Rampage Of Love

Action is easily my favorite genre of fiction. The rush of battle, the euphoria of triumph, the tension, and the anticipation. The awe-inspiring feats portrayed in movies are beautiful to me, and even though a lot of action movies lack depth, the best ones hold the most thematic complexity and intrigue when it comes to human emotions. It’s interesting seeing what drives people. What they’re willing to kill for, die for, what they must dedicate their lives to. This is something I tried to capture with Isadora’s character, as you’ll come to find. The duality of a person, where they draw their moral lines, and what for. Isadora is a wife, sweet and loving, but she’s also a killer, sinister and deadly. I love seeing that sort of contrast in characters, and I found it very interesting to see what happens when the two sides meet.

Often the characters in action movies don’t represent the most capable people we know. No disrespect to The Man With No Name or Dirty Harry, but people like that don’t reflect the people I’d call on to save me, the people who do saving on a smaller scale every day. Our heroes aren’t government agents and honest cops. They’re our mother and father, our boyfriend and girlfriend. aunties, grandmas, spouses, close friends. The people who we do call on when we’re in danger, the people we’d trust with our lives. I want my heroes to reflect the people in my life who make me feel safe, and who rescue me when I need saving, whether it be physical or emotional. Isadora represents many strong women who have made my life better, The mothers and grandmothers who raised and loved me, as well as the friends and former loves who endure so much hardship and still had love to spare for me. She is the neo-hero, a new look for the macho men of yesteryear. Inspired by recent feminine badasses like Trinity, Lara Croft, bits of Black Widow, and The Bride, as well as classic leading men like Tom Cruise, Keanu Reeves, and Clint Eastwood. She’s what I think a hero should look like. She is my hero, and I hope that in time she becomes yours. I had a lot of fun writing Rampage Of Love and I hope you all have even more fun reading it.

-Street

T: Is this Mrs.Rockwell?

I: Who the hell are you?

T: My identity isn’t important. What’s important is that you come home soon.

I: Who the fuck are you? Are you at my apartment? 

T: Your wife is waiting for you. I suggest you hurry. Before you have no wife to return to.

*click*

The man chuckled as he put down the phone.

Isadora ripped through the streets with passion as her bike roared into the night. She drove with fury, fueled by love and anger. She had been pencil-pushing all day, filing papers, doing reports, and all kinds of other “bureaucratic bullshit” as she often called it. Even though she loathed desk work, not being on globe-trotting adventures kept her closer to her wife, Lucia. Every day she worked, going through the motions so that she could indulge in the sappy domestic life they had built for themselves. But now, as the lamp posts stretched down the road in front of her, she couldn’t help but feel afraid. Lucia had been in danger before; after being a spy so long it was a given that her personal life would be attacked. Though no one had ever gotten close enough to hold her hostage, especially not in their home. Lucia could fire a gun, Isadora made sure of that. But in a pickle, she couldn’t actually fight anyone. If this was some nutcase with a grudge there’d be a few of them, but if they were serious, they might have the whole building. In any event she needed to strike hard. No matter who it was, no matter what they wanted, she’d let no one touch her life and get away with it.

She flew through the city, weaving in and out of traffic. As she arrived at her building, Isadora parked her bike across the street. She was wearing a red sweater, black sweatpants and old dirty tennis shoes.

As the engine cut and her dirty sneakers hit the ground, she examined all of her gear. In her shoulder holsters were two semi-automatic pistols, on her hips were a holstered revolver and a grapple gun. In her back pocket was a pocket knife, and more magazines of ammo. All her gear contrasted against her red sweater and black sweatpants. She chuckled, thinking of Lucia’s reaction.

“You look like a super bum. Ready to attack the fridge and infiltrate the bed,”

She took a breath, then got off her bike, and lifted its seat. In the undercarriage was a bundle of smoke grenades, with all of their pins tied to each other.

“I’m coming for you baby,” Isadora muttered to herself as she took the grenades. She closed the carriage, took out the ignition key, and then turned to face the building.

Their home stretched into the sky with a modern flair. Its sleek design burst with wealth and vanity. The windows shined, reflecting the lights of the city like a pillar of stars. The building was fifty storeys tall. Isadora and Lucia lived on the 31st.

