Sweat and barbecue. Cheap perfume and piss. Smog and the smell of decaying dogs in the dirty side alleys.
All these fragrances and more ambushed and overwhelmed Risky's senses as she stepped on the open street. The low standing sun in her back burned down, casted its hot golden light on her and created a long shadow that made its way down the street, bypassing rundown houses and burned out cars before her. Youths loitering on the steps of those buildings took quick interest in the beautiful woman and started to yell at her. Obscene insults and offerings of private hours for two or more people. Like the yelping of hyenas their crazy laughter filled the thick hot air and echoed in the distance. Only to die at an instant as she came nearer. Not like they were unarmed but the amount of weapons that this stranger in their area carried scared even them. Heavy artillery. The kind the real professionals wear. Those professionals that made their living of using that weapons. Of killing. A short glance on her face made it clear that messing with her might not be worth the cost. Suddenly silent the teenagers disappeared into the house.
Not wasting a single thought on them Risky made her way further down the road. When had it been that all this started? When had she gotten this message to meet him here in the Bronx? One day? Two? Felt like an eternity. What was he up to? She didn't know but this undefined tickling in her neck told her to bring as many weapons as possible. He was dangerous, one of the most dangerous men that she had ever met, in one league with people like Nighthunter and other legends. If he was after her head for some reason she would have to be prepared. The options were clear: Be prepared or be dead...
Finally she had arrived the place he had named in his message. The street infront of house number 13. Nothing spectacular, a house that was left by all two legged inhabitants years ago, the broken windows covered by wood that was crudely nailed onto the porous bricks. Risky took a deep breath of the polluted air around her. She was never one who liked waiting and as much as the sun and therefore the temperature on this hot summer day sank the tension rose. The night fell onto one of New York's shadiest parts Hell's Kitchen and brought forth scavengers and predators of all kinds out of their holes to go on the hunt for people weaker than themselves. Not the nicest area to be at this time. And all the time one question kept going through her mind over and over and over and over and over again.
What was he up to?
Rumble in the Bronx- Ruin Cross vs. Risky
His arm trembled in awe as he gazed at the documents of his new assignment. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. His dearest friend had just become his most significant job. Still shocked at what he was asked to do, he tossed the photos into the fireplace watching them smolder into ash. He laid motionlessly on the sofa, letting his mind process this information. This what they had been preparing him for, this was exactly why he was chosen in the first place. He thought back to when he received these classified documents. As he dialed out on his cell pone, and spoke to the voice mail “It’s Cross, meet me on Laurent Lane. It’s a straight shot from house 13.”
Yesterday
He was surprised, no stunned. The boss had actually, left the agency headquarters to confront him. Immediately Ruin was aware that this was not a friendly visit, because as he opened the door he was handed an envelope. Proceeding to open it, the boss tapped his shoulder signaling that it was not time to open the package. “Ruin, I am aware you no longer service my agency. However, you’re still the best we’ve got. I’ve got one last assignment for you. It is very important that subject is executed as soon as possible. This person is not only wanted, by us, but many other bureaus are tracking her as we speak. Even homeland security, wants them dead. They are suspected to be involved in classified terrorist act.” The boss paused for a slight second while shooting Ruin a glance of sympathy, “Ruin, don’t let your emotions get the best of you. This is very important, and we’re counting on you.”
________________________________________________________________________________________________________
His arsenal was spread across the desk, as he prepared himself to execute the most lethal female target he had ever received. The subject was Risky, a skilled professional in the art of assassination. Back in their solo days, they had worked as comrades many times, making contract-killing look like a sport. He then remembered what the boss had spoken of “Ruin, don’t let your emotions get the best of you.” Now he knew exactly what that meant. He brought an end to reminiscing, discarding all emotions he was capable of having. He loaded the ammo into firearms, making sure they all were locked and loaded. He had no time for mistakes, for Risky was the type of woman to put a bullet between a man’s eyes before he could blink. He inserted all of the deadly artillery into the duffel bags. With the exception of his dual desert eagles, which he tucked into the back of his pants at the tip of his back. He grabbed the bags, and proceeded from the safe house. He thought for a second that the best route of transportation was his Bentley Continental, then he decided that he had a better idea….
