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I'm back, I'm bad, and, I'm freaking Raiding Mad!

But I guess you all knew that already.

So its been a while since Lara showed up in this clandestine mix of intrigue and shadowy centuries-old plots that probably seems like a tangled spaghetti mess right about now. Admit it! You've all been waiting for Lara to get back into this story! Am I right? Well am I? It seems like freaking 50 years since I last wrote a chapter with her in it, which is kinda weird, if you stop and think. Because this is meant to be a Tomb Raider story. Begone side characters! I hear you cry! Get lost prologue! No Lara? Are you mad! Are you bereft of all sanity? In short, yes. But again, you all knew that already.

I admit I dallied with this one. Generally messed around, took breaks, and began writing about Lara's great great great (continue as necessary) granddaughter waaaaaaay into the future. I'll leave it to others to touch upon Lara's more intimate relations, because yeah, some are required for the great great great (continue as necessary) granddaughter to exist. Don't get it into your heads that this chapter is finished! Forget it! I hit 6000 words and realised that if I wanted people to read it, I might have to make it more manageable. So here's part one for your enjoyment. At least, I hope you enjoy it. Please don't throttle the person next to you in disgust, or heaven forbid, someone in your family if you don't like it. Send me a virtual throttling and I promise I'll do the strangling for you. You know I'm good for it.

Yeah I took my time with this. I really needed the break. But then, you know, all this cool stuff popped into my inexplicable head and I found myself back at the keyboard.

See that! ^^^^^ I'm ranting like a madman. Maybe I should let you get reading.

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*6*

PREY HUNTER

Part One

Somewhere Beneath the Bolivian Rainforest


Tezra Tekkara limped with stabs of electric pain. Blood, warm and slick, dripped to the ancient pathway at his feet and mingled with the broken stonework, forever lost to him as it soaked between the cracked and ages-weary pavement. He grimaced as weight once again came upon his skewered and burning leg, he'd been careless, and it rankled like chains that twisted around his hard fought pride. His ancestors had built the trapped passages deep within this place long ago, and he felt a strong and passionate connection with them. Yet it hadn't been enough to keep him from falling victim to their clandestine and masterfully engineered security systems, put in place to protect this hidden world.

Resigned to his injury, he knelt amid alien foliage, taking care to choose an area in deep shadow. A poisoned dart had hammered into his lower left leg, but luckily it had passed through his calf muscle cleanly, leaving no trace of the strange volcanic glass the spikes had been fashioned from. The poison each carried, however, was a far different proposition. He delicately unwrapped the hastily concocted bandage he'd managed to fabricate in the confined dark tunnels, and inspected the wound.

Without knowing how the poison had been made, Tezra had had no other option but to try a general antidote of Thonapa's making, and pray to the Gods it would have some effect. His head felt slightly dizzy and his thoughts hazed, but he was still alive, albeit somewhat worse for wear. The old man, he thought slyly, must not have slipped into total senility just yet, despite his extreme age. Tezra's leg still hurt like the blazes, a red trickle continuing to ooze from it, and he knew a replacement bandage would be required to help staunch the flow.

Teeth gritted against the white-hot, raw nerve-endings in the wound, he tore an arm-length sleeve off a cotton shirt in his backpack. So much for his spare clothes, he muttered, as the sleeve parted company with a distinct ripping sound. Three tenderly wound wraps later, and Tezra had his replacement field dressing in place, fastening down the loose end with a safety pin from his medical kit. He knew though, from hard-bitten experience, the wound would need better attention within the next short while, or else infection could begin to gain a stranglehold over him. But that would have to wait. He had a strong feeling the British woman was close by, and he couldn't allow one such as her to gain any sort of advantage over him.

With as much stealth as he could garner, Tezra made slow progress along a broken path that led through a mystifying underground forest, the likes of which he'd never before seen in his entire life. It filled almost every available space in the cavern with a lush mix of the most inconceivable plants any human could ever concoct inside a dream. Huge broadleaf fronds towered above him as if massive dinner plates had shot forth from a water fountain, and were now frozen in time midair. Ramrod straight tree trunks rose into the gloom sprouting masses of delicate ferns, and over-sized spider-orchids grew beside the path in large clumps. Tezra could only gaze in wonder at how such a place could possibly have come to be.

