Shiva was about to get the hell out of dodge. 322 was actually a nice unit, all things considered. One of those apartments that expats stay at when they're only in town for a few days. I stepped inside the lobby and the guy at the receptionist's desk looked up and got halfway through his "Hi Welcome In" spiel before noticing that I had no face and remembering that he was supposed to be killing a man who had no face and so he pulled out a 1911 and I put three in center mass BANG BANG BANG and he spilled back out of his chair and I watched him for a full minute as he twitched and died. Then I swiveled on my heel, took three steps, and pressed the call button for the elevator.
The trip up had me sweating. Despite the AC. I reloaded the second Five-Seven I had taken from the Colonel and checked its action to make sure nothing could go wrong. I stopped moving and steeled myself. Shiva. Hell of a name. God of...something. Goddess? I couldn't remember. It was a deity's name, I knew that much. The elevator went DING.
So I stepped out of the stairwell a second later, watched the empty elevator's doors open ten feet away and as Shiva threw a blade right where I would've been standing I opened fire and stitched a line of dots right above her head. One bullet nearly got her in the neck, but instead it ripped her mask and it came loose, fluttering away like a crippled bird.
Like a performer from the Jerk De Soleil she leapt into the air, twisting in complete silence, her jacket billowing around her, and even as I tried to cripple her and kept pulling the trigger I couldn't help but stare. She made lethality balletic and almost entrancing. I had no doubt that more than one of her former enemies had been just about hypnotized by her skill before being murdered.
As Shiva disappeared around the corner, still in impossible, beautiful flight, she spun off another dagger. It was like she had merely extended a hand and it took a herculean effort to swipe my head to the side. The blade traced my cheekbone and I gritted my teeth. I focused up and squeezed off my last round and put it through the drywall.
If Shiva was hit, she didn't make a peep, so I seized the moment and dug around in my coat. My fingers found two loose rounds and, with my brain's guidance, chambered them. Then I pocketed the gun and cracked my neck. I thought I'd begun to develop something of a new signature move, and decided to see if I still liked it.
"Oh, Shiva!" I sang, winding up like the Road Runner. Although I guess I was technically Wile E. Coyote. Huh. This analogy isn't
I barreled through the wall, giving my head a good knock on the way through, and caught Shiva by her hair with one arm and the ankle with the other. I had about seventy pounds on her and half a foot, so I decided swinging her at arm's length was the best option, rather than the more conventional method of pulling out her leg and pushing her to the ground with the other hand.
Shiva seemed to come to the same conclusion, though, and she hooked her free leg around my neck mid-swing, so instead of tossing her, I lost my balance and we tumbled to the floor. Her hair spilled out from its professional style and she darted forward like a wild animal. Immediately I rolled out and away, and a good thing too, since Shiva scrambled forward, blades materializing in both hands, and followed my retreat, turning the carpet to sashimi.
She backed me up against the wall in a hurry and I kicked out with a grunt and one of her knives turned into a silver streak in the air and buried itself in the adjacent wall. She stabbed forward again and I dipped to the side, wincing as her remaining blade tore into my shoulder.
"Suffering Sappho!" I hissed, batting her arm away.
It bought me a second but Shiva came back and lunged forward - I didn't have anywhere to run- and her knife sliced through my tie. I dropped my center of gravity and hunched over like a wrestler to ward her off. I had no chance. Knives are cruel and unfair. More so than guns. Guns jam. Guns get mags where the spring learns its position because it's been kept loaded for too long. Guns misfire. Gunmen miss. Knives touch you and you bleed. I had no chance. But it was OK. Because I didn't need a chance. Because I had already won.