Ruin found himself dashing across the rooftops, leaping his way through The Bronx. The professional, had always preferred this method of transportation over any other. Even with the weight of the luggage he was carrying he had still managed, to bound from building top to building top. His nose was rushed by the whiff of factory smoke that contaminated the atmosphere. Finally finding his destination, he sprang down onto the streets of The Bronx releasing the bags in mid air. His landing was silent but unfortunately he couldn’t not say the same for the bags, he was definitely sure Risky had realized his arrival. Still crouched down, he began to rise and moved his left hand to behind his back and posted it on top of his desert eagle while sliding his finger near the trigger.
“Risky, you and I both know we’ve been associates for quite some time. During that time, I felt a connection I think I actually began to understand friendship.” He paused, it was time to go from the good news to the bad. “You are well aware that three years ago, I left my agency and gave up contract killing. Well see the boss came to see me, yesterday. He has assigned me to a very important target. However, unlike our last confrontation I have not come to you in need of assistance. I have come to you because…”
He snatched at his left hand, bringing the silver coated desert eagle in front of him, aiming it precisely for of Risky’s heart.
“You are that target.”
Proficient in his skills of execution, he crouched down and propelled himself into the air, his momentum caused him to twirl several times as he fired off three rounds at his target. Landing closer to her he squatted, and swatted out his left leg attempting to sweep her off her feet.The sound of colliding metal brought her attention back from nirvana. Slowly, deliberately, she tunred around, trying to display the most intimidating facial expression ever. Everything on her, the slim line of her mouth, the stern gaze of her mercyless blue eyes, the tension of her face spoke of a woman who was awre of what would follow now. A woman that was not only aware but also prepared. Prepared to kill without a second thought. But what she saw shook that confidence in herself. Not on the outside. On the inside. There he stood. Ruin Cross. Crouched in a dark alley like a common assassin. It was strange to see him like this. Not only the environment added to the aura of depression that surrounded him but also his own demeanor. Like she showed the tough mercenary to the outworld his conflict could be clearly seen. Even for him it was impossible to hide his massive inner conflict. Something lay terribly heavy on his soul and Risky could tell pretty well what this had to be. Could tell but still hoped it would be different. Instinctively her fingers wandered to her gun, a reflex that even she was not aware of, trained by years of struggling and survival. If she had any hope left it was reduced to rubble by his grief loaden words.
“Risky, you and I both know we’ve been associates for quite some time. During that time, I felt a connection I think I actually began to understand friendship.You are well aware that three years ago, I left my agency and gave up contract killing. Well see the boss came to see me, yesterday. He has assigned me to a very important target. However, unlike our last confrontation I have not come to you in need of assistance. I have come to you because…”
Then the unthinkable happened. He pulled a gun at her. The last dying light of the sinking sun was reflected by the silver coating and in this minute, the last minute of the day, it looked like the weapon was covered in blood. A deadly omen of the things to come. Now it was clear. they were enemies this time, the agency had put a contract on him. So she had not cleared things up like she thought she did. And they had done the most vile, most cruel thing one could think of. Somehow they had managed to blackmail an old friend to kill her. Looked like someone still had to settle a score. Certainly she would take care of that. But first she had to take care of something different. It was funny how her mind already abstracted. Pretty much how his mind already did. Sad. But it was the way of the assassin. it was something that she had told him a long long time ago. The last line almost needn't to be said. Strangely her smart@$$ mercenary mouth kept being shut here. She jjust didn't feel like saying anything. It didn't appear to be appropriate.
"You are the target."