Strewn through the forest haphazardly, were outcrops of black volcanic rock that featured large-leaved palms of varying sizes sprouting up from every available crevice they could find. Veins of an astounding blue mineral also wove their way through the otherwise unremarkable dark stone, seeming like subtle lightening bolts against a pitch-dark sky. Tezra found the place almost maddening, odd formations glowed with eerie blue light all throughout the massive chamber. Even high up on the cavern roof, lost amid the darkness, he could see pinpoints of light, as if he viewed a cloudless night sky.

Dominating everything however, was a truly massive, near perfect crystal that descended nearly halfway down to cavern floor, and seemed to provide the light the one-of-a-kind forest required to thrive, bathing most of the cavern in its soft unearthly blue glow.

Pushing a sizeable old-man leaf aside, nearly his equal in size, he knew his gushing wonderment would have to wait. The enigma-woman was extremely dangerous, her successful traversal of the trapped passages being yet another piece of irrefutable evidence of her deadly skill. The very fact she had found this place at all told him she was no mere adventurer running on blind luck. Some kind of intelligent instinct seemed to be at play, ingrained within her, guiding her movements. Again he wondered, the cogs in his mind turning for the umpteenth time. Who was she? What did she want? Would she be difficult to silence? Would he have to kill her?

Silently treading across a shallow pool in the muted light, surrounded by short broadleaf grasses, his eyes caught a more regular structure off through the criss-crossed tangle of competing underworld plants. There could be no mistaking the straight lines built into a solid stone wall, nor the also-maddeningly gothic spires that rose into the air above it. Tezra's eyes narrowed, as he wracked his knowledge for answers to explain the out-of-place designs. Once more he asked himself, exactly what were European designs doing in a cavern beneath the forest, in the Anchotuma valley, in Bolivia? Once more he came up empty.

Stepping across further shallow pools, and a gently running stream that trickled over the path from between two massive palm trunks, Tezra soon discovered that the 'forest' had grown all the way up to the base of the wall. He threaded through the last of the otherworldly thickets, and found himself standing before two moss-covered square stone pillars, centered by a pointed archway that rose to no more than a meter above his head. Looking up, he noted the square pillars extended above the wall to mix with the moist cavern air, finishing in pointed spires that also appeared covered in a green moss or lichen of some type. Not the work of his people, he pondered thoughtfully. Stilling his breath to listen, he then quietly pulled a well-used Colt .45 pistol from a holster belted to his hip. Black to reduce telltale reflections, the weapon had served him well for many years, and he'd maintained it with rigorous care to make sure it fired when he meant business.

Quietly passing through the pointed archway, Tezra entered a sizable rectangular courtyard intermingled with low and tumbling stone walls, as well as several old and gnarled trees that fought to gain purchase between the ancient stones paving the ground. Everything appeared old, ancient even, and it was plainly evident to him that nobody had visited the place in an exceptionally long time. Raising the Colt, he began a methodical search of the courtyard, stepping over moss where he could to silence his footfalls, and moving slowly only after his eyes had adjusted to each patch of gloom. She was here; he could feel it.

First, he checked the maze of low, mainly waist-high walls that spread in a square latticework over a portion of the courtyard. Each one presented a decent hiding place, but somehow he wasn't surprised to find them uninhabited. He found nothing of note, save for some oddly carved stones within the walls, a few crumbling manmade pools, and an assortment of other decaying stone structures of no apparent purpose. The woman was nowhere to be seen.

Looking around, he then eyed several pointed arch doors in the outer courtyard wall, and moved toward the nearest one for a closer inspection; maybe the mysterious woman had gone through one, he reasoned, and was hiding on the other side.

Arriving at the door he noted it was made from solid stone, fretting with moist decay in places, and had not moved in centuries. Leaf litter, as well as years worth of accumulated grime, had lodged against it, the sure telltale signs of inactivity. There was nothing to see here, and so he moved on. The next door along the wall netted a similar examination; nothing presented itself, or piqued his intuitive interest.

He moved on again, looking for any signs of recent activity, until he finally came upon a doorway built differently from the others. Clearly it had some significance, it was larger, and the bas-relief scrollwork snakes had returned, having been carved into the stone door itself. Also, immediately above the point of the arch sat a small stone carving of a hideous gargoyle face, or some other underworld beast, teeth bared in a maliciously evil grin. Though he knew it was stone, Tezra could have sworn the demon watched his every move through its lichen-encrusted eyes, smiling with delight at his trepidation.

