Anastasia sat, cleaning and polishing a small arsenal that would impress even the most seasoned hitmen. Two 1911's, a bolt action rifle, an assortment of knives, a small, single shot grenade launcher, a wrist mounted revolver contraption which added five rounds without the hassle of pulling out a new gun. All this and more, including her prized piece, a one of a kind machine pistol. It had proven an indispensable tool in times of need. She first got it in Somalia. A fae living in the area (probably the only fae in that part of the world) had a not only a knack for tinkering with weapons, but also an admiration for her work.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Somalia, -REDACTED-
Ten years ago:
Dressed in the garb of the local women, Ana walked up to the door of a house in the streets. She gave a polite knock. Not being fluent in the local tongue, she could only roughly guess that the response was the local equivalent of "FUCK OFF". She shook her head, then began to walk around to the back alley, making sure to count the houses. When she arrived at the correct house, she carefully and quietly took a small set of pins out of a pouch and picked the lock, leaving the door slightly ajar.
She came back to the front and knocked again.
"Who the hell is that?" They sounded angry.
She took a few steps to the side and raised her pistol, remembering something one of her overseers taught her a long time ago.
"Any self respecting warlord worth his weight in bullets owns a bullet proof, armored door. The walls around that door on the other hand....."
The machine pistol gave a loud rattle as a spray of bullets went through the wall. Another scream, this time of pain, was heard. She quickly walked around to the back.
"Remember, their teeth will be bared at the front....."
The door slowly slid open. The man inside was on the ground, two bullets in his leg. A shot gun in his hands was trained on the front door. But when he felt the cold steel of the gun barrel to the back of his head, he dropped the gun.
Check and mate.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
She set the gun down. She would need more firepower. She would have the mask with her if she absolutely needed it. But at the same time, that risked it getting into the wrong hands. Ever since he had disappeared,Ana had guarded it zealously. The mask had been used so much, it egan to become tuned into magical energies. It amplified Kins power. In fact it amplified anybodies, but only the sturdiest of minds could handle long term use.
She had to be careful though. More than once she had found herself lost in the mask, it seemed to have trance like effects on the idle mind. And it brought back too many memories of Kin for her to think about. She tried to entertain the possibility that he was dead for the sake of being a realist. But she also had another, deeper fear.
The fear that the man she would pull from that pit would not be Nicholaus Kin. That Nicholaus Kins mind would be broken beyond repair, and that all hope for the world would be lost to the belly of the dragon and the madness therein. She didnt give a damn how many clones she had to kill, but this was out of her control. It was a haunting feeling, the idea of powerlessness. Kin said he would leave behind clues, obscure as too keep the information he was hiding from being discovered, but if somebody, say a group of Illrian knights savy enough to think outside the box and perhaps and a girl who knew him better than anyone else put their capabilities together, then the trail of breadcrumbs may yet be traceable. That was all the hope she had to go on.
