30-03-2019, 06:50 PM
The man knocked her to the floor. The crowd watched, unable to move to help her even if they'd been likely to before. Helena tried to scramble away from him, but his weight was on top of her before she could get out of reach. He stabbed her twice more as she looked up at Generalissimo Hernando Ramirez, supreme commander of San Finzione's armed forces; standing perfectly still and looking with horror as he was unable to compel his hand to reach for his sidearm and put an end to things.
"Ra...Ramir..." was all she managed to get out before the blade sank into her breast and the words were lost in a yelp of pain. Her vision was narrowing as the thought struck her that she was about to die the same way the man who'd never forgiven her for being born had: shanked by multiple onlookers who did nothing. Except he'd died in the yard of a prison that had been built 40 years before and she was going to die in a Grand Ballroom built in 1658.
The man was straddling her now. He was bringing the knife up to her throat. Helen's arms were no longer responding to her commands as blackness became more and more of all that she could see, the only image left in her sight was the man who was able to slit her neck, and the four odd red flowers that had just sprouted from the white windbreaker he wore.
No, not flowers. Bullet holes. He fell off her, giving her enough air to say a single word.
"Mu...Move." Ramirez and Jeanne ran to her as the tour guide tried to hold everyone back. Cameras and phones now recording as Contessa Helena de San Finzione bled onto the marble floor.
Two figures also moved into view, dressed in fatigues and carrying pistols. The woman was scanning the room and pointing her smoking weapon at the crowd and shouting at them to stay back. The man dropped to her side and began reaching for something on his belt.
The scene continued to fade to black for her. Helen recognized Tenentes Velasquez and Maisson, the two Ultimados she'd brought home from the warehouse raid to give San Finzione's "most sincere thanks" to. Her last thought before all the lights in the world went out was "Oh hey, guys. You look different in uniform from this angle."
And then nothing.
The tourists would, indeed, talk about the day for the rest of their lives.
"Ra...Ramir..." was all she managed to get out before the blade sank into her breast and the words were lost in a yelp of pain. Her vision was narrowing as the thought struck her that she was about to die the same way the man who'd never forgiven her for being born had: shanked by multiple onlookers who did nothing. Except he'd died in the yard of a prison that had been built 40 years before and she was going to die in a Grand Ballroom built in 1658.
The man was straddling her now. He was bringing the knife up to her throat. Helen's arms were no longer responding to her commands as blackness became more and more of all that she could see, the only image left in her sight was the man who was able to slit her neck, and the four odd red flowers that had just sprouted from the white windbreaker he wore.
No, not flowers. Bullet holes. He fell off her, giving her enough air to say a single word.
"Mu...Move." Ramirez and Jeanne ran to her as the tour guide tried to hold everyone back. Cameras and phones now recording as Contessa Helena de San Finzione bled onto the marble floor.
Two figures also moved into view, dressed in fatigues and carrying pistols. The woman was scanning the room and pointing her smoking weapon at the crowd and shouting at them to stay back. The man dropped to her side and began reaching for something on his belt.
The scene continued to fade to black for her. Helen recognized Tenentes Velasquez and Maisson, the two Ultimados she'd brought home from the warehouse raid to give San Finzione's "most sincere thanks" to. Her last thought before all the lights in the world went out was "Oh hey, guys. You look different in uniform from this angle."
And then nothing.
The tourists would, indeed, talk about the day for the rest of their lives.
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