Quit Nein
The prey had fled and so they pursued, tailing the psychic criminal through the smoking twisted streets as hounds tracking a fox; ready and focused. While Milla pranced ahead, her normal dancers grace withheld, her sweater wearing partner stumbled and struggled behind, suddenly short of breath and lacking the strength to continue on like this for much longer. As their charge turned a sharp corner into an empty dead-ended alleyway and Milla leapt to trap the man guilty of terrorism and theft, the controlled Agent Nein paused, leaning heavily on the rough brick wall for support. He knew that Milla would be able to handle the common crook by herself, as well as he knew there was nothing that could defer the minx from following through something she'd set her mind too.
He'd had trouble with extended pursuits before, left behind by his own shortened breath. But this was much worse than any coughing fit or heart strain he had ever experienced before. Through the darkened lenses of is stylish sunglasses, the calm German agent peered down the alleyway, cluttered with empty boxes and great shining metal bins, to determine whether or not his skills were really needed at present. Milla was handling things perfectly; she had already dealt with the capture of their target and had retrieved her fashionable phone from her pocket to contact the other agents who had been on the same case, and tell them that the criminal was in custody.
Sasha had wanted to move towards the exotically beautiful, famous Brazilian actress but his own body seemed to cry out in objection. Keeping his normal stalwart and controlled composure was usually an easy feat to aspire to. But keeping his cool when his head was drilled with mind numbing pain, and his chest felt like a raging volcano that could erupt at any moment was considerably more difficult. Clinging to the wall with one stiff gloved hand and his straining chest with the other, he remained deep in thought, taking into account the facts, as he often did, to avoid confronting what was turning out to be a horribly painful experience.
This was not a heart attack; of this the experienced agent was definitely certain. He had had a heart attack before previous to the time when Milla Vodello was assigned to be his partner. He was on a retrieval mission in the African Congo; half a dozen men and women in need of rescuing, being held hostage by psychic criminals in a seclusive retreat amongst the hot sweltering jungle. He was younger and more foolish then and so was still wearing his favoured, thick, comforting sweater. He definitely smoked more cigarettes, more often, as well, as Sasha Nein's great sense of control and moderation was yet to be forged. It was just him and three other, somewhat more experienced, agents on an endless treasure hunt through ferns and falls. He was advised against wearing a sweater considering the humid and tropical atmosphere. But young Sasha was not the kind of person who liked being told what to do and would rather learn from his own experiences; a result of foolish young pride, he decided. And so he kept the thick woollen garment on. A decision that almost cost him his life as he lay amongst the underbrush: blood bubbling and boiling horribly through his veins. But no, he concurred. This was a different feeling indeed.
With his momentary distraction complete, Sasha was forced to bring himself back to his present troubles. The agony in his chest surmounted to the point he found every breath a struggle. Even if he had wanted to call out to Milla, to warn her quickly of what was happening to him, he could make no sounds, save from gasps and splutters; neither of which at all decipherable. He made himself glance once again down the alleyway to where his partner stood; the real life depiction of style and flare. She stood there still, holding a less-than-professional conversation with the agent she had called about the case. As always she remained in a ready stance, her dress of bright swirling colours, reminiscent of an eighties music video, hugged her body well, accentuating all of those feminine curves that made her so desirable worldwide. Her long chocolate hair cascaded down her back like a beautiful exotic waterfall, complimenting the Brazilian's other features perfectly. Odd, one would think, to observe such details as your life was literally ebbing away, but to the controlled German, distractions were a welcome escape from a horrid reality.
"So everything is just fine… okay… we will wait here, darling." She clicked the phone shut, slipping the slender accessory back into its proper place, and turned to where Sasha stood doubled over in pain. In just a moment's time, the bright dazzling smile of triumph that was apparent on her face disappeared, to be replaced with a concerned, almost terrified expression. She had known Sasha to remain calm and standing always, even previously when he had broken his leg and several ribs, so Milla was certain something was terribly wrong. Immediately she paced to his side, and extended a delicate, but determined arm around his waist, completely forgetting all other momentary importances, including the captive criminal.
"Sasha?" Were it not a critical situation she would've smiled and laughed as she often did in his presence, or used her favoured, questionably appropriate, pet name she had donned him with the very first day they met. "What is wrong?"
As Sasha could imagine himself soon slipping from consciousness, there were several things he knew he wanted to say to his stalwart companion. From a professional perspective he wanted to remind her that, while he wasn't in the best condition he had ever been in, they were both still technically on duty which carried with it certain responsibilities and behaviours. Like to be more concerned with the enemy who took the distraction to try his escape, rather than the condition of your partner for example. Personally, he had a deep, desperate desire to scream out, to let all his inner pain show in one sudden outburst. But of course, he didn't carry this through; instead he suppressed the unwelcome thought to where he filed all out of character behaviour: Sasha Nein was not a man who let others know how horrible he felt, even if he felt dreadfully horrible. There were also half a dozen personal words he had wanted to share with Milla, aware of the strain that stress, worry and guilt placed upon the poor woman, and that easing her nerves was the best thing that he could ever possibly do for her. But as he began to slip further from awareness, the faint sound of an approaching team of agents growing louder, Sasha chose his spoken words quickly and carefully; bringing forward the only subject that was important to him presently.
"Do I… have… private insurance?"
Meh, not sure if I'm going to continue this story, got other work I'm supposed to be doing… this plot's kind of lame anyway…