Don Giovanni [Completed]

[Lili Walser]

As the opera proceeded, it was all Lili could do to follow the... the... the... oh, there wasn't a story! It was just a mass of convoluted relationship mishaps played out by more over-dramatic men and women than she could seemingly count. Regardless, it was all Lili could do to follow the whatever-it-was, what with Tante murmuring appreciatively about what someone had worn - or gasping and denouncing the disgraceful companion of another - or complaining outright about the nerve of some of the nouveau-riche to show their faces here, at the opera, of all places (heavens above forbid). And in between all this murmuring and gasping and complaining, Tante was still attempting to correct her.

"Sit up straighter, Nichte. Don't hold your opera glasses like so, Nichte, a lady holds them thus. Tuck your feet to the other side, Nichte, it's more polite. Straighter, straighter. And pay attention to the storyline! This opera is genius. Smile, Nichte, don't you want to manage to find a husband soon? Goodness, there's no wonder you've no suitors, with that sour of an expression."

The blonde girl just wanted to slump over in her chair, and pretend to take a nap. Or better yet, take a nap. She didn't understand what the draw to this sort of performance was. It was all so... so... comically serious that it was in no way describable. She really didn't know what to do with herself. So rather than speak back to her aunt, she smiled slightly, straightened her back ever more, shifted her grip by millimeters on the opera glasses, and tucked her feet to the other side, even though she'd been marginally more comfortable the way she'd been previously.

This was shaping up to be an incredibly long, dull, high-pitched, and impossibly trying night.

[awesome]

Color his pale, pasty, derrière, surprised, was that Lili's dearest Tante that Gilbert heard murmuring to herself and scolding the poor girl sitting between them? Why heavens! It was!!!

Trying to keep things civil, the albino just sighed heavily and shifted his weight at first, ignoring the small remarks from the elephant lady as she chided his young cousin to sit straighter and rambled on about the 'celebrities' of the noble world. Was there really nothing more to her life? No... probably not.

Yet ignoring that bitch got really really hard as she not only continued her retarded prattle about Mr. Fancy-rich-pants (who was a douche) and his wife, Lady Bimbo-slutbag and how they were the finest dressed douche and wench in the place, but also went on to belittle the more common man AND the still blossoming girl sharing the booth with them. Unable to help himself, Gilbert zoned back in from whatever la-la-land he had managed to reach, frowning that the show wasn't anywhere near finished and turned his attention onto the woman two seats away from him.

With a low growl he snappped at Agnes. "H'oi!! Do me a favor and shut your freaking yap would ya!? There is no one here to see how Lili is sitting but you and me and she's sitting perfectly fine! And to jump into that conversation about a 'suitor', maybe it's her nosy bossy bitchy aunt that is scaring off all the guys every think about that?" (The truth is, no lad yet had lived up to dear cousin Beilschmidt's standards yet. Gilbert would not deny that he was a picky man) He sat back again , giving her a scathing glare before turning his attention onto the stage again, feigning interest. "Can you just shut your mouth for a few hours? I don't thin either one of us are interested in your gossip and you are distracting me from the performance!" Yes. He did hate the opera, but it was at least more pleasant background noise than listening to that cow ramble on about nothing.

[Marko Iliev]

For a place where the upper class seemed to congregate, the opera house didn't seem particularly well guarded. That was Marko's first thought, anyway. He'd made it into the foyer, which was a grand room of marble flooring and pillars with a high, intricately decorated ceiling. Though the music was still quite loud in the background, the lobby was empty, and everything was so still that he could hear the front door shutting behind him, and his uneven footsteps on the polished floor. Whilst the foyer's stillness didn't poise much of a direct problem, of course, the more attention he drew to himself, the more likely he was to get caught.

