Tournament of Assassins -Round 1- Ace Vs. Dragan

[dominus umbras]

Ace

Vs.

Dragan

Setting: Abandoned Soviet military base

In an undisclosed location within the vast freezing plains of Siberia lies an old military base. The majority of the base is nothing but rubble from several battles that according to soviet military documentation never happened. The only building left standing is a large warehouse with several massive holes in its ceiling and walls as well as the northern wall missing almost completely. Being reinforced to withstand severe punishment from battle has allowed the building to stand against the harsh elements of its motherland, but it wont take to much more to bring the entire thing down. Outside of the warehouse also lie a few rusted and non functional soviet tanks and jeeps. The battle takes place in broad daylight, normally an oddity for an assassin duel but seeing as there is not a single other person around for miles it makes no difference what time of day it is.

[Archangel1]

A twelve hour flight across three time zones and a jeep ride through some of the roughest country on earth had left Dragan feeling sluggish. A storm was on the way too, sweeping in across the cold Russian Steppes. It would be nothing short of suicide to get caught out in it for any length of time. The cold out here could kill a perfectly fit, healthy human in twelve minutes. Supping from coffee that had gone cold an hour ago and was starting to form a wafer thin layer of ice, Dragan grunted inwardly. “Home sweet home." He mumbled in one of the local tongues.

Driving up to the soviet base Dragan leaned forward to wipe the misted jeeps windshield with his forearm. Of all the things to survive the battle, the guards pillboxes complete with the anti-ram rail was still intact. Slipping out of the jeep Dragan moved to the guardhouse, keeping his movements slow so as not to sweat too much too early. Sweat was a killer in the cold; it froze to the body and drained the heat from a fighting man. The cold was an insidious killer, hiding a dagger behind the promise of warmth. The rails hinge was frozen and Dragan quickly, efficiently chipped away at it until it could move, squeezing the rail upwards with the crackle of ice before heading back to the jeep and driving inside. A few rusted T-90 tanks stood proud, turrets lifted in salute waiting for a war that would never arrive. Dragan felt oddly humbled driving amongst the iron giants who after so long remained silently guarding this old base.

Pulling the jeep into the warehouse Dragan gunned the engine, surging over pieces of rubble strewn across the warehouse floor. The warehouse, shattered though it was would once have housed tanks, jeeps, military vehicles, a lone man and his jeep didn't take up much room. Dragan parked his jeep with the side facing the missing wall to best protect him from the deadly wind.

Being a resident of Russia, Dragan had arrived earlier than his American counter-part who would no doubt have an extremely long and unpleasant flight ahead of him. The Spetsnaz operative wasted little time in his preparation however, for there was always the rogue chance that his enemy had arrived before him. Quickly and carefully the Russian stripped out of his civilian gear and into more combat based attire. A snug black top made from the same material as a deep-sea diver’s suit was pulled on over his t-shirt to guard him from the cold. Strapping his harness on carefully Dragan twisted and turned, checking for chafe points and testing the overall flexibility and breathability of the outfit. Elbow and knee pads of hard Kevlar were strapped on and Dragan replaced his standard military grade boots for a more specialised thick, insulated boot with steel grips on the toes and heel to stop him slipping in the ice. Fingerless gloves with Kevlar knuckle joints protected his hands from the biting cold while leaving his fingers free and flexible. Finally, Dragan pulled on the red Spetsnaz beret over his snow white hair and waited.

Walking to the boot of his jeep Dragan popped it and tended to his weapons. The stripped down Ak74 was the first to be tended too. Carefully Dragan checked the weapon and filled the slots of harness with spare clips before tearing up the linen cloth that lined the floor of the trunk. The weapons were rugged and reliable, but left idle in the cold actions could freeze, hammers stick and slides freeze over, spelling sure doom for the user. Dragan wrapped the AK’s action, barrel and trigger in strips of cloth before placing his head through the strap. The single action army was more difficult to tend to as it had a revolving action that couldn't be wrapped. Instead Dragan just packed the holster with line. It wasn't fool proof but it would do. The same went with the combat knife. The claymore and C4 were shit outta luck. The c4 wasn't as bad, it was a fairly reliable piece of equipment, fireproof and resistant to freezing, but the claymore could be a big problem. The arming pin was prone to freezing and clogging, likewise the motion detector wasn't much use in the snow.