“I wanted to be on the fifth floor, but noooo,”

Peering into the lobby, she saw about twelve men, all dressed in ugly brown jackets and black t-shirts. They were all unshaven and dirty, as if she were to be assassinated by hobos off the street rather than trained killers. They were sitting around playing cards and smoking, unaware that they were being watched from across the street.

“We have to be higher Isa, we have to have a good view. All the lights will look so pretty Isa,” she said, mocking her wifes heavy Hispanic accent.

“Now you’re gonna die and I’m gonna have to pay our high ass rent alone,” Isadora said bitterly as she pulled the string. In one fluid motion, all the pins slid out of the grenades, and fell to the ground with a metal clatter. Isadora started walking toward the building, then threw the bundle through one of the plate glass windows that bordered the building lobby. 

She took a deep breath in.

“No. No, she’s not going to die,” she told herself. As the lobby filled with smoke she drew one of her pistols and marched in.

Inside the smoke was dense, and overpowered all of the guards' senses.

“Everyone get up, she’s here!”

“Someone cover the entrance!”

Isadora was inside before they could find the doorway, creeping past while they scrambled to find her. She stayed low and moved slow, looking for an opportunity to start her attack.

The lobby was large, with different pieces of art displayed on the walls and tables around the room. Isadora regarded the space as a modern eyesore, which she was happy she didn’t have to see at the moment. 

“The smoke won’t last long,” she thought to herself. She got far into what she thought was the middle of the room, then waited for a moment. She could hear their foot falls; none of them were close, but there were so many of them running around at once. They were bound to find her if she didn’t keep moving, or pick them off. The conditions made her anxious, and gave her drive. It was a necessary kick, one that made her more alert, more aggressive. It was this drive that would keep Lucia alive, she thought to herself.

Ready to begin, she took her pistol and softly tapped it on the ground twice.

“Huh?”

She heard a voice come from her immediate right. The sound of his clothes shifting filled her with dread. He had been standing still, she realized, to guard whatever he was in front of. Slowly, Isadora stood up and put her pistol out in front of her.

“Hey, I just heard something! I think she-” he started, before he felt the cold barrel of her gun against his temple.

“You think what?” a voice called out across the lobby. With a thunderous bang, Isadora blew away the guard, sending blood flying a few feet across the lobby. The men started blasting in the direction of the shot, but all they managed to hit were the grey walls and tacky furniture. In all their rampant firing, Isadora took out another guard, completely unnoticed in the uproar.

“Someone see if we got her!”

Isadora was crawling again now, trying to find one of those ugly vases that sit on the lobby tables. As her hand felt around in the veil, she caught the flat glass. In her frantic search, she bumped a tall vase and sensed it begin to tip over.

“Shit!” she whispered as she reached out and grabbed it. She slowly tipped it back onto even ground, then took a moment to check the room. No one noticed. Picking it up with one hand, she chucked the vase across the room. She heard it collide with something, then fall and shatter on the ground.

“She’s over here!” One of the guards shouted as he fired around the pile of broken shards. A series of shots rang out through the room, the last being distinctly out of rhythm. As he slumped over Isadora caught the body and gently laid him down on the ground.

“Did you get her?” someone called out. Isadora did her best to suppress a laugh, but as the men walked over to where the vase had broken, a few chuckles escaped her mouth. She rolled away from the body, to where she could get a good angle on the group.

“Goddammit, she’s laughing at us!” one of them screamed. The quiver in his voice let her know she was being effective. A sly smile grew across her face.

“You think this is funny you fucking bitch?” another voice shouted. Seizing her opportunity, Isadora fired off again, leaving three more bullets in three more heads.

“Someone needs to get this bitch right fucking-” another man shouted, before two bullets flew across the room. They hit him in the neck and the jaw. He crumpled to the floor, the sounds of his gargles twisting the hearts of his fellow hitmen.

