Didn't Get to Heaven [Eevi, Adara]

[Mister Denisov]

St Joseph’s Hospital was small, out of the way, and from the street, it could easily be mistaken for any old General Practice. Once inside, it became apparent that the facility was actually quite state-of-the-art, particularly for specialisation in cognitive deficiencies. That had been the reason for its inconspicuous appearance – its owners had found that something that lacked the clinical, cold feel of an ordinary hospital tended to put its patients at ease. About half of the building was designated for therapy and psychological consultations, but the other half boasted analytical equipment, a surgery and a recovery wing.

The nurse at the reception desk had gentle features and elegant, thick black hair tied back in a way that accentuated her expansive eyes. Those gaping pupils flicked back and forth between the government agents inquisitively. “I’m afraid, due to the often sensitive nature of our clientele, divulging patient information to a third party is not permitted.” It was clearly a rehearsed answer, but the nurse’s kind delivery somehow managed to overcome the clumsy phrasing and sound genuine.

Hans’ eyes flicked to Aina. He really didn’t want to throw his badge around. Even on legitimate BND cases, he preferred to operate without disclosing his government status if at all possible. People were less guarded, that way. It was easier to interpret and read them. But with this whole Høgh debacle, he really didn’t want to be exploiting his position. Then again, he was due to die eventually, so he wouldn’t have to live with any guilt for very long. Reluctantly, he withdrew his ID and tapped it silently.

The nurse offered an apologetic smile. “I’ll be right back.” She was right back – she returned in barely over a minute with a bespectacled man in tow. Presumably, her supervisor. He approached the agents with a suspicious twinge in the corner of his mouth.

“Can I help you?”

“We would like to speak with a Mr Henrik Rank,” requested Hans. The bespectacled man slouched over a computer, his fingers dancing across the keys. A frown developed on his features, and pushing his glasses up his nose, he answered:

“We do not have a patient with that name.”

Hans grimaced. This had not been part of the plan. So close... “Our records say otherwise.”

“Perhaps there has been some kind of mistake...?”

“Herr...” Hans squinted at the man’s nametag, “Waltz. We have reason to believe that Rank may have connections to a series of international... incidents. We have documentation from the scene of his... attempted suicide that appears to link him to these incidents. It is of the utmost importance, Herr Waltz, that we speak with him as soon as humanly possible.”

The bespectacled man’s colour had drained slowly from his face. Despite Hans’ clumsy attempt to mask his meaning with the word incident, the man had jumped to the darkest conclusion: murder. He nervously brushed the pockets of his coat and stammered out something about glitches with the system recently or some other ineffectual attempt to disguise the fact that he’d just lied to government agents.

“Ah yes, Rank. Apologies for the inconvenience, sir. Gina? Please take the gentleman and lady to Room 19.” Hans nodded his thanks and turned to follow Gina, the gentle nurse, down the corridor. Waltz reached out to distract his attention for one final word:

“But you might have trouble talking to him. He’s been legally dead for four months.”

[Eevi]

Aina had no trouble in the slightest with staying quiet whilst Hans went about the business of getting them access to the man that she was so eager to see. There was no doubt that he was more of a people person than Aina was ever going to be. Ever cared to be. That's not how she'd been raised. Her adoptive father had been a son of a bitch. A drinker with all the charisma of a Rottweiler and just as tenacious, Johan Hännenen was a man of many talents, but raising a daughter had certainly not been one of them. What did a man who had spent most of his life weaving webs of intrigue, who had been lucky to have a single conversation where the truth, and only the truth, was spoken, have to teach a young girl who had just lost her parents?

It was Hännenen who had made her the woman that she was today. Aina was just as cold as the snows of Kittilä, where she'd been raised. On the worst days, temperatures could drop to -50 degrees Fahrenheit. The far northern Finnish municipality was today a popular tourist destination for cross-country skiing, but when Aina had been growing up, it's population had been sparse at best. If the death of her parents had been the flame, Hännenen had been the hammer, and Kittilä had provided the tempering to turn Aina into a weapon. Had she been raised differently, been adopted by perhaps a loving family, how different would her life had been?