With his preparations complete Dragan could only wait for his American opponent to show himself. Lighting up a smoke, the Russian assassin huddled behind the front wheel of his jeep, eyes scanning the warehouse slowly and steadily, the long wait had begun.

[dominus umbras]

"And I thought the cold war was over"

Ace's foot emerged from the sanctity of his chauffeurs jeep and with a satisfying yet spine tingling crunch planted itself in the snow. Ace handed a large wad of cash to the driver before he left leaving Ace alone in a seemingly blank and icy wasteland that surely meant death to all who entered it's cold grasp ill-prepared. It had been a long flight from the states to land in Moscow and then travel by train to meet his chauffeur. All the while he had received suspicious looks and glances. Clearly he stuck out like a sore thumb in the homeland of the Russian people, though he could not for the life of him figure out how.

Though Ace appeared to only be wearing his usual outfit, beneath his trenchcoat he had been issued a thermal protective shirt and leggings. The thermal wear was insulated with trace amounts of aerogel which would protect Ace from the effects of hypothermia and help to regulate his body temperature. There was an armored version of the wear which contained reinforced carbon nanotube structures that would help protect against bullets but Ace refused to use it as he refused to wear any armor, some saw it as him being cocky but he viewed it as being utterly unfair to his opponent. His immense luck made him very hard to land a hit upon, if a shot was landed Ace didn't want to strip his opponent of the reward they surely would have earned in doing so, he also found firefights without wearing protective armor to be far more exhilarating.

As he began to approach the warehouse he pulled out one of his single action army revolvers from his left hip with his right hand. He had been told that his target was ex Spetsnaz, his superiors also told him that the target shouldn't be too much trouble seeing as it seemed he had no unique powers or abilities. Despite his superiors expressing feelings of insignificance towards this target, Ace had a lot of respect for those in GRU, especially spetsnaz seeing them as some of the world's best trained and skilled killers. He even went as far as to carry two spetsnaz ballistic knives with him at all time.

Ace walked through a graveyard of non functional soviet vehicles and equipment, all most likely mass produced during the cold war for a battle they would never fight. Ace thought of what a shame it was that such efficient and well manufactured killing machines were left to rust without seeing the face of war. Ace checked the cylinder of the revolver confirming that all six chambers were loaded.

He had noticed a set of tire tracks going towards and into the warehouse earlier, clearly his opponent was awaiting his arrival. as he approached the open side of the warehouse he surveyed the scene, there wasn't much to hide behind in the mostly empty warehouse aside from a few piles of rubble which were most likely the missing chunks in the ceiling. There were steel rafters one could stand on to shoot at a target below but that offered little protection and given the state of disrepair the entire building was in standing on them was nearly suicide. He set his eyes on what seemed like a fully functional jeep in the center of the warehouse and behind it he could see smoke flowing away in the cold wind.

Ace then raised his fully loaded single action army revolver, but not towards his target, he instead pointed the barrel at his own temple and spoke to his enemy in a rather friendly manner given the two were about to fight to the death.

"You know I never got why they call it Russian roulette, it's played with a revolver which is a gun of western descent...perhaps you can indulge me as to why this is?"

Ace then pulled the trigger of his fully loaded revolver.

*Click*

"Well what do you know, looks like this rounds a dud"

Ace laughed as he pointed the barrel of the gun away from his head and towards the ground as he pulled the dud round from the cylinder and replaced it with a live one in a rapid fashion before twirling the gun several times and reholstering it. He then waited for his opponent's response, fully prepared for either a storm of bullets or a vocal response for his question. He stood just outside of the warehouse in close proximity to the corner in the event his opponent decided to send a lead storm his way.

[Archangel1]

It was unlikely American eyes had ever set foot on this base. Indeed by the surplus of tanks, tank building facilities and so on Dragan would have guessed that the facility was designed to produce armoured vehicles for the Eastern Front, no doubt designed to invade China, Korea, India and Japan, securing military assets from which could be formed a staging point for the invasion of America. It seemed sadly ironic that the monsters now stood as a silent court to the invasion of a lone American into the freezing bosom of the motherland.

Dragan had hunkered down behind the jeep and waited for his opponent, revising over and over again in his head the qualities of his rival. Unfortunate details were scarce concerning this particular individual. Even a photograph of his face was near impossible to come by. Every time a snooping recon agent got close with a camera something happened. The low swoop of a bird obscuring the shot, camera malfunctions. Even attempts to up lay with satellite imaging had been baffled by the rare, minor solar flare of a distant planet which had frazzled all the equipment on board the probe. Bad luck seemed to dog the mission from the word go. Still, at least he had the home field advantage.

