Saving Grace

Middle Managed

The blood trickled down my chest, running down the leather and Kevlar bodice of my uniform, and dripped unto the chair I was bound to, staining the already bloodied, sticky metal. The interrogator roughly wiped the edges of the bloody blade on the sleeve of my shirt, cutting through the cloth and splitting the skin under it. I let out a hiss of pain, and my head dropped forward, chin to my chest. The blood loss was taking it's toll on me, and I was walking the thin line between consciousness and it's less pleasant counterpart.

A pair of green eyes met my exhausted blue ones, and he barked a command at me in Syriac, which was out of my range of language-related understanding. I stared back with the little life I had left, and watched helplessly as he aimed the gun at me. I heard both shots being fired, but felt nothing. The interrogator's body jolted as the bullets of the FN P-90 pierced through his chest, and the red quickly replaced white as the predominant color of his shirt. He fell to the ground, dead, and my eyes stayed open enough to see the other guards slump against the wall. I was vaguely aware of someone beside me, and only realized the restraints had been cut when the extreme pressure against my ribs was relieved. I was thrown across a shoulder like a rag doll, but lacked the energy to protest.

"One political assassination, and we find you tied to a chair in the middle of Syria" My partner's voice registered in my cloudy brain. "Yeah, well, I couldn't let you guys have all the fun. Besides, I had them on the ropes" I whispered, my eyelids heavy, the throbbing, burning pain finally beginning to set in. "Sure, Grace. Sure. Boss is going to be pissed, though. If news gets around that his master assassin was captured just across the border from where the President is, we're all screwed" he says, opening the door to a vehicle and getting in, pulling me along with him. He pats my side, and I growl. "It's going to be okay, Gray. They're gonna patch you up nice and tight, and you'll be back to raining on people's parades by tomorrow" his hand hovered over me, looking for a place to pat reassuringly. They settled on the crown of my head.

"It may be a little more complicated than that, Sir," a medic was studying me with careful eyes. "She has lost more blood than we're sure is safe, and that rib- we're pretty sure it' broken" he pursed his lips, and I closed my eyes, leaning back against the dusty seat, taking slow, careful breaths. Anything more complicated than that hurt like a stab to the lungs, a stone down my windpipe.

"How does our most disciplined assassin get captured in Syria, and she's supposed to be in Egypt?" Marco raises an eyebrow, and I roll my head over to my left shoulder, looking at him as my eyelids drooped further. "Maybe I had missions you were unaware of" I mumbled, flinching as someone wiped alcohol over one of my many wounds. "We're supposed to cooperate, Grace. We're a team; neither of us can function without the other" Marco scolded. "Yeah, I got that. Listen, it's been a very long 48 hours, and I'm really tired, so if your could lay off until my blood count is steady, that'd be wonderful" I huffed, wincing at the pain it caused, and chugged a bottle of water. The cool liquid felt good against my raw throat, and I squeezed my eyes shut.

"You've displayed a great deal of intrepidity over the course of your last few missions. Boss will be pleased with the workings down in Algeria" Marco nodded, taking the gun out of its holster to wipe it down. "Wait, what?" I sat up, ignoring the protests of my muscles. "I said, Your workings in Algeria will please Bos-"

"Yes, yes I've heard you. What workings in Algeria?" I put a hand to my throbbing head. "The Target was annihilated" he spoke absently, looking at me out of the corner of his eye. "Marco" I snapped, bringing his attention back to me. "I've been tied to that chair since I've landed in this forsaken country. I haven't been anywhere remotely near Algeria..." I pinched the bridge of my nose, and focused on keeping my breathing steady. "But if it wasn't you..." His eyes widened. "Looks like someone just made things easier on our side" I pressed my forefingers to my temples, clenching my teeth as the medic stitched my side.

"It isn't that simple. Whoever killed Him probably needed him dead for the same reasons we do. Gra-" "ATTENTION SOLDIERS, WE ARE ENTERING INTO HOSTILE TERRITORY" a voice sounded into our communicators. "Grace, we need to-" And the vehicle swerved, and jolted to a stop, the motion throwing me forward and causing me to slam my head against the seat in front of me. Metal scraped against metal, and the smell of blood and rust was overwhelming my senses. I could taste it. "The system has been breached" my communicator buzzed in my ear. "They found us" Marco's eyes turned to slits. The door next to me was ripped off its hinges, and several weapons directed themselves at me. "GET OUT OF THE VEHICLE" a man behind one of the guns commanded. I slowly stepped out, arms raised, and was pushed down on my knees into the dusty sand. The nozzle of the gun pressed against the back of my head, and my vision blurred. "Hey! She's injured!" Marco yelled. And with that, the bullet pierced through his skull. His eyes rolled back into his head, and he slumped backwards, a droplet of blood staining his lips.

"Come with us" one of them grabbed me by the elbow, and dragged me towards a warehouse. I really didn't have any other options, so I complied wordlessly. The large steel doors scraped open, and shut loudly behind us. There was a chair in the middle of the room. I am not a religious person or anything, but the idea of me being bound to a chair again was too much; I started praying right then and there. God, if you're listening, if you're really there, please, please, please God, not the chair. Anything but a chair again, Lord. Or a pole... Oh gosh, please, no chairs, no poles. I was kicked forward, and fell to my knees on the concrete floor. "Sky'll deal with her" one of the goons grumbled, and they left me there on my knees in the middle of a dark warehouse, hands tied behind my back.

The petite female came into view, a black silhouette against a lonely yellow bulb. "Who do you think you are, coming into our territory and walking around like you own the place?" Her accent... Was Russian. "Firstly, I'm not walking anywhere, because I lack the strength to do so" I sassed, actually gathering what little strength was left in me. "And secondly, I think I'm Grace Romanov, Russian assassin, fluent in twelve languages, sarcasm included, honey" Ignore the pain in your abdomen, Grace. That's a battle scar in the making. Her eyes widened, and she stupidly relaxed her stance. I jumped to my feet and lunged for the brunette, managing to nail her in the chest with my foot. She was fast, pulling me off her and throwing me to the floor. I tucked and rolled, coming up behind her and using the bindings on my hands to grab her in a chokehold.

Her hands flailed around, desperately trying to release my grip on her throat, but to no avail. "Listen to me, and listen well. That annihilation of the Algerian Target- only someone in the know of our Company's initiative would be aware of what had to be done. I want an answer, Sweety, because curiosity is almost as annoying as this cut on my face- who are you?" I demanded, and tightened the grip when she refused to comply. "Who. Are. You?" I her eyes were beginning to get red now. "Sky" she choked. "What?" I growled. "Skylar Romanov" she murmured breathlessly, and she fell forward when I removed my hands from around her neck. I stood there in mute shock, looking at the much- changed face of my younger sister.