Around them, now, there was nothing in that devastated place, showing the ancient memory of a place that contained in its own joys and sorrows. A simple hospital that had seen the birth of many lives, increasing the flourishing seed of love. Others, however, had been severed, causing an immense pain in those who had witnessed the ordeal, sometimes slow and other painful, ending the continuous circle of life that drove that building in ruins.
That simple place covered with white, embraced by the warmth of love and suffering of life, now, no longer contained any trace of those feelings.
It was an ominous hospital, swollen by this sudden attack, creating the false image of a morgue vital, which actually was on the lower floor of the building dilapidated.
That group had only one goal: to reach the emergency exit which was located on the third floor, although rubble would make the task difficult and complicated, highlighting the difficulties in carrying out that task.
Shaking like a leaf at the mercy of the storm, he shook from that perpetual war who were forced to live, but insisted to remain quiet; They could not allow their emotions to demolish their escape plan, nor could indulge in that hell. They longed to escape from this nightmare, but fear had paralyzed them and, together with the low light that enveloped the environment, helping to make those ghostly images blurry, transmuting that simple hospital in an icy oblivion deprived of life.
They walked slowly, with their backs resting on those icy walls, keeping the weapons, previously provided by Eveline and Boris, on the lower abdomen, near the groin, ready to attack.
You could not hear any sound, and only silence enveloped those tired limbs and terrified. They had been swallowed by darkness and by that unreal absence of sound, emphasizing that weak whistling coming from their bodies.
The faint sound of blood repeated mechanically, constantly repeating that sound fast and flowing. Almost ghoulish and unreal; the faint sound of their heart drummed in their chest, choked breaths those just mentioned, joining in the dance full of anxiety and terror. Bad and poisonous, insidious and dangerous as that path disturbing that they had voluntarily undertaken years ago.
They were from the surrounding unhealthy silence, which transformed itself into all that madness unhealthy and ungrateful.
A small stone rolled to the floor, producing a hollow sound, making them wince scared.
Promptly snapped back, pointing the gun at a point indistinct in the hallway, lost in their memories relentlessly terrifying.
Before their eyes appeared again that fire that had almost killed months earlier, overwhelming them in that emotional labor, and the fruit of their imagination.
They had hot enough to begin to tremble; victims of that psychosis hidden in their mind.
Prisoners of the nightmare of no return, victims of the saturated world of evil.
A deafening screams and echoed in the dark, so dark and suffocating, forcing them to cover the ear, longing to awaken from this nightmare collective.
The floor seemed to glow, wrapping them into oblivion, while silent tears moistened their trembling hands.
Yuri tried to get up, forcing to distance itself from the images of Julia who was being tortured, feeling again the smell of warm blood of the girl, while screaming suffering propagated more and more in his mind.
He would not bow to the attack of panic, nor wanted to be overwhelmed by the emotions and brutal killer. He could not give up; his pride would not allow him to indulge in the feeling, forcing him to take the vigorous fight against himself.
Her legs were weak, the air was getting thinner, making it difficult to breathe, and yet he could not help but argue that violent reaction psychophysics.
That whole situation was absurd and fictional, was also triggered by the slightest thing, again recalling those dark moments he wanted to store in his mind.
Everything had started to ache, indeed even his heart began to beat wildly in his chest and immediately put a hand on his chest, in the vain hope of appeasing the crazy beat.
"Julia ... Julia."
That was a faint whisper barely audible, but that sounded painfully in his mind. A simple cry of pain, powerful and heartbreaking, a perennial cry, dark like the oblivion that surrounded him for too long.
"Julia ... Julia."
That name was repeated again on his chapped lips, but the words are so cold, but at the same time kind, also took a new bitter sweet smell. A faint scent containing the fragrance of a broken love from him.
His eyes widened; Yuri gasped, trying to regulate his breathing irregular, almost painful.
He crawled on the bare floor, ignoring the debris that tore his flesh, pierce with their sharp points and stained the dense color deadly.
Psychosis that had to be appeased and would appease the attack, but he did not know what to do.
He felt fear, had been dominated by the emotions of the past, but still wanted to fight turbulent emotion.
