FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Nikodim Morozova sits in the small room with the single window that allows in a glistening shaft of moonlight to spill upon the floor. He appears to be a young man to any casual observer but, for those who gaze into his eyes, his true age is evident.

It is upon the cold tiles he rests not the humble cot that sits empty beside him. By the silvery radiance, his pale skin almost glows and his lank dark hair spills across his face, concealing his features except for those eyes, that sickly shade of green that is almost white. He does not look up as the door begins to open. Standing there is a man who seems to be roughly the same age but with a much more dark complexion. Wearing a flashy white suit with black stripes like a tiger or a zebra, this man also boasts a collection of gold medallions adorn the narrow opening that exposes his shaved chest. His black hair is slicked back against his scalp and his nationality might be confused for Arabic, Indian or even Asian.

'Hey, bro,' the man in the suit says, lighting a cigarette at what he must think is an appropriate moment. 'Yuli wants to talk to you. He's got a job for you.'

The estate is quite large as its owner has done very well for himself over the years, which is less impressive that he is of African descent but that he was raised in the Ukraine, which is not well known for racial tolerance when it comes to skin colour.

Yuli Trokhy, or Little Julius as he is known on the streets of Stilwater, has wholeheartedly adopted American urban culture so well that anyone who didn't know better would believe he grew up in his adopted homeland. He is tall, his skin the deep shade of mahogany, wearing his dapper white suit that contrasts with his complexion, and flashing gold rings on his fingers; his 'bling'.

Seated behind his large desk in his lavish study, with the bay windows behind him and flanked on either side by Maksim and Miklos, whom he calls 'the Butcher brothers', Little Julius might be an impressive sight. It is the intended effect just as his nickname is meant to invoke the Roman emperor of old who also had a taste for opulence. Also in the room is another member of the crew, an old roughneck named Viktor who serves as a driver and assists in other general, if distasteful, tasks.

Morozova stands there as his escort closes the double doors behind him. 'My muthafuckin' man!' Julius says, leaning back in his chair and placing his feet up on his desk, showing off his custom sneakers of which he proudly owns several dozen pair. 'Thanks, Yanni, but, uh, you can get on the fuck outta here now.'

The man in the striped suit frowns, his beady eyes not daring to glare. 'Hey, boss, can you please just call me Johnny? I mean, we're Americans now, right? Legal citizens and shit!'

If Julius has taken lessons in English from various famous black actors, then Johnny must be a fan of Italian mobster movies. The wide grin on the face of Little Julius fades. 'Look here, muthafucka,' he replies, his ever present anger simmering just beneath the surface of his congeniality. 'I will call whateva the fuck I want to, you dig? Now get the fuck outta here. I got business to discuss with this boy.'

He gestures towards the pale man, who is wearing little more than a loose fitting set of sweatpants and an oversized tee shirt. The ice cubes in the glass of liquor that Julius holds rattles. Johnny leaves as Julius slowly smiles again at the utterly impassive face of the pale man.

'How you feelin', Niko? Actually, I don't really give a shit. I got a job for you. Boris down in tech tells me we got ourselves a breach and he's traced the source. You and the Butchers here are going to pay someone a little visit...'

Morozova simply stands by the door of the darkened room which is dimly lit but a dozen flickering computer screens which are arranged in an almost artistic fashion in a framework along the wall. Viktor, still a vigorous man whose face is aged by cigarettes and vodka, looms above another, a thin fellow in a long leather trench coat and black clothes. He has a shock of dark hair on the top of his head and a thick though trimmed beard and moustache. The glimmer of the computer monitors is reflected off his spectacles.

'So who is this Lisa Love?' Viktor rumbles. 'I'm still trying to find out,' says the bespectacled, bearded man, who appears younger than Viktor but still older than the figure in the shadows by the door. 'She's certainly local but she was using an European server so it took some time to track her. She must be from over there to know the pass codes to this particular server.

'As I told Julius, she's somewhere in this region, she's knows how to access foreign servers and she went right past our security.' Sighing, Viktor glances back at the silent man, whose thinning hair still hangs across his face, obscuring his features.

