Assassin's Daughter
By Naaha
The gun was cold and metallic at my fingertips. I stretched, trying to reach it. Pain seared my leg, making me cry out in agony. I reached again, and managed to grasp the handle of the rifle. I flipped the safety catch and whirled at my attacker. He merely laughed at me.
"What do you think you're doing, Gregorobitch?" he chuckled. I pulled the trigger, feeling the blast of gunpowder as it fired. A jagged hole appeared in his chest, and his smirk froze on his face. His eyes bulged, before he toppled over, dead, at my feet.
"Ugh," I spat, and struggled into a sitting position. My leg felt like it was on fire, appropriate, seeing as it was broken. I shook my head to clear it of the rifle blast, and then pulled out my throwing dagger. Old-fashioned and medieval, maybe, but it had its uses. I dragged myself to the dead man, and cut his shirt away. I felt a little sorry for him, but then again, he'd tried to kill me.
Using the deceased's shirt and one of my longer throwing knives, I created a splint for my leg, setting the knife against my leg to keep it straight, and then wrapping the shirt around it tightly, grimacing as waves of pain shot up my leg. I hissed when I dug through my pockets, but couldn't find any painkillers. This just got better and better. I emptied the gun of bullets so that I wouldn't shoot myself, and then used it to drag myself to unsteady feet, with the barrel underneath my arm, and the nozzle to the ground.
So far, this mission was a complete disaster. Ian Rider, the agent for the MI6, was dead. Killed by the one man I hated most, Yassen Gregorovitch. And Mr. Sayle, his employer, was still going ahead with his plan for the Stormbreaker. But I had no clue what that plan was. Ian was supposed to meet me here, at this very dock in Port Tallon, to tell me what Sayle was doing to the Stormbreaker computers.
I looked at the dead man again. An accomplice of Gregorovitch. I snorted; what had the assassin been thinking, sending an under-experienced man to fight me? In my own, personal opinion, Yassen Gregorovitch was going a bit in his head. And then I thought of him, with his bright red hair, pale blue eyes, tall, athletic build, before looking down at myself. If you put myself and Yassen together, you wouldn't be able to tell us apart, besides the fact that he was taller than I was, if only by a few inches. I thought of his face, before I had run away from him. Furious, but pained and sad too. Agonized.
There was no getting away from it. Yassen Gregorovitch has sent this man after me, because he still loved me. Annamay Gregorovitch. His only daughter.