The sh1t had definitely hit the fan. He disappeared into a black blur as his strong legs catapulted him into the air. Bullet after bullet came from the tornado he had become and flew towards her, angry hornets ready to sting. Each bang of the weapon broke her heart a bit more as a once good friend fired at her. Round and round he spun, a deadly roulette in the air that spoke of probable doom for her. Like a dervish she whirled around to dodge the bullets. With amazing accuracy they hit the ground where she was standing only miliseconds ago and left craters in the already damaged concrete. Luck was an important factor in this action but if there ever had been something that Risky had enough of it was luck. Sweet adrenaline began to flood her organism and make her stronger, faster and more durable. The claws in their artificial sheaths nearly itched in their wild lust to come out and play but so far she would keep them under control. They were a surprise that she would use later on. When the opportunity presented itself.
This opportunity came faste than she thought. Right after his hail of bullets he crouched down once more and tried to sweep her from her feet. Her impious little merc smile (TM) graced her face for the 1.000.000th time or so as she jumped over his foot to avoid the sweep and delivered a well aimed left leg-kick towards his face. Unerringly the foot raced towards his throat in order to meet his pulsing aorta. The sharp "SNIKT" sound and the short sting of pain that she felt everytime the single claw in her left foot plopped out reminded her of another good friend that she missed. Strange to think of a friend you lost while actively trying to loose another...
Swish. Something sharp, very sharp had just passed right by him nearly catching him by his throat....At least that was what he thought. He could feel the single drop of blood trickling down his Adams Apple. His reflexes kicked in as he kicked his legs in the air, slamming them into the ground boosting his body up. He looked to Risky, trying to locate the blade she had slit him with, however within in her hands were no dagger. He slowly stepped backwards, as he gaped at the glint of metal on the cement below. The sight was so shocking that he continued to increase the space between he and Risky. Was he prepared to fight a mutant, with this advantage? Or should he fall back? No, never, if Risky had to die he would be the one to bring her that fate.
He continued to move away from her, finding himself between his duffel bags with his back to the wall. He reached to leather gloves from a compartment on the bag. Sliding them onto his hands, he unzipped the bag ready to furnish himself with one of the finest contract killing devices available. He pulled from the bag, a small earpiece gadget, with a square section of black glass. The black was suppose to be some sort of artificial eye, but this would be his first time to make use of it. He made sure it was secure, incase he had to do any stunts. He watched as the program began to load. “Welcome to E.Y.E. How may we assist you.” He pulled from the bag, his glock 18 and loaded a magazine into it. “What’s the status on my opponent?” The virtual system transitioned into a camera like mode, it began to analyze not only Risky’s artillery but also her body. The response from the mechanism was not much help “Antagonist is armed and very dangerous.” “No sht Sherlock, how can execute her?”
The gadget began to run several test, on his opponent and his surroundings. It switched its different visions, form heat vision, to scent vision. Finally it responded to question. “Calculated distance to the target: 7 meters. Proceed to sprit towards the…” He listened carefully as the artificial eye instructed him on taking out the target. Apparently, this device was hi-tech enough to strategize on assassinating anything moving...or not moving. Because the set of directions was so foolproof, it almost seemed flawless. He only hoped it was.
He assured himself that the distance between both buildings were narrow enough for the plan. With both hands on the glock 18, he darted towards the rusted red fire hydrant. He quickly boosted himself to the top of it, and then following that another leap onto the side of the building. With the power of his momentum, he found himself pouncing from wall to wall, firing at least 60 rounds at Risky. Finally ascending too close to the top, he dived forward and was rolling through thin air like a cannonball. As he landed he quickly pivoted his feet, turning toward the back of his opponent and released the glock. He threw his hands over his opponents hand and a sheet of thick plastic began to open itself in the wind, as he pulled it back towards her mouth and nose. He was hoping to suffocate her into sub mission.