'But you say you will have an address?' Viktor inquirers. His Slavic accent is somewhat thicker than that of the man seated in front of him. This question may not have been intended as an insult but the man with glasses clearly takes it as one.

'Are you questioning my abilities, Viktor?' he asks, almost challengingly, even if he is half the size of the much larger man towering over him. 'Not at all, Boris,' Viktor says as he casually cracks his knuckles, but he seems oddly less confident.

'I thought not,' Boris Gradenko replies. He may be small of build but he has a prominent role in the organization. Just like Viktor, his arms are covered in various tattoos.

'So you think she works for another group?' Viktor enquires.

'As I told Yuli,' Boris answers, speaking very distinctly and slowly, 'she just accessed the Bratva database but it didn't look like she downloaded anything. She just looked around, it looks like, but she still knows enough to expose our connections. If she were to turn over this information to law enforcement, they would have a RICO case against all of us.' Suddenly, one of the monitors blinks and there is a soft sound of a bell ringing. The rest of the screen continue their work, some of them monitoring rows of numbers while others display various names and addresses.

'I found her,' Boris says. 'And she's only a state or two over. I can't find out more about her with just her IP address but at least we know where she is.' 'Ya,' Viktor responds menacingly, once more looking at the pale man by the door.

Morozova murmurs a single word, 'Vasilisa.'

'What you say, Niko?' Viktor asks, shifting in the driver's seat of the van to look at the man who spoke. Niko is not alone, however. In the back, he is flanked by two stocky men, Andrei and Roman, while a fifth, Taras, sits in the passenger side. All of them but Viktor are wearing ski masks, dark coloured hooded sweatshirts and matching pants.

'He said Vasilisa?' Andrei answers doubtfully, looking towards Niko, who has his head bowed.

'Like the fairy tale?' Viktor asks with a laugh. 'Oh, Niko, you and I both know that this girl is not going to have any happy ending.'

'Did Boris ever say who she was working for?' Taras inquirer, his words slurred by the mask, which catches on his thick beard when he talks.

Shrugging, Viktor responds, 'According to him, she wasn't working for anyone. Not this time. She might have been gathering information to sell or to trade to the cops if they catch her. Either way, she won't be talking.' Turning around completely in his seat, Viktor grins at the men in the back of the van. 'Will she, Niko?'

He follows the others as they emerge from the van, parked in a lot across the street from the small apartment complex. There is some small security to be found in a shared building that a house by itself does not provide. Any tumult shall alert the neighbourhood and at least one of them is likely to call the police, if only to complain about the noise. Viktor motions to the others, whispering. 'Andrei, Roman; you cover the windows and the fire escape. Taras, you and I will make sure she doesn't run out through the building entrance. She might try to make it to the roof but she'll have nowhere to go from there.' 'What if she's already gone?' Andrei, the youngest of all them, asks worriedly. 'She is there,' Niko rasps at last. 'I can hear her heart beating.' He turns his masked face up towards the second story window of the unit where Lyssa dwells. 'Let's go,' Viktor commands and the men spread out to take their positions.

Meanwhile "Lisa Love" is sitting in her apartment's bedroom behind a locked door, her computer system hidden away and oblivious to the danger that is heading towards her. Her blonde hair is pulled back into a pony tail and she looks strangely seductive for sitting home alone, but then again perhaps she simply enjoys a certain style of clothing no matter what the situation.

Black jeans hug the curves of her hips, not quite tight enough to qualify as skinny jeans but enough to draw some attention to her figure, above that is a simple black leather corset, a fashion taste that she can never quite remember disliking or even avoiding. Her back is to the door of her apartment, the ever present Pod blasting loud music in the woman's ears. A single strand of hot pink hair traces along her head before being trapped in the black elastic that holds the rest of it away from her face. Shes' wearing black high top running shoes, something that may come in handy.

Morozova strides over to the junction box on the side of the apartment building. There are four of them, one on each corner, but this one services the four units that include the residence of this Lisa Love.

Reaching for the locked cover, he easily rips it off, tossing it aside and shoves his clawed hand into the tangle of wires. Immediately, the streetlamps nearby flicker and any lights or electronic equipment inside the affected apartments immediately shut down. It is not unlike a blackout except very localized as the sodium lights on the other side of the street still shed their yellowish glow.