Julia was near, her green eyes were surrounded by two deep furrows, were glassy and dull. Like those of a corpse. But the European Union was still alive, fortunately.
He tried to strike her, but she did not answer.
"I'm here, I'm still here."
But she said nothing, in fact, looked at him with a sgurdo amorphous. A chill enveloped the members of the young, covering it in the omnipotent feeling of emptiness and destruction; everything had become dead.
He was afraid, afraid of losing what little good that still knew.
After all, Yuri was alone and no one would have seen that his concern and his most lowly weaknesses. It was still an Ivanov.
Sonja sat relaxed on a small chair, cleaning her gun mechanically mechanically. Her face was painted a tight smile and outstretched, looking up with a blank look at an indefinite point of the room.
She felt cold, it was lost in that world isolated and empty, mulling over what he had done: she would deliver Elèna from Alexander, aware that she would take over from there.
She already knew Ivan's fate, because she had overheard the argument between Elèna and the hated colleague, and a shiver of terror had suddenly shaken her soul, tearing it to pieces dark.
What had become her sister?
The redhead was aware that it was her fault, and the only one responsible for what had happened to her, also had not even been able to protect herself. It was too late now.
Looked up, angrily slamming her fist on the table, ignoring the deep pain that burned her reddened knuckles.
She hated that sister, and she who was always cruel, cold and perfect, yet she loved her deeply. Yet the bond that united them was still vivid, causing her to suffer for that gesture she had done, even though she was working for a good purpose, although the circumstances did everything look more sinister.
She was just an Ivanova, she was just a bitch.
That darkness slowly thinned out, leaving those young astonished and terrified, knowing that everything was a cause of the past and the torture they had suffered.
"Guys, when we get out of here we should talk. All" declared Julia energetically, called herself such as a leader's group, turning a pitying look at Yuri.
"Fernandez, know the way, I hope," asserted Kei with a clipped tone.
The girl put her hands on her hips, smiling slightly mocking and victorious. "Obviously, Hiwatari, I know how to act. We have to turn the corner and turn right, we have to go down the hall and turn right again. After that we will find the emergency exit."
"Perfect, Julia. And now let's go "Mariam hissed, following the girl.
They walked silently, along with brisk that long and jagged, feeling a twinge of fear combined with a feeling, although the Chinese suspected of that situation too calm, almost false.
Mariam was afraid that soon he would see Alexander and what the mind constantly tortured, yet she was determined to fight. When it out of that damn place, and especially after reaching New York, she longed replace those pieces that invaded her calls, insinuating venomously in her heart. And one of these was its Queen.
Those documents, now lost, made her doubt the relationship he had with that girl; the blood shed in those years, that word without any response on those stained sheets, echoing like a heavy echo in her mind, in a dazzling swirl of negative emotions that had not felt in a long time.
Everything had become too strange and not normal. Different from what she knew, bogus and bad.
Moving in the shadows of dusk was increasingly difficult, and yet he had no intention of giving up or giving in to the temptation to escape miserable, who kept shouting to do so. He was giving way to oblivion.
"Is anyone here?" Hissed a voice amused, revealing moments later the figure of a man who had smiled at them maliciously.
One shot, one single bullet was fired, and the deafening echo profusely in the environment, while a volley of bullets had opened the ball.
Soon other figures showed before those young people, while the scenes of war appeared repeatedly.
They tried to run to a shelter run-down, leaning against those walls crumbling. A bullet struck the wall behind which were hidden Yuri and Julia, and the Russian immediately pulled the trigger, in a continuous of sounds and noises.
Fatal and painful cries were repeated in bulk, until a new enemy appeared behind them.
They were trapped, completely prisoner in that valley of tears and blood.
Boris struggled from his position, before the enemy hit him whit a powerful kick to the back, then lift the man - rather puny - smiling mockingly, then throw him forcefully from the window, while those shards of glass fell inexorably to the ground , so as to make it look like that scene in slow motion. It was enough for the simple cry of Madrid to put him on alert, detaching it from the action that he used to do constantly: continue its struggle, ignoring its enemy-
"Thanks, Huznestov" whispered Julia grateful.