Not much distance saved his life. There was not even air between the blade and his throat. Would it not have been for his excellent reflexes he would be dead by now, decapticated his head falling to the street and rolling around like a foul apple that somebody let fall. But he was not so easy to kill. Somehow Risky felt relieved. She didn't know if she would forgive herself such an act. In the end it seemed to be him or her and she always would choose herself in such a situation. Of course she would hate herself the next day when she lay in her bed crying but at least she would be able to lie and cry. Her adrenaline-heightened senses caught the smell of blood and finally she saw a drop of blood run down his throat. A single red tear asking for forgiveness. His eyes although focussed spoke of the sorrow and the pain he was going through. It had to be done and then it had to be him and no other. And from te same shade of red as his blood, her ruby lips, came the absolution that Risky gave him:
"It's okay..."
And so they stood there, united in their dilemma. This confrontation meant life for one and death for the other. The gravity of this fact hung between them as they stood on this shady street in the Bronx and the cool evening breeze that spoke of the end of the day carried a crumbled newspaper past them. Their old lifes seemed gone, gone like the news in the paper. All that remained was this moment. The final confrontation like in the western movies. Duel in the evening, not at noon.
Interested she watched as he slid on his gloves and his glasses. Jetblack they somehow palpated a strange aura, utilitaristic, almost deadly. She didn't know why she let him have this time, maybe two give him a chance to give up, to end this madness. But he didn't. He couldn't. Professionals like them never did. With a slow, deliberate grip he reached into his bag all the time not letting her out of sight and muttering something into the air. She could only catch some key words but those were enough. "Execute" was one of it. So it was clear. Her image on his glasses showed a proud, fearless woman, her face expressing nothing but cool professsionalism. Deadly weapons all over her. The perfect killer.
That image was only lightly tainted when she was suddenly forced to dodge an subjectively endless hail of bullets that he fired while madly jumping between two housewalls, a feat that was worthy of an olympic level athlete. Backflip after backflip brought her nearer to the house while little craters where carved into the street by the 9mm ammunition of the dreaded Glock 18. She could feel the surge of the shells as they ripped through the air only milimeters before her body. Comfortable shivers ran up and down her spine. Although it felt pervers this was an output of adrenaline that she hadn't experienced for some time. Somehow she revelled in this battle.
Already breathing heavily she landed on her feet in a crouched position and came back up quickly. A shadow, as if from a ginat bird, crossed over her but she chose not to let this distract her and look to the houses where had just pulled his astonishing stunt. Only not to see him there. Where was he? Where the heck had he...
The answer came in the form of sudden oxygen deprivation. A strange material covered her face and berobbed her of the possibility to breathe. Risky cursed herself as she discovered that he had caught her like a beginner and was now choking her with some kind of plastic bag. She could feel it clinging to her skin and pressing at her throat. No chance of breathing. Certain death. Certain death for everybody but Risky. What she could touch she could kill. He would be better off not to rely on his experience with her but to update his info. Another sharp "SNIKT" sound filled the air as another 11 inch claw slid out of her right ellbow and she thrusted it backwards towards his stomach upwards to his heart through his rip. She couldn't really tell if she had hit him but there was no time to loose. Using another new power that he was probably not aware of she teleported out of the bag behind him with her H&K Road Patrol 9mm pistol drawn and fired a bullet to his back. Smoking the cartridge left the gun and hit the asphalt as empty brass, adding a silent and subtle "ping" to the thundering "BANG" of the pistol...
The next sequence of events had went by so fast that the naked eye alone couldn’t analyze the happenings. All he knew was his attempt of smothering Risky, to cut off her air supply, was successful. He hoped that he could bring her into submission, by making her unconscious. He could feel his finger-nails digging into the tough material of the plastic bag. As he tried to get a better grip, he felt a sharp pain in his body. A pain so devastating that his body needed time to recover from the shock. Suffocating, Risky was no longer the objective. Not because the bag had now left from his grasp, but because Risky was nowhere in sight. His hands clutched, at his torso, with his shirt drenched in blood. The new objective was now…only…to live.