Isadora continued to make quick work of them, moving fast as the smoke thinned out. It provided less and less cover, but still she moved around with ease. The guards scrambled at first to find her, then to avoid her. Isadora killed quickly and with no remorse. She had no sympathy for faceless henchmen and thought nothing of the sweat running down their backs, or the stomachs they were trying to fill.

What was left of the guards thought back to the initial job offer. Thousands in cash and heaps of glory, if they just followed orders and stayed alive. They expected a shootout or a large-scale operation. Some kind of active work. But this, this was just waiting. Waiting for someone to arrive, and now, waiting to die. They each departed with a feeling of bitter regret in their hearts as Isadora blew their brains out.

As the smoke cleared, she was left with only two men. They could see better now, which gave them confidence. Confidence which would take them nowhere, but their graves.

“Stevens! Stevens, where are you!” 

“Call him again,” Isadora whispered, “Say you’re over here.”

“Stevens I’m…” A blink and a hard swallow.

“I’m over here!” From the faint mist another man came, stepping over the bodies of his colleagues with great caution.

“I’m here I’m here, but where is…” he began to say, until he could see what was happening. In front of him, a few feet across the lobby, Isadora had the last man held at gunpoint, her finger firm on the trigger. He was shaking as she pressed her pistol into his head, and held him close to her chest. Stevens was quick to aim his gun at her, though the man was more than enough cover for Isadora.

“Drop the gun,” she commanded.

“Wait! Wait just…”

“Drop it!” Isadora barked.

“Just hold on!” Stevens pleaded.

“We can talk about this, I can help you get what you want just let him go,” 

Isadora smirked.

“I don’t think you understand,” she told him. With a soulless stare, she killed the guard in her arms and let his body flop on the floor.

“I didn’t need him. And I don’t need you. You needed him alive, and you needed me to spare you. I was letting you come quietly. Now you’ve squandered the chance,” she said as she walked toward him.

“They told us you were crazy. You enjoy this don’t you? You sick bitch,” he said, hoping that he would make a dent against the brick wall of her apathy.

“Yes, thoroughly,” As he looked at her in horror, Isadora shot his hand, and grabbed him by the neck before he could fall over.

“Where is she? My apartment, the roof? Is she even here?” Isadora yelled at him.

“Where is Lucia! Tell me dammit!” she shouted again.

“Y… your apartment. They’re waiting on the stairs, and… and in the hallway,”

“Please, let me go. I’ll leave, I swear I will. I’ll leave,” he pleaded. Isadora threw him on the ground and looked at him with pity. He whimpered for a moment, not knowing whether she would listen. With a blank face, Isadora shot him in the face. She turned away and went to the elevator.

“Okay baby, I’m coming,” Isadora pressed the elevator button and waited for it to come down. As it arrived, she discarded the magazine from her pistol and slid in a new one. She stepped in and she hit the emergency stop. On the ceiling of the chamber was a square hatch which read ONLY USE IN CASE OF EMERGENCY. She pulled the lever next to it, opening the hatch, and jumped up to climb on top of the chamber.

With a heave, she entered the elevator shaft, the sounds of her climbing echoing through the long column.

“Okay, this shouldn’t take long at all,” Isadora said to herself. She holstered her pistol, and took the large grappling hook from her hip. It was a prototype, meant to be able to shoot up to two hundred feet away and hook onto almost anything. The tech guys tried to explain that it was experimental and unreliable. They rambled on about missing pieces and phases of production, but she had no time to stop and listen.

“Here’s hoping you work,” Isadora said as she pointed the device upward. Preparing herself to count floors, she took a deep breath in, and braced for the sudden movement. She counted backwards

“Three”

“Two”

“One”

 And as she pressed the trigger…

“The hell?” she exclaimed. The trigger went down, but the hook didn’t launch. Isadora tried to fire again, but nothing came of it.

“Goddamn thing, come on,” She cursed as she hit the grappling hook, but it was no use. Defeated, Isadora climbed back down into the chamber, and returned to the lobby. She started weighing the options, her original game plan scrapped. If the elevator was rigged, then she’d be blown to hell before she could hit the fifth floor. Meanwhile, the stairs were covered by guards, likely armed to the teeth. And God knew how many of them there were, what tricks they were dying to employ.