Viktor and Taras have made their way through the entrance of the complex by simple virtue of prying the lock with a crowbar and the only warning that Lisa Love receives, other than the sudden darkness in her room, is the heavy footfalls outside her front door before Taras kicks it sharply. Unless she has reinforced the locks or replaced the door with something more solid, it will give way with a single blow.

Lisa turns around in the darkness just as the door falls open. Her blue eyes are cold as ice as she looks around, a set of instincts she cannot describe taking over. She has memorized the floor plan of this apartment many times over and she knows that if she can get to the panel and activate it she will have somewhere to hide, but there are not promises of that in the dark.

She quickly backs herself against the corner, knowing that she can defend herself as long as doesn't have to defend on two fronts. She'd used strategies like this during her time in prison to fight off the other inmates and more than one guard, but something tells her this is different. There are three windows large enough for a person of her build through which to escape; one in the living room on the north wall and two on the west wall, the bedroom and the rather narrow window in the bathroom.

Morozova climbs directly upon the corner of the building and onto the roof with the alacrity of a spider. Taras turns on his flashlight with one hand, still holding the crowbar in the other. Viktor, standing behind him, has pulled out his Makarov pistol. The first intruder hisses something in what Lyssa recognizes as Eastern Slavic, likely Russian, Ukrainian or even Belorussian. The second intruder replies in kind as the first sweeps the living room before stalking towards the bedroom while Viktor investigates the kitchen.

Lisa is off like a bullet shot from a gun, making for the window closest to her and jumping out of it onto the fire escape. She can see the shapes of the men scouring her apartment and she takes off at a run, heading for the roof. If she's right they're looking for something rather than someone and she can wait it out up there. The night is chilly and she secretly wishes she had a sweater, making a note never to be caught without one again as she sprints silently up the metal stairs.

Her senses are on high alert, every flicker of movement causing her head to turn in its direction. She wishes she had a weapon, even a stick, but in the absence of such things, her best and safest bet at the moment is to make her escape to the rooftop and wait for the men to leave. She knows this has something to do with the information she accessed this afternoon but she never imagined they would be on her so quickly.

Morozova listens as he hears the woman jumping onto the fire escape. Immediately, flashlights shine up at her as two more men on the ground rush forward towards the metallic stairwell that ends in a platform just above their heads. There is the dry clanking of the ladder being pulled down so they may climb up.

On the rooftop, with the locked and bolted access door as well as the ventilation fans, there are many shadows and places to hide. However, even as she climbs up to where debris and leaves have gathered over the years, she may know she is not alone.

Another of the intruders, or at least someone dressed precisely like them, perches atop a disused steel duct that rises out of the roof. 'Lovely evening, is it not?' he asks. He has a trace of an accent that places him from the same region as the intruders in her apartment below and the hushed, frantic voices of the men noisily clambering up the fire escape.

She freezes, it seems she's run right into the trap they've set for her. Her head scans the darkness for a place to hide, but she knows she's already been found out, especially if one of them is talking to her. She needs to buy herself some time, long enough to create a strategy.

"Look, i don't know who you are or what you're looking for but I can't help you" she says, trying to keep the fear rising in her throat from stealing her voice. Cops she can deal with, prisoners, absolutely, but this? this is something entirely different and she can already tell it. She begins evaluating the merit of leaping off the roof, grabbing one of the many pipes on the side of the building and working her way down to the ground, but somewhere in the back of her mind is telling her that is the stupidest idea she's had all day and if this man is talking to her and not trying to kill her, at least for the moment, there is good reason.

Morozova leaps down from his perch and saunters towards her confidently. 'So you must be Lisa Love,' the man growls and, for a moment, she might swear his eyes gleam with their own pale radiance but they must have caught the glint of the streetlamps.

Behind her, the men on the fire escape, not so agile as she, continue their arduous pursuit while the intruders in her apartment are likely ransacking it. As for pipes or wires along the side of the building, there is an electrical conduit the width of her forearm that goes to the power lines and there is a hollow drain pipe that clings to the wall of the complex but would likely collapse if she puts even her negligible weight upon it.