Unfortunately, the pain and torturing had not ended there. The sound of a treacherous POP behind him sent him sprawling onto the asphalt. He found himself nearly drowning, in a pool of his own blood. He used all his force, to crawl towards his luggage bags. A river of blood began to flow silently down the pavement, only telling him one thing. He needed to clog up the wound, or wounds, quick. Struggling furiously, he managed to pull several bandages from the bag wrapping them around his chest. By now his eyelids had gotten heavy. Really heavy. He didn’t have much might, so he would have to come up with a tactic to take out this feminine mercenary. Just when he thought she wouldn’t kill him, he was wrong. He had to remember this was an art, the art of war. And when performing art, all emotions are to be set aside.
The disposed of the artificial eye, because of its damage taken as he had slammed into the ground. He grasped the nozzle of the fire hydrant, pulling himself up, wedging two explosives where they could no be seen.. He was limping, to the point where his 6’ 3” body was not 5’ 9”. His left hand was forced to the end of the bandage to make sure it had been secure. His right hand was equipped with a .45 ACP 1911. His fingers slowly rotated, as he disengaged the thumb safety. He tossed two pain-relieving pills into his mouth, knowing that they would only work to a certain limit. Like he always said “I expect the worse. So I prepare for the worse.” Before his arrival to this skirmish, he had made a few calls. He pulled a small device from his blood soaked hand. The device could hardly be made out because of the dry red paste that covered it throughout.
He pressed down on the red button, as the two packages of c4 blew the entry nozzle from the fire hydrant. The H2O blasted its way towards, Risky, with a sure chance of soaking her. He rolled up his sleeve, glancing at his watch. 7:29. Did he mention that one of the calls were to the city pipeline company, and he had convince them to switch the water pipelines with the gasoline pipelines at exactly 7:30. He looked back to his watch as the second hand struck the twelve, and he aimed his gun at the impeding liquid. Even though it’s direction was towards Risky, he knew the entire city was about to get rude awakening. He stared blankly, knowing what he was about to do, knowing it could possibly kill him also and many others. These pipelines ran all through underground, so everything under and above would be affected. As the stench of gasoline, rushed his system, he thought once again about his next action. Then he pulled the trigger.
Pieces of him flew all around while he fell to the ground bleeding from a hole in his stomach and a hole in his back. He crept forwards on his arms through puddles of his own blood smearing the asphalt of the street in a dark and dirty red that reflected the last dying light of the sun. His pain was obvious, even more to her. She felt every stab and every shot as if it was done to her. With tears in her eyes and an unbelievable torture in her mind she watched how he crawled over the ground towards his luggage bags. The gun in her hands felt as heavy as a helicarrier. For some reason she could not lift it and get the job done. It would only need two or three bullets, maybe even one if she aimed well. But there was still hope in her heart that he would end this madness. His back was unprotected to her, it would be easy. The gun was still warm from the first shot. A familiar, comfortable warmth.
Moaning and short of breaking down he finally reached his bags. Trembling fingers stained with his own blood reached inside and brought forth bandages and chemicals, desinfection spray and painkillers. With a facial expression that left no doubt about his mental and physical condition he wrapped himself up till he looked like a mummy. And those bandages too turned red very fast. Weak like a baby he heaved himself up on a fire hadrant, another sign that he could not continue this for very long. That he was not far away from death actually.His will to go on was impressive. Stupid but impressive. Sorrow filled Risky's heart as she she watched the brightly coloured pills of the painkillers disappear into his throat. Hunched over llike an animal, berobbed of his dignity as he pressed his hands on the gaping wounds under the bandages.
