Her Little Secret

The dead man under, totally forgotten.

In utter shock, he disengages away from the deceased man's throat.

Vaulting to his own feet.

The vast room spun, teetering on the edges. He staggers on his boots like a yearning drunkard.

Excessive images of her, bombard his mind repeatedly.

A pristine headscarf. Those accusing dark eyes. Long shiny, sable tresses-

"Fūck out of my mind!!" He roars in rapid frustration, blindly launching a blow at a nearby crate. The object splinters into pieces.

"Woah!" Yigor yells in alarm. "Easy there, man!"

"Vladimir!" Grigori nearly reaches out to him yet retreats cautiously. "What the fūck?"

Serge slips off his mask, reveali ng a concerning appearance. "Vladimir, what's wrong?"

Vladimir stood his back to them. Visibly trembling. His broad chest heaves. As if he'd just surfaced in an extremely darkened abyss. He strives to collect his composure

Why the fūck is she here?

He blinked a few times under the mask, tears slipping out. Vision wavers with perplexity.