два

                                    

                                          
Nomad
                          
"то случилось? Где заключенный?" my getaway driver/assistant asks harshly the moment the Tower is out of sight. 
                          
"Было шесть против одного, я не собирался побеждать," I respond blankly, gazing out of the SUV's tinted windows, mask in hand. I don't remember taking it off. Frankly, I don't remember a lot of things anymore.
                          
"Они не будут счастливы с тобой."
                          
I bristle unnoticeably at his words. "Не говори им пока. Я собираюсь прорваться в башню."
                          
"огда?"
                          
"Три часа," his surprise is evident- how he became a spy, I'll never know. "Но мне нужна ваша помощь, чтобы взломать системы безопасности и отключить их."
                          
Что-нибудь для миссии. Град HYDRA."
                          
"Град HYDRA," I repeat, resigning myself to depressive silence for the rest of the trip- fortunately, it's quite short, as the two of us are simply staying in an underground HYDRA safehouse, off the map in New York City. Barely anyone else knows of its existence yet it provides much easier access to each of the City's boroughs.
                          
The assistant storms away to his quarters and me to mine, both of us hoping to avoid each other until tonight. Two hours, forty-seven minutes, thirty-six seconds and counting. We'll leave this place in exactly two and a half hours.
                          
While I'm bored, I fire a few test shots from a new machine gun HYDRA so graciously provided me. My flatmate furiously yells for me to stop in Russian but when I threaten to shoot him he soon quietens down. Somehow, everything sounds much more terrifying in Russian and I know that this man is scared of me so I may as well use it to my advantage.
                          
*
                          
"Безопасность все отключена," the assistant tells me, finally looking up from his computer- is that the right word? Technology will be the bloody death of me, I swear. He pushes the device so the screen faces me. "Здесь: Это показывает макет здания." 
                          
"Спасибо. Прощай," I grin at him but before he can react I leap out of the SUV, a route-plan already in my mind. He's lucky I didn't shoot him; I wanted to. Anyway, this should be rather easy as long as none of the others interrupt me.
                          
The front door of the tower opens with a single touch, glass smudging slightly under the black gloves encasing my fingers like the mask does my face. Silence greets me, the soft padding of my boots the only sound. I let deep brown tendrils of hair swat my cheeks as I step closer to the stairs.
                          
I reach the base of the stairs, finding exactly what I'm looking for: vents. I carefully yank off the cover and slip inside, replacing it behind me as I stalk through the shafts on my knees, following the route's impression in my head until I find the right room.
                          
Dropping from the ceiling with a thud, I gaze at the only other person in the room while he stares back at me, crouched on the pale grey carpet. He leaps up from sitting on the bed to grab his shield from against the wall. Helpful to know I've landed in the correct room, though.
                          
I lazily pull out a pistol, one of my favourites (odd, yes, I know), pretending to study it while in fact, I'm very busy watching my target watch me. He's scared; I know that much. He understands I'm here to kill him and nothing will get in my way- that's my job. That's my duty.