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Snippet #1703876

located in Post-apocalyptic Moscow, a part of Metro: C7, one of the many universes on RPG.

Post-apocalyptic Moscow

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Cheers went up as Natasha landed a blow on her opponent's jaw, then quickly drew back and kicked him square in the groin. He stumbled backwards with a groan of pain, lowering to his knees. Natasha got ready for another blow, but the man waved a hand - clearly signalling his defeat. Cheers erupted once again as bullets were traded between the crowd. "Bets again?" She murmured, but shrugged it off. People needed something to do down here, and watching a woman beat a man who'd been taking advantage of the local girls was something; especially when it involved gaining a few bullets. "Oh, shit!" Natasha said, running to grab her pack and rifle. Swinging the rifle across her chest she grabbed the pack and ran down the confusing streets of Polis.

She'd heard of a man willing to pay a large amount of bullets for some sort of mission involving C7; no way in hell was Natasha missing a gig like that. Dodging men, slipping by women and jumping over the small children that hung around the streets, she made her way towards the bar the man was to be holding a meeting at. Her long legs got her there in record time - in fact, she was a little early. At least that was her assumption when she noticed the two men, obviously waiting for something. One was older, perhaps in his forties, cleaning a rifle. The other man was younger than the other, but still older than Natasha. He was soundly asleep, or as soundly as one can get around here.

Natasha approached a mountain of a man that was clearly guarding the door. "I'm here for the job. Am I supposed to wait, or what?" The words were quick and to the point, her voice sounding almost bored. The man was huge, a major difference than the one she'd just beaten. His eyes (the only thing visible beneath all his weaponry and armor) swept over her, and Natasha could only guess that he was smiling. "Are you mute?" Natasha asked, placing a hand on her hip.

"Wait with the others. The boss isn't ready for you, yet." Natasha spun on her heels and approached the two men, sitting down a little a ways from the one cleaning his gun. Rustling through her pack, she took out a well used cloth and pressed it to her lip. She hadn't realized it was bleeding from the earlier fight until a moment before. It wasn't anything, though, Natasha had suffered far worse.