Status: open to anyone! Location: Some back alley.

Ublyudok. Motherfucker. This was not ideal.

Yelena had fallen hard, hitting the tarmac with a thud that had knocked all the breath from her. Her shoulder, the old and injured one, twinged suddenly and she grunted something foul in Russian. It was a quick thing then, to scramble and slot herself between two huge bins, the kinds with flip lids that restaurants used. This was supposed to be a simple hit. It was supposed to be easy. The Fucker wasn't supposed to be armed. It was Oksana all over again. Yelena bit back the memory with a groan, and dropped her head back with a curse.

Was she of her game? The sudden and sharp realisation of such a terrible loss sent a full body shudder through her. What was she, if not a killer. What could she be, if not a monster.

Yelena pressed herself tightly to the wet brick wall of whatever fast foot joint she had been shot behind and scowled. She had dropped her gun somewhere between standing upright, and being forced horizontal. So with her free hand, she pressed sticky wet fingers into the bullet wound in her left shoulder, the very same one that was currently pumping all of her blood onto the dark, grimy ground. Yelena tried not to cry out. She really did.

This was not Ideal at all. Not with the sudden sound of feet on the tarmac.