leaned down, her face inches from his, staring him with unyielding, unwavering eyes. "Maybe so," she said, "But I'm an enemy who saved all your asses. I dare say you don't have a lot of options at this point. If you wanna stay here and get killed, that's not a problem of mine, but right now I'm your only hope. Take it or leave it." With that, she stood, turning her back to them and walking away, knowing exactly what they'd do, and they did, of course. He felt himself being lifted, and he grimaced, trying to suppress his urge to scream. "Ai'm sorry 'bout this, sir." said one of the soldiers in an honest southern voice. Sam mustered a barely audible 'don't worry about it' before he let himself drift off to unconsciousness, wondering whose face he'd wake up to.