Jess drops down into a crouch and brings the rifle up, resting her left elbow on her knee. Simultanously, she asks herself how anyone could fight wars without having first invented polymers.

Sighting down the barrel of the antique firearm, Jess watches a shotgun blast punching through where the doorhandle used to be. It swings in on its hinges, with the only sound being that of a shotgun shell being wracked in foreground.

(Male voice, in Russian)

"Come out and you will not be harmed! Resist...I guarantee a closed-casket funeral!"

"On any other day of the week, but not today. If you want me alive, you should have a good reason. You have thirty seconds to identify yourself and tell me why you want to talk to me. Otherwise - well I'm not sure if I can kill every last one of you with my gun, but you can bet I'll try."

Quote:

Quote: from Gatac on 10:26 am on June 17, 2004
"On any other day of the week, but not today. If you want me alive, you should have a good reason. You have thirty seconds to identify yourself and tell me why you want to talk to me. Otherwise - well I'm not sure if I can kill every last one of you with my gun, but you can bet I'll try."

"We just get more if you're alive and it doesn't require lining the trunk with garbage bags. Last chance, come out or..."

One of the men rushes in, armed with a streetsweeper.

Inside, Jess hears the nagging voice of her combat instructor telling her that a full-size bolt-action rifle like her Mauser is not the perfect weapon to have in such cramped conditions. On the other hand, she knows that at this range, it could probably send an elephant to the floor. Consequently, Jessica - the one agent who'd rather eat a can of worms than try to stick out a firefight against multiple better-armed enemies - takes aim and pulls the trigger.

As her higher brain functions drown in her steadily rising levels of adrenaline, she contemplates just how loud those old guns are.

Squeezing the aged trigger in desperate hope of a muzzle flash, Jess is (somewhat) relieved to feel the kick of a 7.92mm round as it leaves the gunbreach. The gunman takes a nasty wound to his right shoulder, significantly reducing the accuracy of his own weapon.

Spent twelve-gauge shells pop out his sweeper, shredding the room but otherwise being uneffective at taking down his target.

*Ker-crack-chuk*

Jess, cycles the bolt action, expelling the spent casing and loading a live round into the Nagant's breach.

*KER-POW!*

The bullet shreds a path through the gunman lung, exiting out his back. Slumping to his knees and letting out a blood-filled gasp as he clutches his sucking chest wound, the man seems more preoccupied with living than continuing his advance on Jess. Beyond the door, another man's voice...less firm in his tone, shouts to his comrade.

Mi-Mi-Mikhail? Are...are you alright?


(Edited by Dieter at 11:10 am on June 22, 2004)

(OOC: Time for Intimidate!)

Jess works the action again.

"No, Mikhail is certainly not alright. But if you care that much about him, I can arrange for you to join him on the floor with a sucking chest wound. Of course, you could just drop your weapon and run away...I don't bear grudges. Usually."

Quote:

Quote: from Gatac on 11:07 am on June 22, 2004

Jess works the action again.

"No, Mikhail is certainly not alright. But if you care that much about him, I can arrange for you to join him on the floor with a sucking chest wound. Of course, you could just drop your weapon and run away...I don't bear grudges. Usually."

A brief pause, followed by the sounds of a muffled huddle of men deliberating their options. The previously unnerved voice speaks up.

Uh...We never liked Mikhail. He was always a bully. We'll leave now.

A rustling of footsteps in the room outside is interrupted by a

YEEEEEARGH!

Jess hears the familiar echo of fist-hitting-face which resonates through the small log cabin; proceeded by a *thud* on the floor, a shrieking male voice (presumably the beleaguered cohort of Mikhail), then a female-pitched warning.

God damn Cossacks! Get out of my grandfather's house!

On the other hand, numerical advantages need to be seized...

Jess gets up and charges through the door, swinging the rifle in the direction of the ruckus.

Smoking Nagant in tow and storming out of the bedroom, Jess sees one of her assailants splayed out like roadkill on the hardwood floor.