She instinctively backs away from him, not sure how he knows her alias or even how he got up here without anyone noticing. As long as the system does its job the men won't find her data, she's made sure of that and the only computer they'll find is a beat up old laptop that barely looks capable of an internet connection let alone hacking.

Her blue eyes stare at the man in front of her "don't come any closer, if you do I'll.....I'll scream and someone will hear it and then you'll be screwed". She realizes that this is a really bad plan and that no one would likely hear her up here, but she's stalling for time, looking for another way out of this situation. "Seriously, I'll do it".

Her blue eyes stare at the man in front of her "don't come any closer, if you do I'll.....I'll scream and someone will hear it and then you'll be screwed". She realizes that this is a really bad plan and that no one would likely hear her up here, but she's stalling for time, looking for another way out of this situation. "Seriously, I'll do it".

Morozova tilts his head as, in the distance, police sirens are wailing.

'I suspect that you would not wish their attention either,' the masked man replies, 'but it shall likely be far more pleasant than what my companions have in mind for you. I do hope you're not terribly attached to your tongue or fingers.'

He produces a curved knife, a steel smile that glitters in the dim light. 'Until then, scream as much as you like. My companions have already created enough of a din. The police shall be here soon but, by then, you shall be silenced, one way or another.'

Now the men on the fire escape reach the roof, one remaining behind on the top of the walkway to cut off a route of egress for the woman. The larger of the two men, Roman, strides forward with intentions on grabbing the woman from behind.

Lisa backs away again, her eyes wide with terror as she realizes she's trapped, her foot has just hit the only thing separating her from the edge of the roof, she's got nowhere left to run, she's going to have to fight. Adrenaline courses through her and in the darkness no one can see those deep blue eyes turn the shade of arctic sea ice and blaze with a fire that threatens to consume them all.

"So that's how it's going to be is it?" She growls, her mind racing to figure out just how much time she has before either the police arrive or the men around her manage to incapacitate her. She looks around and the voice in her mind that has always protected her roars of the things it would do to these men if only she had a pistol. Lisa has never fired a gun in her life and she can't be sure if she managed to disarm the men she would either find one, or even begin to know how to use it. Her mind scans every item on the rooftop, slowly and deliberately, even as her body prepares to fight, there has to be a weapon here somewhere, she will not go down without a fight.

Morozova watches as the woman nearly backs into his companion behind her. The brawny thug is surprisingly quick, throwing his arms around Lyssa and embracing her in a tight bear hug. Niko tilts his head and notices the opportunity likely about the same time as the woman herself.

Were she only a simple citizen or even just a skilled hacker without any additional training, the situation would seem hopeless. However, throughout her life, as far as her troubled childhood, Lisa can remember knowing things, being able to do things, without ever having been exposed, to her knowledge, such experiences. When she was young, she might not have ever considered the oddity of it but, as she grew into maturity, she may have wondered how she knew so much about old sailing ships that she was able to pick out inconsistencies in pirate movies. Or how she could idly create clockwork devices in her spare time, even if she had never really been interested in shop class.

In this particular instance, it manifests in the observation that, while the man grabbing her has a distinct advantage, with her arms pinned to her side, her hand is within easy reach of the small pistol tucked into the front of his waistband. The handle and trigger are clearly exposed.

She takes the opportunity as it presents itself, grabbing for the pistol in the mans waistband with one hand while she drives her opposite elbow back into his stomach. With the pistol in hand she pulls free , levelling the pistol at the stranger directly in front of her. "Call them off" she growls, realizing that the moment the pistol was in her hand she knows what to do with it, her finger slipping the safety off and wrapping around the trigger, making it clear she will pull it if he gives her the chance.

She is cool and collected now that there is a weapon in her hand, her eyes never dropping from the masked man in front of her as she levels the sight of the pistol dead centre in his chest and holding it there. "call them off or I will blow a hole in your chest" she hisses again, "I doubt you can run fast enough to prevent it". There is a sick grin on the woman's face, as though she's done this a hundred times before, despite the fact that even she is amazed she knew where to find the safety on this particular weapon, let alone how she is keeping her hand from shaking.

Morozova nods. 'You presume much, Vasilisa,' the masked man in front of her says, unconcerned.