Dismissing the feeling of eyes at his back as childish, he studied the doorway as he'd done with the others, immediately noting another gargoyle head sitting beside it atop a waist-high pedestal of timeworn stone. This demon head was carved from a far smoother material than the one above the door, but also had its long razor-like fangs bared in a snarl of silent defiance. Tezra moved closer to study the beast head, noting it was about the size of a basketball, and had an unblemished covering of dust over every surface. It had not been touched in a long time. It stared back at him through gemstone eyes that seemed to harbour the faintest red glow, no doubt catching the dim ambient light that surrounded it, focussing it to a visible point. Again he pondered the fact it had not been touched in what appeared to be centuries; the woman had either missed its presence, or dismissed its importance altogether.

Certain it was the key to opening the door, a sense of profound discovery welled up inside him, and he inexorably found his hand reaching toward the demon figure to discover its secret.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

The voice seemed to seep from the stone walls, or the smiling demon itself. For a moment he couldn't tell which, and thought he was slipping into insanity. Harried intuition caught up with events, and Tezra spun around to face what he thought could only be the guardian spirits protecting their domain. The colt whipped up to ward off the ghostly threat, but he became frozen solid by intense malachite-green eyes that bored into his brain like a diamond-tipped drill. Two silver guns glinted in the light, unwavering in their intent to serve their mistress, and Tezra swore he could see down inside each barrel to the bullet within.

"Who are you?" He ground out through gritted teeth. He raised his voice in defiance. "Who are you?" he bellowed a second time, the Colt shaking in his grasp.

The voice spoke again. "I'm the lady of the forest," it said in a fine British accent. The eyes flicked aside to indicate the direction from which he had recently come, "I hope you left me a tribute at the shrine you sat on back there." The voice came cool, calm, and unruffled.

"Wh – what? Forgive me, I didn't mean to – ". He stopped, his poison-dulled thoughts shifting up a gear to grasp at reality more firmly. He suddenly realized that his mind had wandered, and that he was more under the influence of the poison than he'd first thought. The effect had crept up on him so subtly that he'd never even seen it coming, and he knew he now had to fight to keep his thoughts real; a hindrance he could do without just at the moment. "Shouldn't you have fairy wings then?" he asked after a short reorganising pause. "And a basket of forest fruits for the poor and needy?"

With feet firmly planted, the woman bounced from side to side, as if limbering up for a hundred-metre dash. The gleaming pistols didn't move a millimetre. She smirked, as if she knew something he didn't.

"Sorry," she replied with a half sultry, half knife edge lilt. "We modern fairies do things differently now-a-days. Fairy wings are so last years fashion, don't you know." Her voice then went ice-cold, and her eyes even more businesslike as she said, "Drop the gun. This little fairy wants to know why you've been following her all day."

Tezra knew there was no doubting the woman's steely resolve, and inwardly berated himself for being so careless in allowing her to creep up and pop out of the ether without warning. He simply couldn't let her get the better of him; the stakes were way too high. "Can't do it," he said evenly so as not to provoke her. "You have no idea," he added carefully," about what this place is, who built it or why. You should not be here, and I cannot let you stay. I'll die to that end if necessary."

The cutting green blades of her crystalline stare never wavered at the threat, yet a look of intrigue drifted over her fine facial features. "You'll find," she admonished, "that very few people tell me what to do. Least of all someone with a gun pointed in my direction." Her right pistol jutted forward, the left remaining not far behind. "Tell me why you think you have the right to kick me out?" She asked, stilling her smooth limbering movements.

"I don't have to tell you anything," Tezra replied curtly. "Just leave."

"If I refuse?"

"You're not stupid, you won't refuse."

"My brains got me here, I think you'll find. They won't make me exit so easily."

Tezra shook his head slightly to show his disappointment. "Then you're not as smart as I first thought."

"You're the one who nearly set off the most obvious trap in the house," the woman replied. Her eyes flicked to indicate the demon head by the door behind him, followed by a quick jerk of her head toward it.