There were more stairs - much to his misfortune - at the far end of the lobby. They were divided at the centre; an aspect typical of the interior of grand buildings such as this one. It didn't exactly matter which stairway he took; they would both end up at the main stalls, then the boxes would be up another flight of steps after that. He inwardly complained to himself, whilst carrying his limp (which would have made him even more distinguishable, had he not been trying to conceal it) across the room and up the stairs to his left. Sure, they could have just sent another Ruthien, preferably one that wasn't injured, but he and Milos had this planned out for a while; the two of them worked well together, and Marko didn't want to throw the responsibility onto someone else when he was still capable enough. He didn't like the idea of not being able to control the matter at hand; the idea of someone else doing it - and doing it wrong, irked him. Besides, he wasn't aware of anyone else who had as good an alibi as he did. Ruthiens didn't tend to come from noble backgrounds. He was sure he was the only one he could think of that was, off the top of his head. So really, having thought about it, there wasn't anything to complain about... Apart from the stairs themselves.

The first set cleared, he finally came across the obstacle he expected would give him the most trouble, should he face it... Well, them. Him. It was one of the opera's staff, dressed accordingly and standing guard at the door to the stalls. He gave Marko a confused look at first, but it quickly left his face. He assumed he was a latecomer, evident when he spoke, "Good evening, sir. Can I see your ticket?" Even though the perplexity was gone from his face, the steward still sounded wary.

Marko raised his chin a little, trying to mimic the snobbish look nobility often gave to common people, silently pretending he was offended at such a request from the member of staff, though the question itself had been perfectly reasonable. He only held this look for a moment, though, before half a smile spread across his face. "I don't have one." He said, reaching into the pockets of his coat.

As he had expected, the steward looked confused again, as if he didn't know what to do in this kind of situation. He was on his own at that door, and he didn't look like he was a guard of any manner. In fact, Marko had to have been at least four or five inches taller than he was. There were probably ushers inside the theatre, and anyone who had the money to come to places like the opera but were worried enough about their own safety would have their own bodyguards accompanying them. But hopefully, this steward would be the only one he'd have to deal with.

"I'm here looking for my father." He continued, before the other man could say anything else. This was where his perfectly reasonable alibi came into place. "Veselin Iliev; ever heard of him? He runs an electrical plant." He faked sounding prouder than perhaps he should have. His father was more rich than he was prestigious, but in such a place, the name Iliev might have rung a bell. "It's important. I'll be in and out." The time he could take locking the door on the box of the target was sufficient time enough to pretend finding his father. He took a steady stride towards the puzzled steward, removing his hands from his pockets, before taking hold of one of his wrists with one hand - which startled him, turning it over and dropping a good sum of Florins into his palm. Bewildered, the man glanced between the money (the amount of which, Marko wasn't exactly sure of; he'd simply forked out a handful from the little bag within the depths of his pocket - but however much it was, it wasn't really any loss to him) and him a couple of times, looking unsure of what to do or say again. Perhaps he was new to the job. Marko couldn't believe that in all of Atheros, the staff at the opera house had never once been bribed before. He gave the steward a knowing grin, and stepped back, tapping the side of his nose. "Thanks." Whether Veselin Iliev was actually present at the opera or not was a different matter.

Whatever he'd given him, it must have been a decent amount, as the man didn't pursue him when he continued on to the next flight of steps - which was exactly what he'd wanted, of course. Then again, maybe such a passive steward might have let him go even if he hadn't presented him with money. But he could care about that later. What mattered was that he was now free to carry out his end of the plan.

He made sure he was definitely alone, once he'd gotten to the top, before letting his limp return with a heavy wince. He hissed through his teeth as quietly as he could, having to quite literally drag his leg now down the hallway, hoping he'd get more used to the pain if he did. Hiding it was hard work, and he hoped he and Milos had timed everything right, so that he wouldn't have to break out into a run at any point.