Roman is wearing his holster but as he didn't wish to display it openly, he had tucked it under his sweatpants. For ease of use, he had not bothered to snap the trigger guard into place and now this woman has his gun. To recover from his mistake, he tries to grasp at Lisa's arm that holds the gun while snaking his other arm around her waist to yank her up off her feet.

The man in front of her advances, knife in hand, while the third intruder on the fire escape moves forward to assist his two companions. Furthermore, the roof access door bursts open and two more identically dressed men emerge. Viktor has taken the precaution of pulling down his own ski mask to cover his face. He is still carrying his Makarov, which he points directly at Lisa, and his partner, the man who had broke down the front door, still carries his crowbar in one hand and the flashlight in the other.

Down below, the police sirens are growing louder and there cannot be any mistaking their intended destination. 'Throw this bitch off the roof!' Viktor shouts, his voice partially muffled by his mask. Niko pauses and turns sharply towards Viktor. 'No, we take her with us and continue the intended plan,' he argues calmly. 'Cops will be here any minute!' Taras retorts. 'Toss this cunt and let's go!' Meanwhile, Roman is still struggling to get the gun from her with the assistance of Andrei, who has moved around to try to grab the woman's wrist. She spins around as Roman tries to grab for the gun, levelling the weapon at his chest and firing. It's very clear that this isn't going to end well, but the blonde woman seems intent to take as many of the masked men down with her as she possibly can.

Andrei manages to get a grip on the woman's arm and she struggles to shake him of, levelling the weapon at the men who have just burst onto the roof. It's doubtful that anyone would be able to hit a target at that range, but her finger is quick on the trigger anyway as she fights to pull her hand free. She can hear the men arguing about what to do with her and yet it seems a million miles away, the only thing she can hear is the voice in her head screaming at her to fire the gun until it's empty, that it's the only way she is going to make it out of this alive.

Morozova leaps back away but Roman does manage to keep a firm grip on Lyssa's waist, which is only the worse for him when she manages to pivot and fires into his chest at closer than point blank range. She must know immediately that she has killed the man, sending a bullet straight through his heart. He staggers back, the gush of blood hidden by his dark clothes and yet the coppery scent of it causes her nostrils to involuntarily flare. Whatever gambit they were playing, all bets are now off. Viktor fires at Lyssa from the blinding cover of the flashlight. All she can make out of the two men who emerged from the roof access door are silhouettes and vague ones at that. Andrei, however, is in sharp relief as he grabs hold of her arm and pulls it in his direction, along with the hand holding the gun. Niko, for his part, keeps low to the rooftop but hurtles forward to attempt to slash the knife along her thighs, if only to distract her.

Screams echo off the rooftop as Niko's knife digs into her leg, causing her to drop, but not before she manages to get a shot off in Andrei's direction. It was a miscalculation on her part, she neglected to be watching him and it seems she will pay dearly for that mistake. She fires in the general direction of the man with the flashlight, not hoping to hit anything as much as distract someone as she's clutching her wounded leg. The cut is not deep, but the knife is sharp and it's clearly done some damage, keeping her down as the blood oozes into her jeans.

Morozova brings the blade firmly up to her throat as Andrei bellows in pain, the bullet striking him in the side, which he now clutches. Taras practically knocks him aside as he rushes forward to swing his crowbar down at the woman's exposed back while Viktor takes aim again. However, the second shot somehow shatters the lens of the flashlight, plunging the rooftop once more into long, shapeless shadows in which her enemies lurk.

'Drop the gun,' the man with the knife says calmly. 'I know how not to kill you and you will suffer far more greatly from what I shall do that you shall remember this night and wished I had simply slit your throat.'

the blonde drops the gun, she realizes she is at a disadvantage and is wounded, though she cannot tell how bad. Even the most hardheaded fighter knows when to give up the fight. The man's words ring through her ear, causing a knot in her throat as she tries to catch her breath. Something tells her not to give these men the satisfaction of watching her cry and beg and so she sits silently in defeat, awaiting whatever horrible fate awaits her.

