In the muted silence of the dark alley, interrupted only by the distant sound of passing cars, the click of the gun being cocked was painfully audible. The cold barrel nudged its target's forehead, who was cornered on the ground against the wall. All around them were signs of a struggle, a botched killing, and the man with the gun was only now regaining his breath, having wrestled the gun away from his would-be-murderer.
"You thought you could kill me, huh?" He had an accent, one that seemed to have been purchased along with his expensive suit and Italian leather shoes. "Who sent you? Speak- you're dead either way."
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Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes. He cocked the gun and would shoot her any minute. In these kinds of situations, she would usually fight back. But the odds had turned against her quite dramatically. She had to think of a way to turn this around. But how could she when the damned feeling called fear was disrupting her train of thought. 'Damn it.' She thought to herself.
Yes, she thought she could kill him, and she still thinks that she could. Who sent her? If only she knew. Even if she did, she was; "dead either way." Unless she thought of something, of course. If she would die now, she didn't want to die like this. Helpless and pitiful. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath... Calming herself and preventing panic, as well as allowing her to think. And eureka, an idea had come to her.
She quickly pulled the gun upwards, away from her forehead and then slowly turning it towards him, with all her strength. Another wrestling match had just begun and if she lost, it could cost her life.
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