Isadora chuckled to herself; she had been through much worse alone, though with much more than the basic gear than she was carrying. Beyond the stairwell door, the possibility of death was salivating, arming the men with luck and artillery. They wouldn’t be impossible to beat, but they held all the cards; if she made one wrong move, if she stumbled once or faltered in any way, then it would all be over. 

But there was no choice. Waiting for help could prove fatal, and Lucia couldn’t be abandoned. So as Isadora drew her pistols, she tried to stay focused on the task at hand. Pushing down her fear once more, she approached the stairwell door and kicked it open.

The stairs went up in a square spiral, the center left open. She decided then that the key was speed. Too much thinking would give the enemy a chance to organize. They weren’t thinking, just shooting, so she too would make do without. The first few guards were a story up. Isadora dashed up, skipping steps, and ran up to one of the men. She grabbed him from behind and held him at gunpoint, her mind flooding with shifting possibilities. They drew their guns quickly and shot at Isadora. It was too late before they realized they had riddled their ally with bullets. She aimed her gun from behind the dead man and took the two of them out. From above her she heard footsteps racing down.

She tossed the body to the side and ran up to meet them. As another group came down, she shot the one furthest up in the legs, making him tumble and fall into the other guards. They groaned and cursed as they fell off the stairs and into the wall, breaking bones. One of their guns fired as it hit the ground, shooting the man in the stomach. As bullets flew past her head, Isadora took cover behind the railing.

“Give me my fucking wife back!” Isadora yelled with a deep, wild anger. The sentence echoed up the stairwell, sending chills through the hitmen. They exchanged fire as Isadora made her way up, moving to compensate for her bad position. Shemanaged to hit their jaws and necks., spilling blood onto the stairs and rails above. Once she had a proper opening, she leapt and jumped further up the stairs. One  of the men slid down the banister, shooting wildly while he squinted at Isadora. Rather than shoot back, she stayed where she was and stared at him with disappointment. He jumped off the rail, stumbled and fell on his ass.

“Seriously? You think you’re hot shit don’t you?” Isadora asked, looked down at him with disgust and pity.

“Well… well I…” he tried to explain.

“Just, I just… yikes man,” Isadora remarked. The man only had a few seconds to process the embarrassment before his thoughts were cut short by a speeding bullet.

Isadora holstered the pistols and drew her revolver. She kept climbing and leaping, killing too fast to be opposed. She was a leopard, pouncing and prowling, sinking her teeth into every gazelle she encountered. Her revolver dispatched them with ease, and her aim was unmatched. Her ferocity was dizzying. Unable to predict her agile moves and trickshots, they never stood a chance.

Near the twentieth floor, she climbed on the rails and hopped up a flight, tackling a man as she leaped. They struggled on the ground, the man grabbing her gun as he tried to push her off of him. Isadora tried to pull the trigger, but he held the hammer down. Another guard raced down the stairs, ready to seize the opportunity. In a moment of quick wit, Isadora rolled over the man, and on her back, shot the incoming lackey. As she and the other man jumped up, she shot from the hip and hit him in his side thrice. Very dramatically he held the wounds, fell to his knees, then finally fell on his face and died.

It was only a few more flights before her floor. Isadora kept moving, trying to conserve her energy before she got to her apartment. All the stunts and fights were starting to weigh on her, made unbvearably obvious by the layer of sweat that persisted on her face. She holstered her revolver and drew one of her pistols. She quickly dropped the magazine and slid another one in from her back pocket.

“Goddamn,” she said with a long breath. Once she was sure that all the guards were gone, she sat down on the steps next to the twenty-eighth floor. As she wiped the sweat from her face and cracked her neck, Isadora heard footsteps coming down the hall. She moved to aim her gun, but as the steps got closer she saw a cane come around the corner. Two crocs and grey hair followed, easing her nerves.

“Isadora, how are you honey!” the woman said with soft affection.

“Hi Mrs. Shorefield. What are… what are you doing out this late?” Isadora asked, concerned for the old woman's innocence.

“My nephew just showed me how to order food from my phone. So I ordered me a sweet potato pie from my favorite bakery, and it’s going to be here in five minutes,” Mrs.Shorefield responded sweetly.