Niko nods slowly, lifting her chin with the edge of his very sharp knife. However, Taras cannot stop in the middle of his swing and smashes the crowbar across her shoulders. The pain would likely be incredible but Niko has the presence of mind to pull his knife away before she is accidentally decapitated. 'Now,' Viktor barks gruffly in a voice that Lyssa will not recognize a few years later for reasons she does not yet know, 'throw her off the roof!' 'That would not necessarily kill her,' Niko demurs, running his thin fingers along his curved blade, 'and we agreed she would live. That was the plan.' 'Fuck the plan!' Andrei shouts, limping forward. 'Let's make this bitch fly and get the fuck out of here!' He glances nervously towards the ever growing squall of approaching sirens. 'Niko is right,' Viktor cautions, looking towards Taras. 'Break her neck first, then toss her off the roof.' Andrei grabs Lyssa by the hair while Taras drops the crowbar with a metallic clang and steps behind Lyssa to grasp her head in his hands. 'We keep,' Niko says very deliberately, 'to the plan.'

As Lyssa begins to feel a strong pressure on her neck as Taras slowly, inexorably twists it and Andrei snatches at her flailing hands, she will see stars bursting in the blackness before her. So this is what it is like to die. Somehow, it is a familiar feeling. 'I do so loathe repeating myself,' Niko snarls as he starts towards Andrei and Taras but Viktor steps around Niko and points his gun at the back of his comrade's head. 'Don't interfere,' Viktor snaps. 'You know, I never liked you, Niko. You are not one of us, no matter what Yanni says. He's just an errand boy and while Yuli ever listened to him, I'll never know but you will stay out of the-'

His next word was likely 'way' but Viktor is unable to say it as Niko whirls around and slashes the sharp blade along his throat. That, by itself, is surprising, but then the masked man gestures with a wide sweep of his hand and suddenly Viktor is launched backwards off the roof, crashing down onto what sounds like the covered car park below. 'You talk too much,' Niko says before turning towards Andrei and Taras. There cannot be any mistaking the lambent ghoulish fire in his eyes now through the holes in the ski mask. 'Let her go,' he suggests while both of the surprised thugs gaze at Niko, Taras loosening his grip on Lyssa. The discarded pistol still lies between her feet.

She is confused by the seeming infighting among her assailants, but the pain is unbearable and she is barely clinging to consciousness. As Taras drops her she struggles through the fog of the blinding pain in her shoulder to make a grab for the discarded pistol. The logical part of her brain is cataloguing her various injuries in a rather detached and clinical way which she finds strange, but not as strange as the man who first wounded her suddenly attacking his companions to keep her alive.

She is unsure whether that is a good thing or not as she feels the cold metal of the pistol in her hand once again, but she realizes things are not in her favour this time, as between the growing darkness and the blinding pain in her back she's finding it very difficult to pick out a target. She settles on aiming right ahead of her and at the hideous glowing eyes of the man the others call Niko. "You touch me again I will kill you where you stand" she manages to choke out, the strike from the crowbar likely left her with a few broken ribs if she's lucky, but if the man is to be believed that will be the least of her problems before the night is over.

Morozova sighs and shakes his head. Taras snatches up his crowbar again and swings it with both hands this time at her back. With he and Andrei flanking her, she can cover Niko but he suddenly seems less interested in harming her. Meanwhile, Andrei lashes out with a punch to her face, not yet noticing the gun.

Lisa is able to pull the trigger before Andrei notices she has the gun, but not before his fist slams into her face, that combined with the second hit to her back is the last of it, the blonde girl falls forward, unconscious at the feet of the man with the strange green eyes.

A few hours later, Morozova leans over the woman, who is now lying in a hospital bed with a plastic brace around her back and bandages upon her thigh. Her face is swollen badly where Andrei struck her but she is still beautiful. He reaches out to touch that face with his long, spidery fingers, careful not to dislodge the breathing tube down her throat. However, the chill should be enough to jolt her into wakefulness, even if she wouldn't be able to scream.

The small room is an antiseptic white but darkened as the lights are dimmed. There is another bed but it is empty. She is all alone with the masked man and his ghastly glowing eyes. Up close, she can see his pale, chapped lips and the sharp white teeth behind them. He reeks of cigarettes and alcohol and his long, jagged nails trace along the contours of her cheek and jawline.