Their target was in the central box on the left side. Since there weren't many boxes, it was easy enough to locate. As he had thought might be the case, the door was conveniently shut already. Which meant all he had to do was lock it. In the inside of his coat was a chain and a padlock - which proved more reliable and easier to hide than most other materials he could have used. He glanced around once more, just to assure himself he wasn’t being watched, before reaching into his coat and removing said items. Quietly, then, he threaded the chain through the two ornate handles of the box door, met the ends together and clamped down on them with the padlock. He then lowered the lock with care, so it wouldn’t make a noise upon hitting the door.

Marko took an imbalanced step backwards, checking over his work. That was it. He was done... The rest was up to Milos.

[Miloš Jovanović]

This was his second favorite part of any good bombing: the thrill of the set-up. His blood was racing as he jogged down the empty hallway, the blueprints for the opera house fresh in his mind. At the end of the hallway was an empty box where it seemed like a good place for his first bomb. They were specially made by some blonde inventor kid Marko knew with timers attached to go off in 15 minutes once they were set. This may have seemed like a lot of time to most people, but it was plenty for him. He even had some set for ten and five minutes so they'd go off around the same time if he did it right.

Lucky for him blondie had color-coded them for the different times. Now was it the ten minute ones that were green or the fifteen minute ones... eh whatever, it didn't matter. He was pretty sure it was the 15 minute ones that were green.

Once he had set up the first bomb he snuck back out of the box and looked down the hallway checking that the coast was clear. Seeing that it was he darted down the hallway to a side hallways containing a smaller set of stairs mainly used by the people working there. It was a risk that he would run into someone, but he'd be less out in the open this way. Regardless he must have been getting lucky because he easily descended the stairs to the second floor without running into anyone. Milos figured the staff was on break or something, lucky them.

Once on the second floor balcony he was more wary. There would more people seated on this floor and thus more chances for him to fuck up. He grinned, the adrenaline was flowing now. He moved fast, setting three more bombs set for ten minutes: one by the main staircase to the first floor, another by a load-bearing support beam at another end of the hallway and a third he'd snuck into the balcony in an empty section away from the others. He wasn't trying to kill anyone after all. Injure maybe, scare definitely, but kill? Nah he only had orders to kill one douchebag here. Everything else was just for fun.

Once done with the second floor he headed back to the side stairwell and descended to the first floor. Only he wasn't so lucky this time. There was a staff member coming up the stairs at the same time as he was going down, both of them freezing when their eyes met. Shit. Jumping down the last few stairs between them he decked the poor staff guy, making him fall back down the stairs and hitting his head on the railing. He ignored the trickle of blood coming from the man's head, focusing on picking up the body and heaving him into a nearby closet. He hated this particular kind of collateral damage.

By this point he just ran through the first level hallway, setting two up quickly by the main doors into the opera hall itself and darting to the backstage area. Lucky for him there was so many people wearing dark clothing in a hurry he could just duck out of the way when need be, but he was really starting to feel the pressure of the time constraint. He didn't know exactly how much time had passed, but he knew his 15 minutes were nearing being used up. With little time to spare he found his way under the stage and tossed one to the front.

He walked as quickly as possible out of the backstage area, weaving around people with an easy grin and an apologetic wave, careful they didn't get a good look at him. Back in the main hall he found his way to the side staircase and bounded up the stairs only halfway there when the first bomb went off, the building shaking from the initial blast, grabbing hold of the railing. Damn those little bombs had a decent punch to them. But he had no time to dawdle appreciating it he still had one major order of business to accomplish.

[awesome]

Gilbert grit his teeth as he watched that cow open her fat ugly mouth to retort. In any other circumstance he would have welcomed something to make her shut it again. Yet the loud blast and crackle only a few seats away, not to mention the violent tremors that followed, had the albino no longer worrying about whatever garbage the pig was going to spit. Instead he jumped to immediate action as the crowds below broke into an uproar and screams. "Up. Up. Get up." He took his young cousin by the shoulder and gently tugged her chin up for them to face each other, he spoke calmly, but firmly. "Lili listen to me. Do not panic. Do as I say, understand?" He gave her a moment to agree before swiftly pulling her to her feet. He turned to Agnes' escort. "You. Take the rear." He drew his gun as he straightened moving toward the door.