One could never know. And, so close it felt to her goal, Aina could not care. Her lack of personable social skills did not make her any less good at her job. People didn't hire her to play nice. They hired her to get things done. She only hoped that she would be one step closer to doing just that by the time they finished in the hospital.

The thoughts of her homeland were only allowed to occupy her briefly, for soon enough, Hans had gotten them access to see the man responsible for writing the list. The man that was somehow hoping to get answers from, even if all evidence pointed to the contrary. Soon enough, the nurse had led them to Room 19. "Here we are. I.. hope you find what you're looking for." The nurse, who her supervisor had called Gina, offered them a weak smile before heading back in the direction they'd come. There was something about the look in her eyes that had made Aina's fingers tighten against themselves. The nurse thought they were barking up the wrong tree, it was practically written all over her in big, booming ink. Maybe they were, but they'd come too far to back away now.

"Hope you've pulled yourself together, Herr Van der Merke. I was beginning to think you'd lost touch when we were speaking with the widow." She remarked as she reached forward and opened the door, not waiting for a retort. Her steps were cautious as she made her way into the hospital room. The first thing she noticed were the machines. Whatever was left of Dominic Høgh appeared to be sustained purely by mechanics. It was worse than she had expected, if she'd even expected anything at all. Her stomach twisted as she looked at him laying there on the bed. This was the oracle that she'd been looking for.. but how was she meant to get anything out of him laying in such a pathetic state? She walked forward towards the bed as if she were metal being drawn by a magnet, her feet touching so lightly against the ground she could just as easily have been a cat, treading upon unknown territory for the first time.

"Well.." Drawing a breath, she stared down at his blank face as if she expected him to open his eyes at any moment with a cocky, knowing smile, ready to pour fourth the answers that she wanted to hear. "Got your note. Sorry it took us so long." Her tone was bitterly sardonic. This was no oracle. Not as he was now. It had all been a waste of time. What had she really been expecting? A miraculous recovery? No, perhaps not.. but the chance at recovery, maybe. She began to wander around the bed, beginning to hunt for a doctor's chart.

Anything to alleviate the burdening sense of frustration that was beginning to creep in.

[Mister Denisov]

With every step down the hallway, Hans’ stomach churned. With every breath, his head ached. He kept up his quiet front as best he could, but it took every ounce of strength. As Gina, delicately bade them pause at the inconspicuous white door near the end of the hall, he lifted his hand and massaged his forehead. It was as though the world had been weighing on his shoulders for weeks, but the iron supports that had offered him some relief were beginning to snap, letting him feel the full force of his burden. He nodded a silent thanks as Gina stepped back to let them enter the room.

Aina was determined as ever, it seemed. Perhaps even moreso, if it were possible. Her eyes shot at him accusingly, the way an angry mother stares down a misbehaving child. He knew why. This was their first break in cracking this mystery – a mystery which promised to fulfil her vow of vengeance. She didn’t want any of it to be screwed up.

And neither did he. Hans van der Merke was the seventh name on the list – and that meant he was supposed to die. But why? He wanted answers as much as the next man. If Dominic Høgh held even the smallest clue, he’d take it. But he wasn’t holding out for it: the doctor had claimed his patient was legally dead. Then what was he still doing here? Why was a room set aside for a man who should be – who was supposed to be – six feet under? He was beginning to wonder if Herr Waltz was the man they needed to interrogate.

Cold words from Aina penetrated his mind and he again nodded silently in response. Yes, he had been uneasy in the widow’s house. Something about it seemed eerie in its familiarity. Distressingly so. But why? He couldn’t recall. Over the past weeks, his mind had been growing more and more disjointed in its thoughts. The panic of a man with his fate on the cards, perhaps. Yet van der Merke had always prized himself on the ability to keep his cool, to operate decisively and effectively. Yet now, he was falling to pieces.