"Well done, Boris" Yuri replied blankly, but those words do not even touched the platinum, accentuating the sense of guilt he felt.
He was on Sonja's side, then with Alexander. He would do anything to save the family, but at the same time he'd seen Yuri distressed, he realized that this was not the right thing to do.
He had to give up those stupid ideals.
Another small group stepped in front of the three, again unleashing a hail of bullets, and one of them touched the shoulder of Julia, who groaned in pain.
That scar was incandescent; It was a deep pain and penetrated, surrounded by a pool of blood slowly dripping from the wound, which forced the woman to slide to the ground, and then tighten the gash in his hands stained.
Yuri dragged her out of there, yanking with little delicacy. He tried to keep a straight face in front of that view obscene, but his eyes, usually cold and icy, conveyed a sense of unease. Emotions could be assassin in those crucial moments, and Moscow was aware that nothing could be left out. Instinctively he tore a strip of cloth from his shirt, shaking as he could that bloody wound, in faint hope of appeasing her blood.
Meanwhile, Boris was fighting against a girl, taking with her a strenuous physical struggle. That blonde had something ghostly and demonic. It seemed to be a demon of evil loaded, totally different from the usual automata that sent Alexander.
The Moscow tried to hit a fist, but she parried the response to his move with a strong kick to the knee, causing a slight wobble in the platinum, which immediately went to the backlash. But that was too fast: levered on his hands, and then make a leap backward, hitting with two quick kicks unstoppable Boris, who fell to the ground.
He tried to pull the gun, but the weapon seemed to have stuck.
"Express your last wish, Huznestov" ruled her mocking, with a chilling tone and unhealthy. Her eyes appeared to be flashes of hate and fire, darting venomously on the body defenseless opponent.
The platinum slid slowly to the ground, determined not to be demolished by the woman. He had no intention of letting go that slow and painful death, knowing he had to fight. He needed to. When, suddenly, she pointed the gun at him, observing the object with a look Saving Silverman.
He closed his eyes, waiting for the moment when everything would end. He saw everything he knew, tasting with those melancholy moments forgotten. The sound of a bullet sliced through the air, reverberating in that environment with a fierce and deafening sound.
Boris slowly opened his eyes, looking unconsciously believed that pain to find, but before him there was a very different scene: that blonde was on the ground.
His body was immersed in a pool of red blood was pouring in that mirror plasma scour so dense that he had conferred purple tint to the hair light.
Eveline was there, it was placed between the two and was still holding the gun. She seemed to be in a state of shock, totally immersed in the catatonic state which would not come out.
Tears flowed from his eyes, while his clothes were completely worn out by the blood of that enemy, smearing with tremendous violence also the soul of the sweet stylist (and spy).
"Victoria, are you?" mumured the young Bulgarian, while a trickle of blood coming out from her lips painted red, changed that spot in a show macabre and deadly.
"It's me, Ekaterina Vjazikova".
She tried to add other word, stretching her hand cadaverous and increasingly cold toward that American, but moments later, the Russian woman turned her head, opening her eyes, Brown successively exhausted and decadent, showing an expression shapeless and terrifying.
Eveline sighed, while the new so unusual echoed in her mind, forcing her to remember where she had already heard. But nothing had help at that time. She was afraid to find out the truth about her past, did not want to strip those who knew the truth, neither wanted to take this painful path.
Yet she was still there, still and motionless, undecided about what she had to do.
Was that her task?
Elèna walked silently, her pace was slow and quiet, but her face was painted a vacant expression. The slight torpor the sun illuminated the body, making it iridescent and unreal.
It did not seem to be human, but looked like a ghost, and a fragile reflection of her own soul.
Soon the anger had evaporated, leaving her at the mercy of the violent emotional storm, eviscerated and brandishing whole filthy that she concealed for too long.
The pain of that loss was violent, had crept venomously in her chest, and then implode with cruelty in this act insane.
She was a murderer: the perfect machine, but that thought so cruel was eager to resurrect those embers, although the same Elèna continued to refuse that options lazy.
She could again fall back into the dark world, nor would suffer again. Yet her instincts suggested to yield, to slip back into that world unjust, requiring it to satisfy the cruelty that was part of her.