"The demon head opens the door," Tezra replied, recalling what had occurred moments before. "Any fool can see that. Do you really think you can cloud my mind with your self-righteous drivel?"

She shook her head, causing her long braid to sway with the motion. "No," she replied. "The fool is the person who thinks the demon head opens the door. Consider how obvious the demon head is, how it's been placed, and the expressions on both the one above the door and the one on the pedestal. Consider the minds of the people who made the traps in the tunnel we both came through. They didn't want anyone coming here, except those who could pass their tests without being killed. Do you really think their tests are finished with, now that we've arrived here?"

Tezra felt indignant at her suggestion of his ignorance. "Considering that they are my ancestors, and considering that this," he motioned outward with his free hand, "is my homeland, I think I'm better qualified to judge what they were thinking at the time they built this place, and how they did it."

"Then why don't you give the demon head a pull?"

"Because you'll put a bullet in my brain the second I turn away from you."

The woman's expression became thoughtful, and she nodded in agreeance. " I can see why you'd be thinking that, and I can't fault your logic, but I've never shot anyone in the back. Never. And you won't be the first, I can promise you that."

Tezra laughed a wary laugh. "Sorry lady, but it will take more than your word before I start believing a thing you say." He studied her more closely as he spoke. Her toned midriff, sheening with sweat, her athletic arms, her combat-style boots, her contour-hugging top, and her purpose-built utility belt with its array of attached gadgets, all served to fuel the mystique that seemed to surround her. She was a tough customer; of that he was sure. Her feminine intrigue, with deeply coloured eyes and long lustering hair, all seemed at odds with her guns, grappling hook, and tactical military-style backpack. She was an inexplicable mix of beautiful woman, rugged adventurer, and steel-edged fighter. She was intelligent, she was dangerous, and, she set him on edge. "The only way out of this," he then continued measuredly, "is for you to leave, or for the both of us to get a bullet. You choose."

The woman regarded him with her strangely unsettling gaze. "There is a third option," she said, her expression hardening. "But I'm not quite sure you'll be over the moon about it."

"Enough!" Tezra commanded, with only a hint of apprehension. "I do not get told what to do either! Especially in my own lands, and certainly not by fashion models in tactical gear! Go! Leave this place! And never come back!" He jabbed the Colt toward her to press home the command, his finger pressurizing the trigger.

The woman's eyes went wide, but they weren't focussed on him. Instead they looked over his head, at something behind him. "It – it can't be," she breathed. "Im – Impossible!" Her eyes tracked – something, and her head shook in denial. Fear washed over her in a dark cloud of confusion, causing her to take an involuntary step backward.

Tezra could not help but steal a quick glance over his shoulder, to get some sense of what had put the otherwise concrete-resolved woman off guard. The moment he did so however, he knew he'd been had, because there was nothing but air and centuries old stonework behind him to meet his scrutiny. He cursed his own stupidity, knowing he'd fallen victim to nothing more than clever play-acting.

Ruthlessly refocussing on the woman, he found her mid backflip, having used the split seconds he'd looked away to full advantage. The Colt sang in his hands, but he'd forgotten to alter its aim amid the confusion, and the shots went high, sailing over her flexed torso as she bent through the air.

Additional shots from the woman's pistols answered in reply, the bullets whizzing past his eardrums and fluttering his shoulder length hair. Tezra's self preservation instincts took over, and he dropped to the ground prone to avoid any further shots she might unleash. His Colt sang again as his chest roughly pounded down onto the stone pavers, but the jolt to his body threw his aim askew once again, his shots going wide this time. She moved too damn fast, he thought frustratedly, as he helplessly saw her roll across the ground and reach cover behind one of the low walls in the courtyard.

She was going to be harder to silence than he thought.

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The wall felt gritty at her back as she exited her sideways roll and pressed up against the ancient fretting stonework, pistols gripped in both hands, and her legs coiled and instantly ready to unload her once again in any direction she so might choose. As she squatted, supported by the wall, listening for the slightest pin drop, Lara felt certain there was more at play here than had so far been discussed. She couldn't begin to theorize what the additional details were, but one thing was for sure, the man trying to put a bullet in her was no hired thug, or possessive treasure hunter. There was far more to it than that. Lara heard hurried shuffles as the man picked himself up to continue the fight.

