Lara Croft
Werner's Apartment
07:35
Lara ducked.
A storm of bullets shredded the monitor as if it were paper.
The shadow that had flickered in the corner of her eye had already vanished.
Lara cursed, diving for cover, but there was precious little shelter to be found. More bullets hounded after her as she flung herself behind a brick pillar.
Lara stuffed the engravings into her trouser pocket, assessing her environment. The gunman ducked behind the kitchen counter, a perfect position to keep the whole room in view. His weapon was high caliber, but with a silencer, it coughed rather than roared. Her would-be assassin was a professional. Apart from a few tranquilizer darts, all she had was Werner's antique Luger with seven bullets.
Oh, and a five-hundred-year-old crossbow that probably belonged in a museum. Huzzah.
The shooter paused, probably to reload.
Lara glanced up, past the Cambodian photograph. Using the mirror, she spotted a silhouette and squeezed off a couple of rounds over her shoulder.
To her surprise and delight, the little gun actually worked.
One bullet went wide, shattering the mug stand, but the other caught the gunman somewhere tender as he let out an involuntary grunt, stumbling into full view.
Lara advanced, darting from her cover to the shelter of an upturned chair, and planted a couple more rounds in his direction.
Both shots landed squarely on his chest.
Lara hissed in triumph. Still, the man must have been wearing reinforced Kevlar as staggered, keeping his footing instead of keeling over.
A burst of retaliatory fire chewed into her chair. Coin-sized holes appeared in the upholstery only inches from her face, and her nose was suddenly filled with the reek of cordite.
Lara played dead for all Lara was worth.
The gun clicked empty, rattling as it was tossed away, like a tourist chucking a disposable camera.
Lara braced herself.
She was nearly knocked to the ground as the man rushed past her, heading for the door. He wasn't waiting to be picked off.
Lara grabbed his ankle, her fingers brushing his leg.
Swearing under her breath, Lara dashed after him, out into the hallway.
The light blinked at her periphery.
Swallowing a gasp, Lara threw her forward momentum into a belly flop.
Her eyes widened, a scarlet laser a foot above her head.
It was a digital timer strapped expertly to pencil-sized cartridges of TNT wedged in a lump of C4.
Had she been running at full tilt, even dental records wouldn't have been enough to identify her.
The gunman was nowhere in sight, but Lara took no chances. She splayed her body across the carpet, pressing right against a crackling woolen pile, crawling under the treacherous beam. The damn thing could destroy half the building. There were other people, ordinary residents, in here besides herself. The gunman didn't have to involve them. Hopefully, she could conclude her business before they called the police.
Lara peered around the corner. It was a corridor that led to a stairwell, the exit, with recessed doorways spaced evenly along its length.
There!
A hunched figure. Over by the stairs. The muzzle of a rifle snuck its nose out into the corridor, breaking the man's silhouette.
Worse, Lara spied at least two more lumps of explosives along the walls, linked by a knee-high red beam. She drew back, pondering her next move.
There were only three bullets left in her gun.
If this works, I'll ask Winston to build a course like this.
Lara aimed. The fixture above the gunman exploded with the pop of fractured glass. Instantly, she was running, not letting him recover from the distraction. Sometimes, a moment was all she needed.
The man was already turning when her crossbow scythed through the air and struck him full in the chest. She followed in its wake, leaping over the laser trap and emptying her last two bullets where they mattered most: the underside of his chin.
The back wall exploded in scarlet.
He stared at her through skewed sunglasses. Then he was falling, tumbling in a tangle down the stairs. His neck snapped somewhere along the way, and he landed in a boneless pile.
The crossbow bounced after him and shattered on the hard tiles of the lobby.
Never underestimate the tactical power of a lump of wood.
Lara descended the stairs, not letting herself breathe until she had convinced herself he was dead. His neck was bent at an impossible angle, and the tiled floor was sticky with a growing red puddle. He was absolutely still.
Lara sighed, swallowing back the bile that rose in her throat.
There didn't seem to be any clues to his identity. The red bandanna covering his shaved head was stained a deeper scarlet where it touched his wound. His trousers, sweater, and weapon rigs were all black, as were his mustache and goatee. His phone rang, his pocket vibrating.
Well, well. Just my luck.
Lara eased it from its holster and flipped it open.
An unmistakable voice growled through the barrage of static
"Is she taken care of yet? Hello? Is she dead yet? We have to get back to Prague!"
"No, Bouchard, she isn't," Lara drawled, allowing herself a grim half-smile. "But your little friend is. I'll take care of you later."
She hung up, tossing the phone away.
Bouchard was just a cat's paw, a convenient bit of local muscle for her true adversary to bribe and threaten into taking her out of the way. Whoever he worked for must have decided she wasn't needed anymore. Bouchard's distracted manner, and his elusive answers, suddenly all made much more sense.
After only a brief rummage, Lara found what she was looking for. She drew the detonator from the dead man's sleeve and disabled the explosives. The whining of electronics, almost inaudible, fell silent. Just then, the backwash of adrenaline decided to stake its claim for services rendered. Fatigue plucked at her muscles and blurred her vision.
I'm fucking hungry.
Just the thought of sinking into a hot bath and sleeping for a month was painful in its attraction.
The least she could do would be to find a safe haven for a few hours, somewhere she could catch a little sleep, and maybe grab something to eat that wasn't processed in a factory six months ago. Still, however much she tended to her physical needs, she would only find true rest, true relief, when either Werner's killer lay dead at her feet, or she lay in her own grave.
Her thoughts kept her company, and Lara stripped the corpse of everything she could carry. His weapons were of the highest quality. A Colt Viper SMG, cleaned and oiled with plenty of spare ammo and a pair of rather delicious Scorpion X pistols.
She even found keys for a four-wheel drive, a bonus that simplified her travel arrangements immeasurably. The thought of trying to hitchhike her way across Europe wasn't that appealing when she considered the conspicuousness of her new arsenal.
I need to get a head start on the second painting.
Lara wasn't in the mood to involve more innocent people than she already had. As if affirming her decision, she found a business card in his back pocket. The name Vasiley leaped out at her in curling, artsy script, and there was even a phone number and address printed on the back. She grinned at the sight of a symbol beside his name, the same arrow-like emblem of the Lux Veritatis that had been sewn onto the surcoats of Brother Obscura's undead knights.
She had four of the Engravings in one hand, and the key to finding the last of them clutched in the other.
Let's get started then.