The heavy blood loss now began to show signs of affecting him. Slowly, almost as if he had to concentrate on it, his hand slid in his clothes and came back with a small device, not much bigger than his palm. What was this? A trigger foor some explosive? he couldn't do it. She was almost next to him, only a few meters away. This would kill him too and he was not one for suicide. Smilingly she lifted her gun once more.
"Come on Ruin, you know you can't..."
She never came to finish that sentence. As he psuhed the button the hydrant blew up and a stream of water rushed towards her. She didn't even have the time for one of her mean merc curses. It felt like she was hit by a truck when the water met her body with several bar and sent her flying across the street. She was surprised iit didn't break her a rib. Maybe they were just broken so often in the past that they didn't break so easily now. Rolling over and over she came to a halt when she finally hit a car. It proved to be harder than her head. Stars danced before her eyes and dangerous blackness crawled from the side of her sight but she managed to force it away. But what was that smell? It smelled like gasoline. But why would gasoline come out of a fire hydrant that was contrary to extinguishing a fire. Why would anyone do this? As it seemed, that was not oof importance to her.
Okay, he had made hiis move. Now... Oh no! He wasn't so mad! Was he? He was! It was almost as if she saw a smile on his face as he pulled the trigger. Now suddenly the gasoline WAS of importance to her. The flame started at his feet and quickly made their way towards her. Her eyes widened as she realized that woud happen to her soaked in gasoline as she was. Painful images of the Civil War came to her mind, she burning and screaming. If she didn't want to reexpierience this she would have to act fast. While the world still tunred around her like a merry go round she jumped. Jumped back and behind the car to find cover there. Flames came up where she had sat only a second before and cast strange flickering shadows on the housewalls around. It was like a second sun had risen now that the first had set.
Save for a short time. Now she could gather her thoughts and... What? No time again? The tingling in her neck said otherwise. She wouldn't stress her luck now. so she jumped. Not a bad idea. The forces of pressure had conspiraced to throw her around or at least this was the impression that she had as the pressure of the exploding car hit her and smashed her against a wall. Risky heard several bones crack. Most probably rips as if she had provoked it. The pain didn't show so far but she knew this wouldn't last long. Mumbling something about how much she loved her powers for not catching fire she stumbled back to her feet and drew her Uzi. Screaming an angry
"Rargh!!!"
she sent an unaimed hail of bullets through the smoke towards the rough direction of Ruin relying on her luck to hit.
Familiar with the term “Your life flashing before your eye?” Good because Ruin had just experienced it. It was almost if reality paused itself, as he pulled the trigger. Literally it was as if the bullet hadn’t left the trigger, as if he had a chance to take back this fatal action. It wasn’t long before he snapped back to reality. The vehicle had just exploded, hurling Risky to the side of the brick building. The force of the explosion was powerful enough to launch him as it did Risky. Knowing, he was too fragile, to get banged up anymore. He gripped the stop sign, as he feet still were pushed through the air. Finally, the atmosphere had calmed down. A dark aroma still passed through the air, not as if the air of Bronx wasn’t already contaminated. Mission Complete. Tears poured from his eyes, tears of sorrow pain. He had taken so much damage that the fluid of the tears had been his blood. He had murdered his only female companion. It was too late for regrets, he just needed to use the rest of the strength he had to get to a hospital.
That was before he heard the shower of bullets directed towards him. He leapt into the alley trashcan. Hopefully before she could have realized where he was hidden. He reached into the pocket of his pants, retrieving something he had saved, for the most desperate time of this clash. This time seemed pretty desperate. He could feel that one of the bullets, had torn through the back of his foot, ripping the muscle apart. He could feel the pain deepening as his wound absorbed the waste products. He smashed his elbow into the top of the dumpster sending the cover flying to the side, as he crawled himself out. He was ducked down on the side of the trashcan, yelling words to Risky between his gasps of pain. “You know Risky, if I was to ever be killed I wanted you to be the one to do it. However, truth is, we have both done some very bad things in life. And for that reason alone, we both face future prosecution. Why wait till later? Why don’t we pay for our sins now? How about it Risky, discard your luck…,”
He rolled to open view of the alley. Using all of the little strength he had to tackle Risky. “and let me execute you.” Even with his loss off energy throwing him off a bit, the speed and force of his running made him look like a deranged football player. Why, why would he tackle her head on she’d only kill him afterwards. Uh oh, as he came closer, he waited and waited, raising his left arm into the air. Finally, within arm reach of Risky, he pulled the fuse on the hand grenade.
