Scott Medbury - Inga

Ivan could now move as well, but he didn’t.

He simply watched.

“Please, it was all a misunderstanding…”

A heavy punch to his stomach bent him over double. She watched him struggle for breath, her pleasant smile never wavering as she allowed him to recover and begin to straighten.

A vicious chop to the throat with the heel of her hand put him on his ass.

The cruel Russian began to cry.

Her kick to the jaw put him on his back.

Molenski, crying and choking on his own blood, saw her raise her leg. He turned his head, waiting for another kick, only to feel the sole of her shoe placed gently on the side of his head. It began to press down. The Russian reached up, grasping her ankle to try and dislodge her.

“Dimi, I know all about Inga Svenson,” she said in Russian.

Molenski froze, his eyes widening in terror.

“‘Inga Svenson, the daughter of the Swedish ambassador, was today tragically struck and killed by a truck. After returning a blood alcohol reading of 0.97, the driver of the vehicle has been charged with driving under the influence of alcohol. He claims the woman was chased onto the road. The deceased woman’s boyfriend was questioned by Moscow police, however no other witnesses have come forward. The boyfriend told Moscow News Today they were simply playing a game and that he is devastated that his beloved Inga, the woman he was destined to marry, was killed by a drunk driver. He urges people not to drink and drive.’”

“Please. Let me up; I’ll explain everything,” said Molenski weakly.

“There is nothing to explain,” said Inga.

Molenski screamed at the buildup of pressure in his head and began to struggle violently.

“Fuck you bitch; you’re just like that little whore… I’ll fuck you up; you hear me! I’ll…”

His skull collapsed with a muffled crack.

Inga looked down at the now silent Russian.

“No, I just fucked you up, Dimitri Molenski,” she said quietly.

Inga went to Ivan and kissed him on the lips.

“Come Myfriend, let us go and see your doctor. You’re a bloody mess.”

She pulled his hand, but he stayed where he was, a thoughtful look on his face.

“Did you know?” he asked.

“Did I know what, Myfriend?”

“Did you know… about me? That I’m like you…?”

“Would it change anything?”

He thought for a moment.

“No… I guess not.”

This time, when she pulled his hand, he followed. They walked past the bodies and through the door into the early morning darkness.

“Jesus, what a mess,” said the figure in the hazmat suit as she stood over the body of Molenski. She looked around at the carnage in the small apartment. “We have to get this cleaned up before the PD get wind.”

“Yes. Ma’am. A deluxe clean?”

“No, standard. Remove Molenski and our tech guy. Leave the rest, it’ll look like a mob hit gone wrong. With Babic’s history it won’t be much of a stretch.”

“Yes Ma’am.”

“No one is to touch Molenski, he had a recording implant, if its undamaged I want to be the first to see what happened here.”

“Yes Ms. Dryden.”

Joanne Dryden, COO of Genitix Experimental Robotics and Enhancements division walked out of the apartment and pulled off her helmet as she descended the exterior staircase. The morning air cooled the perspiration on her forehead as she began to mentally list her most pressing problems so she could formulate a damage control plan.

Dead majority shareholder, check. Missing experimental ‘ghost’, check. Missing, apparently rogue, Sinthetica model, check.

What a clusterfuck of the highest order…

Copyright © 2020 Scott Medbury

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