England's leg burned at the shin as he watched Averina's men circle around him and her like a pack of wolves ready for their next meal. But they hungered for sport. They hungered for spectacle. They hungered for their alpha to assert her dominance, which she was more than happy to oblige. Old habits from the trenches kicked in as England scanned his surroundings, picking up on the assault rifles, empty vodka bottles of varying integrity, and the discarded remains of Averina's armour, including what appeared to be a shield. Averina casually picked up the broken top half of a bottle and placed it near her mouth.
"Chuvstvuyete zapakh togo, chto gotovit Stal'nayaledi?!" Averina bellowed as if the bottle was a microphone.
Her men ate it up, raising their fists and chanting "Stal'nayaledi" over and over. It did not surprise England in the slightest that, when spoken in her native tongue, Averina's codename would sound similar to another Soviet that had a cult of personality. Steadily, she walked towards England with a predatory gait before staggering halfway through towards Viv, who was recording the whole thing on her phone.
"You...Westerners...," Averina slurred, "Might think I enforce the Hollywood stereotype about people who are uh...paler than most, hehehe...But to these mutts, I'm white Wonder Woman. That's better representation than whatever shit Disney is doing."
Averina turned back around and moved towards England. Whether she was still drunk from that cocktail of painkillers and vodka or was merely putting on an act, he did not know. He picked up a lot from her standing near him. The smell of the sun against her unprotected skin, her heart faintly beating at a rapid pace, and the mechanical whirring in her legs whenever she moved them. It was either a miracle that Averina was still standing or her medic was just that good at patching her up. And while he disagreed with that medic's opinion of God, he was inclined to think the latter.
"Rules of engagement?" England asked professionally.
Averina snorted, "Rules? In a warzone? Wake the fuck up."
England cracked his neck before lifting his fists up into a boxing stance. Time to find out if he still got it or if the months in his flat had left rusty. He launched forward with a series of quick jabs that would have dropped a soldier in his day. But Averina was no soldier, let alone one from his day. She moved in unnatural angles, still appearing intoxicated yet was precisely calculated. Without warning, she caught one jab and pulled him towards her before striking his nose with her free elbow. England didn't have time to process before Averina released his hand to strike him in the ribs then a kick in his leg then a strike across his jaw. He was down but not defeated. Not when there was an assault rifle within his reach.
"If you think that's painful," Averina coldly taunted, "Try having your lungs pulled ou-"
A swift buttstroke with enough force to break her nose was enough to teach Averina that, while neither of them are home, careless talk still cost lives. And yet, as England stood up against the sheer agony his body was in, Averina was unfazed. She calmly wiped the blood from her nose and cracked it back into place.
"Tak horosho," Averina addressed her audience, "Ya lyublyu zapakh krovi po utram."
Assault rifle in hands, England forced himself into a forward position before taking advantage of Averina's showboating to strike her across the head. But she expected it, and ducked with mechanical efficiency. She turned with a predator's grace, her hands emerging from her pockets holding death itself: A revolver in one hand and a knife in the other. Slowly, they circled each other, with England limping to the left while Averina steadily side-stepped to the right. He glared at Averina and, through her sunglasses, he could see her glaring right back. It was tempting to make the first move but the pressure against his busted ribs every time he drew breath served as a reminder of why that's a bad idea. But it grounded him. It kept him in the moment. It allowed him to properly observe his opponent. She was drawing breaths just as shallow if not moreso than his. The brim of her sunglasses were forming a dam of sweat on her forehead, steadily overflowing as beads dripped from the edges. Her heart was still going like the clappers. He recognized that state all too well. It was what he used to look like when it was time for his maintenence doses. Not that he ever needed them after being taken off ice. But Averina does. And it was only a matter of time before not even her inhuman medic nor consumption of people can fix her.
"You look tired," England observed half-mockingly.
Averina tilted her head. She knew it was not like him to resort to verbal warfare. Had England known he would have had to resort to the same verbal tactics he learnt from dealing with Moore, he would have asked Shiv to teach him a few words in Russian. But what he was about to say next was just as efficient in English as it would have been in Russian.
"Think it's time for your nap and medicine," England continued, "Baba Yaga."
