I try to defuse the situation. It doesn't go well.

“Maybe not do this, right?” You cut forward, not seeing the long-term being favorable if either Zuprik or the smugglers are killed. “You got yourselves a good spot here, so we don’t take half the product, see if it works for ourselves, and come back for the rest, for the full payment, once we are satisfied with the results?”

The girl rolls her eyes; the others flanking her don’t seem impressed that much either. Zuprik, especially, doesn’t seem pleased that you’ve just tried to come in as the middleman— this was supposed to be the time you dealt **** to the smugglers.

However, you know you’re position, so you continued. “I think you owe us maybe a little bonus after this trade of doubt to your customers, too.”

“A bonus for the doubt we gave you?” The girl shakes her head, the dirty blonde of her hair getting caught in the flashlights from either side. “How about the trouble you’re giving us?”

“Just trying to find a safe medium here so both sides don’t become saints,” you look at Zuprik, shooting daggers at you, and then the girl, who’s not buying it.

In a flash, the cave explodes into chaos– a bright orange flash spills into the darkness, and everything blurs for a moment as you go deaf. Zuprik just shot without warning, but the girls fell without structure to the ground.

There’s no hesitation; you move with purpose, diving to a cutout in the cave’s hollow mouth where some cover can be provided. You produce your weapon and prop it against the rocky surface of the spot you’ve jumped to while the remaining smugglers scatter and shoot.

You know that once you rip through with your submachine gun, you’ll become the next person of interest, so you bide your time, hoping that Zuprik is nailed in the process– at least then you wouldn’t have to explain why you tried to cut a deal with the smugglers. You just hope you’re not the one who hits him in the confusion. There are a lot of bouncing contradictions in your mind that you don’t have time to filter out.

A muzzle flash, a tiny dot from one of the smuggler’s handguns, gives away his position. You think it’s a smuggler, at least. The dark surroundings and the strange light from the flashlights give their owners a peculiar, unfamiliar look you can’t quite understand.

TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT

Your Mexican MPL ticks off, spent brass ejecting in no uniform fashion, the flashlight holder screams and then slumps over as he tries to get away. The light bounces off the rocky ground before it rolls away.

In response to your attack, a bullet clips your cover, causing debris to spray your face, but somehow doesn’t get in your eyes. You fall back and then work yourself to your knees, unable to hear the scraping of boots on the ground closing the distance to you.

When you peek, however, there’s a dark figure running towards you. Without thinking or even caring, you jerk your machine guns up and hold down the trigger.

TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT

The man falls forward, his gun flying out of his grasp as he bounces on the ground, sliding towards you. That should have been it —you couldn’t recall seeing more than 3. Despite that, you remained where you were and waited to see what would come next. Your hearing was shot, and your vision was screwed from the bright muzzle flashes from all involved parties. You guess the knives were just for show…

Eventually, once you start getting your hearing back, you call out. “Zuprik! You dead?”

A few seconds go by. Then he answers. “I’m kicking. Is that all of them?”

“Yeah, I got both of them,” you say, then think. “No thanks to you…”

“Alright, meet me at the entrance then.”

“Go first, I got the better gun.”

There’s no response, but he does as you suggested, which does make you feel a little more comfortable. When you meet him, you can’t help but notice he’s perfectly fine. Is that good? Is that bad?

“That’s good,” you think. “If he were shot, I’d have to kill him, because explaining how he got shot would be impossible.”

“Want to explain why you were talking to smugglers about cutting a deal and not killing them?” Zuprik asked, walking over to the girl’s body. Her eyes are lifeless, a headshot had knocked her brains down her nose, and a pool of blood lay around her.

“I was hoping you’d take action. Use my distraction for just this. However, I wish you’d gone for the others, I don’t think the girl would have proved to be much of a threat,” you regard the corpse. Business as usual, you suppose. The others are slumped over, pools of blood soaking into the muddy surface, too. You're doing, not any less gruesome in reality of life taking. The lie worked well enough to cover your ass. “Good aiming.”

“Uh, likewise, I guess,” Zuprik stands up, another package in his hand. “Well, we got the stuff we needed and… Here, the payment for these **** is yours.”

You take it. “Hardly the reason why I did it.”

“Call it a bonus then. That first guy might’ve killed me if you hadn’t jumped in and tagged him. My fucking Glock jammed on me.”

“It jammed?”

“Yeah, these magazines we were issued aren’t stock… some kind of third-party model that tends to wreck the reliability of these fucking blocks. I should’ve made sure I brought the factory standards and not the guild’s bulk-purchased ones.”

“Noted,” you say, storing that bit of information securely for later. “Don’t need to hide the bodies, do we?”

“Nah, coyotes or some animal will get to’em. No one will know it was us anyway.”

Still, despite the ruffling and killing of the smugglers, your mind slowly returns to the opening of Zuprik's “dying” while on the job. Was it possible for you to maintain your position without him?

No. It wasn’t worth the juggling act that would have to follow. You push these thoughts away and double the corpses, uncomfortable with the fact that Zuprik has all the evidence you want in his hand. “I’ll see you out. I’m gathering weapons and ammo.”

“You don’t need to; the company supplies you.”

“Contractor habits,” you explain. “I replenish wherever, however, and whatever. Kept me alive for a year.”

“I’m only waiting for a few minutes, don’t take long,” Zuprik steps out, digging for another cigarette as he leaves you to loot the bodies.

The ammo and all are nice, and you don’t doubt the smugglers were holding onto decent brass, but you were looking for. Recipients, or paperwork holding buyers' signatures and names. You find a single pouch inside the girl's coat and pull it out. Sheets of wrinkled paper are inside, along with pens and a journal, possibly for the runs she’s run for whatever group she operated for.

There’s no time to waste, you leave the cave and double time it to Zuprik, stowing the pouch somewhere where he can’t see it– a pocket inside your coat that is swallowed by the material keeping you warm.

When you get back to the gates, Zuprik weighs the bag of product in his hand. “Feels good. Thanks for your help, not sure if that wouldn’t have been handled by anyone else, but you’ve managed to make yourself trustworthy.”

“As long as the money is good, you expect me to do the job.”

“1,000 dollars to fuck the Japanese wasn’t good enough?” Zuprik scoffs, laughing slightly at his own comment. “We could've had that bitch down on her knees if you’d just let it happen.”

“Watch yourself,” you glare back, hitting the snow-packed streets again. “I’m a professional, and back then, it seemed like a piss for water deal. Winds change and winters settle, making the choices easier to make.”

“Sure,” Zuprik sighs. “I’m going inside. I don’t care what you do now, but I’ll tell Mikka that you did a job well done, and he’ll do whatever was agreed.”

Zuprik is gone, leaving you alone in the snow. Now what?