Miranda walked along the sidewalk with her hands in her pockets, as she strolled, she took in the sights of the city. It was beautiful, there was no doubt about that, but Saleria as a whole was more of an acquired taste, certainly not for everyone.
For starters, there were a lot of misconceptions about the country. If one based their perception of the country on what they read from the news, it would be a country with an unstable political atmosphere where leaders each had their goons and fought constantly to claim territory. The truth, however, was more complex and more sinister.
Saleria had a stable and working political system but it was all a charade. While there was no gunfighting, there was certainly scheming and lies.
Perhaps, having given up on the government, the people learned to fend for themselves without it. They took whatever governmental advantage they could get and blamed the government when things didn't go their way, but ultimately, it didn't seem like they cared. Salerians were a people who know how to survive and no matter how bad things got, they found ways.
Being of a slightly dark skin tone had allowed her to blend in quite well and he had enjoyed her time here. Saleria in many ways, kept her safe and sane.
As she walked along the sidewalk, her mind drifting to the atmosphere of the country, her eyes quickly caught every lingering gaze on her person. Most were men but they weren't lecherous. The truth was that while most men in Saleria were lustful, they weren't lecherous. They knew how to talk to and take advantage of women, yet they knew not to ogle at them, and when to ogle at them. They would hardly miss any opportunity to 'pick up' girls, but at the same time, they appreciated with their eyes but kept focus on their prize. Definition? They weren't desperate.
The complex problem that arose from stalking and the obsession of desperate men in developed countries hardly bugged them here. Well...it did but not in the same way.
These men, however, were not Miranda's concern; her worry was the people after her. She could handle herself fine, at least to a fair extent but her curiosity of Tyrone had caused her to give up a lot of control. Why would he offer to use her as bait? She didn't know what his full plan was but she was ready to see how far things would go. Just not out in the open where she was vulnerable.
Fortunately, she didn't have to be nervous for long. She had only been walking for some fifteen minutes when she felt it. The change in the atmosphere, the watchful eyes of a predator from behind, their calculated approach, and... perhaps her seeming end.
An end it was indeed because when she turned a corner to go into another street, a hand reached out from within a Tailoring shop and yanked her into it.
Once she regained her bearings, Miranda struggled out of her interlocutor's grip and leaped away, creating some distance between them, but then behind her, coming in from the back door, was yet another man. It was the two men chasing her initially, not that she was expecting someone else.
Without a word, the first man who was still standing by the shop's entrance produced a gun with a silencer attached and aimed at her. Good as she was with hand-to-hand combat, Miranda knew she could not evade a shot at such close range. It was game over.
The thought had barely crossed her mind when someone reached out from behind the man and slit his throat just as he pulled the trigger. The whisper of a shot caused Miranda's whole being to jerk sideways but the shot was off in the first place thanks to Tyrone.
Without any hesitation, Tyrone pushed the man, who was now drowning in his own blood, towards the second attacker, who was at the back of the shop.
Despite Tyrone's suddenness, these were professionals, and he would not have it easy with this second man as he did with the first.
Whipping out his gun, Doc fired repeatedly into the body of his mate. He couldn't for the life of him understand why the driver was here now or why the man was so skilled. Salerians fought in hand-to-hand combat; their men were brutes with no technique but killer moves. Like predators, they were experts at knocking people down and as in the wild, once the opponent was on their back, the game would be over. Their ancestral heritage in brawls glaring in this aspect. Little to none of them would participate in this kind of combat this driver orchestrated.
He didn't need much to tell him that the current situation was directed and planned and he knew his target well enough to tell that the plan wasn't hers.
He couldn't think much as Tyrone was now upon him, but instead of a fight, Tyrone sidestepped, and what followed was repeated stabbings at his abdomen and none for his chest. Given that Tyrone did not twist the knife or go for his heart, he realized his opponent was not cruel and doubted his strength. A person who doubted their strength made the worst kinds of opponents, for the simple reason that they hit as hard as they could as fast as their bodies would allow.
And now he was bleeding, and every movement felt like his bowels were tearing apart, which he realized they probably were.
Tyrone pushed the body, now riddled with bullets, away from him and knocked hard at the opponent's gun-welding hand, sending the gun into the distance.
Without moving further he took a few steps back and stared at the bleeding man.
"Name?" he asked, tilting his head with a frown, his nerves still tingling endlessly in excitement and his muscles and bones hurting from overexertion. He underestimated himself and, in his fear, had given this fight 200% effort. The result, of course, was his victory.
"Call me Doc," Doc replied, taking a step back with a hand over his abdomen. He wanted to curse right now but stopped himself at the realization of the redundancy behind such action.
"Hello, Doc. I assume you are not supposed to give the answers I'm prepared to ask," Tyrone asked, even as he felt his vision begin to darken. To hide his weakness, he drew a chair to himself and took a sit on it.
"Ask, and you'll find out." With his back against the wall, Doc drew in deep breaths and tried to slow down his fast-beating heart.
"Kill or abduct?" Tyrone asked.
Startled, Doc raised his head from the ground to stare at Tyrone's eyes which seemed glossy and unfocused. His vision was starting to blur, but he could swear there were no pupils in this taxi driver's eyes. He was about to move when he noticed the target, Miranda, aiming a gun at him...his gun.
Miranda had noticed Tyrone's condition when he drew the chair. His pupils were gone, and only the white of his eyes could be seen, but he talked fine, and he simply stared ahead as if he could see. His body radiated confidence even if she could see the beads of sweat on his forehead. It was a medical condition she quickly recognized. Low blood sugar.
Swallowing hard at the appearance of opportunity and his lack of ability to take advantage of it, Doc replied, "Just kill I don't know any details"
Tyrone simply nodded and continued.
"Stay there and stay very still; once I recover myself, we will leave, and you can get yourself to a hospital. Put pressure on the wounds, and you'll be fine; it was a simple knife. The reason you don't feel good is only because of how deep it went and how much it hurts. If you'd adapted to it or if your body reacted a little differently with adrenaline you would still be in top shape." Tyrone advised like he was talking with a friend. Ultimately, he was not a killer.