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The sun is dipping low in the sky, casting long shadows across the hard-packed dirt of the compound. Kamaria stays crouched deep inside one of them, just behind the commander’s tent. He’s inside now. She already confirmed it with her own eyes. The first leg of the mission - slipping over the fence and past the many guards to get to her current hiding spot - is done, and now she just has to wait for her opportunity to strike.
The guard change should be any minute now. She’s confident in her ability to work silently, but there’s always the chance that her target will make some kind of noise. So just to be safe, she’ll wait until the soldier planted just on the other side of his tent is too distracted to notice what’s going on inside.
Peering out from underneath her dark hood, she watches as the new guard approaches. Cinse, katre, try, dyu, unas…
She lifts the bottom of the tent, rolls underneath, raises the dagger in her hand, and throws.
Her knife strikes true. The commander falls with little sound and no fuss as she stands in the shadows and watches, and just like that, the job is done. Now she only has to escape the compound without being spotted, then she can report back to her father and hopefully be left alone for the remainder of the day.
Just as she steps forward to retrieve the dagger, however, someone else bursts into the tent. Instinctively, she whips a smaller knife out of her gauntlet and sends it flying toward the person’s chest. It isn’t likely to kill them, but should be enough to distract them while she either escapes or attacks. Which it will be depends on whether this person decides to sound an alarm.
The man already has a knife in his hand, too, and deftly swipes away her missile before it can impale him. He barely seems to notice the small cut it leaves across her upper arm. In fact, he doesn’t seem bothered by the situation at all. He merely heaves a sigh and uses his free hand to dig through the parchment on the commander’s desk.
“You know…sometimes you shouldn’t be tossing knives at people. You’d really do a number on them. Who the heck are you even working for?”
He hasn’t even given the dead commander a second glance, just going on about his business. Kamaria lets her eyes flick over his clothing. A plain blue tunic and dusty trousers…no armor, no uniform. No, he certainly isn't a soldier from this camp. Another assassin, possibly. Certainly someone with his own agenda in this tent.
Also one of those types who likes to make jokes while working. Her favorite.
“Like I’d tell you,” she hisses, strolling across the tent to yank her dagger out of the commander’s back. If he’s just going to stand there and not try to fight her, then she might as well finish her work. She plunges the blade quickly down into the earth to clean the blood off, but keeps it in her hand, just in case.
“It was just a question,” he mutters, shrugging and carefully putting the parchment he’d picked up into his pouch. His eyes rove over what’s left on the desk, his own knife still out. He sighs again. “Also, you seem like you have something to say to me due to that tone you are taking.”
Straightening, she narrows her eyes at the stranger. “I have nothing to say to you, except stay out of my way and I’ll stay out of yours.”
Would her superiors want to know that there was someone else at the scene, stealing papers and potentially trying to assassinate the commander himself? Yes, certainly.
Will they think to ask? Likely not.
Does she care if they ever find out? Not at all. She’s done her job here, that’s all that matters to her. He obviously isn’t working for Kedosa, nor for her own superiors, so she really doesn’t care what he does.
“I am pretty sure I’ve been here longer than you, and I don’t work for anyone but myself. You, on the other hand, have someone above you, I’m sure.” He waves his knife as if to make some kind of point.
What does he mean by that, exactly, that he’s sure he’s been here longer than her? The comments dig underneath her skin. How would he know how long she’s been at this? Far longer than she ever wanted, that’s for sure. Far longer than many people survived in this profession. And exactly what part of her killing his target with a single knife before he could even get there told him that she hadn’t been in this business as long?
But he’s right about her working for someone above her, and that irks her even more. She hates that it’s somehow so obvious, hates that she can apparently easily be traced back to the people she wishes she weren’t associated with.
Her jaw clenches, but she has no time or desire to stay and argue with him. Thanks to him and his distractions she’s already much later leaving than she’d planned.
“If you’ll excuse me…” Without turning her back to him, Kamaria eases her way back to the corner of her tent where she’d entered, ready to be done with this place and this man before she gets caught.
“I never excused you, but by all means, set off the alarm. Go ahead and get yourself killed,” he whispers loudly, throwing up his hands in annoyance.
Right, because she hasn’t been in this business long enough to know what she’s doing, according to him. With one last glare in his direction, she ducks underneath the tent and back into the shadow.
And directly into the sights of a rifle, pointing straight down at her.
“Blen!” Stupid man and his stupid mouth! She’d been so distracted by him, so eager to get away from him, that she hadn’t even heard the soldier waiting for her outside.
No one was supposed to be there. But her timing is off now. Her careful exit plan is blown to pieces.
Rolling out of the way before he can shoot, she springs to her feet and darts off back the direction she’d come in as fast as she can go. She messed up, badly. Yes, the stupid talkative man had distracted her, but she’d allowed herself to be distracted, and now she’s making mistakes that she hasn’t made since she was a teenager. Why didn’t she check for soldiers before exiting the tent? Why didn’t she kill the guard before she ran off? It’s not like she would have flinched at having more Kedosian blood on her hands.