The door swung open, and he followed the Finn into the small, tidy room. He paused to shut the door behind him, and as his back was turned, he heard Aina address the man with bitter humour. Hans turned back into the room and stopped abruptly, his heart skipping and all oxygen out of reach. The man in the bed, silent, vacant-eyed and sallow-skinned... It was a sight that shocked him, and anguish coursed through his veins. He grasped his head in his hands.

He spoke, but it felt as though his words were not his own. For one, he spoke in Norweigian, a language in which Hans was anything but fluent. »I don’t think I’ll be of much help. I don’t know any more than you.«

[Eevi]

Aina had been in the midst of reading the thoroughly depressing doctor's chart when Hans said something. She turned around to face him, throwing the chart aside so that it landed on the bed next to the comatose patient. She'd been so angry with the chart that she'd barely heard what he'd said.. but she did her best to replay the words all the same. It had been a tongue that was very familiar to her. Danish? No.. Norwegian.

"Jeg tror ikke jeg skal være til mye hjelp. Jeg vet ikke noe mer enn deg."

That's what he'd said. There was no doubt about it, as she thought through what the words meant. Her Norwegian wasn't exactly as well versed as her Swedish but, given the similarity between the languages, she knew exactly what the words meant. Hans was telling her that he couldn't help, that he didn't know anything more than she did, but.. why? She already knew that. Her frustration at this point was practically ready to ignite into rage. This whole time they'd been doing nothing but chasing a ghost. Sure, his body was alive, but how could anyone in their right mind even come out and call this.. existence, whatever it was, life?

Without really thinking it through, she walked forward and grabbed a hold of Hans by his shoulders, staring at him. All she got in return was.. the face of a man who did not look like himself. She could just as easily have been looking at a stranger, were it not for the fact that the facial features were the same. But the manner in which he wore them.. that was a different matter entirely. She blinked her eyes, before shaking the thought off. No, surely not.. ghosts weren't real. Hans was not being possessed. But then why was he speaking Norwegian? Fluently, too.

She remembered back to the file she'd read on the BND agent when she'd first been flying in to Germany. It was habitual for Aina to research the people she'd be meeting as a liaison. It was part of doing a thorough job. You never knew what you'd run into, and knowing what skills you could, and could not, count upon when in a high pressure situation was knowledge that was invaluable. Hans spoke several languages. Norwegian had most definitely not been one of them.

It was implausible, impossible, inconceivable! Or was it? Aina could stop time. Could stand still in a crowd of people and watch the seconds tick by as if she were watching recorded footage and had fast forwarded things to several times their regular speed. People could throw fire from their hands, they could fly, they could walk through walls. Could spirits exist? Of course not, but then Dominic Høgh had never died. There was no soul to exit his body. No ghost to haunt and complete unfinished business.

There was only one question to ask.

"Hvem er du?"

»Who are you?«

[Mister Denisov]

The Finn approached, her intense eyes boring into his soul. She grabbed him by the lapels of his coat and studied him. Not a curious, ponderous assessment, but an invasive, urgent demand that his expression give up all his secrets. Yet he had no desire to share anything of his own with Aina. She was too headstrong and too selfish. To have deluded himself into believing they were working together in this? That belief was false and always had been. She was using him. He was just a tool to get her to what she wanted.

His eyes widened – the pain of a sudden migraine tore through him and he winced. Hans tried to grasp his head, but Aina’s hands still gripped his shoulders tightly. Brusquely, in his native Germanic tongue, he barked, “Get your hands off me, dammit!” The pain seared again, he felt weak, and he might have staggered and fallen to the floor if Aina had not beenloding him up by his coat like a hanger.

Deliriously, his eyes wandered around the room, settling again on Aina’s face, inflamed with anger and explosive frustration. He had no doubt that she was tired of dragging him along. Van der Merke had served his purpose. She had gotten what small use she could out of him. Suddenly overcome with dread and a sense of terror, he tried to push himself away from her, and though he dislodged one hand, she did not relinquish the other.

