Post by Domovoy on Nov 13, 2022 17:49:51 GMT
"LOOSE ENDS"
228 FEDERAL ST., PITTSBURGH, PA, US
"HOLIDAY INN" - ROOM 323
TARGET: "KATARINA KUTSUKI"
"HOLIDAY INN" - ROOM 323
TARGET: "KATARINA KUTSUKI"
Wipe the slate.
Nobody talked to janitors. Guests of the hotel and workers higher in the food chain were quick to avert the eyes, ignoring Henry Warnock as he pushed his cart to the elevator; quicker still was the decision to let the man ride up alone, save a pair of teenagers too inebriated for their own good. Pervoy kept his head low, just in case their brains were functioning enough to remember a face. The human mind was odd, like that. Pervoy’s was, at least. A name, he could forget in a day, but a face— no, he could never forget a face. No matter how much he tried. It was how he had found her, after all. A lucky news recording on the television that had managed to capture her in the background; grainy, distant, but memorable all the same. Involved in the plane crash that had occurred not just a week ago, or simply unlucky enough to find herself caught at the scene.
He had managed to track her to a hotel in the downtown area. Room 323– or so the conceirge had told him. If the man was lying, Pervoy would have to improvise; further questioning would not be possible. If she was somewhere in this building, he would find her. He needed to. Wipe the slate.
A simple HK45 had been his weapon of choice for a while now, suppressed and outfitted with a combined module beneath the barrel. He did not intend to use it; ideally, the job could be done through the eyes alone. Still, Pervoy kept his gun upon his hip, one hand ready to unholster as he knocked upon the door to Room 323.
“¡Abre la puerta! Cleaning staff.”
Silence, for a moment, then approaching footsteps. Adjusting the gradient of his retina, Pervoy observed not one, but two bodies in the suite. The first, still supine upon the bed, was a woman; the second was a male, slightly larger build, approaching the door. Was the female her? It was a bit uncertain, but he would need to trust the intel given by the conceirge. Firing through the wall was ill-advised, and he doubted the round would penetrate fully. He waited until the man approached the door and, presumably, looked through the peephole; then, with a quick step, Pervoy pressed his good eye to the lens, breathed, and fired off a flash.
A small bout of light would no doubt fill the room; that would be the first sign. The second would be the collapse of the man who’d answered the door, his brain flash-boiling and denaturing over the course of the next few seconds. He would sputter, then fall, as they always did. Pervoy waited until he heard a loud crash on the other side of the door before he stepped back, slammed his foot into the door beneath the knob, and then kicked the entire frame open with a second attempt. She’d know something was wrong, now— possibly already moving for a window, or for a gun. He’d need to be quick.
Pervoy stepped inside, aimed at the last place he’d seen the girl— the bed— and fired off a flurry of rounds from his pistol, moving to the side of the hallway to strongwall the left towards the bedroom.