“Oh well that’s wonderful. You gone save me a slice?”

“Nuh uh, this is my pie,” she told Isadora, being sure to point at herself so she knew whose pie it was.

“Oh well alright, I see how it is,” Isadora wiped the sweat from her forehead, then took a breath.

“Where have you been honey, it’s been so long. I never see your face on the elevator anymore,”

“I’ve been working a lot. I wish I could be at home more but they need me at the office,” she explained.

“Mhmm. Well at least you’re not always on trips anymore,” 

“Yeah, I like being closer to home,” Isadora said, and meant it. She loved working in the field, though nothing could beat the peace she had been experiencing recently. Prior to that night, at least.

“Mrs.Shorefield, I have to go, but it was a pleasure seeing you. Don’t ever be afraid to knock okay?” she told her neighbour. Isadora ran up the rest of the stairs, ready for whatever they had to throw at her next.

“And don’t go down the stairs until I get back!” she called as she went up. Mrs.Shorefield was confused at first, and kept going down to get her pie. But as she turned the corner, she saw a body lying face down  with blood around it, and very hastily went back up to her apartment.

As Isadora came to her floor's door, she drew both her pistols and kicked it in. It nearly flew off the hinge, and hit one of the men in the back, knocking him on his chest. There were six more waiting for Isadora, all of whom were expecting her to be dead in the lobby. She shot for their hands first as they reached for their guns. There was no cover in the hall, save for a few small tables. So as she rained fire, they were helpless to defend themselves. She split their heads without a second thought, and fired into their chests as they fell to the floor. As the last one hit the dark blue carpet, she reloaded her pistols, their muzzles smoking.

Isadora walked brisk as she stepped over them, trying to make the best of her adrenaline. Her apartment was on the far end of the hall, close to the elevator. From a distance the door looked clean and undisturbed. 

“They probably tricked her,” Isadora thought, “Said they were from the agency or that they needed to do maintenance. The fucking bastards.” She could almost see it play out. The knock at the door. Lucia rushing to see who it was. The turn of the lock. The smile dropping as they grabbed her. Isadora’s head throbbed as she thought of all the things they could’ve done in the few hours she was gone. Her nostrils flared and her heart raced, knowing that until they called she was none the wiser.

As her mind flashed with images of violence and torture, a door opened down the hall. Her door. From it came a sharp-dressed man. He was tall and thin, which was underlined by the clean, black suit he wore. It was tailored perfectly, and gave him an air of mystique. On his hands were two thin leather gloves, and in his left hand was a knife not unlike him; long, thin and sharp, with a smooth black handle.

What followed him out of the apartment was a pained scream from Lucia. Isadora’s stomach turned as the man in black shut the door behind him. Before he spoke, he straightened his jacket and cleared his throat.

“Isadora Rockwell. I’m Theodore Samuels, we spoke on the phone. You’ve proved very ski-”

“I don’t give a fuck who you are,” Isadora interrupted. 

“Move or die. I’m not here to monologue with you.”

“All your wit and sass won’t-” Without a second thought, Isadora pulled her pocket knife and threw it at Theodore. He stumbled back as it landed in his chest.

“I said move!” She ran down the hall and readied herself for another stunt. After a few feet she jumped up and kicked off the wall. As she came down, she punched Theodore in the face and crashed into him, sending them both tumbling to the ground.

“Ahh! Jesus!” he exclaimed, breaking his demeanor. The knife moved at an awkward angle, making a nasty gash in his chest. Isadora ripped her knife from him and felt a smile come to her face as he let out another cry of agony. Before she could come down again, he kicked her in the stomach and stood up. The wound was bleeding, but still he collected himself, and regained his composure. Isadora stood up, still holding her knife, ready to rip him apart to get in the door.

He rushed toward her, making swift, strong movements with his knife. Isadora did her best to dodge and block his strikes, but as he pushed her back, he made gashes in her sweater and cuts on her arms. Needing an escape, she made a move for his arm. The cut was enough to slow him down, giving her a chance to gain the upperhand. She kicked him in the knee, throwing off his balance for a moment. She followed up with jabs to his chest, the first couple of which he took. As Isadora came to strike again he grabbed her arm and threw her to the floor.