His gaze avoided hers, and settled on the prostrate body on the hospital bed. He blinked, puzzled, disoriented. Høgh’s chest. It had risen, had it not? Or was he seeing things. He wasn’t thinking straight. And the pain. Oh God, the pain. Someone sawing through his brain with a rusty knife. It hurt. It hurt like hell.

Aina shook him, drawing his attention reluctantly back to her. She spoke in Norweigian. Good, he could understand the Norweigian. »Who are you?«

He took a deep breath, and after a stammering false start, straightened his posture and replied in the impeccable Scandinavian language: »Why don’t you go first with the... the introductions.« He glanced at the body on the bed, feeling woozy. »After all, this is my room.«

[Eevi]

Mitä helvettiä!?

Hans had either taken a crash course in Norwegian and truly lost his mind, or she was speaking to the disembodied voice of Dominic Høgh. Disembodied wasn't an entirely accurate adjective in this particular case, however, given the fact that he seemed to be somehow occupying Hans. The way in which the German agent had seemingly reacted in terror to her approach, the way his face had scrunched up in pain.. it was almost as if he was being possessed. It was like something out of a bad horror movie. If his head turned a few hundred degrees at this point, Aina wouldn't have been overwhelmingly surprised.

"Det er dig, er det ikke?"
»It's you, isn't it?«

For a moment Aina stopped herself, releasing her grip upon Hans' possessed form and taking a step back. She looked down at her hands as if expecting to see something that shouldn't have been there. What if she was the one experiencing the mental break? Only hearing what she wanted to hear? No, she was not crazy. Vengeful, driven, worn from such a long hunt, yes.. but she had not lost her mind. What she was hearing, what she was witnessing, this was all very real. Dominic Høgh was very much alive, and in more ways than the shrivelled, worn out body that lay comatose beside her. Somehow, he'd found himself inside Hans van der Merke's body.

"Høgh. Hvordan kom du derind?"
»Høgh. How did you get in there?«

Although part of her might have felt concern for Hans' well being, given that he appeared to be the unwilling vessel for Høgh, the vast majority of her existence had concentrated fully upon the fact that the man that she thought to be responsible for the list was very much alive, and had a voice. If he had a voice, then he could answer her questions. However, it seemed that Hans was trying to disrupt the process, trying to reclaim his body. Whilst that was commendable, and something she'd no doubt have done in his position, it was something that was going to get in the way. Høgh needed to return to his body. She needed him coherent.. and undisturbed. "Vend tilbage til din krop." She said with slanted eyes, taking a further step back from Hans, her hand moving so fast it was practically a blur to the eye.

A fraction of a second later, a single hand was raised, holding her side arm. The barrel suppressed, SIG P226 9mm pistol was levelled straight towards Hans' forehead. Aina's arm was unwavering, her fingertip poised to pull the trigger. »Return to your real body.« She'd said, her icy blue eyes without the faintest hint of emotion as she gazed impassively towards the agent. She could just as easily have been looking through him, staring into the fragment of Dominic Høgh that was stuck inside him. She uttered one more word, her eyes having narrowed by the slightest fraction.

"Nu."
»Now.«

[Mister Denisov]

People often talked about death like it was a tunnel. Long, dark, black and inescapable. Then a white light would shine upon everything and there would be peace. Hans had never believed in the white light part: death was the end. There was just the tunnel. Endless darkness.

Was it ironic, then, that he found himself face to face with a black tunnel now? It glinted a reflection from the cold fluorescent lights overhead, but the tunnel’s interior promised only an eternity of death; an absence of light. The gun, pointed at his forehead. He stared back into it, overcome with horror.

He had had guns pointed at him before. He had been shot before, twice in his leg and once in his shoulder. It was part of the job. But never had he woken to find a gun in his face. And never had the gun been held by someone he might have considered an honest ally. A selfish ally, but honest, nonetheless. He had clearly read Aina wrong. Instinctively, his palms flicked open. Not in resignation but in visual request that she lower her weapon.

She didn’t let it fall.