Swiftly twisting the handle and shoving through the entrance, Gilbert drew Lili in close, hurrying down the hall as the sounds of panic began to rise. As others flooded out he pulled his young cousin in closer rushing them toward the exit, avoiding all the bodies that began to pool into the corridor. He felt his hackles rise, and flicked his gaze to make sure that aunt bitch and her escort were keeping close. In any other circumstance he'd be worried about the public, getting as many people as possible, preferably, all of them, to safety. Right now, every stranger was an enemy. Until he knew those who were his were safe, that state of mind would not change. Not knowing who to trust, and sure that that attack, that explosion, whatever that was, that is was not the last.

As if on cue, another went off and military man, pressed to the outer wall, tucking the young girl between it and his own body. He cursed under his breath, recovering as soon as the shaking stopped, and picked the younger girl up. "COME ON." He barked back to her aunt. Fuck that bitch. Fuck that bitch and her stupid fucking operas. Rushing down the stairs he broke into a full on run as the entrance doors came into sight. Hitting them with his shoulder he used his weight to open them, glad for the assistance of others as they all began pouring out into the streets, escaping the carnage within.

Feeling only slightly better, he hurried to the far side of the street, turning, glad to see that the other two were still with them and set the girl back on her feet. "Lili." He licked his lips, the skin feeling suddenly chapped. "Lili I need you to be safe. Alright? I need to know that, alright? He straightened and turned back to the building, watching the citizens pour out. Facing his young cousin again, he gave her a firm squeeze, his face solemn. "I have to go back in there, but I want you to get as far away from here as possible alright? Go home. O-or go to Francis'. Just please. Go. Let me feel secure in knowing you are safe." He gave her a quick peck to the forehead and turned back to the building. As a man of the military, a keeper of peace, he felt it was his duty to do all that he could. He had to get as many as he out to safety. Clenching his hands into fists he rushed back toward the operahouse, leaving his cousin in the trust of a women he hated, but trusted to keep her safe.

[Lili Walser]

Oh dear. Lili had looked up at Gilbert reprovingly, though her gaze was soon directed back to the stage. It wasn’t as though she… disagreed with the sentiment… It was more, his words to convey it. Oh, of course, she loved her Tante… she was family.

Tante’s mouth had opened to retort something along the lines of ‘You rude and ignorant pig,’ or some such… It was inexcusable, what he’d just called her. If she could, she’d have Lili away from the man in a heartbeat. Perhaps she could do something with the girl.

And then…

The bomb went off. As the building trembled and shook, Agnes closed her lips against a tirade and instead began to pray that she’d make it out safely. She spared hardly any thought for the girl who had gone sheet white beside her. Lili was seconds from a full on panic attack… that was a – that was a – it had been a – a – a bomb. A… Oh, Gott. A b-bomb. She stared at the stage, eyes unseeing, uncertain whether she could move or speak or anything – until Gilbert took her chin in his hand and made her meet his eyes. ”Lili, listen to me. Do not panic. Do as I say, understand?” She nodded wordlessly, trembling violently. She… She wouldn’t. She wouldn’t panic. Gilbert was here, and he wouldn’t let anything go wrong. As he pulled her to her feet, she took half a moment to hug him tightly, before they began to move.

It had taken Tante’s assistant to convince the woman to get to her feet – that, and the pleading look on Lili’s face for her to do as Gilbert had said, just this once. The aide nodded. He’d do as Herr Beilschmidt said. He was the military presence here, after all.

In any other circumstances, Tante Agnes would have been protesting the need for such lack of decorum. In any other circumstances… the building wouldn’t be about to fall down around their ears at any moment. Lili gathered her skirt in her free hand and picked up her pace as Gilbert pulled her closer. Somehow Tante was able to keep up, though she wouldn’t be happy about the state of her appearance once she had time to think about it.

