Kostya nodded back and then glared at the recruit. For the barest of moments he felt pity somewhere deep down, but it was quickly overridden by the facts at hand: she was a fool who had willingly stepped into her own death, and it was his duty to bring the sad story to its forgone conclusion.
"Your first mistake was taking that poison to begin with," he said, sparing a moment to spit at the thought of it. He brought the rifle up to bear and aligned its iron sights with the woman's head. "The second was to come back here."
Deep breath. Exhale. Pull.
"Poka, Tovarisch."
The silence of the bay was immediately and horrendously torn apart with the trio of shots that came out of the assault rifle. All three went straight into the woman's face and continued well past the cranium, digging themselves several inches into the hull plating behind.
His lowering of the smoking rifle coincided with the body slumping over in a bloody heap. Curious, Kostya looked down and noticed that the weapon was on burst fire instead of automatic. More elegant, if less brutal.
Brutal? In fact this was merciful; compared to a life enslaved to that drug, compared to dying in the cockpit of an exploding fighter, this was perhaps the quickest and least painful route this woman could have ever taken.