“Aina,” he said, his voice quavering, and his eyes still blinking rapidly. His head felt heavy and he wanted to sit down lest his legs give way beneath him, but he feared any movement would only earn him a mouthful of lead. “What the hell are you going on about?” It sounded Scandinavian – perhaps her native Finnish. It certainly didn’t ring of his familiar German.

His head jerked forward, as though he were about to vomit. But he stopped, took a deep breath, and then rose back to his full height, though still wavered on the spot. A little girl could have probably tipped him over with a gentle push. “Put the gun down.” His hand gripped his hip, as though it might steady his legs. It didn’t help much. “Why the hell do you have that out anyway. It’s me.” His gaze steadied, peering into her cold stare. “Just put it down.”

The gun remained pointed at him. His head cocked to one side, weak and almost pleading. “Nu.”

He moved quickly – a gun pulled from his own waist to aim back at Agent Saarenpää. A fraction of a second passed before the quiet click of a silenced shot.

[Eevi]

The motion of Hans going for the trigger was enough for her instincts to kick in. The suppressed whistle of the shot seemed to drown out and distort, the muzzle flare from the barrel of the pistol remaining frozen in time, the bullet itself having just exited the chamber, hovering completely still a few inches beyond the gun. Aina remained where she stood, her gun raised. It was unfortunate.. she had hoped to force Dominic Høgh to leave Hans body out of fear when she'd pointed the gun at him, but now it seemed that her one time ally had turned against her. Too frightened for his own life to see her ploy, he'd fired upon her.. and that left her with very little choice.

All Hans would see was that Aina was standing in place, ready to be shot one moment.. and then simply wasn't. She'd disappeared entirely. Or at least, he'd have thought that for a fraction of a second before he felt the cold touch of a suppressor pushing against the back of his head. "Entschuldigung, Hans." Those would be the final two words that the German heard before Aina pulled the trigger without a second thought. The bullet exited cleanly through her former comrades forehead, creating a muted, precise spatter of blood upon the sterile white hospital wall, just opposite the door they'd walked through. It was as clean a death as you could hope to have in their profession. Instant, no pain.. just a click and then silence.

His body collapsed face down in front of her, blood rapidly starting to pool out from the gaping exit wound that had been left behind by her SIG. The 9mm was a small calibre round, but any head wound of that magnitude was bound to cause plenty of bleeding. The barrel of her weapon still smoking, Aina looked down at Hans, her expression best described as pensive. She was not entirely without remorse.

Killing him had came natural to her, as it had always done.. but that did not mean that she had enjoyed it, by any means. In the end, the prediction of the man's death had caused him to become a self-fulfilling prophecy. Would she have pulled the trigger regardless? Perhaps. But in the end, he'd done everything required to make her mind up about taking the German out of the picture, once and for all.

Lowering her weapon, the adrenaline rush that she always felt when she used her power slowly began to fade away. The sound caused by the shot had been muffled due to the point blank range at which it had been made. There were no footsteps in the hospital, no nurse rushing to find out what had happened. There was no camera inside the room, either. That meant she'd be safe for the time being. The question now of course was what had happened to Dominic Høgh. Had she killed him at the very same moment that she'd killed Hans? Or had he honoured her request? The only thing she could do was to turn around and find out.

[Mister Denisov]

In the darkest nights of the darkened days of a darkening world:
Voices cry in anguish.
They do not know.
They do not understand.
What must they do?
They must know. And they must understand.
Yet none know.
God knows not.

They cry with fearful voices:
I think we are in the rats’ alley
where the dead men lost their bones.

There was a girl, fair and with the mark of youth upon her. She wove through crowds like a sparrow through air. She flits. She falls. She shrieks a siren call:
But suffer alone I must.

There was a man, worn and weary, burdened with a life ill-lived. He stained tapestries with wine and mistresses in blood and wept in fear and misery. At the end, he lamented:
All the taxmen round the fire have their debts to pay.