As the explosion sounded, and Lili was sandwiched between the wall and Gilbert, she trembled, eyes closed tightly, fingers curled in the fabric of his elegant coat. But she didn’t panic. Tante, on the other hand, joined the myriad others that were screaming as the building shook again. Lili gasped when Gilbert lifted her, but immediately wrapped an arm around his neck. The aide hurried Tante forward, ignoring the usual rules of protocol in order to get her to safety.

Once they’d reached the outside, and Gilbert had put Lili back onto her feet, she threw her arms around him tightly, not wanting to let go. If she let go… if she did and he went in there and didn’t come out she didn’t know what she’d do. But it was as though he’d heard her thoughts. He had to know she was safe…? Wh-what about her? Sh-she wanted to know he was safe! And if he went… if he… when he went into the explosions…

“J-Ja…” She managed, feeling her throat close with unshed tears. She wouldn’t do this. She wouldn’t make him feel guilty about his job, when he might save a dozen others. “Bitte seien Sie sicher.”* This last was said quietly, barely audible above everything… but it was as loud as Lili could manage at the moment. She watched as her cousin ran back to the opera house, not moving even when Tante dared to try to pull the girl away. “Come, Nichte, you heard him. Let’s go.”

But the girl shook her head. “Nein. I… I will stay here. There may yet be some way that I can help Cousin.” And she couldn’t, just couldn’t, stand the waiting game at home. At least here… at least… sh-she’d know almost immediately… if something were to happen.

-------------
*Please be safe.

[Marko Iliev]

And there it was.

Marko was attempting to scale down the steps from the upper balcony area when the blast went off. The tremors that came with it were much more aggressive than he had expected, even though it had gone off on the other side of the boxes, and he staggered, slipping down one step and having to grasp onto the handrail for support. Luckily, he was near the bottom anyway by that time, and so had he fallen, it wouldn't have that much of a drop to the hallway floor. All the same, he had lost his footing, and was forced to place his bad leg down to regain it. "Bog shiban po dyavolite, che boli!" He hissed beneath his breath, stepping down as quickly as he could, just as he heard the ruckus beginning inside the hall... Of course, the nobles would be getting out of their seats as quickly as they could, and they would all pile out of the doors in a moment... Less than a moment, even.

His eyes glanced up and down the corridor once. He needed to get out of sight... And fast. Should he be spotted by anyone, even just in a passing glance, his face could well be connected to the event. He couldn't let that happen.

He hopped down the last step and broke into the best run he could muster, away from the main doors that he heard slamming open just as he turned into an alcove-like part of the hallway. His breathing was laboured, and he had to take a moment to catch it; his back pressed against the wall, the thundering of feet and the screams of those inside echoing through his skull.

It took him a couple of moments to realise that the other booming he could hear was not the frantic crowds of nobles, and not another bomb exploding in the distance, but the sound of his own heartbeat in his head. He shut his eyes, exhaling heavily and swearing under his breath again... But it wasn't over yet... Oh no, it was far from over.

For a moment, he shut out the thoughts of what was actually going on to consider instead whether it would be a good idea to head back now. He wasn't going to blend into the back of the crowd and escape. Instead, he was going to sneak back in through the doors the nobles were fleeing through - the doors that lead to the circle, and lie low and watch the target be taken out. It was risky, but should Milos fail at this crucial point in the plot - and, God forbid, Marko hoped that wasn't the case - he needed to be there to back him up. Once it was over, he could then limp out of the front doors, passing his injury off as something caused by the bombings were anyone to ask. It wasn't completely unbelievable that he would have been late in getting out due to being trampled by a swarm of hysterical nobles.

He doubted any crowd left outside would be in the right state of mind to take any notice of him, anyway. Most of them only cared for themselves.

