Chapter One
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Farewell | Gustaf Grefberg
Cold mist covered the ground.
Pale, pale blue in the darkness, so pale it seemed to emanate an eerie glow. It swept up in puffs and swirls with every step. It surged back in curling waves, sweeping out with every thrust, giving way to every drop of blood.
Her body moved of its own accord.
Eyes watching, in dispassionate observance, as her fist broke orbital bone. As her knife sunk down into spine. Feeling nothing and everything as blow after blow landed upon her body.
They were bigger. They were stronger. They screamed with glee and rage and freedom.
Ice frosted on her lip where blood had coagulated. Each breath pierced her lungs. Something hurt, something burned.
Somewhere, deep down, the tiny animal in her heart was scared.
She was badly outnumbered. She had been given her orders, and she had no choice but to obey. Eliminate all targets. Either until they or she was dead.
In total, she was not meant to survive.
But survival was what she was built for. These men and women, they were little more than caged beasts. They saw nothing but something to kill and tear open and feast upon. There was no stopping them, no controlling them.
They scratched at her face. Fist after fist landed against her chest.
Something broke inside her. She lost count how much. It didn't matter. The pain didn't matter, so long as she could ignore it, so long as it didn't slow her down. Each painful breath, each stumbling step, so long as that killing blow landed.
Her only advantage were her weapons. Her targets had nothing but their rage and their hands. And vicious, they were.
Blood splashed against cement and metal, so deep it seemed a grisly black in the blue hued light. Something struck her in the back of the head, and she toppled off the dais.
Cold concrete met her below. Hard and unwelcoming, a gravity so strong it was almost impossible to resist. The world swam around her, eyes unfocused in the swirling mist, invisible lights flashing in her retinas, a ringing in her ears. Something hot slipping down the back of her neck and down her collar.
And she knew, that animal deep down — they were killing her.
But she still slid her hands beneath her, and pushed up.
The world shifted, uneven and swaying beneath her feet. One side of her body felt heavier than the other, and the men that remained came at her too fast, blurring as they moved.
Her knife dripped with blood. Her knuckles split. Rust in her mouth.
And she threw herself back at them.
Knife point slamming up beneath the chin. A kick to her knee. Knife into the offending foot. Shield taking another blow, not the boot to the face.
Hands around her throat. Fists into gut, chest, face. At a certain point, its hard to tell who was hurting who. For every blow she landed, she earned twice, thrice, sevenfold in return.
And still, they fell. One by one by one.
Until there was no one left.
No one but her.
The last body hit the floor. And there was silence. Nothing but the sound of her own breathing. Her heart pounding in her ears. Scanning the room desperately, searching for any enemy in the shadows. But she had counted. All eight were dead.
She had accomplished her mission.
The only one left to die — herself.
And it would happen. She could feel it. Something punctured, something bleeding. Her head ached and pounded and swam. It was difficult to stand upright anymore, and she stumbled against a far wall, sliding down. Catching her breath. Hand to her side came away wet with blood.
She coughed, and that too came up red. But still, it felt good. To have succeeded in her mission. There was nothing left now. No more orders. No more commands. Just to wait.
Waiting.
Waiting to die.
It wouldn't be long now.
It was easy to close her eyes, and fall into oblivion.