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"My past has tasted bitter for years now, so I wield an iron fist. Grace is just weakness, or so I've been told; I've been cold, I've been merciless. But the blood on my hands scares me to death; maybe I'm waking up today."
- I'll Be Good by Jaymes Young
LILIYA MITROFANOVNA SOKOLOVSKAYA
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#520F63 â #A23DC4
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#520F63 â #A23DC4
"Hello, Makoto," Liliya heard the American say carefully as she began to make her leave. "What brings you here? Isn't time for your curfew?" "N-No. I just came here for some chocolate!" Liliya rolled her eyes. The immature things people bullied each other about these days. She'd never understand the normal teenager.
As the amethyst-eyed girl approach a familiar cashier at the checkout station, said cashier discreetly looked around while scanning her items, slipping her a piece of paper with a ten-digit number once the coast was clear. Liliya paid as usual, thanking the cashier in the neutral tone she always used for her undercover associates. As Liliya walked out the store, she spared the slip of paper a quick glance before smudging the graphite and shredding it into small, indistinguishable pieces. She headed to the nearest payphone, generating a few rubles out of her pockets as she dialed the number.
"Hello, this is Yuri's Piroshki Extravaganza, how may we help you?" a light, masculine voice asked politely.
"May I reserve a table for tonight?" Liliya asked in a bored tone. "In the upper east wing, specifically. Table for three."
Liliya heard some shuffling from the other side of the line before a familiar voice responded to her in a mix of Russian and Ukrainian. "Half kilometer north. Approximately four minutes thirty-two seconds. Two American, one Russian." There was a pause in the succinct sentences before Liliya heard Lana's voice again. "Pick-up point: 200 meters. Theft, dishonesty, greed."
"Thank you." Liliya practically slammed the phone back into its slot as she began to head north. 500 meters from her current position, in approximately four minutes and fourteen seconds, there would be a mass shooting. Guns - two American models, one Russian. The trio did not finish a transaction Liliya's gang required them to do, and now they would pay the price.
Liliya walked in a small, secluded street, nodding to her waiting associate as she gave him her groceries in exchange for a gun and ammunition.
"A new model," he informed her. Liliya flipped the weapon around in her hands, getting a feel for it. She and the unnamed associate exchanged professional nods of farewell before Liliya returned to her original path. Quickly enough, she reached her destination; she could see Makoto and the American head to a more secluded part of the pavilion just as the sounds of bullets pierced the air.
As the amethyst-eyed girl approach a familiar cashier at the checkout station, said cashier discreetly looked around while scanning her items, slipping her a piece of paper with a ten-digit number once the coast was clear. Liliya paid as usual, thanking the cashier in the neutral tone she always used for her undercover associates. As Liliya walked out the store, she spared the slip of paper a quick glance before smudging the graphite and shredding it into small, indistinguishable pieces. She headed to the nearest payphone, generating a few rubles out of her pockets as she dialed the number.
"Hello, this is Yuri's Piroshki Extravaganza, how may we help you?" a light, masculine voice asked politely.
"May I reserve a table for tonight?" Liliya asked in a bored tone. "In the upper east wing, specifically. Table for three."
Liliya heard some shuffling from the other side of the line before a familiar voice responded to her in a mix of Russian and Ukrainian. "Half kilometer north. Approximately four minutes thirty-two seconds. Two American, one Russian." There was a pause in the succinct sentences before Liliya heard Lana's voice again. "Pick-up point: 200 meters. Theft, dishonesty, greed."
"Thank you." Liliya practically slammed the phone back into its slot as she began to head north. 500 meters from her current position, in approximately four minutes and fourteen seconds, there would be a mass shooting. Guns - two American models, one Russian. The trio did not finish a transaction Liliya's gang required them to do, and now they would pay the price.
Liliya walked in a small, secluded street, nodding to her waiting associate as she gave him her groceries in exchange for a gun and ammunition.
"A new model," he informed her. Liliya flipped the weapon around in her hands, getting a feel for it. She and the unnamed associate exchanged professional nods of farewell before Liliya returned to her original path. Quickly enough, she reached her destination; she could see Makoto and the American head to a more secluded part of the pavilion just as the sounds of bullets pierced the air.