Revy and Dutch stood at the door leading to the interior of Hotel Moscow's boat, the former wielding her trusty Berettas and the latter toting his shotgun. The scene before them was unlike anything they had ever seen before. Seven of Hotel Moscow's best soldiers lay dead at their feet, undoubtedly slain by this unknown intruder. The few that didn't have their chests ripped open by shotgun blasts had their heads blown away, and almost the entire deck was painted crimson with their blood.
"This guy took down a whole bunch of Balalaika's men by himself. Who do you think we're up against?" asked Revy.
"I have a few guesses, each less likely than the last. But let's not dwell on that now. We can't afford to fail this job and disappoint the boss lady, so we need to bring this guy down and deliver the package safely."
"Yeah, I know that. I just have a weird feeling I haven't felt in a long time..." replied the plum haired gunslinger. "It's almost... it's almost like fear. I think I'm getting scared, Dutch. I haven't felt scared since... well, since I was a kid in New York."
Revy feeling fear? That was uncharacteristic of her, to say the least. "You're not gettin' cold feet on me, are ya, two-hands?"
"Nah, I'm still goin' in. I just can't shake this bad feeling in my gut."
"Alright then. You ready?"
"As ready as someone literally shaking in their boots can be."
Only six shots left. Drake had forgotten to account for the noise of the shotgun blasts attracting more men to the deck. What an amateur mistake, he thought to himself. He must be getting old. Still, he had some reserve ammo before he would have to throw away his best close-quarters weapon and use his rifle.
He heard footsteps rapidly approaching the corner of the hallway ahead. The footsteps fell too rapidly to get a read on their numbers, but judging by the sound of the pistols on their hips, there must have been about five men. The hallways of this boat were quite narrow, so it was totally feasible to take out multiple foes with one blast from the AA-12. Better yet, a frag grenade could potentially take them all out at once. Drake ducked behind a nearby corner and pulled one from his belt.
The sound of footsteps stopped. They must have turned the corner. Drake pulled the pin on his grenade. They started again, more slowly. Drake counted down till detonation. Five... Four... Three... Two... He threw the handheld explosive around the corner towards the footsteps. One...
Boom.
Screams of pain followed by silence. Drake switched his AA-12 to his left hand, drew his Beretta M9, and cautiously emerged from his hiding spot.
The sound of metal sliding around on the ground hit his ears and he reflexively turned and aimed his pistol at the source of the noise. A single enemy soldier laying on his stomach managed to survive the blast, although his gun arm was riddled with shrapnel and drenched in blood. He was attempting in vain to lift his gun and fire on Drake. The mercenary advanced towards the weakened soldier, putting away his pistol and pulling his Ka-Bar knife from its cover hanging from his belt over his back pocket. With a single motion, he planted his knife in the back of his enemy's neck, severing the spine and killing him.
Dutch and Revy advanced slowly down the hallway. They had barely set foot into the boat's interior before the sound of an exploding grenade resonated throughout the halls.
"So, the fighting has already started in here," remarked a nervous Revy.
"Yeah," replied her employer. "And judging by how big those shotgun holes in those other guys were, our opponent has the upper hand in these narrow halls. We should be careful."
The hallway came to an end and split into two paths, left and right.
"I think we should split up, Dutch."
"Are you crazy, Revy? If we come across the enemy, we'll stand a better chance if we stick together."
"Look at what this guy has done by himself, Dutch. Neither of us are as skilled as Hotel Moscow's troops, and he's already beaten seven of them, probably more after that grenade blast we heard earlier. If we run into him, we're dead regardless of our numbers. There's no sense in both of us dying here, so we need to split up. If we get lucky, one of us will find the package before we find him."
Dutch didn't want to admit it, but Revy was right. "Alright, two-hands. You take the left, I'll take the right. Good luck to both of us."
"If you see the enemy, just run. There's no way either of us could walk away from a fight with him alive."
"I thought I was supposed to be the one who gave orders, Revy? I am your boss, after all."
"You know my battle instincts are better than yours, boss. Just trust me on this or you'll end up just like the boys on the deck. I don't want my source of income to end up six feet under."
"Fine then. If I see him I'll retreat. You do the same."
"Of course. As much as I like Balalaika, no way in hell am I willing to die for her stupid fucking package."
"Back to the swearing, Revy. Sounds like you're starting to get some of your nerve back."
"Shut the fuck up, Dutch. Let's do this."
"Right."
The two set off down their assigned paths.
Drake Winters was having a splendid day. Sure, it had started out rough; having been forced to lose the firefight earlier in the day had put a damper on his mood, but tearing through the soldiers that had earlier suppressed him from acting and killed boss Chang's men was definitely a great way to end off the day. Four more of Hotel Moscow's troops had fallen before him, but there was still no sign of the package he needed to recover.