The rather spartan living area/kitchen is current being assaulted by the brisk winter chill via the cabin's open entry door. From her current position, Jess can see:

1) The aforementioned goon currently in varying the degrees of consciousness, laying on the floor.

2) Fyodor, nursing a gunshot wound to his leg.

3) Just outside the cabin's entry door, standing on a porch, is a young-ish woman with a hunting rifle... drawing down on one of Jess' would-be captors.

Jess lowers the rifle, then uses the buttplate to send the downed goon into lalaland.

Goodnight, Gracie.

As soon as the man has most definately lost consciousness, she helps Fyodor lie down and begins dressing his wound.

"Were they friends of yours, or just passing through?"

She turns to Fyodor's daughter.

"Are you hurt?"

Quote:

Quote: from Gatac on 12:27 pm on June 22, 2004
Jess lowers the rifle, then uses the buttplate to send the downed goon into lalaland.

"Were they friends of yours, or just passing through?"

"No friends of mine. I was meaning to ask you, but then they shot me in the leg. From their accents...I'd say they were Ukrainian."

Jess turns to Fyodor's (grand)daughter.

"Are you hurt?

She hesitates in answering, replying only with a muzzle-flash from her rifle. Eyeing her target until he stops twitching, she then enters the cabin, shutting off the Arctic chill with a good kick to the door.

"Nyet. I see that you have regained your strength. That is good...for when these Cossacks don't return to their bosses, they will send more."

The huntress carefully sets her weapon against a sturdy chair and removes her coat. She then comes over to help with Fyodor's wound.

(speaking in semi-broken English)

"You are...American, no?"

Jess doesn't look up from Fyodor's wound while she improvises bandages from clothing.

"I've certainly got the right accent for it. As for our conversation - I believe my Russian is better than your English, so let's leave it at that."

Actually, it was your teeth that gave you away. There isn't a set in Russia that look as good as yours. Your Russian is excellent and I believe your teacher grew up in Latvia. Now, if you would be so kind as to explain why three members of The Kiev Syndicate wanted you dead and why your Russian is better than my English?"

"You look like you can handle yourself in a fight, but everything I tell you increases the likelihood that you'll have to sleep with a pistol under the pillow for the rest of your life."

Ok. I will go first. My name is Elena. You, of course, know my grandfather. I go to the University in Krasnoyarsk. Before that, I was a sniper in the Army. (glances over to the Dragunov). Three years in Chechnya and one meter of small intestine removed, I'm back here taking a three hour trainride to Krasnoyarsk every other day so I can get myself and my grandfather out of this stinking block of frozen ice before we both die. Now, your turn.

(Edited by Dieter at 4:03 pm on June 22, 2004)

"I'm Jessica. I travel a lot...and when you found me, one of my voyages had strayed off course. As you've seen, I can handle a gun. And I really, really need to get out of this place. There's people who haven't been very nice to me, and I want to personally express my dissatisfaction with their lacking hospitality. I suspect they guessed as much and wanted to get rid of me...but I seem to be harder to kill than I have any right to be."

Forgive my ignorance Jessica, but what sort of traveller ends up left for dead in a Siberian ditch? Were you part of a N.A.T.O. operation gone bad? I worked with a few operatives in Chechnya. While you have proven your ability to kill, you don't seem to have the treacherous eyes I saw in those people. Which reminds me, we should get rid the body in the bedroom before it gets ripe in here...

Jess finishes up the bandage.

"I think you're stronger, so unless it's a problem for you, I think you should move the body. See if he has any spare ammunition on him, I might need his weapon. I'd recommend putting him on a blanket or carpet before you try to move him too much...bloodstains are hard to get out of wood. Once you have him outside, get him somewhere cold and hard to see, cut off the clothes and burn them while he freezes. He'll be easier to carry away when he's frozen stiff, and won't drip blood."

She looks at Elena and flashes a tortured little smile.

"I've never had to use those bits of knowledge up to now, though. I'm not a cleaner."