But she’d panicked, like a little girl, too caught up in her anger and frustration to do her job well. Sometimes anger is a weapon. This time it was her downfall.
She tries to stay well-hidden as she runs, but it doesn’t do her much good when she’s already been spotted. The crack of the rifle is simultaneous with the pain that splits through her upper leg. It’s not her first time being shot, not by a long way. It really never gets any less painful, though, and trying to escape an enemy base with a bullet in her leg isn’t exactly her idea of a mission gone well.
Still, she stubbornly doesn’t fall, only stumbles to the side and into the fence before pushing on. The soldier that shot her will still be looking to finish the job, and now the entire rest of the camp will know that something is wrong. She has to make it back to her exit point before a dozen humans with guns are on her tail.
Except that, of course, there’s now a soldier standing directly in front of said exit point. Kamaria falls back into the shadow of the nearest tent, panting and clutching at the blood-soaked fabric of her skirt. Blen. She has a backup plan, obviously, but it’s all the way on the other side of the camp. She doesn’t know if she can make it that far and still make it back to her own camp on this leg…especially without someone catching onto the tiny trail of blood she’s leaving behind.
While she’s debating what to do, a figure approaches slowly. She whirls around with her knife ready, but it’s only the man from the tent, staring at the blood on her skirt as he takes off a belt from around his hips and tosses it to the ground in front of her.
“Wrap that around your leg, above the wound. It’ll slow the bleeding. You can listen to me, or bleed out, but I have to do something.”
Great. Apparently this guy is just going to keep showing up. Yes, this time he’s…actually being useful, but she’ll never admit that to him, especially when he has to be so insufferable about it. Besides, it’s not as if she actually needs him. She would have figured it all out on her own, just like she has a hundred times before.
Still, she isn’t against taking free help when it’s offered. Snatching up the belt, she yanks her skirt up high enough that she can wrap the belt above the wound, not caring at the moment about modesty. He doesn’t seem to be looking, anyway.
“I’m well aware how to use a tourniquet,” she snaps. “Stop treating me like a child.”
“Yeah? You know how to use a tourniquet? Good for you. Now use it before you bleed out and get me killed, too. Stop acting like a child, and I might just do that!” There’s a pistol already in his hand, and he leans around the tent, aims, and fires. “Well, that’s just one. Do I need to carry you, or are you going to stab me in the back if I try, huh? Also, maybe manners aren’t your thing, but I kind of saved your life.”
Saved her life? What, by handing her a belt? Throwing her skirt back down over her leg, she makes sure her hood and mask are still in place before digging her own pistol out of its hidden holster. She’d been trying not to attract attention to herself by slinging guns around, but of course this man would be the type to solve everything with bullets.
Spinning around and gritting her teeth against the onslaught of pain, she takes a shot at another soldier coming their way. “I’m not sure where you’re getting your delusions of grandeur, but I’m not in the habit of thanking people who try to ruin my missions. And if you even attempt to carry me, I will kill you.” The nerve of this man, not only barging in and assuming she needs help, but threatening to carry her!
“Delusions?” he scoffs. “You think I am deluded. You’re not wrong. What kind of jerk would just give up their possible life and freedom helping a stranger not bleed out. Oh wait…” Trailing off, he glares at her in annoyance. “That sounds like someone you know now.”
“I didn’t ask for your help.”
“And if you don’t let me carry you, you…will…pass…out!” he roars, dodging a charging soldier and quickly ending them with his bare hands.
Her vision wavers, and she grabs the tent pole with one hand to steady herself. More soldiers are running toward them. If they - she - doesn’t get out of here now, she’s going to be overpowered. She’d come prepared for an assassination, not a one-woman battle, and she’s certainly not going to put enough faith in this stranger to stay and fight. With only a slight limp, she begins to edge her way toward the exit point, gun still held at the ready.
“Are you really walking…you are seriously a stubborn one,” he mutters, rushing to her side. “How much ammo you got? Because last I checked, Mrs. Snarky Shadow, you are a master at assassination. Let me carry you out of here before we die very stupidly because of you.”
“And when, exactly, did you check? You know absolutely nothing about me.” Continuing to hobble her way toward the exit, she takes out another soldier with a well-aimed round, but misses the second when the world begins to spin around her again. Gritting her teeth in anger, she grips the gun with both hands and tries again, at least hitting his stomach this time. Close enough. “I am a master of many things, thank you.”
The man’s use of the title ‘Shadow’ makes her wonder briefly if he has worked out who she is, but it would have been asking a lot for a man to realize the infamous Shadow of Death is actually a woman in that short of a time…and to not have a wounded ego over it.
“I know just enough about you to be able to say without a hint of doubt that you have trust issues,” he growls, checking around for more soldiers and firing away.