He poked his head around the side of the alcove, taking note of fewer and fewer of them piling out. He moved quickly away from his hiding place, then, and into the remainder of the crowd, pushing against them as he forced his way through the circle doors. Conveniently, as he had hoped, none of them seemed to bat an eyelid at him doing so... They were far too concerned with getting out of their as fast as they possibly could.

Finally, he took his place at the back of the empty circle's seats, crouching in the dark and peering up at what he thought was the correct box, though it was difficult to tell in such poor lighting and from that angle... Grabbing onto the seats with his hand as support, he shuffled - still crouched - down the isle, to the front of the balcony, where he could get a better view.

---

^{'Bog shiban po dyavolite, che boli!' - "God fucking dammit, that hurts!"}

[Miloš Jovanović]

After he recovered from the shock of the first blast Milos quickly dashed up the stairs wanting to beat the crowd and avoid further suspicion. As he made it to the top floor he could already see nobles fleeing their boxes and hear the roar of the crowd as hysteria rose. He went past a woman, her hands holding up her layered skirts as she ran while screaming her head off in a high-pitched voice. He winced, why did women always have to scream so high? It was just a little explosion really. Well not that little. But as soon as he passed her she out of sight and out of mind for him. He had more important things to be thinking about.

He hurried over to the right side of the boxes and tried to open the doors to one of the boxes only to find it locked. He cursed and tried the next box only to find it locked as well. Shit, these nobles locked the rooms they weren't using? Stingy bastards. Looking around he found most of the nobles on this floor had cleared out, leaving the doors to their boxes open in their haste. There was one two doors down to his left that was unlocked. It wasn't ideal, but he didn't have time to waste picking a lock or breaking down the door so he ran to the open box and went inside closing the door behind him.

Once inside he stumbled forward to the edge of the balcony as another bomb went off. Gripping the railing he looked out towards the box holding his target captive. "...You gotta be fucking kidding me." The lights were flickering in and out one of his bombs having fucked with the lighting system. Shit, he hadn't expected that. He could only barely see some shapes in the box and he had at most 6 shots. Milos would just have to improvise.

Exiting the room he ran to the other side to the box holding his target within. It was locked, of course it was locked, but now he needed to unlock it and fast. Marko just had to use such a heavy padlock didn't he, that damned Bulgar. Slapping his cheeks, he put a grin back on his face. This was nothing, it just made things a little more interesting. Taking a few steps back he lifted his leg up and kicked the doors a few tries with little success. Those doors were as thick as the gold these nobles probably shit. He looked around, trying to think of how to get in there, but only could come up with one idea. It was a terrible, risky idea, but his life was a terrible, risky idea so he might as well go for it.

He went into the next box which luckily had been occupied and shut the door behind him before going to the balcony edge and looking into the next box, spying two people inside, a man and a woman. Poor girl was in the wrong place at the wrong time. He got onto the ledge and climbed over to the next box, greeted with two hopeful stares as he stood up. "Hey, hate to break up the party but-" he pulled the gun out of his bag and shot the man twice in the chest, leaving him gurgling as he lay there dying. He turned to the woman next, seeing her cowering on the ground looking up at him in terror and pleading to him not to kill her. She hated her husband, she'd never tell anyone, she loved her children. His smile waned a little at those words; she may have been a noblewoman, but he didn't like killing mothers. But, she'd seen his face and he really doubted she'd keep her word so as his smile melted into a frown he turned his gun on her and shot her in the head. At the very least he could make it a quick death.

Another bomb suddenly went off shaking the building. Milos heard the sound of something cracking and looked above him, seeing a large chunk of the ceiling collapse on him, yelling out in pain as he felt pain explode on his shoulder and arm as he he fell to the ground. "U kurac...*"

*"In dick"- translates less literally as Shit

[awesome]

To run back into a building were not just one bomb, but two had already gone off, with an unknown number possibly still lying in wait was not an action that just any man would do, but as a solider, a keeper of the peace, Gilbert had to do what he could to keep his fellow man, the ones that could do not more than run away, safe. Upon re-entry he was immediately burdened with assisting a noblewomen who was not screaming, but trilling in a shrill stream of sound out of the building. Seeing her out he headed back in, ears ringing.