Footsteps jolted Dragan from his odd little half sleep and rising on one knee the commando aimed his AK across the hood of his jeep, training the iron sights on the American assassin who had approached openly but not foolishly. He would easily get into cover at the slightest hint of trouble. The American rather than offer threats or any form of violence asked a question and then raised his gun to his own head. Dragan squinted and could see the rough outline of a shell in the next chamber. Had they sent a mad man?

The shot should have gone off, but it didn't. Ringing out as a dud, the American popped the chamber and replaced it much to the Russians confusion. Was he mad or merely arrogant? So assured of his own invincibility? Dragan's English was passable, but the Americans accent threw him slightly. Dragan had learned English from a British foreign national and there were some subtle (and some rather huge) differences in the pronunciation of certain words. “Revolver is not Western." He grunted, exhaling smoke through his nose. “Chinese invent it first. Ming dynasty. Revolving musket, three barrel. Fire one barrel, next one moves into place." Shrugging Dragan took another draw of what could well be his last smoke. “Game comes from Russian Major who fights in First World War. He had revolver, and every so often, be it in meeting, in front line, even in bath. He would take revolver, empty all but one shell, put it to his head and pull trigger. Nothing. Was fearless man, thought luck loved him." Taking the smoke from his mouth Dragan propped himself up a little more into sight. “On last day of battle, before Russia surrender, he takes his gun and does his trick. Bang. He dies. This story has moral. Never push your luck too far. Will catch up."

Grinning Dragan tossed his smoke to the side, drawing his own Single action army and spinning it backward. Flicking it into the air the Russian caught it deftly before sliding it back into other holster. “have same gun...Like Clint Eastwood." he remarked, evidently finding the idea amusing. “Is good." He mumbled, rising to stand more fully in sight. “Before we begin. We swap joke. Man should always have one last laugh before he dies da? I will go first." Dragging his mind for a self-mocking joke that the American would appreciate he clicked on a golden one from the cold war.

“This joke...Popular in my country. Called Armenian Radio joke. Much like your knock knock joke. Joke always starts same way, question, and funny answer." Grinning the Russian spoke slowly and clearly so the accent would not blur the joke. “This is Armenian Radio reporting... People ask us why police travel in groups of three. We answer this... Police are carefully put into groups of three so that one will be able to read, one will be able to write, and one will keep eye on these fucking Intellectuals." Snickering inwardly Dragan tilted his head. “Is good day? Now your turn." Dragan stood passively as he waited for the American to say his piece, though the Russians hand floated a fraction of an inch above the hilt of his single action.

[dominus umbras]

Ace listened intently as the ex spetsnaz soldier stood from behind his cover, he had not so much seen a photo of his target seeing as the assassin league kept any information about their operatives very secure, and beyond that spetsnaz was known world wide for their secrecy which made gathering info on this target nearly impossible. The man stood proud and seemingly in a relaxed matter but fully prepared to take action if Ace made the slightest hint that he was going to attack.

He could tell that his game of six round Russian roulette surprised the commando but was surprised to receive a reply regarding the origin of the game as well as the firearm itself, fully expecting a mess of bullets instead. He expected the man to be a very capable killer given the criteria of the Russian special forces, what he had not expected was the level of intelligence the man exhibited. He clearly knew very much in terms of military and weapon history. Ace knew that a man with great aim, speed, and reflexes was deadly but when you add in the aspect of intelligence that same man was twice as deadly, knowing full well how to utilize his abilities and equipment to it's fullest battle potential.

His cautiousness was replaced with a hearty laugh after his opponent had told him a joke, he tilted his head back slightly as he chuckled the warm air from his lungs created a steamy fog in the piercingly cold air. He spoke in a friendly manner as he brought his hands to his hips, just inches away from his single action army revolvers.

"I'm always glad to meet another who can appreciate the beauty of an old fashioned revolver...Many of today's guns may prove more effective in battle but it is much more exhilarating in the heat of battle knowing that your shots are so limited... and that missing a single shot may very well result in death."

Ace nearly lived by this principle in battle, and went as far as to carry no other type of firearm besides revolvers. He thought for a moment trying to come up with a joke, he followed his target's lead in the telling of a self-mocking joke by taking a shot at American politics.

