Inga

Tom Redfern felt sick to his stomach. The live streaming from the robot had been distressing for the technician. While his two kidnappers hooted and hollered like they were watching a football game, he couldn’t wait for the carnage to be over.

When the robot kicked open the door of the bedroom, the men went into a frenzy.

“That’s him!” screamed the bigger of the two kidnappers.

“You’re dead, Motherfucker!”

They watched from the robot’s point of view, as she brought up the machine pistol she had taken from one of her victims. The naked man rolled off the bed, leaving his screaming wife climbing to her feet and staring wildly at the robot.

The thugs with Redfern jumped out of their chairs, watching avidly as the muzzle of the gun began spitting bullets into the place the naked man had just vacated.

Redfern experienced a moment of dizziness as the vision on the monitors suddenly reeled and tipped to the side. There was a flash of the woman on the bed’s crazed face, then a raised slashing hand. The vision reeled and tilted some more and then abruptly the naked woman was flying across the room, her scream cut off by the impact of her head on a piece of furniture.

The men laughed.

“Where is that fuck Molenski! Come on bitch, take him out.”

Someone shouted behind the robot, and the feed swiveled 180 degrees and came to rest on a powerfully built man with a crewcut. He was aiming a machine pistol at the robot, but he looked reluctant to use it.

The men in the room with Redfern ceased their shouting.

“New target acquired,” came the robot’s voice as her gun was raised towards the man in the door.

BANG!

The screen went black.

“What the fuck!?” yelled the bigger of the kidnappers.

He banged the top of the monitor twice with his meaty hand, then the keyboard of the laptop computer.

There was nothing. No vision. No sound.

Redfern felt a sinking feeling as the men turned to look at him.

“What happened?” the big one asked as he pulled his gun from his belt and stepped up to him.

There was a loud bang. Inga’s blonde hair and blood flew as she stumbled forward from the force of Molenski’s bullet. The burst of gunfire from her weapon missed Ivan by inches as it stitched the white carpet beside him with a line of ragged bullet holes.

In shock and with his ears ringing, Ivan was dumbfounded when Inga regained her balance despite being shot in the back of the head. She began to turn around as the Russian’s second shot, this one point blank, struck her between the shoulders. This time, she toppled over, dropping her weapon as she fell face first onto the carpet.

“Ha! You fucking bitch!” A red-faced Molenski yelled at his thwarted assassin.

Ivan was so shocked and upset by the sight of Inga, shot and apparently dead; he barely registered the glimpse of metal he saw in the wound on her head. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from her even as Molenski stalked over to him.

“And you!” the mob boss screamed and slapped him across the face. “You big dummy! Why didn’t you shoot her!? You could have got me killed!”

Ivan barely registered the blow. His eyes didn’t leave Inga. Sorrow racked him. He wanted to cry but knew somehow that if he tried, tears wouldn’t come.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, you big shit head? Are you going to fucking cry?!”

Ivan barely heard him. Behind Molenski, Inga had raised her head and looked at him, her bleeding face confused and pained.