Rimanoa
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I won't drag on: everyone made it to the woods, but Michael was a little late: "What took you so long? Did you forget your watch at home?"
"In that situation, there was only one way not to waste time…" "Like what?"
"Lay down your weapons." "Why didn't you fold it?"
"Hehe, you're kidding, commander."
"Well, okay, we don't have a long way to go at 9.5 kilometers, uh, by the way, did anyone bring spray with them?"
"I've got it, Commander," Emilien echoed.
"And I've noticed it works wonderfully," Danila confirmed and clapped the Frenchman on the shoulder, squashing the insect.
"I don't get it…"
"A mosquito. – Bulatov showed the parasite, pulling a vial out of his back pocket, "This one will help much better.
The collapse of a three-story empire
8:46 a.m. Aug. 16.
Surprisingly enough, we made it to the walls and, after climbing over the fence, to the doors of the mansion without adventure (there were two doors, one had #1 and #2, the other had the rest).
The instruments of attack played – I kicked the door off to I don't know what mother, we flew in like butterflies, shrieking and knocking over everyone and everything in our path.
Nothing made the billets of defense – the corpses of the guards remained where my or, at the very least, not my cannon found them. It gave the impression that we were Vandals, and they were poor and rich, peaceful and warlike, weak and strong… the inhabitants of Rome.
From the large hall connected to the entrance, there was a wide corridor turning to the right and left (Nos. 1, 2 were distributed accordingly). After running a few meters and shooting three of the defenders, I crouched down to transfer into the house (it could be a soul running around like a rabbit, and the body is still around that corner). Marlboro followed suit.
Transported to "Rome," I was able to see what I saw. It wasn't a long, greasy corridor, flanked by doors that hadn't yet been smashed open by some barbarian.
О! Here is one opening, and there is someone's "pumpkin", already broken by my bullet (just in case, this time the armor-piercing ones were in the clip). "Pumpkin" and everything else fell, fell, crashed, whatever you want, from the top to the foot. The foot (that is, the carpet) crumpled, the sculpture standing next to it staggered, but I remained as calm as ever and went on, going into each room in turn.
The scheme of penetration is not complicated: I take the door to the same mother, Polazzi covers, I break into the room, Polazzi closes the rear; sometimes a standard hand grenade flew in.
In one sat something like a scientist (deemed unnecessary, so dead), in the second empty, in the third two (one with a machine gun, one with a bat) killed by me.
The corridor at the end again became "crowded". The Italians had to split up: me to the right, Marlboro to the left.
My move turned out to be quite pretty: the floor turned into a staircase going down, the walls, with a distance of 66 centimeters between each other (I have an excellent eye gauge), flowed with nasty yellow liquid, but there was only one door sitting there. Near it I stopped to reload Nikonov (better to do it in front of the door than behind it), and then it opens, and behind it "ace" with a barrel.
I grabbed the knife on my belt and delivered a hard overhead stab with a reverse grip at the opener. He staggered, and I thought that wasn't enough and stabbed him with my knee. The victim fell to the bare concrete with a fountain of his own blood.
Behind him, a whole torture room opened up.....
The empty "Shed" resembled Jack the Ripper's apartment, more blood on the many chained bodies on the tables than on the keeper I'd just slaughtered, but this is the terminus station, so it's best to head back.
I returned to the place where the group had split up and walked toward Polazzi. His path was much nicer than mine: three creatures could fit through the opening. But he had more work to do, with bodies lying here and there, and, uh, wait a minute, that's him.
HE – Marlboro, not sure what he was doing on the carpet. No, I get it– lying there with two holes in his torso.
I leaned over, took my pulse, and whispered: "Buddy, are you okay?" Even though his pulse was ticking, my friend was silent: he probably didn't have long to live.
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