An enforcer; someone who makes sure others follow the rules, pay at the correct time, do what is expected of them, even if it requires a bit of... motivation in the form of physical violence.
Reading the word enforcer, it brings to mind one dressed professionally; ideally a man, someone who could beat any opponent to a pulp.
Not a 20 year old woman, who's stupid fucking arms wouldn't fucking work as she got punched in the face yet again.
At this point, Sova's nose was broken and bleeding, blood trickled out of her mouth, and she was maybe one more hit away from getting a black eye.
The guy punching her- some cocky jock of a little shit who stood 4 inches taller than her, so 6'5- hit her stomach next, and an "urgh" escaped her lips as she bent over slightly, clutching her stomach with her hands.
So now her traitorous arms would work, but not to defend herself against this tiny bastard.
Then she was kicked in the side of the head, and she hit the ground with an oomph.
Why in god's name had she even been sent to this college? To "learn"? Yeah, fuck that. Mr. Sokolov probably just wanted a reason to get her out of his hair after she accidentally went too far with her last task and killed every member of the target mafia... which had way too many important connections to the Italian and Chinese Mafias for her actions to slide.
She could hear them laughing; yes, there was a group of them in the hallway, but only the 6'5 jock had hit her so far. She could also hear them blatantly insulting her in english, about how weaklings like her shouldn't wear suits.
What was wrong with her wearing a suit? In her opinion, and the ones of everyone else who had ever had the chance to meet her, it was perfectly fine.
Now, her arms finally decided to start working again.
She had no clue as to why they didn't work earlier, but she was going to kil- I mean kick this little shit's ass.
Standing up to her feet, albeit a little shakily- not even the most hardened soldiers would be perfectly fine if they experienced the damage she did- she used her thumb to wipe the blood away from the corner of her mouth.
Not only did she not enjoy the scent of copper- she smelled that shit waaaaaay too much- but it was also fairly uncomfortable, and she didn't want to have to scratch it all off if it hardened there.
"Oh, look, the wench is standing again! Hey, dumb fucko, don't you know when to stay down!?"
At the word down, the jock threw a punch- Sova wasn't in the mood to give him the pleasure of even touching her again, so a very simple but very quick sidestep sufficed.
And then a knee to the jaw felt good as well. A couple punches to the throat, and he was on the floor. Sova quickly got on top of him and kept on punching.
Yeah, scream all you want, you sick fuck. Sova grumbled in her head as the guy yelled in pain and tried to push her off, but to no avail; she hadn't passed Spetsnaz training for no reason.
Now, her hand reached for his nose as she held him down by his throat; on the way, she briefly noticed the name tag on his green track jacket- A. Jeromes.
Well, fuck Jeromes. Shitty name for a shitty guy.
Now her fingers wrapped around Jeromes' nose and twisted. In an instant, his nose was broken.
Another scream. After so many tasks, the noise was just annoying.
Then she elbowed his shoulder, hard.
Hard enough to dislocate it- she had hit the joint. Really dug her elbow in there for a couple hundred milliseconds too, made sure that thing popped and hurt like hell.
The shriek that accompanied that made her feel like she had the worst headache ever; this had nothing to do with her morals- she had almost none- rather, her ears were just in pain. Getting kicked in the side of the head, coincidentally where one of your ears is located, and then having to listen to some idiot scream at the top of their lungs really hurts our biological hearing devices.
Finally, she stood up- and for good measure, she gave a light kick to the side of Jeromes' head, so he could feel pain similar to the kind that her ears were experiencing- and straightened her tie before doing the same to her suit jacket. Expensive shit had gotten a little messy.
Then she shoved past his friends and walked off so she could go throw up somewhere. The ringing in her ears was at a max. Goddamn ears being sensitive to goddamn pain. Made her wish that she kept up that pain resistance she had to obtain back when she was being trained.
What she would give to get 9 year old her's pain resistance...
Making her way to the college bathrooms, she swayed a little as she shoved the door open to the woman's and stood in front of the mirror, staring at herself for a few moments.
Her usually straight and well-enough managed brown hair was a bit messy, looking even shorter than it normally was because of that.
As a "Northern" Russian, she had a fairly pale complexion and sky-blue eyes; now, she could see a bit of a bruise forming around her left eye, and she had another one on her cheek.
Fucking arms that didn't fucking work when she needed them. She blamed the fact that she even got bruises on them.
Her suit was still a little disheveled, her white shirt had some dried blood on the collar and was wrinkled all over, but at least her pants were fine. No blood, no saliva, no nothing was on them. Thank the stars above- her pants were probably the most expensive thing she ever touched. More so than even that gold AK-74 her mother, Alya Azimova-Sokolov, had let her shoot when she was 12.
Her tie was as straight as ever. That was nice. Sure, she had done a little adjustment to it after she beat Jeromes, but otherwise it had left the battle unscathed.
What she would have to readjust was her hair. At least all she had to do was get it back in it's clean bob cut... she didn't want to imagine what she would have to do if she had that wavy long blonde hair that Orlina had. That hair must be a nightmare to maintain...