There was a woman, stern and cruel and ice was in her veins. She scoffed at her demise and never saw the light. She seethed with anger, but never remorse as she bemoaned:
It’s about time for my show to start; maybe my last.

There were others: other voices crying out in cacophony. There was a voice that ran beneath them all:
Tell them I’m sorry.

Yet, oblivious, the world sleeps:
Till human voices wake us.

The body stirred, slowly and faintly. Weak and distant; lost in a mire of tortured memory. An intermittent beep broke the deathly silence. The eyes staggered open, blinded by fluorescent lights. Nostrils flared at the scent of disinfectant and fresh blood. The table was cold, but the man warmed over.

Dominic Høgh inhaled.

[Eevi]

Thumbing over the safety for her weapon, Aina slipped it away into her coat, and watched in silence as she saw Dominic Høgh beginning to stir. The motions were so subtle that it would have been very easy to miss such movements were you not specifically looking for them. Any sign of sadness for the loss of Hans had vanished from her face at this point. She had been trained for this all her life. Hans was far from the first person she'd killed. Yes, she'd regarded him as an ally, but he certainly wasn't the first ally that she'd shot in the back, either. Sometimes the job required it. There was no anonymous, shadowy figure backing this particular job, however. This mission was entirely Aina's own, and she wasn't prepared to let one man's paranoia stand in her way.

The only question now was what to make of the entire situation. There would be consequences for killing Hans, of that she had no doubt. Both her government and the Germans were very much aware of the fact that the two had partnered, although they were under the assumption that the entire operation had simply been devoted to Suuri Kansa, not the mysterious list. What would they think of Aina shooting her partner in the back? The international relations between Germany and Finland would certainly take a hit. It would be covered up, of course.. but there were other concerns. Would the Finn's now think that Aina's undercover stint with Suuri Kansa had somehow turned her over to their cause, and that she was secretly aiding them? Such a notion was absurd to her.. but they would never understand why she'd killed Hans. Aina wasn't about to give them the chance to demand an explanation, either.

It was only a matter of time until a member of the hospital staff found out what had happened. Hans had been shot too close to the doorway, his blood was already starting to pool towards it, and nothing stood out against a white floor like that twisted mess of cranial fluid spilled together with the very elixir that made a man's heart beat. Once they noticed the blood, things would become very problematic, very quickly. The police would be called, there would be a confrontation.. the whole situation could get a lot messier than it needed to be. Aina had already shot one German, she didn't need to add several Austrians to the list, too. For their sake more than her own, she needed Høgh to move.

Ignoring the stirring man if only for a moment, she sought to buy herself some time, ripping the bedsheets from directly beneath the rising coma patient and stacking them up against the bottom of the door in an attempt to sponge up the blood. It wouldn't last, but it would buy a few minutes perhaps, time enough to see if Høgh was even going to be able to walk, nevermind be of any actual use to her. Turning back from the door, she walked across and gazed down at him. Somehow she doubted he would be cooperative, after all, she'd just indirectly shot him in the head. But cooperation could be coerced in all sorts of ways. »Wake up, Mr. Høgh. We're getting out of here. Now!« She barked in the man's native tongue, a hand resting beneath her coat on the grip of her pistol, ready to use it if necessary.

[Mister Denisov]

DOMINIC HØGH
VIENNA, AUSTRIA
OCTOBER 29, 2009

His feet were cold. They had been warm before. But now they were cold. Like ice. Like a Norweigian winter. Like the German heart. He couldn’t understand. Why were his feet cold? He wriggled his toes. It was like wading into the Oslofjord. He had waded in the inlet as a child. His feet had been cold then, too. But they’d warmed up. His feet were warming up now too. That’s nice.

His head ached. His ears rung. The sound of movement echoed in the drums. What was happening? He didn’t know. He tried, but couldn’t remember. He smelled blood. That was new. Or was it? He sputtered as he exhaled. His lungs were weak. His throat was dry. He needed a glass of water. Or a coffee: black, one sugar. He liked coffee. He’d get a coffee later. And it wouldn’t taste like blood. The air here tasted like blood.