Felt a sudden exhaustion, her breath seemed to be getting shorter with every step, forcing her to lean on the cold wall.
Many colored dots began to dance before his eyes. That show had herself something unreal and deeply grotesque, but she felt he could trust that light, despite her senses were going to give in because of that pressure.
Slowly, all those colored dots began to join, forming a simple reflection of what we had.
A sudden heat burned her body, then drag it with her to the serene world that secretly craved.
With her last strength she dug her nails into the ground, ignoring her quills minerals under the nails. Needed to survive in the inner torment, while the faces of her loved ones slowly thinned out, while the austere smile Yuri suited her the strength to react.
The project Justice Wings still had effects that woman, yet she kept insidious and vigorous fight against his true feelings.
They were tired, their bodies were covered with blood and dust, the wounds they were encrusted, leaving streaks and dark unhealthy.
Scrapes and cuts covered their limbs but, fortunately, even then had survived that battle.
Those little gashes and cuts were nothing compared to the scars they carried on their souls, but at that moment could not help but smile.
That expression was different from the seemingly serene happiness, it concealed a smile sideways, hiding the soft happiness had also passed that test, together.
But something disturbed their souls: Cassandra.
Who was that woman who lay helpless in the arms of Boris - forced by Julia - without showing any sign of life, except for his breathing slow and regular.
"Juls?" Hilary asked plaintively, alongside the Spanish.
The brown looked at her worried, aware that her friend was about to ask what she was thinking.
"Yes, I'm sure. Cassandra will be with us."
That woman had inspired in her a feeling of confidence, prompting millions of questions unanswered.
"It could be …"
"Dangerous? Yes, I know," she added a little later, those words still incomplete, then added, "but we cannot abandon it. She needs help."
"Okay, Julia. But we must be careful, now everything is uncertain, our agency also works against us. There are too many things that do not add up" ruled Hilary, pondering his words.
Since he had found those documents, too many questions had corrupted his mind, forcing her to recall all the memories of his past.
Everything had become suspicious, dragging in thta sinister and dark world.
"What do you mean?" asked Julia, continuing the constant flow of questions and answers.
"Those documents ... are linked to us. I'll explain everything as soon as we're out of here."
Boris's voice was broke the slight buzz, which was screaming out loud:
"We are free!".
The pale sun warmed their limbs, bathing with her warmth that small group, but Yuri could not feel any emotion.
He looked around bewildered, looking fragile absence of her sisters.
He felt anger at what he had done Sonja. He hated with all his heart for this sudden betrayal, yet he could not help but fret.
What had happened?
Because he had betrayed his trust.
Why? Why?
It was a continuous succession of points ask, too similar to a continuous wail of sentences and remember now gone, dissolved into thin air, forcing it to evoke all those sweet moments and cryptic that he wanted to keep in his heart of ice.
Was fragile ... tormented, but he had no intention of giving in to his emotions, nor to show his colleagues all those questions that were slowly and inexorably destroying, forcing him to relive quell'asfissiante inner torment that he had lived a year earlier.
Moreover, he feared for the life of Elèna.
He remembered that look eerily expressionless who had reserved months earlier, just moments before the trial against him. He was afraid of losing again that sister who, after all, had grown fond.
He winced, coming out of the catatonic state and without a word, moving away from that group.
Julia reserved a look angry and shouted loudly:
"Where you going?".
The Muscovite smiled a cold, watching the woman with a haughty and insolent. "What you could never do. Get in car, Fernandez. Here I'm in charge and I do not need your help."
That naked contact with the cold was cold and icy, almost brutal, causing a slight feeling of numbness and pain, albeit slight, it caused the abrupt fall of pressure had.
She had lived too many bad experiences to indulge in that cradle of perdition, although everything revolved around her assiduously, in a whirlwind of images that followed one another more and more slowly, until, suddenly, she was able to focus more and more clearly her surroundings.
She opened her eyes tired and heavy, revealing two blue irises cold that concealed a huge fear, staring obsessively every single point of the clean room, until his attention was not drawn to a red hair.
To Sonja.