She awakes and looks up at him, her deep blue eyes wide with terror as she realizes she is alone with him. She tries to move away from his touch but finds that she can't, she has no idea how she got to the hospital, let alone what happened to her. All she remembers is a pair of pale and glowing green eyes in the darkness, she has no way of telling how long she's been here or even what day it is. She has no choice but to accept his strangely cold touch.

Morozova produces his curved blade once more and holds it up to her eyes. 'I trust that Lisa Love died this evening and that I shall never again hear about her doing anything or going anywhere she knows she should not. So long as Lisa Love remains dead, there shall not be any need for you to see me again.' She can see him glaring underneath his cloth mask that covers everything save for his mouth and his terrible gaze. 'However, if I should hear a whisper about Lisa Love misbehaving and involving herself in any business that is not her own or relating the details of such to those who enforce the law, then I shall have to ensure Lisa Love stays dead.' His eyes glance away to the side. 'Or at least in so bereft a condition that she will not be able to trouble anyone again. Nod if you understand.'

Lisa nods violently, whimpering at the sight of the blade in his hand. She could always create more aliases, she could always disappear that wasn't hard, she just had to get out of here first and the only thing between her and that was the man standing over her with a knife. But if he was here that meant that...was he the one that brought her here? It couldn't have been the police, though she couldn't rule out that fact entirely as she couldn't remember what happened to her. Hell, in her current state she couldn't even defend herself

But he steps backwards suddenly as the door to the hospital room opens. He quietly slips back behind the door, wedged there in the shadows as a rotund woman in a white uniform enters. Her eyes widen when she peers at Lyssa, reaching over to switch on the bedside lamp. 'Oh, you're awake! I'll go tell Dr. Lynch!' she exclaims, turning around on her heel and rushing back out through the door closing it behind her. The man who had been hiding behind it is gone.

Lisa had been very fortunate that night. She has managed to suffer only a few cracked ribs, a bruised back and only shallow cuts on her thighs. In fact, the worst of it was the concussion she had received from the man's fist smashing into her skull. Still, the contusions did not fade for weeks and they were a constant reminder that she needed to be more careful when playing in this criminal world in which she had finally discovered some adventure and excitement. Almost too much, as it turned out. Something inside her reminds her that the reason her injuries were not so bad as they could have been is that she instinctively knew when to turn into the blow or dodge an attack. The gun had felt so at home in her hand and she had made some lucky shot. No, she knows it wasn't just luck.

Of her assailants, only two of them survived. The other three had been found shot to death, one of them directly through the heart, on the rooftop of her building. In the police reports, Lyssa had learned their names and faces, all except the two survivors. There had been a connection; all of them worked for the Svyati, an American faction of the Russian mob, the Bratva. Now she knew that the innocent exploration she had done weeks ago had finally caught up with her. They hadn't found her very quickly but they had found her.

The police closed the investigation, believing it to be a home invasion and attempted assault gone horribly wrong. Far from suspecting Lyssa of any wrongdoing, they had lauded her as a hero; she had single handedly fought off five men and killed two of them. The gunshot residue on her hands and the trajectory of the bullets proved it, although they did allow that it was possible one of the other two as yet at large assailants might be responsible.

However, it was still more attention from the police than she needed, more publicity than she wanted, with her pictures in the newspapers. It was time to leave town.

About the Svyati, she learned they were based in Stilwater, a suburb of Detroit, and that is likely why the Bratva had sent them. They were simply the closest field office. If she chooses to study more about them, she will learn the names of some of the more prominent individuals such as Little Julius, the leader and Yanni Gat, an Azerbaijani national. Digging deeper into public records, none of which should alert anyone to her curiosity, she gets the name of Volodymyr Kosa and his boss, the feared Aleksander Drakon. Drakon is known to be one of the most vicious members of the Bratva and that is quite a feat given their penchant for cruelty.

Whenever the mood strikes Lyssa, she can upload the photograph of the lean, wrinkled face of Aleksander Drakon and stare into the eyes of the man who, half a world away, ordered her death or maiming or rape or whatever it is they had in mind for her that night.