He struck a nerve. Averina raised her left hand, the one holding the revolver, and fired slightly above his centre mass. The armour under his Union Jack allowed him to take the hit as he braced himself for Averina's next move. Averina threw the now-empty revolver at his head, just barely missing him, before lunging forward with a throw. A throw that England countered with a straight thrust to her gut, using his rifle as one would a bayonet. It only winded her slightly before she rose back up and grabbed one of his arms as he went for another buttstroke. In a blur, she pulled down one of England's arms, making him drop his rifle in the process, and tightly wrapped her knife-wielding arm around his neck. He could feel her breathing into his ear. He thought for sure that Averina was going to slit his throat and end their bout quickly, if she knew what was good for her health, but she instead moved her head closer to his and took a deep sniff of his hair.
"Despite appearences, you're not exactly a strapping young man yourse-"
Before Averina could finish her retort, England bent his head forward and whipped it back, cracking Averina's nose. She released him not from pain, but to wipe the blood streaming down her face. A mistake. England felt a surge of adrenaline as he threw a jab near her forehead, knocking off her sunglasses in the process, before throwing more jabs near her jaw area. Just when he was about to knock her out with one last jab, Averina caught it. She lifted up her head to 'face' England, her eyes clamped shut as she did so. Instead of another pithy comment, Averina pulled him towards her and headbutted him. Stars flickered at the edge of his vision before Averina lunged, her knife plunging into his collarbone with brutal force. Pain exploded in his chest as he gritted his teeth,. Leaving the knife in there, she picked him up by the neck with one hand and slammed him into the ground. Thinking back to what Averina's medic said about bypassing her shortsightedness, he was starting to see how the Russian Army could be so lenient in accepting Averina. But that gave him another weakness to exploit. He crawled towards his rifle and picked it up before pointing it near Averina's head and pulling the trigger. Nothing came out. It was either jammed or out of bullets. Luckily, Shiv was watching the whole thing and threw him her pistol. He lined up his shot and clipped Averina's right ear. The loud bang managed to hurt him just as much as it did his target but it gave him an opening to throw in a few more punches. He holstered the pistol, got up, and slammed both his hands into Averina's ears before throwing a couple of jabs in. The knife scraping against his bone gave him a boost before Averina caught both his hands and headbutted him again. Letting go, she pulled one arm back and gave him a hook right into the gut. England fell to his knees and spat up a mix of blood, mucus, and stomach acid. Averina knelt down and grabbed onto the knife still lodged in his collarbone.
"Not bad," Averina spoke calmly, "But...from what I've seen and heard about you, I feel like you're half-assing this fight."
England sluggishly turned his head to face Averina, whose eyes were squinting but otherwise open. Her nose was slightly bent from the headbutt and her upper lip was still caked in blood. She pulled the knife slightly to move England closer to her.
"I still got about ten minutes left before the paracetamol s kodeinom and vodka wear off," Averina confesses, "And when that happens, you're dead. So, to give you motivation, I'm going to tell you a little secret."
England tried to get up as Averina kept talking but, as he did so, Averina kept pushing the knife deeper.
"My men and I," Averina continued, "We made a deal. If you win, they won't kill you. They know me well enough to know I do not appreciate kill-stealing. But if I win...They get to have their fun with your medic."
England's pulse quickened. The realization of what Averina was implying crashed over him like a wave. Averina released the knife from her grip, still embedded within England's collarbone, and grabbed onto the back of England's neck.
"So now you know why I left you with Dr. Faustina today," Averina casually revealed before lowering her voice to a growled whisper, "And believe me, my men like what they see."