Ignoring his comment, she continues. “And I told you already -” she swings her gun around and points it directly at his forehead -“if you touch me, you will die.”
They lock eyes, and he doesn’t move a muscle save to slowly raise his hands and one eyebrow. He doesn’t look afraid, just…done. “Alright then. Don’t touch you or I’ll die. Do you have anything else you want to a-”
Before he can finish, she shifts the gun to the right and fires it over his shoulder at an oncoming enemy. His ears probably won’t appreciate it, but he can just be happy he’s still alive. Her life certainly would be a lot more peaceful if she’d let the soldier stab him.
His hand goes against his ear, and he winces. “Thank you for the hearing loss. Well, let’s go ahead and finish off those guards, and we should be alive and free and you won’t have to deal with me another minute. Deal? Great.” He doesn’t bother actually waiting for a response, walking toward the exit.
Thankfully, he doesn’t talk to her any more after that. She refuses to speak to him, too, preferring silence always and falling into the rhythm of killing. It’s easier that way to forget about what she’s doing, to zone out and perform her job without whatever tiny fragments of her conscience remain getting in the way.
By the time they make it out into the open field beyond the gate, she’s fairly certain that she doesn’t need to worry about anyone coming after them. All she has to worry about now is the man. And, of course, making it back to camp, miles away. Now that she’s not fighting, the pain from her wound is making itself more obvious, as is the blood that completely soaks her entire leg, despite the tourniquet.
Pain, she can handle. But blood loss could easily take her down out in the woods somewhere between here and camp. She isn’t sure if the most dangerous part of that is the potential wild animals and enemy soldiers, or the trouble she’ll be in from her superiors for being gone longer than allotted. She’s already going to be in enough trouble as it is, since being shot isn’t exactly part of a smooth assassination mission.
The man sticks fairly close by, but gives her a little bit of space, checking his minor wounds and cursing over his nicked armor. “How is your leg faring? Am I allowed to check, or are you going to kill me now?”
Perhaps all he means by ‘checking’ her leg is inquiring about it, but her mind immediately goes to him wanting to see the wound and play medic. In a flash of anger - and possibly a bit of fear that she’ll never admit to - she has her dagger back in her hand and lunges to place it at his throat. Somehow his blade finds her own throat at the same time. She’s too dizzy to focus on his face, but this close he reeks of human sweat and gunpowder.
“My leg is just fine. I don’t know who you think you are, inserting yourself into my mission and insisting on acting like we’re on the same team, but I suggest you leave me alone before I decide to treat you like an enemy.”
“I don’t think I’m anyone special,” he replies, terse. “I’m a man who gives a crap when someone is bleeding out and they saved my life. The least I could do is offer the favor in return, but no, you are so proud. Too proud, in fact to realize that maybe for once in your dang life, someone isn’t trying to screw you over.”
Narrowing his eyes, he huffs in her face. “So…are you going to let me help, or are you going to be so stubborn you pass out? Because I don’t have places to be. You do.”
She barks a caustic laugh. “Oh, you think you know so much about me, don’t you?” He’s right about some of it, like how she has places to be, and that angers her more than anything else about the man. “Think you can just show up and figure me out and make me forget all my doubts because you understand me?”
Blinking away the spots that are invading her vision, she forces herself not to dig the knife further into his skin. He raises his chin slightly, as if trying to avoid it. She should probably kill him and be done with it. If he’s dead, she won’t have to worry about what he might do to her if she does pass out. And yes, they’re presumably working for the same side, but she’s fairly certain he’s a mercenary for hire. She has no use for his type. They can switch loyalties at will, depending on who’s paying the best at the time. The world, and this war, won’t suffer from his loss.
“It’s not hard to guess you belong to a guild, but if you think I am some sort of psychic, then that is a personal problem on your part. I will never make you forget the things that made you who you are, but I am more likely to make you question your stupid decisions,” he snarls.
She barely comprehends his words. “Well, you’re wrong. I’m not proud, I’m careful. I don’t happen…to trust random strangers to…take care of my injuries for me.”
The spots are getting worse, and the noise of the world around them has suddenly gone quiet. Blen. She has to be okay. She can’t pass out here, in front of this man, that would be worse than it happening out in the woods somewhere.
His eyes flicker to her leg, then back up again. “Pride or not, you are ignorant when it comes to reading the freaking room. I am not some danger to your life, and I wasn’t planning on hurting you. On the contrary, I would like to see you not die. Random I may be, but I have enough honor to know that you, a skilled warrior, need some help.”
She blinks again, hard, and tries to back off a little but can’t seem to get her body to move. “I’m f-fine. I just…need you to leave…me alone.”
She isn’t going to make it. She’s going to be unconscious and completely vulnerable in mere seconds, and there’s nothing she can do about it.
“You aren’t looking fine, Mrs. Snarky Shadow. You look like you are about to - hey!”
She has enough clarity left to be glad that her mask is hiding whatever panic has taken over her expression before everything goes dark.