The entry to a small rectangular area with a central shallow pool was no more than ten paces away, and she'd covered three-quarters of that distance before her attacker had the faintest inkling she was on the move again. Mid flight, she heard him curse softly to himself, and then step quickly to catch her up.

Lara hit the crumbling entryway at a full run, took three measured steps, and then vaulted over the rectangular pool with the easy fluid grace on an expert long jump athlete. Her boots hit the opposite edge with a solid thunk as a bullet fizzed by, striking the wall opposite in a shower of chipped stone and a puff of centuries old dust.

She barely slowed as she reached the opposite entrance, now no more than the decayed remains of a once-grand stone archway. Her mind hit overdrive, and she holstered her right hand gun with the speed of oiled lightning, before reaching out to grab hold of the doorway's edge so she could swing around it in a ninety-degree turn. Another crack rang out behind her, but she had now entered a thin passageway of sorts, and the walls were head high to cover her. The pistol in her left hand was transferred to her right in less than a second and she repeated the turning move to the left this time, through another doorway on that side, and rushed headlong into a dilapidated room.

The 'room' was another rectangular space with similar dimensions to the first, though the opposite wall had suffered badly over time, and now stood no more than waist high with loose stones strewn about it. Lara took a forward dive across the stone-littered cobbles, rolling to a stop so she faced the doorway through which she'd just come, and framed by the opposite doorway so she had escape options. Again she crouched coiled like a catapult, both gleaming pistols pointed at the doorway and her fingers tight on the triggers.

Lara's eyes bored into the part-shadows like X-ray spotlights, the blue crystal-light gloom being enough to distinguish larger details, but leaving the small and minute a mystery to all but the acutely aware. Though largely forlorn, the ruins displayed an uncanny likeness to classic Roman lines and build philosophies. The square pools, the largely decayed statues, and, beyond the wall to her left, the distinctive remains of a hypocaust under-floor heating system. Images of the place in its heyday flashed through her mind as she tried to decipher the purpose of the ruins. People had lived here, a fair number judging by the sheer dimensions of the complex, but exactly why they chose to live in this place, and how they came to know such building techniques, remained a mystery.

Suddenly a subtle shadow darkened the doorway just a little more than the ambient gloom had already done so. Lara's hands and arms became one with her pistols, and her she-wolf vision lowered a touch to better align with the sights atop them.

A fold of clothing appeared.

Blam! She fired a touch early, shredding the fold to threads, and sending Heckler & Koch echoes reverberating throughout the ruins.

Blam! Blam! Blam! She unleashed a further three rounds, each pistol firing in smooth concert with the other, creating a smoky dust-haze in the passageway along with a veritable shower of chipped stone. Death was not what she sought. That was reserved for murderers, pillagers, and people who oozed evil as if the shades of night escaped their pores like a liquid poison. Such people existed, she knew all too well; she'd met them before. This man was none of those however, in fact, Lara had the very distinct feeling he was the exact opposite, making her less than eager to shoot him. Just why he wanted to shoot her however was a mystery that she'd yet to decipher, difficult seeing as he appeared bent on it. But the answer surely played a part in the greater puzzle that had led her to this very place.

The Colt appeared from around the corner.

Blam! Lara blasted a single shot, and it retreated as if suddenly stung by viperous mosquitoes.

Blam! A second shot warned the man not to try the move again.

Lara allowed a few moments for the echoes of her gunshots to dissipate. Then she had a suggestion to make.

"Maybe you'd prefer talking instead of shooting? It's just a suggestion, but I'd prefer to do this without getting shot." Her tone left no question however, that extra bullets would be forthcoming if the answer was 'no'.

"Are you mad?" a frustrated voice called from the shadowed passageway beyond the door. "You're trespassing here! You don't belong here! I don't care what gibberish you've got to say! Leave! Or else!"

"Trespassing?" Lara queried. "Then tell me why the security code to my satellite phone got me in the front door."

"Lies!" The man called back with a half-bitter laugh. "I know your type! You try deception, trickery, or murder; anything to get your hands on lost treasures or hidden wealth! I've seen it before!" His voice began resonating with deep suspicion. "You lust for treasure without thought for what it might mean, or who might still claim it! Take your greed and leave this place for its rightful people!"

He so doesn't know my type, Lara thought. But she asked, "Don't you want to know how I found this place?" She hoped to bait him with the question.