He heard enough. Closing his eyes, he grabbed onto the knife and pulled it out before swinging it up at Averina. It burned. As he opened his eyes, he saw the blade had cut a ragged line across Averina's face. Another scar to add to her collection, should ETT allow her such a souvenir. Without thinking, England lunged at Averina. Glass crunched underneath her as she fell backwards onto the floor before England leaped on top of her and began pounding away at her face once again. He only got in three punches before Averina kneed him in the groin and grabbed onto his face, throwing him onto the floor. Haggardly, she scraped his face across the floor, making sure a few glass shards were embedded in his face. She released him and turned around to make another Russian comment to her audience, all in the the name of their entertainment. Every muscle in his body was begging him to stop but he pulled through as he pulled out the pistol and shot Averina in between the shoulder blades. Right where the top of her spinal implant was located. Whether the alcohol and painkillers wore off or not, she definitely felt that. He lined up another shot straight at her head but, before he could fire, Averina tackled him. Gone was her mask of calmness. The sultry sadism and twisted showmanship, all stripped away and replaced by something feral. Her teeth were bared and her breathing ragged, animalistic. Her eyes were bloodshot and her veins were showing beneath her skin, which shifted from its usual paleness to an almost rosey pink. The beast was done playing with its food. Now it wants England's head. England raised his arms and shielded himself from the sudden flurry of fists coming from Averina. Even in her rabid state, Averina quickly caught on to what England was doing and pried his arms open before repeatedly headbutting him. Despite the animal pounding away at his skull like a hammer, England used what little strength he still had left to grab onto the pistol he had dropped from Averina's tackle and fire a few rounds into her arm. It was enough to loosen her grip on his arm and allow him to throw a jab hard enough to knock her off of him. He dragged himself to a nearby corner, scanning his surroundings for anything that can be used to protect himself from the rabid beast before him. And as if he had just stepped into a fairy tale, there was a shield piled next to Averina's armour. Averina roared before charging at England, a charge England managed to deflect with the shield. Averina staggered back before steadying herself as England struggled to stand up. He didn't stay still for long. He charged. The shield came up and cracked against her jaw with a sickening snap before it was swung across her face, knocking out several of her teeth free in a spray of blood and spittle. She swang wildly at him, trying to get a hit in but with no luck. England struck her across the face once again before bringing the shield down. She landed hard. But that wasn't what England saw. He saw flashes of Hitler's remains in the Fuhrerbunker followed by flashes of Putin's remains in the Kremlin. Then he saw a man screaming in both rage and fear as he bludgeoned an already-beaten beast.
Impact. Splatter. Rise. Repeat.
Everything faded into the fog as he watched this man dive into his most primal instincts. And then he just...stopped. The man looked around and saw the horrified stares of the balaclava-clad soldiers surrounding him. He looked down at the beast beneath his feet. Blood pooled from her scalp, which had been split open down the middle, as she stared up at him in one eye. Her eye was still twitching and squinting, trying to get a better look at the man that had defeated her. The fog faded slightly as England dropped the shield and steadily reached for the pistol. His hands wouldn't stop shaking even as he held onto the pistol with both of them.
Averina sighed, "Fine. Finish it."
England lined up the shot, his hands still shaking as he did so. It would be so easy. One pull of the trigger and his mission would be complete. But when has his mission ever been complete? His first mission ended with his life stolen. His second mission was compromised from the word 'go'. How will his third mission be any different. All these years doing what he thought was right, following the orders of higher powers, and not once did he ever feel right. He didn't feel like the hero. He didn't feel like he was serving God's purpose for him. He just felt tired.
"No," England muttered hoarsely as he holstered the pistol, "I'm done."
Steadily, he turned around and limped towards Shiv. From the corner of his eye, he saw Averina's own medic, Dr. Faustina, rush to Averina's side with a first aid kit at the ready. Beyond her repeatedly saying "Lena" in a scared tone, England didn't understand a word she said as she tended to Averina. But despite his disagreements with both her and the beast she tended to, he understood what it was like to try and save someone. Perhaps not all horse-leeches are heartless parasites like Moore. He collapsed right into Shiv's arms, with Shiv lifting him up back onto his feet. Slowly, they walked towards one of the vehicles that was currently used as a seat by a soldier and two Alsatians. All it took was one word from Shiv in the soldier's language for him and the two dogs to move as she gently placed England into the back of the vehicle. Viv hopped into the front right next to Shiv and pulled out a cigarette, one that Shiv immediately confiscated.
"No smoking," Shiv said in a tone devoid of the mirth England expected of her
England laid motionless as he watched Shiv start up the vehicle. Despite what she had told him after Averina threatened her life, it felt weird seeing Shiv act so serious. Even after the engine started and they were on the road, Shiv remained silent throughout most of their drive. No jokes. No random topics of conversation. No nothing. Just the sound of the engine rumbling and the occasional bump that travelled across England's body in a less-than-pleasant manner. Eventually, they stopped, with Shiv getting out first.
"Y'mind helping me lift him out?" Shiv asked Viv.
"No problem," Viv replied as she got out.
Steadily, they lifted England out of the back of the vehicle and placed him flat onto the ground. Just like she did with Rhys Knight, Shiv took out a small torch and flashed it into his eyes.
"Please look at the light, sir," Shiv said as he moved the light from eye-to-eye, "Can you tell me your name?"
England sighed, "Do you really need to do this? I'm fine."
"Fine?" Shiv asked sarcastically, "What is that? Your first name or last name? Or do you have one name like Madonna?"
England gave a few pained chuckles. There was the Shiv he knew.
"Thomas England," England said as Shiv continued moving the torch, "December 5th, 1893."