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.
After they left Ben sighed, dropping the gun back onto his desk and rubbing his temples, reaching a hand he activated the Intercom once more.
"Next please..." he simply spoke, lifting his hand off the Intercom and continuing to rub his temples in annoyance...Hopefully the next one would be much smarter than to lie to his face...He made a mental note to call those two Sub-Lt's more often, they go the job done fast and with little hassle...
The girl died quickly, at least, if not cleanly. Vicenta's revolver had rather heavy slugs. As the dearly departed Kate's body slumped sideways, Vicenta called for a maintenance crew.
Teresa Martel, wearing a black jacket and long jeans, a wrecked patch decorating the upper sleeve of the jacket, entered the room...albeit a little nervously. Under the wrecked patch, bandages were visible, stark white against the tanned leather.
She massaged her right arm, where a burn sat, under a mat of bandages. Sighing, the newcomer stretched her back, pulling away the flight helmet that was the cause of her damned headache...she simply shrugged it off, she couldn't show any signs of weakness at this time.
Looking around, she took a position near the door, and quickly took stock of her surroundings. A rather military room, not much for entertainment as for simplicity. She expected as much. It calmed her a little, in face.
Leaning against a wall, she pulled away a band at the back of her head, letting her black hair fall down to shoulder height, and looked around again, with a small grimace on her face, waiting for a recruiter.
A million dollars isn't cool. You know what is cool? A basilisk.
Teresa looked to the recruitment officer with a piercing gaze, her eyes a striking green.
"If i needed medical, i'd be in medical...i know my way around...and unless i'm wrong, this is the recruitment office for the Coalition?" she said, with a small smile. Her tone was not hostile, she spoke without emotion. She stood off the wall, and looked at the officer with a practiced respect and a militaristic straightness to her pose.
A million dollars isn't cool. You know what is cool? A basilisk.
"Right, you can rub it better," replied Leon, rolling his eyes.
"What happened? Did you set the kitchen on fire? We don't need clumsy pilots, girl."
He leaned back on his seat, retrieving a pair of cheap cigarettes from a carton on the table. He lit one and put it to his mouth, then looked at the other before putting it back in the carton. He obviously wasn't in the mood to share.
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