Hungry red and yellow flames licked out of broken windows and spit poisonous black smoke into the already hot air. Screams of the wounded filled the air numerous as scavenger birds over a dead body. The same moment that the gasoline had caught fire it had ignited in the pipes as well, rapidly eating its way through till it had made an exit in the cheap houses around. Now they burned like pyres for the ones inside. An uncomfortable part of the city had just became even more uncomfortable. Although the sun had set some minutes ago several new ones had risen setting the sky ablaze and making the young night into a new day. Flickering light was cast upon the street totally negating the damaged lanterns on the sidewalks and creating creepy unsteady shadows in the surrounding. Risky didn't even want to imagine how many people suffered in the burning houses. Like a true professional he was willing to do everything to get the job done. And this would be the way she would engage him. With cool professionalism.
Banning the screams of the people and the blazing of the fire from her busy mind she spied through the thick smoke on the street while the last of the burning gasoline slowly disappeared into the sewers. Not oonly the almost non existing wind but also the horrible stench of burning gasoline made it difficult to see Ruin through the black veil. Or was veil inappropriate? Was shroud the better word? Shroud for so many innocent people? Her bullets had just penetrated the smoke and she knnew they had hit something but she was uncertain if it was Ruin. A whole clip had to hit something. She just wondered if she had scored a blind bullseye shot when his voice sounded from somewhere in the impenetrable blackness.
“You know Risky, if I was to ever be killed I wanted you to be the one to do it. However, truth is, we have both done some very bad things in life. And for that reason alone, we both face future prosecution. Why wait till later? Why don’t we pay for our sins now? How about it Risky, discard your luck…”
And then, like an avenging angel coming to maker her pay for the bad things he had mentioned, he suddenly jumped out of the smoke. It was almost as if the smoke wouldn't let him go. The heavy dark black clung to his broken body like a fine cloak and contrasted heavily with the red of his own blood that covered him from head to toe. His perfect white teeth showed as he grinned like a madman and his eyes gleamed with an inner madness. Like in bullettime his athletic figure seperated from the clouds of smoke. It almost seemed like it spat him out. For a short moment Risky was amazed by the pure display of it. It almost looked as if her sins had finally caught up with her. There was a reason they had sent somebody like Ruin Cross after her.
Then he hit her. She may have been a lot stronger than him, at her maximum capacity able to lift slightly over 600 lbs., but she still had the normal mass of a trained woman of her size and weight. It send the two of them rolling over the floor like two bar room brawlers trying to get on top of each other and cursing like drunken sailors. It was Ruin who succeeded but only because Risky let him. She had her own plans. Secure him. Make him let his guard down. Her plans went to hell as she heard a little piece of metal fall dwonn right beside her ear. She didn't have to look to see what it was. The defused grenade in her opponent's hand told her everything she needed to know.
But what the heck!!! She was Risky after all! She didn't have this nick for nothing. Smiling her impious little merc smile she said:
"Discard my luck? Come one Ruin, you know I can't do that! I would loose my favourite nickname. Not to forget I would use so much money next time I visit Las Vegas!"
That being said she brought her left knee upwards to his crotch. Fast. Hard. Mean. And most important of all: With an unsheathed adamantium claw sticking out of it... The grenade was of no concern to her. She knew her powers would turn it into a failure. She knew it would not explode, was totally certain. The only question... Was fate as certain as she was?
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