He fell on top of her, bleeding onto her sweater as he tried to shove his blade in her face. Isadora held him back as best as she could, but she could see the desperation in his eyes. This wasn’t a man used to failing, to having his character attacked. He was losing his edge, and if she didn’t end this soon, his insanity would give him the edge.

With speed, she let go of her hold on him, freeing herself so she could stab him in the wrist. The tip of his blade pressed against the bridge of her nose, before he jerked back and screamed. Isadora kicked him off, then sat up. His knife sat next to her, elegant in its design. Standing up, she scoffed at the mess of a man that had tried to stand in her way. He looked stupid, laying there like a beached whale, squirming in pain as his perfect designer suit was soaked in his own humanity. As life escaped him, he realized that there was nothing perfect about him. Nothing at all. Without a word, she spit on him, then went forward to her apartment.

Isadora drew her guns, then pressed up against the wall next to the door.

“Anyone else wanna come out before we end this? I wouldn’t mind meeting a few more of ‘ya!” she shouted. No one moved. Isadora shot the lock off, and kicked in the door.

It was a nice home. Cozy and spacious, with a lot of earth tones, expensive wood furniture and cushioned chairs. To her left, some silky curtains covered the entrance to their balcony. Standing around the apartment were five guards, their pistols pointed at the door. As Isadora walked in, she was disgusted. They had made a mess of the place; throwing around books, helping themselves to what was in the kitchen, and leaving their equipment all over the place. Chairs were out of place, and a deep red stain on the carpet put her particularly on edge.

From further in the apartment came a man with a silenced pistol, holding Lucia in front of him as he loomed over her. He had the barrel pressed against her head, and was covering her mouth with a thick gloved hand. Likewise, he was dressed in a dark grey trench coat, and wore a monocle over his milky blind eye. Isadora met Lucia’s gaze and gave her a look of pain and reassurance. Her eyes were full of tears, and her gentle face had been beaten and bruised. Isadora’s head throbbed, and her vision went blurry. What she felt was a deep, burning, almost primal rage. He was the mastermind, the one who raised his hand against her. The thought of his fists bashing against Lucia made her run hot. 

Lucia was short. She covered most of his chest, but only came up to his shoulder. His pale, wrinkled face was left wide open.

“Ms.Rockwell. Finally you’re-” he began to say. Without a second thought, Isadora pulled back the trigger on her pistol. The bullets hit his face before he could finish his sly grin, leaving his face in an odd mix of fright and hubris. Then another bullet struck him. And another.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Her magazine hit the floor with a resonant bang. As he crumpled to the ground, Lucia broke free from his grip and ran to hide behind the couch.

"I don't give a fuck who you are, or what you people want! I want my goddamn wife back!" There was a twitch in her eye now. The goons looked down at their boss as he bled out of his eyes, their sense of purpose fleeting. 

“Get the hell out of my apartment!” Isadora began unloading on them, and suddenly the task at hand was clear. They knocked over tables and ducked behind chairs, trying to form any sort of plan. An iota of a notion struck their minds, followed by nine millimeter rounds and cries of fury.

Isadora was a beast, outraged and apathetic. She ripped through their home, kicking over pictures and jumping across decorum to tear these men in half. Her anger knew no bounds; every brutal tactic and dirty trick she knew was employed. After working in the field so long, killing became a sort of art, and all the weaknesses of a person stood out like the blood running down her walls. Skulls were cracked, throats slashed, lungs collapsed, and by the time the last body dropped, one of the men had glass in his eyes and a chair leg sticking out of his chest.

Isadora looked around the ruined apartment, taking labored breaths, splatters of plasma staining her face. 

“Fuck, we’re gonna get evicted,” she muttered to herself.

“Isa!” Lucia screamed. She was caught by the arm. The last henchmen was dragging her across the balcony, toward the metal railing on the edge. With a great heave, he picked her up, against frantic kicks and sickening screams.

