Dignity and Self-Respect

The metallic glint confirmed what Lin already saw coming, the gun leveling toward her head from her left side, coming up from out of the darkness. Her hand left hand went up, the sleeve of her trench-coat whipping behind her lightning-fast maneuver; her wrist stopped the gun before it reached it's target, and it went off with a deafening bang, sending a streak of wind through Lin's hair. As the shot echoed through the alley, she grasped the shooter by the wrist, twisting until she freed the gun; she kicked it away just as it hit the ground.

Recoiling and pulling his wrist away from her grip, the attacker moved to strike out; she grabbed a fist headed for her face, and delivered a cheap-shot kick into the groin, before whipping out a nasty little stiletto knife from her coat, and gouging it up toward her assailant's throat. It was stopped at last moment, her would-be assassin gripping her wrist and twisting it painfully, just as she had done to him, before he kicked her knee out, and twirled her around, jerking her own arm toward her back to deliver the business end of her own knife straight at her kidney.

Still grimacing, Lin stomped down at the man's shin, producing an awful yelp; jamming her elbow into his gut, she cut his pained yell short, knocking the wind out of him. As she pivoted, she sliced across his palm, cutting the meat from end to end, bloodying her blade.

She twirled a step back, her knife raised in a fighting manner, a smirk crossing her face as she finally got a good look at her attacker. He was a lean, mean-looking Irishman with dark brown hair and blue eyes, his fair skin gleaming in the little pale light of the alleyway. An acquaintance from her most recent London business trip.

"Sean?" she asked, sounding somewhat surprised.

"It's been a while, I'm surprised you recognized me; been reading my dossier lately, darling?" he quipped in his charming brogue, sucking in a bit of blood from his palm before spitting it off into alley. "But of course, by that inquisitive little look on your face, you want to ask me the very same question!"

Lin smirked, making a brief nod over toward the gun behind her. "After that business? I don't think I even need to ask. How's about we settle this with a little dignity, shall we?"

"Please," he said, smiling as she raised the knife, letting it fall limp between her fingertips; it slipped out from her grip, and like a viper, she struck out with her next attack before it had even landed on the ground.

Hurling herself into an acrobatic kick as the knife clattered down, Lin was stopped midair, and hurtled over, dangerously close to the still-bouncing stiletto; she barely had time to collect herself before Sean turned ninety degrees, and delivered a bone-jarring side kick into the small of her back, and sent her tumbling over. She fell right for the gun, and grabbed it beneath her gut, before rolling to what could have been mistaken for a modeling pose to squeeze the trigger.

Sean's face went even paler than usual as the first shot rang out; the bullet pierced his gut, and popped a hole in his leather jacket. His posture bent slightly, as he groaned out a horrible sound between pursed lips, past gritted teeth. Lin steadied the pistol over her wrist, and squeezed the trigger once more, the slide snapping back in a motion reciprocal to Sean's back-step into the wall. A new hole in his chest bled crimson out onto his expensive-looking blue shirt. He let out a long sigh, as Lin slowly retook her feet, keeping the gun aimed on his center of mass as she leisurely rose up from the ground.

"S...So," Sean sputtered out, forcing a weak grin as he came face-to-face with the barrel of his own gun, clutching his bleeding belly. "Whatever h-happened to dignity, love?"

"Please, Sean." Lin muttered sarcastically as she turned her cheek slightly, another deafening gunshot exploding in the alleyway, a light spray of warm blood dotting her face. "I haven't had self-respect since the eleventh grade, let alone dignity."

Sean's body hit the ground about the same time as shell-casing. Lin took aim with a nonchalantly outstretched arm, and coolly, methodically, she placed every remaining bullet in the gun's magazine into the corpse, before lowering the smoking gun, and brushing back her hair. She dropped the empty pistol beside the body, as the pool of blood enveloped the very bottom of it. Tugging the wrinkles out of her trench-coat, she turned and left the alley.