"Blind luck," the voice accused. "Or did you kill somebody for a map that led you here?"

Lara's voice remained businesslike, with a trace of warning. "Luck and murder have nothing to do with it," she stated. "If you took more than half a minute to judge me, I think you'd find that murder makes me sick! And do you really think I just blindly wandered through the forest and happened to fall into an underground river?"

There was no reply for few moments, which was a good sign. He was thinking about it.

"Did you study that stone keypad back at the façade at all?" She pressed. "Did you notice its modern layout? How about the Globalstar arrangement of the buttons? Tell me how that's possible!" Then she moved in for the hammer blow. "If you must know, I found the 'map' to this location in the palace of King Midas."

Silence lasted a few moments before a reply came.

"Nice try. King Midas is a fairytale; I don't believe you." But the voice held less conviction than it had before.

"And until today, this place may as well have been a fairy tale also, because you never knew it existed. Did you?"

False unsure bravado began to permeate her pursuer's words. "That – all of that – means nothing! Whatever it is you think you know, be sure that you know nothing of this place, or the struggles of the people who built it. This is my world, and I want you to leave it!"

"Sorry," Lara replied almost pleasantly. "In ways you won't understand, this is my world also, and I won't be cut off at the pass just because someone asks me to leave. Maybe I don't trust you either."

Lara felt sure now that the man hiding behind the wall was no mere treasure hunter or hired assassin. His manner and conviction told her otherwise. Facts and details did seem to matter to him, whereas a simple treasure hunter or thug wouldn't have cared less about such things. He was no murderer either; all he wanted was for her to leave without a fuss, and leave him here to ponder the place on his own. She suspected that, given his earlier comments, he'd come up against thugs before, black market treasure hunters perhaps, and was now highly suspicious of her because of it. He'd have to get over it however, she thought, because she had no intention of going anywhere. She offered him a final ultimatum.

"My terms are we sit down and talk this out, without bullets. It seems to me that both of us aren't what we first appear to be to each other. Behind me is a large courtyard with a flat-topped stone in the middle, looks like an old table if I had to be pressed. I'm going to go and sit on it, with my pistols in their holsters. You come out when I'm settled. I'll give you the word."

"What if I don't want to play ball?" His voice was suspicious.

"You should know that I sleep with my pistols."

A short pondering pause before, "Very well, we'll try it your way. But I should warn you I'm a touchy man. I hate sudden moves."

"There see?" Lara replied. "We have something in common already. I hate sudden moves also! See you in a bit."

In less than two minutes, Lara had seated herself on the stone block. Her long braid hung down in front of her right shoulder and her hands were clasped in her lap, her pistols safely secured at her sides. She took a moment to steady swirling thoughts, and to take several deep breaths. Adrenalin began to pump.

"Come join the party," she announced.

The Colt appeared from the gloom first, slowly followed by two outstretched arms, and a chiselled face that dripped in scepticism. He could have been handsome in another time and place, in a tuxedo perhaps, with a martini in one hand and the keys to a fast car in the other. As it was, it appeared he hadn't shaved in days, and the beginnings of a light beard were in evidence. Added to that, his limping leg had a blood stained bandage wrapped around it, and his eyes were red; doubtless something to do with the poisoned dart that had injured him and the antidote he must have used to stay alive. Lara fixed him with a level stare as he approached.

The pistol did not disappear like she'd hoped as the as-yet-nameless man cautiously approached; he appeared to be picking out every detail she possessed, and then banking the information away in a mental database. His gun hand was not solid; it shook slightly, either from apprehension or the mind-numbing effects of the poison that must surely still be affecting him. Lara appeared serene and relaxed as she sat upon the stone 'table', but inwardly her muscles tensed, and her adrenalin pumped. Martial arts trained, Lara knew full well how to explode into action within the blink of an eyelid if the situation called for it. Her almost-luminescent malachite eyes bored into his as she allowed him to approach, proffering the Colt toward her as if warding off an evil spirit. He came close, a mistake, and his face hardened with resolve.

"You were a fool to think that I deal with thieves," he said with conviction. "I'm afraid your stupidity has bought you undone. You will leave, now, or I will shoot. Don't think to test me. Like I said, I've dealt with people like you before. Now move!"