Two more soldiers rounded the corner. Perfect. He had two shots remaining. Before the new enemies could take aim, Drake had fired on them. That was the advantage of a shotgun in narrow hallways: Firing in the general direction of your target got the job done and was faster than having to aim down a sight. The two soldiers fell to the floor, blood gushing forth from the large holes in their chests. Drake carefully used the parts of his fallen foes that weren't soaked in blood as stepping stools. He didn't want to leave any bloody footprints to lead potential threats right to him.
Out of ammo on the AA-12. Too bad. He tossed it aside, drawing his Beretta M9 and his Ka-Bar. He held the Ka-Bar in reverse in his left hand, and held the Beretta in his right, aiming forward and resting his right hand on top of his left wrist.
The infamous mercenary continued down the hallway for a bit, stopping when he heard the sound of footsteps behind him. As far as he knew, all of Hotel Moscow's squad had boarded, so the only person that would be coming in behind him was Dutch. He had hoped that it wouldn't come to this.
Drake ducked into one of the rooms nearby and waited for Dutch to pass by. He would at least make his old friend's death quick and painless.
Slowly the footsteps got louder and louder, until eventually he heard them pass right by and then slowly begin to fade. Drake quietly opened the door. Yep, it was definitely Dutch. At the last second, however, one of the door hinges squeaked. Immediately alerted, Dutch wheeled around and fired.
Drake ducked behind the wall as soon as he heard the squeak. Then came the shotgun blast. He felt the vibration of the round's impact with the wall. This was his chance to close the distance.
Damn. Dutch had missed, and now he was open. The unknown assailant burst though the doorway, rushing towards Dutch with almost uncanny speed. Knees bent and almost doubled over. Dutch cocked his shotgun, but it was too late. The enemy had gotten to him. Just as Dutch began to squeeze the trigger, the assailant straightened up and spun around so he had his back to Dutch. With his left arm, he knocked away the shotgun and with his right, delivered a hard spinning back elbow to the face. Dutch stumbled, but regained his bearings quickly and countered with a front kick to the gut, knocking his opponent back in order to put enough space between them for his shotgun to be effective again. As he attempted to bring it up to aim, Dutch hesitated when he noticed his enemy's right hand closed around his handgun in its holster. Stalemate. Then Dutch got a good look at his opponent's face.
"Drake?"
"Yeah, Dutch, it's me. How's the business?" replied his old friend.
"Doing well. So you were the outsider hired by Chang?"
"Indeed I was. He's become increasingly mistrustful of Balalaika's actions, particularly the rate at which she's been moving weapons into Roanapur, so I was hired to slow her down until he can get together a large enough force to stop her outright."
"But aren't all of Roanapur's big crime lords forbidden from hiring you by their truce treaty? After all, one crime syndicate having the single greatest soldier of our time on their side would tip the power scales way in their favor."
"Yeah, well, that just shows you how untrustworthy she is in the eyes of boss Chang. The man most interested in maintaining the truce felt the need to break one of its most important conditions."
"Trustworthy or not, she's the one supplying my company's paycheck on this job, so I gotta see it through to the end."
"Same for me, old buddy. I told you after we parted ways ten years ago, if we ever crossed paths on opposite sides, I would crush you without hesitation. I honestly expected to find myself in this situation long before now. Sorry Dutch, but I gotta end this." In the blink of an eye and too quickly for Dutch to react, Drake's left arm surged forward and his knife flew towards Dutch, embedding itself in his right bicep. Dutch flinched from the pain, dropping his shotgun, and it was the opening Drake needed to safely draw his gun and line up his shot.
Damn, thought Dutch. So this is how it ends for me. I can at least take some pride in the fact that it took the God of Mercs to finally kill me.
Just as Drake was about to squeeze the trigger, he heard rapid footsteps from behind him. Probably an employee of Dutch. He rushed forward to Dutch and quickly circled behind him, grabbing Dutch's uninjured left arm and twisting it behind his back, putting his gun barrel to the temple of his new hostage.
The newcomer to the fight rounded the corner, screaming. A familiar voice reached Drake's ears.
"ALRIGHT ASSHOLE, I HOPE YOU'VE MADE PEACE WITH YOUR WORTHLESS GOD!" She turned and lifted her two guns and aimed straight down the hallway at him and Dutch. The first thing Drake noticed was the plum colored hair tied back into a ponytail. The second thing was the tribal tattoo on her right shoulder and arm. And then her face. A face he could never forget.
Drake's eyes widened and he manged to breathe a single word.
"Revy?!"
Revy took a moment to analyze the face of the man holding her employer at gunpoint. In an instant, his identity clicked in her head.
"Drake?!" Undortunately, seeing him made her mood go from bad to worse. "YOU SON OF A CUNT! YOU DROP ME OFF IN THAT GODDAMN SLUM OF A TOWN ROANAPUR AND THEN JUST DISAPPEAR FOR OVER A FUCKING DECADE?! YOU GOT A LOT OF FUCKING BALLS SHOWING UP HERE AND HOLDING MY BOSS HOSTAGE! HOW ABOUT I MARCH MY ASS RIGHT OVER THERE AND CUT THEM RIGHT THE FUCK OFF AS PUNISHMENT FOR ABANDONING ME?!"