Piratecat
Sesquipedalian
One of the four bodyguards takes Mace's slug in the throat. The impact knocks him into a backwards somersault, corkscrewing a spiral of blood as he stops free-falling and starts plummeting uncontrollably. The other three exchange a look, and one says, "¿En serio? El hecho de que nosotros somos él cosas de América del Sur somos los vaqueros mexicanos."
Subtitles appear: "Seriously? The guy thinks everyone from South American is a Mexican cowboy."
Then they start firing towards the spy. Two of their shots go wild, but the third puts a bullet neatly into Mace's left thigh. Pain arcs through Mace's body as he falls closer.
He can now see that the woman has a device clipped to the bottom of the phone. She's cloning it, de-encrypting it, or both. Her eyes lock with Mace's and a brief, radiant smile flashes across her face. Deep brown eyes, high cheekbones, maybe a little too skinny. She moves like a model, and she also moves like someone who's had espionage training. Judging from your tradecraft, from France, you suspect.
MEANWHILE:
The knife buries itself in Sergei's shoulder. He grunts, scowls, and doesn't even take the time to remove it. Instead he slugs Hung-Ke in the stomach with the haft of the axe, grabs him by the throat, and lifts him up out of the chair so that he's on tip-toes.
"You win prize," he grates into Hung-Ke's face. "Before I was to kill you. Now I will chop off hands, make you watch, and THEN kill you." He slams Hung-Ke against the wall hard enough to shake down plaster, although the knife still in him makes him wince. He wheels around and brings Hung-Ke with him, still holding him by the throat. With his good hand he flips the fire axe in a full 360 before catching it. "How you say in America? 'Batter up.'"
Across the room, shots ring out as both blinded thugs shoot wildly at Quinn and Persephone. Both miss. Bullets bury themselves with metallic thuds in delicate electronics.
Hung-Ke's phone chirps, the voice that of a well-known feature actress Hung-Ke dated last year. "40 seconds," it says sweetly.
Subtitles appear: "Seriously? The guy thinks everyone from South American is a Mexican cowboy."
Then they start firing towards the spy. Two of their shots go wild, but the third puts a bullet neatly into Mace's left thigh. Pain arcs through Mace's body as he falls closer.
He can now see that the woman has a device clipped to the bottom of the phone. She's cloning it, de-encrypting it, or both. Her eyes lock with Mace's and a brief, radiant smile flashes across her face. Deep brown eyes, high cheekbones, maybe a little too skinny. She moves like a model, and she also moves like someone who's had espionage training. Judging from your tradecraft, from France, you suspect.
MEANWHILE:
The knife buries itself in Sergei's shoulder. He grunts, scowls, and doesn't even take the time to remove it. Instead he slugs Hung-Ke in the stomach with the haft of the axe, grabs him by the throat, and lifts him up out of the chair so that he's on tip-toes.
"You win prize," he grates into Hung-Ke's face. "Before I was to kill you. Now I will chop off hands, make you watch, and THEN kill you." He slams Hung-Ke against the wall hard enough to shake down plaster, although the knife still in him makes him wince. He wheels around and brings Hung-Ke with him, still holding him by the throat. With his good hand he flips the fire axe in a full 360 before catching it. "How you say in America? 'Batter up.'"
Across the room, shots ring out as both blinded thugs shoot wildly at Quinn and Persephone. Both miss. Bullets bury themselves with metallic thuds in delicate electronics.
Hung-Ke's phone chirps, the voice that of a well-known feature actress Hung-Ke dated last year. "40 seconds," it says sweetly.
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