A moment passed, Lara did not move. She'd held out the olive branch, and had it thrown in her face. So be it, she thought, his loss. And she idly wondered just how many others there were like her, not many most likely. He'd made the mistake of binning her in with thugs and hopeless blundering fools; his lesson would need to come the hard way.

"Think carefully," she levelled at him. "I said the negotiations would not involve guns."

"I SAID MOVE!" he commanded again.

Lara moved. The smallest breath of time was all it took for her to sweep his gun hand aside with a pulverising blow that sent the Colt spinning off across the courtyard. Before it had clattered to the pavement, Lara was standing, had gripped his outstretched arm in a vicelike grip, and delivered a crunching knee-blow to his mid section, driving the wind from his lungs and doubling him over in furious pain.

His eyes went wide as he clutched for her in retaliation, but she was no longer there. Lara had danced aside and delivered another punishing shove-kick to his backside, sending him sprawling and crashing down face first into the pavement. Seconds had passed, and he now lay stunned and on the verge of passing out.

Lara knew he'd had enough, she was no barroom brawler, and she had no intention of hurting this man any more than was necessary. She smoothly walked to where the Colt had come to rest, picked it up, removed the half-spent magazine, and then walked over to set both items down on the stone table. She sat down next to them, in the exact position she'd been in before, and waited.

Slowly her pursuer rose, deeply inhaling, and wincing from the after effects Lara's body blow had delivered. Suddenly he seemed to come aware, and he quickly looked around for his assailant, surprise clearly evident once he found her sitting as if she'd never moved. He looked around again, searching for his Colt.

"I said the negotiations would not involve guns," Lara repeated, her tone leaving no room for argument. "Do you feel like talking now?"

He glared at her, raising up an accusing finger. "What are you? Some kind of demon?"

Lara then smiled, attempting to quell his anger. "Do you see horns on my head? I'm just a girl, quite human I assure you." She then made a face of hurt feelings. "Do you really think I look like a Demon?"

He took three steps toward her, rage building, and then stopped abruptly as if he'd come into contact with a clandestine force field of some sort. "Don't play games with me!" he accused her. "You're military!" His pointing finger shot forward. "From some sort of goon squad or something! The way you move! It isn't natural!"

Lara's face moved to perplexed. "Military? A moment ago I was a fashion model. What would a fashion model be doing in the military?"

"Stop twisting my words!" he blustered. "You are dangerous! People like you should be –"

A noise cut him off mid-accusation; a trilling sound that came from his pants pocket. He stared down at it, thinking he'd truly gone mad this time.

"Your phone's ringing," Lara said pleasantly, though also somewhat truly perplexed at how it could be so, underground as they were. "It could be your mother," she added. "You'd better answer it."

Glaring at her once more, the man dug his own globalstar satellite phone from his pocket and stared at it suspiciously a moment, clearly with the same thoughts about it as Lara, and then bipped the answer button.

"Hello?"

"Thonapa? How on Earth are you –"

"Of course I'm alive! What's going o – "

He quickly looked up at Lara. "I'm dealing her now!"

"A few cuts and bruises! Nothing I can't handle!" He looked away again, as if to talk in private.

"What do you mean she's too dangerous for me to –"

"I think you're overstating matters!"

His face visibly paled as he shot Lara another glance. She waved at him in a petite, girly fashion. He looked away again, thoroughly confused.

"Are you serious? Are you sure it's the same person? She looks like –"

"Yes she's got long hair," he said with another quick glance.

"Two pistols yes but –" He frowned.

"We found a cavern, with something inside, a fortress of some sort. I don't need her anymo - "

"So what? I followed her in. No she didn't get a scratch, but I don't -"

"Her name's Lara Cro –?" He stole yet another glance toward her. He shook his head. "Are you sure?"

A pause before, "Well – she took my pistol. She says she wants to talk."

"What do you mean dead?" He was indignant.

A longer pause occurred, before he looked up at her with newfound respect. Then he said, "Damn it to hell! I find this out after I tried to shoot her? "

Some further nods occurred, and a few short replies, then, worry began to descend over him once again, and he stilled to make sure he was hearing correctly. Finally, the phone came away from his ear, and he spoke with a mix of resignation and urgency.

"It's for you," was all he said, before tossing her the phone.

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