"Alright this is one of my favorites... So a married couple are worried about their young son, utterly unsure of what he will become in the future. The father decides to test the boy by laying out three objects... a bottle of booze...a bible...and a large stack of cash. They then wait in a nearby room. The father says that if boy takes the bible he will preach the word of god. If he takes the booze he will be an overall sleezebag and not worry about the plight of others or the world around him. And if he takes the money he will be successful but will be consumed by greed and put money before all things even people....Well the boy comes along and takes all three objects... The wife asks the husband what that meant and the husband says....I think our son is going to be a politician."

Ace chuckled and allowed his enemy time to laugh before stretching his arms upwards and speaking once more.

"Well it certainly has been pleasant speaking with you, but I do suppose it's time we get this show on the road huh?"

He lowered his arms and bent his knees slightly taking a stance that would allow him to move quickly if need be, He stood ready but granted his opponent the honor of making the first move.

[Archangel1]

Dragan couldn't help but feel that somewhere along the line something had been staged. The man had played a six round game without blinking, when the chances of his survival were exactly zero point zero zero per cent. Either the opposing agency had sent a lunatic with a death wish, or something had been staged. Perhaps it was a stunt designed to unnerve him by making him believe his opponent had grand protection from upon High. Luckily, Dragan didn't believe in an inveteventionist God, or he'd have all but surrendered.

The Russian commando had at first thought the American to be foolish. He didn't look like he was equipped for the cold Russian Winter, but the movements of his coat flashed hints of an insulated suit beneath. It wouldn't be as easy as avoiding the man until he freeze to death. His opponent could operate in this cold for just as long as he could, which frankly wasn't long, but long enough for a winner to be decided.

The assassin saw fit to give him a little insight into his mind and choice of weapon. Most people would have blushed it off as bluster but Dragan took the hint in the message. His weapons were all revolvers, this indicated both that his enemy was an expert shot and carrying limited rounds. A lesser marksman wouldn't dare carry a Single Action Army for it was a weapon where every shot had to count. The six round per gun suggested that his opponent would also be carrying more than one gun, perhaps three of four for a 'New York Reload' as the Americans put it. Despite the Americans odd train of thought Dragan couldn't help but associate with it. “Only time man feels alive." He rumbled, brushing a hand over his six-shooter.

The Russian cocked his head as he listened to the joke. When the punch line rang out Dragan was silent for a second, translating the words before bursting into a deep, throaty laugh, a grin forming across his lips. “Is good one, your politicians and mine are no different." Grinning Dragan chuckled inwardly, glancing up as his opponent suggested that the time for good manners was over. “Da... I enjoyed our conversation." Dragan remarked, chuckling and brushing his hand over his jaw absent-mindedly.

From the relaxed stance the Russian pounced into Action, throwing himself to one knee, ducking and slamming his shoulder into the wheel of the car. The A.K was propped up on the hood of the car and from its perch it gave an angry bark as the commando blind fired over the hood. He couldn't kill Ace at this range, the man from American would be rattle-snake quick with those revolvers and as highly trained as he was, Dragan couldn't match the draw time with his revolver. He needed to suppress the American, exploit cover and force him out into the open. A familiar dance began, pinning fire and flank attack. After a burst of around ten rounds the Spetsnaz risked a peek over cover to track the movements of his opponent.

[dominus umbras]

As soon as Ace lowered his hands he was already formulating several possible plans of action, knowing full well his enemy's attack would be coming soon. As the Russian killer politely brought the pleasant conversation to an end to make room for the battle to come, Ace had already bent his knees slightly more and leaned his upper body slightly rightward. He had caught a glimpse of his enemy's AK74U and knew with it's rapid firing rate he would be outmatched in a straight shootout, as lucky as he was he wasn't willing to push his "gift" that far.

By the time Dragan had dropped and fired his AK, Ace was already in motion, the bottom of his trenchcoat flailed out behind him as he dove to his right putting a wall between the two assassins. The Russian assassin's firearm rang out with the cold hard efficiency the Kalashnikov variant was known for, as the shots formed a deafening echo within the warehouse that bellowed out into the vast frozen plains of its motherland, Ace landed safely outside of the firearms reach.

Just as Dragan ceased fire Ace took notice of something rather alien to him. Ace had been physically unaffected by the attack but he couldn't help but notice two bullet holes going through the bottom of his trenchcoat, surely having happened when it flailed behind him in a cape-like manner. A normal man would have counted himself lucky to have escaped the spread of lead death alive but Ace had never had so much as a single piece of equipment slightly damaged in the midst of combat. He reflected on the story the Russian had told him of the origin of the game known as "Russian Roulette", perhaps Ace did push his luck too far. He took mental note of this oddity and despite his opponent's lack of an extraordinary power decided it would be best not to be as reckless as he normally would.

