WHO: Masha Vetorva & Mateo Reyes, @reyesmateo
WHERE: Rosnovy Medical, 4th floor, left corridor, room 6.
It’s so easy that she didn’t even have to dress down. Sharp red heels stroe through the sanitised corridors of the hospital with no hesitation. The gun in her pocket didn’t belong in a place of medicine, but the metal detectors at its entrance hadn’t dared to make a sound. (Even if they had, who here was brave enough to deny Masha Vetrova?) The wards were quiet, visiting hours long over for those who had to abide to the locking of doors. But Masha walked through without so much as a hitch. Electronically locked doors, elevators requiring ID - they bent to her will as if under hypnosis. Really, a simple lock would have been more efficient. She wound her way up towards a certain room undetected and undisturbed, she hadn’t even told any of her Angels about this particular visitation. The wrong she’d come to right was, after all, a personal offence.
It had been a busy week (to say the least) and this particular trip was not one she’d anticipated. Even lying wounded though, Francesco and his spies had brought curious whispers to her ears. Whispers about rogue reapers having headed north, retracing the very tracks of those who had ruined her festival. So it seemed it was the underboss, the pet of Faulkner, who’d broken her truce and pulled the trigger, fleeing north - or at least orchestrated it. Well, let the punishment fit the crime. He should have let himself freeze to death whilst he had the chance.
The room which held Mateo Reyes (she’s not surprised he’s here, the Reaper hideout, she now knew, was no warmer than the outside) had guards outside. With one hand she touched the wall, felt the electric veins within it and set an alarm off two floors down. For good measure, she pushed 12 MISSED CALLS - TSAR onto their phones, cut the signal, and watched them scurry away. Pitiful. She walked to the door and pauses, stared through the window at the man, asleep on the bed. A bird with broken wings. She entered silently, radiating unmatched confidence. Really, she didn’t need her gun. There’s numerous machines medicating him, helping him breathe, and each one was instantly under Masha’s control. She coughed lightly, dragged the visitor’s chair across the floor with a purposefully loud, jarring screech and elegantly sat on it, facing the bed. “Mr Reyes,” she started cooly, as soon as his eyes began to flicker, giving him no time to react, “Tell me, do you understand what a truce is? Do you understand the consequences of breaking mine?” The lights of his room quivered around them, as if warning of danger.