“Lucy!” Isadora picked up the nearest object, a small statue, and threw it toward the balcony. The curtain ripped and the plate glass shattered, cascading as she ran outside. She shot the guard down, but couldn’t stop him from dropping Lucia over the side and out into the open air. With one fluid motion, Isadora vaulted over the railing and dove for her wife.

They fell for an eternity. At first, it didn’t feel like she had enough speed. Lucia was just out of arm's reach, hurdling to the ground like a comet, sure to leave a crater in the ground below. As Isadora tried to gain speed, for the first time that night, she felt true terror, running through her bones, blurring her vision. Between the two of them, she could see tears start to fall and disappear in the wind. 

Isadora could remember their wedding day, one of their first dates, the first time they kissed, the last time they made love. Their relationship raced by in a collection of scattered memories, memories which conjured anguish and guilt. The way she felt with Lucia wasn’t some overwhelming endearment, like every day was blooming flowers and clear skies. Lucia was always more than a pretty face to kiss or a body to occupy her home. She was peace against a world of blood and bullets. The calm and care a killer like her needed. Life without her would be a void, dark and cold, with no other purpose for her than to waste away. 

But in an instant, her pessimism was vaporized. Isadora closed the gap, wrapping her arms around her wife as they flew past the 22nd floor. She held her with a lover's embrace and a bear's grip. Warmth had never felt so good, so vital.

“Oh God! Oh God we’re gonna die!” Lucia screamed.

“No baby, you’re not gonna die,” With just enough sensibility left, she pulled out the grappling hook, hoping that one last thing would work in her favor.

Isadora took a deep breath in, and braced herself for the sudden jerk. She spammed the trigger, but still nothing happened.

"Fuck fuck fuck! What is wrong with this fucking-" Isadora squinted at the gun. On the side of it, she saw a small switch. Under it, in the smallest font known to man, read the word "safety".

"For fucks..." she flipped the switch, then aimed for the highest balcony she could see. As they raced toward the pavement, she pressed the trigger…

The hook shot out in a straight line, and caught on the underside of a balcony two floors over theirs. Fifteen stories above ground they stopped, dangling in the thin night air. Lucia was clutching her wife’s sweater, heart bursting through her chest, eyes strained from the wind. It took a while for the shock to wear off. For a minute they still felt like they were going to hit the ground at any moment. As the line started to reel up, the building dread in their chests disappeared.

Lucia climbed onto the balcony first. Once they were both on their feet, they took each other in a hard, passionate kiss. After a minute Isadora pulled away. She was crying, but she couldn’t help smiling at the sight of her love's soft brown eyes and button nose.

“Um… well, how was work honey?” Lucia asked, unsure of what to do next. Isadora moved her lips to answer, then started laughing. Hurt and exhausted, the two embraced each other, deciding that the mess inside could wait till tomorrow.

Isadora stepped out of the bathroom wearing a dark red robe. Lucia was already curled up in bed, watching her wife dress while she tried to relax. As Isadora slipped on her comfy flannel pants and climbed into bed, she took Lucia in her arms and pulled her in close. Bandages rubbed against her skin, smooth and tight.

“I love you so much baby,” she whispered into her ear. Isadora kissed her on the cheek and held her tighter. Her bruises were sore, but in Isa’s embrace all the pain fell away.

“Are… are we gonna be okay? Are you gonna be okay Isa?” Lucia turned in her grasp and held her wife’s face.

“They didn’t do anything to us that won’t heal with time. Don’t worry about it honey, close your eyes and get some rest. I’ll make you breakfast in the morning, okay?”

“Okay. I love you Isa,”

“I love you more Lucy,”

“Yeah you… you probably do,”

Within minutes Lucia was asleep, snoring into the darkness of the room. Isadora lay there for a moment, considering the last two hours. She thought about all the men she killed, all the stunts she pulled off, all the hits she took. If she was any slower, if she had held back, if she hadn’t caught her…

“No,” Isadora thought, “it’s all over now.” There was a gun in both bedside tables, a few friends from the agency offered to spend the night keeping guard, the lobby was being cleaned up, and she would find them a new apartment in the morning. With all those assurances, Isadora let herself rest, knowing that the love of her life was safe once more.