A few seconds after Dragan ceased fire and began to peek out from cover Ace pulled both of his single action army revolvers out twirling each backwards four rapid times before halting their spinning motion abruptly having set his sights on a rusted tank sitting parallel to the missing wall of the warehouse, it was time to show his opponent a whole new meaning behind the phrase "lucky shot".

Taking quick and somewhat "calculative" aim, Ace fired four alternating shots from his revolvers in such a rapid fashion that they sounded as though they were being fired from a fully automatic weapon. The rounds tore through the cold air towards the old soviet tank, though the tank did have a decent amount of rust on it's surface it's armor was still very thick and bullet resistant, and so as the .45 colt rounds made contact they were cast off of the tank's surface onto a far more deadly course.

Two of the rounds slammed into the side of the jeep, one was on a course for where Russian's face was when he peeked over the top of his cover, while the fourth shot had been cast off in an undetermined direction. if the Russian killer had not moved quickly or taken appropriate action fast enough he was as good as dead. Ace didn't count on it though, even though he had no unique power he was a trained killer and thus had to have amazing instinct along with fast reflexes, though Ace's trademark move had taken many before he knew it would take more than a few lucky shots to take down an elite soldier and assassin such as this.

[Archangel1]

The Russian despite his disadvantages was feeling confident. He had his opponent in enfilade and with the warehouse rather sparse and empty not much cover could be found beyond the jeep. Dragan risked the glance over to check even as shots started ringing out.

The American assassin had fired, but not directly at Dragan and the Russian flinched as the first shot tore into the jeep from an akward angle. That flinch saved his life as the second of Ace's rounds pierced the jeep. Had it not been for the flinch the third round would have entered Dragans skull an inch above the right eye and splattered his brains across the wall. Instead it whipped the beret from his head.

The commando was not quite so lucky with the fourth shot which bounced off a tanks side armour, tumbled through the air and sliced into Dragans side, neatly bypassing the joints of his kevlar vest and entering just above the hip. The force of the shot knocked Dragan off his feet and...for a breif moment out of cover. Dragan loosed a volley of inaccurate shots to cover himself as he scrambled back into cover, surpressing the urge to groan as he placed a hand over the ragged entry wound in his side. The Single Action Army could be a real ugly puppy at times. The large calibre and muzzle speed often left wounds that never properly healed. if the wound continued to bleed it would sap Dragans strength and rob him of his ability to fight back.

Formulating a plan the Russian reloaded his stripped down A.K variation and pulled back the slide. The Russian opened up one of the rear doors to try and shield himself from any attempts at bounce shooting, the Russian took a breath and rose sharply, firing slow, calculated, aimed bursts. Two three round burst barked away. Much to his irritation Dragan spoted the two hols in the assassins coat where the bullets had narrowly missed him. The mans luck was incredible, Dragan couldn't help but feel he was fighting against a force much bigger than himself.

As if to confirm that thought on the third burst his A.K, a weapon knowl world wide for its reliability jammed. Dragan reacted on instict, throwing himself behind his jeep and laying flat on his back to avoid return fire. His hand frantically working the action to unjam the weapon. He had only been visible for around six seconds, but that was five more seconds than an assassin like Ace needed to kill him.

[dominus umbras]

Ace wasted no time after unleashing his barrage of bullets. He tried to enter the warehouse but the commando's inaccurate burst of fire sent a few rounds towards the corner which prevented Ace from doing so. As soon as the Russian commando ceased fire and reentered cover Ace sprinted out from cover in front of the jeep still staying outside of the warehouse, firing one shot from each of his revolvers at the same time Dragan fired his first well aimed burst, in the midst of the Ace's strafe/shootout a single shot from the Russian's first burst grazed Ace's cheek, forming a cut across his face.

Though the cut was only a very minor wound it threw Ace off to such a degree that he stopped shooting in mid strafe while still sprinting, which allowed two of the Russian's rounds from his second burst to slam into Ace's outer right thigh, missing the femur but tearing deep through his muscle. Ace shouted out in pain as he soared through the air and landed rolling from the speed of his sprint. He dropped both of his revolvers as soon as the rounds hit him causing them to fly out beyond Ace's reach. One of the revolvers however was not rendered completely useless by this turn of events. while one revolver landed and slid through the snow harmlessly the other landed directly on it's hammer causing the gun to discharge upwards and into the warehouse. The round soared through the warehouse and ricocheted off of the remnants of a steel rafter causing it to fly downwards towards Dragan.