His eyelids shook. His vision was blurred. The roof seemed to ripple like the tide. There was motion – a darker blur. Ringed by a yellow mane. He squinted and the effort exhausted him. The blur spoke: the words mostly unintelligible. They sounded mangled and uncertain. He caught snatches of the sounds, but didn’t understand their meaning. He opened his mouth to speak, but there was no energy within him to give rise to a call of his own.

Why couldn’t he speak? His eyes widened – then closed. He’d been shot in the head: that’s why. There was a bullet in his brain. He remembered a high school science class on the brain. The bullet must be lodged in his cerebral cortex: that’s what helps you talk. That was it. He relaxed, content at answering his own question. But then why was the rest of him still working? Why were his feet still feeling warm?

The shape with the yellow mane moved closer again. He felt his shoulders shake. He felt the touch of death through the thin gown that clothed him. The sounds made more sense now. He understood. But he did not comprehend. His mouth lolled open and clamped shut. He tried to speak, but still he was mute. It must be the bullet. But then he heard his own voice. It sounded familiar. Comfortable. Safe. Yet distant. And alien. And afraid.

»Who are you?«

[Eevi]

The very life blood of a man was spreading like an inevitable tide out against the makeshift barrier that Aina had erected against the bottom of the door to his room, and Høgh wanted to do introductions. She had have a mind to simply laugh at how ludicrous the entire situation was. Here she stood, trying to rouse a man who had moments before been in a coma. Who had somehow been inside Hans van der Merke, at least until she put a bullet in his head. Yet was it such a wild and ridiculous scenario? Had she not done something that most people would not believe to be possible herself, when she'd used her power? Had she not done just that several times in the past, and seen other such examples? Her rational mind might very well have objected to what was taking place, but it was certainly not as far out into the aether as she might have initially thought.

Gut reactions were only one part of living, though. Høgh appeared to be confused, shaky, afraid. After what he'd seen, after what had happened to him, Aina imagined he might very well have had the right to be somewhat infirm. But the world was a very unfair place, and she did not consider herself to be a very fair woman. She did what she had to do in order to get by, she always had. There had been many things, immoral things, that she'd done during her life.. most of it in the name of her job, but not always. Sometimes to protect your interests, to further your ambitions, you had to do the unimaginable. Hans' cooling body was an unfortunate but brutal reminder of that.

So it was that she was willing to do whatever she had to in order to keep her path going, in order to keep travelling down the road that promised vengeance. But if a lighter touch could get her to the same place with less fuss, it was worth a try. One could say many things about Aina's methods, but she did not favour the sword without first attempting to use the pen. "My name is Aina Saarenpää. You are Dominic Høgh. And that man behind me was called Hans van der Merke." She stated the facts in a cold, unfeeling way, but she was talking, rather than stuffing a gun into the man's face and demanding he cooperate. Høgh was getting softer treatment than many who had come before him.

"The unfortunate nature of a bullet wound to the head has sadly not left us with an awful lot of time." It was a cruel irony of sorts, really, for Aina, who made time her plaything, to be saying those very words. And yet it was true. Her manipulation of time, or specifically her own temporal flow, did not allow for passengers. Yes, she could essentially move so fast that time appeared frozen, and vanish from the hospital, but to try and drag Høgh with her would turn him into what could best be described as a soup of bones and blood. Such an effect might well prove advantageous when one wished to kill someone, but that was far from the goal here. So in truth, they really did have very little time.

"I'll be happy to explain everything with you once we're in a car several miles away from here. Can you stand?" Her tone had become more business like now. Less cold, but her voice was far from personable. She'd spoken with a certain, understandable detachment about Hans. There was no hint of regret on her face, but she had taken no pleasure in killing her fellow agent. Disassociating from him on an emotional level was how she dealt with it. How she'd been trained to deal with it. Somehow, she doubted Høgh was going to simply stand up and agree to come along with her. It would have been a fortunate turn of events if he did.. but fortune had not been smiling on her as of late.