Luckily for the military man, the idea of 'run and get the fuck out before you get a'spolded' seemed unanimous amongst the the noble crowds, and while there was more than once the albino had to use force to make sure no one was trampled, people were getting out. Taking the stairs two at a time as the crowd started to die, Gilbert traversed the upper floors, making sure that it was clear and that no one was trapped inside. He froze when he came across a door that was chained shut, locked up tight and fear rolled through him anew to realize that someone was trapped in there. Before he could even utter a word he heard the distinct sound of two gunshots sing out, and a woman cry. Cursing under his breath he ran to the nearest balcony doors, yanking them open.

His blood ran cold as yet another gunshot broke through the blaring ring still lingering in his ears, the sound echoing out of the chained box next to him. "Scheiß-" His curse was cut short as another explosion knocked him foward and against thr him with how hard the building shook. What kind of bomb held this kind of punch?

Scrambling back to his feet, Gilbert danced away from the edge as the ceiling there groaned and quickly collasped from the stress of the explosions. He was lucky and had just missed an ugly collision of building with his skull. From of the cry of pain the balcony over, however, it sounded like his supposed bomber, at the very least murderer, wasn't so lucky.Realizing his chance, the albino quickly but carefully made his way over the barriers separating the two booths and entered the one with two dead bodies and their attacker. Taking in the scene with a trained eye, Gilbert quickly snatched the gun out of the downed assailant loosned grip and made sure to pin him where he was, hands joined behind his back.

"How many more bombs are there?" The idea the something else could blow at any given moment had not left Gilbert's mind. It was dark, the explosions screwing with the lighting, so he was unable to get a good look at the man's face. "How many more bombs!?" He pushed against the other's back, hoping to jolt him back into reality. The military man had plenty more questions, but the answers would be pointless if everything exploded right in his face.

[Marko Iliev]

Another bomb shook the place and Marko fell forward from his crouch onto his knees with a grunt. Then the lights began to flicker, and then disappeared altogether, and when he looked up again, he no longer had a view of the boxes above. He swore under his breath. That wasn't supposed to have happened... At least, not then. He placed his hand on where his gun was concealed, though decided against drawing it... There was no use now, not without visibility. He couldn't risk shooting blindly at that range. He staggered back to his feet and turned to leave the gallery as fast as he could, trying his best to ignore the unrelenting pain.

Getting up near the boxes was now his best bet of making sure the target was taken out.

Even so, his route up there was dark and difficult to manoeuvre. He had to do it from memory, taking the way back he'd just come from before. But as he glanced up the staircase leading to the boxes, he paused... There was movement up there, in the darkness. It looked as if someone had bolted around the corner; was it Milos? No, it couldn't have been... Quite the contrary, it was someone brave enough to venture back into the destructive ruckus of the opera house. Possibly the military... Marko glanced down the opposite end of the hallway, towards the exit, and then back up at the staircase in front of him, just as another bomb exploded loudly, cracking what sounded like the ceiling in the distance. He still had time. He could still run... There was still a chance he'd survive if he did. But if that was a military man up there, where was the honour in abandoning his comrade?

His decision was conflicted... But he forced himself to shut his mind off, and sprint up the stairs as best he could. 'I'm out of my mind. I'm out of my fucking mind.' He told himself, clearing the corner and opening the doors of the first box to stare over at the one that had been locked. He saw movement, and he saw faint outlines of rubble and dust from the ceiling, and he couldn't piece together what had happened, but he heard an unfamiliar voice shouting, "How many more bombs are there!? How many more bombs!?". He squinted to focus on the moving bodies, and ducked behind the balcony of the box, sliding his gun out of its hiding place in his coat.