While Dragan was busy dealing with his jammed weapon Ace screamed in pain. While Ace may have had the advantage of luck on his side, the commando was clearly more apt to deal with pain. Ace had never been shot before, while the commando had surely received his fair share of wounds from his years spent in battle, giving him the upper hand when it came to dealing with a gunshot wound. This was made very clear by the way Ace dropped both of his single action army revolvers, while the commando remained calm and suppressed the pain and continued fighting. In mere seconds the playing field had been leveled by Ace's wound and luck, while Dragan tended to his jammed weapon Ace rolled onto his back with his feet pointing towards the jeep still grunting from the pain.

Trying his best to put his pain aside Ace brought his upper body upright while his right hand simultaneously reached into his trenchcoat to the rear of his left shoulder, his hand emerged from his trenchcoat with a large revolver in it's grasp. In it's barrel the words "Dead Man's Hand" were engraved. The gun was too large to be used with just one hand, so as Ace had brought his upper body fully upwards with his legs still flat against the ground he placed his left hand underneath the the right to help hold up the gun and keep it steady.

This revolver rarely saw combat as Ace would use it only on targets who proved very difficult to kill. Since the gun fired the .950 JDJ round using it would prove nearly impossible for an ordinary human. But the large caliber also meant that it could kill nearly anything that moved.

Ace would then fire a round towards his enemy's center mass. If his enemy were to have moved out of cover to avoid the round that ricocheted from the rafter above it would prove quite easy to take this shot. If his target was still behind the jeep he would fire a round towards his center mass by judging it's position from where he could see his feet were under the jeep. A large .950 caliber round with the amount of force it would be propelled at would have no trouble punching straight through the jeep and his target, seeing as it could punch through several armored targets.

[dominus umbras]

As Dragan struggled with his jammed weapon the bullet which had ricocheted off of the rafter above slammed into the rear of Dragan's right shoulder with a forceful vengeance for the attack he had landed on its master. His kevlar armor did help to prevent the broad .45 colt round from penetrating through him but the force of the hit jerked him forward and sent a searing pain through his shoulder all the way to his neck, temporarily stunning and immobilizing him.

The lucky and unintentionally landed hit provided Ace with all the time he needed as he fired a round from his most prized possession and weapon, With a thunderous and deafening roar the Dead Man's Hand spit the .95 caliber round at Ace's enemy which would disregard and go through all in it's path for the sole purpose of claiming his life.

The round slammed through both doors of the jeep with ease and the upper left of Dragans chest, missing the heart but going straight through his lung. The sheer force of the round hitting him sent him tumbling forwards, and Ace laid back knowing he had won.

Ace sat momentarily in utter silence, thinking of the story Dragan had told him about the origin of Russian Roulette.

"Never push luck too far huh?" Ace looked to his wound "I'll have to keep that one in mind"

Ace then sat up to tend to his wound, he tore a strip of his trench coat off and tightened it around his wound to stop the bleeding he limped over to one of his single action army revolvers and picked it up out of the snow and was unable to locate the other.

He then looked over to his enemy to find that he was facing upward..

"He can't still be.."

Dragan coughed up a large amount of blood As Ace rapidly approached completely silent in sheer amazement. Nobody had ever survived a shot from the Dead Man's Hand regardless if it were a heart, lung, or abdominal shot. The commando's will was strong and he did not squirm or show any signs of pain as he looked to Ace and smiled giving a slight nod.

Ace nodded back, there was no need for words. It was an acknowledgement from one shooter to another that only they would truly understand. Ace lifted his firearm and pointed it straight to Dragan's heart. He pulled the trigger and in a flash it was all over. Ace reholstered his weapon. He then looked to Dragan's single action army and took it, taking a souvenir as was customary for him and replacing the one Ace had lost. He then limped over to Dragan's AK to grab it to place it across the fallen assassin's chest.

"Even in death a shooter shouldn't be without his firearm"

Ace knew neither him or Dragan would have it any other way as the gun was as much a part of a shooter as his arm or legs. Ace limped towards and got into the jeep and started the engine, then drove into the desolate icy plains outside of the warehouse.