Elèna winced, then mumble: "Ivanova, are you?".
Uttered that phrase with a stamp chilling and hateful, waiting hungrily that her interlocutor to turn around.
"Yes, Elèna" Sonja replied firmly, sharply driving out all those catastrophic thoughts that were condensing in her mind.
"Well," said Elèna, pointing the gun at her sister; flesh of her flesh, and she who had shown the tiny traitor she was. "Turn around," she added with a commanding tone.
Elèna's heart had taken a pounding furiously in her chest, muffling his breath because of that painful waiting.
Sonja turned with a jerk, she also showing her weapon, showing a sad smile and dull.
"Really? Really you shoot your sister?" she asked in surprise.
Elèna smiled mocking, gritting her teeth. "I would never kill the sister that I knew, but kill the traitor you've become, Sonja Ivanova".
She moved quickly toward the red, trying to hunt against a wall, but his every action, her rival replied perfectly her moves, sensing and anticipating every Elèna's move.
Between the two they followed each other violent bursts of punches and kicks, injuring their skin and tearing the edges of clothing.
Elèna, with a click feline, slammed his sister in the chest, making her stumble and, quickly, as a result of that action, it was succeed a violent volley of punches, Sonja plunging to the ground, while streams of blood down from the nose and mouth, tumefed Sonja's appearance, whose face, now covered with bruises and cuts.
Se groaned in pain, and then wipe the liquid greedily blood, but did not give up: grabbed her gun, pointing it at the Elèna's chest who smiled victorious.
Those eyes seemed glacial enact hate and despair, combined with a piercing frustration.
"It's over, Sonja. You come with me."
"It will never end. You don't know my real intention" screamed the redhair, transmuting those words in a desperate cry of pure horror. He kicked his legs Elèna, then hurry out of that room, trying to dodge the bullets discharged that had reserved Elèna.
They began a desperate race, alternating escape the hellish roar of those weapons, hiding behind shelters Spartans.
Both were a few meters away, crouched behind the cold walls, keeping a considerable distance of safety.
"Sonja, get out immediately outside" thundered the Muscovite, uploading as soon as possible her gun and, at that juncture minimum, Boris's wife came out of hiding, bounding down the stairs, landing painfully on the ground.
They began to run, but a dead end hounded the woman, forcing her to stop his desperate race.
- She is no longer with us-.
Yuri 's words began to reverberate in Elèna's mind, blinding her with the fury of revenge. Lunged Sonja, peering with a murderous look, closing herhands into a fist, that it went to crash on Russian's face, doing sketch a new stream of blood on the clothes of nineteen, as she prepared to make that gesture, she exclaimed: "Now the empty lot, bitch."
But Sonja, cleverly, took off the clip from the hair, which actually kept a boxcutter, then hit vehemently on her thigh sister, spilling a large amount of blood, while Elèna writhing in pain.
Elèna looked at her opponent, unworthy to be appealed, with resentment, then she too pull a knife under her skirt, stabbing the woman's arm, while the long blade was spilling across the limb, leaving it in the body of Moscow.
Sonja punched to the Elèna's diaphragm, causing her to gasp.
Elèna took again her MK23 in her hands, strongly determined to kill that woman.
"Like I said, Sonja: I'm not gonna kill my sister, but only a traitor. But first, tell me everything you do."
Bitter tears began to flood the face of twenty-two, who was waiting for the fateful moment sighing, now aware that his game of deceit the had backfired.
She felt only a deep bitterness, combined with disappointment. She, her sister, had been able to reduce it in that state, had been incapable of understand and accuse, preventing it to reveal its real motives, albeit shady, they were for a good purpose.
"I love you, little sister. One day you'll understand. And now, kill me"
"Sonja, ripete: you're just a bitch."
Suddenly everything became dark, was enough gentle pressure to the shoulders, at the parasympathetic nerve scapular, to deprive Elèna priors senses, leaving her falling into puddle of Ivanov's blood had merged into a single mirror that reduced death .
Sonja's eyes widened, meeting those veiled her savior. She was surprised to say the least, although she already knew her complicit's identity.
"Go away, Sonja. I'll take care of her and Yuri. I know what to do."
