Inga

As soon as Molenski and his wife were through the front door, they began pawing at each other. Like a twisted Hansel and Gretel dropping breadcrumbs, they left a trail of clothes and underwear strewn all the way to their bedroom.

Minutes later, engaged in a wild, urgent coupling, they were oblivious to the angel of death rapidly heading their way. The soundproofed walls Molenski had installed when the mansion was built and the shitty music Tatiana insisted on playing whenever they had sex, efficiently muted the symphony of murder and mayhem playing out in other parts of the house.

Tatiana, as overenthusiastic in the bedroom as she was with her makeup, squealed at every thrust of her husband. Far from turning him on as she intended, it annoyed the fuck out of him. Molenski had to work hard to blot out the shrill sound of her forced yelps. Thankfully, he had the anticipation of what he would do to Inga in a very short time to fuel his imagination.

Buried deep in his wife, he imagined punching Inga’s pretty face until it was bruised and bleeding, and then pulling her teeth out one by one with a pair of pliers. He would inflict enormous pain on her; just he had planned to do to the real Inga so long ago.

He felt himself begin to climax as he imagined taking the box cutter from the toolbox and slowly…

CRAAACK!

The enormous blow rattled the bedroom door violently on its hinges. The startled Russian rolled off a cursing Tatiana, fumbling for his Ruger even as a second blow shook the heavy door, leaving it hanging dangerously askew.

Molenski’s desperate hands overreached and knocked the weapon to the carpet as the third and final blow sent the door crashing into the room. Molenski dove off the bed, his heart thumping madly as he blindly groped for the pistol while peeking back over the top of the tall bed.

Like a demon in a nightmare, the smiling replica of his first love, unmindful of the bloody bullet wound in her upper arm, raised the machine pistol she was holding and aimed it at him.

“Target acquired.”

Ivan sped past the bullet-pocked walls in the hallway to the main bedroom and hurdled the bloody body of another guard.

He heard the burst of an automatic weapon in his boss’ bedroom.

FUCK!

Molenski ducked as the spray of bullets thunked into the mattress and whizzed over his head. Focusing, he ignored the fragments of foam and feathers that rained down upon him and made sure his trembling fingers finally found his trusty Ruger.

He took a deep breath and prepared to rise and shoot as soon as there was a pause in the steady stream of bullets.

He didn’t have to wait long. A banshee shriek interrupted the flow of hot metal striking the mattress above him, immediately followed by animal-like grunts and squeals.

Tatiana!

Molenski rose to his knees and saw his naked wife latched onto the killer robot, fighting fist and nail to bring the bitch down.

She was giving a good account of herself.

Tatiana clung to Inga, one hand bunched in her hair, the other attacking her face with a claw-like hand as the robot, one handed, tried to grip the naked, sweaty human whose blitzkrieg was preventing her from assassinating her target.

Two handed, Molenski aimed the Ruger, his elbows steady on the newly aerated mattress. He took careful aim but was perfectly willing to risk hitting his wife to take out the bitch robot if a cleaner shot didn’t present itself.

Two things happened before he could take his shot. Ivan burst through the door and Inga, her pretty face now marred by the scratch marks down its left side, gripped the spitting, hissing Tatiana by the neck and, with enormous strength, threw her in Molenski’s direction.

The Russian didn’t duck quickly enough. He was struck heavily in the shoulder by the lower leg of the airborne Tatiana, even as her indignant scream was abruptly silenced by the corner of the bedside table.

Still holding his Ruger, he quickly struggled back to his hands and knees, careful to stay under the level of the mattress, and glanced at his wife. Her sightless eyes stared at the ceiling, the bloody, triangular indentation in her forehead a telling footnote to the final, violent minutes of her life.

Molenski felt no more emotion than he would feel looking at roadkill on the highway. He stayed down and waited for his bodyguard to open fire on the assassin robot.

Ivan stood in the doorway, his gun trained on Inga’s back as Molenski’s wildcat of a wife attacked her. While he didn’t want to risk hitting Tatiana, he would admit to himself later that wasn’t the only reason he held fire.

Behind them, he could see Molenski also taking aim at the two women. Ivan tensed, realizing that his boss probably had less regard for his wife’s safety than he did. He didn’t get a chance to find out. One handed, Inga finally ripped Tatiana free and threw her across the room, like a cruel child throwing a cat.

Ivan could have taken his shot then but didn’t. He was spellbound as Tatiana Molenski flew through the air and crashed into her husband and the bedside table, before finally coming to a rest in uncharacteristic silence.

Inga wasted no time. As soon as she had rid herself of the pesky human, she stalked around the bed; machine pistol held out in front of her. Even then, knowing she would kill Molenski, Ivan couldn’t shoot her.

He yelled instead.

“INGA!”

She stopped and turned around.

When Ivan saw her eyes, he realized he had made a terrible mistake. She didn’t know him… if she ever had.

“New target acquired,” she said, in her sweet voice and swung the weapon back around to bear on him. He saw her arm tense as she squeezed the trigger.