Olga didn’t like what she was ordered to do, not one bit. The last few days were, to put it mildly, a total, neverending, balls deep anal clusterfuck. Without ointment. Not that she didn't enjoy this kind of activity from time to time, but she would have preferred… well, to agree to it first. Regardless whether she was the one to receive or apply.

First, that idiot Jemok - or whatthefuckever his name was - blew a simple job. He was only supposed to go there, flash his gun, and get a few coins for the trouble. Then she got pulled into it and then... well… that Makone guy happened. Just the thought of that encounter caused her to get angry… and nervous. Since that encounter her comfy existence with the Novikov’s merry band has pretty much ended. 

All this on top of her swollen, bloodied nose. 

At first, the bosses were 'just kind-of' angry at her for fucking up. As if it was her fault. But then, some messengers came and things fell off the handle completely. The bosses started to have ‘meetings’, which mostly consisted of shouting about things Olga didn’t really know or care about, but from what she overheard, this Makone was some kind of big item and pestering him was something between a big no-no and utter shitfest.

Then the real trouble started. Anything even remotely valuable was moved out of the grotto they had their hideout in, and done so in a great hurry. All the contraband, gold and booze. Especially booze. Which of course made her life even more miserable. Then they started preparing for an all out war. Getting men back from patrols and jobs and arming the place. Every bag of powder. Every gun. Every axe and sword. Every footpad, strongarm and cutpurse. She'd never seen the place so full of people, who were so nervous... and without things to drink, other than water.

Then, all of a sudden, she was awakened in the middle of the night and ordered to dress up. Apparently the pair of islanders Makone was with were now on their way out south. Alone. In the dark.

She was chosen to go and get them. The guy was hurt, the woman was not a fighter. Once apre-handed, the bosses said, they were to be moved to one of the Novikov minor stashes, location of which she was given, in a hushed manner. The bigboss said “we need leverage” and at the time it seemed like the right thing to say and do. So, she said "yes, bossichka", took a horse, two guns, a massive club, a sizable shank of strong rope and then rode off into the blackness of the night to catch her prey. An order was, after all, an order. 

Besides, anything beats being stuck in the camp with smelly, nervous men and no booze. She was actually glad to be out and about.

But all that happiness disappeared as soon as she hit the road and had some ‘thinks’ scratch her head. There must have been a catch somewhere in all of this. Generally speaking, if someone beats you at your own game, you don't just come back and bite their ankles. So far the spat with those people had cost her personally: a broken nose, a good ‘gardian sword and a collection of bruises, of which her ego suffered the most. The bosses lost eight men, which that smugfuck and his people killed like it was everyday’s business. Eight good men, and in addition their horses and weapons. All gone. Olga was no strategist but if it was up to her, she'd just send this brown-skinned motherfucker a crate of wine to show how sorry they are for causing trouble and just leave him and his bitches well enough alone.

But the bosses thought of levers, not apologies, and so here she was.

Fortunately tracking the islander couple proved to be quite easy. The steppes south of Tevros provided very little cover among the stunted trees, tangled bushes, endless dust and an occasional tall rock spurting out in the middle of nowhere. In this situation, anyone travelling the only tract south, would be visible for kimers around. Since that was the only road the islanders could have taken, Olga simply rushed there, taking the shortest possible route, right across the desert. Doing it in the near-complete darkness was a bit tough, but then again the islanders needed to travel through the night as well. While this wasn't the darkest she's ever seen in the plateau, it certainly wasn't full Zoon either.

She travelled along the road for a while before she saw her targets, or more specifically, a glimmer of light some distance to the south. She assumed this must have been the islanders she was after, and she slowly followed, trying her best to remain unnoticed, struggling to follow the barely visible road and wishing the dawn would come sooner.

Tracking the islanders was easy since it seemed they didn’t try to evade anyone or conceal their presence. They just slowly but surely followed the road south, using unsteady lumehex to light their way - which was exactly what allowed Olga to spot them in the first place. At first she tried to hide her presence, keeping out of sight, moving from cover to cover, just keeping an eye on her targets, but it soon became obvious that the islanders didn’t care. They just went onward in their squeaky cart. So, she got slightly bolder, getting closer and closer. As the day dawned she was within maybe a couple hundred mers from them.

They still didn’t seem to care.

The terrain changed a bit by now. Here, closer to the province border, there was much more growth and tall grass to conceal her approach. She did just that, but not in a hurry. Like a persistent hunter, getting closer, waiting for a suitable moment to strike.

Closer.

And Closer

She was now so close that she could see exactly what was happening in the cart. The man slept on a pile of hay in the front of the vehicle. A stack of crates was positioned over the rear axle, covered with a tarred canvas and secured with ropes. The woman sat on the driver's bench, with reins in her hands and eyes locked on the horizon. She was yawning almost constantly and, from the look of it, she didn't really steer the cart anymore, simply allowing the horses to choose their own path.

Olga scouted the road ahead and spotted a clump of trees growing just by the road. A perfect place for an ambush.

-“Haye! Surrenda!” - she shouted, jumping from behind a tree -”Drop yer sorrd!”

The islander woman barely reacted, slowly turning her head towards the assailant. Her face was full of relief, which quickly faded and was replaced with surprise and confusion. When she realised what was going on, a brief flash of anger appeared on the grim visage of exhaustion, but it too quickly disappeared.

Olga had an advantage over the islanders in every imaginable way. She was towering over them, sitting on her large horse. A club held firmly in one hand and a pistol in the other. A sword hanging by the saddle. She was smiling with that triumphant, predatory smile, showing off her somewhat yellowed teeth of a leaf chewer. If the islanders were to resist, they might as well were writing their own epitaphs, that much was clear.

-”Getoff!” - Olga ordered Maanica off the cart, and she complied, clumsily getting off the bench - “Head ta bak of cart, hands behaand bak!”

The woman complied without a word and simply allowed her hands to be tied behind her back and then be shoved onto the hay, practically falling onto the man.

Who up to this moment slept without a care in the world, only to be roughly awakened when his companion got shoved on him. Soon enough Olga restrained him as well, ignoring his weak protests. The woman however seemed to be grateful for such treatment, or maybe just too tired to try anything else, and as soon as they were both dumped onto the hay pile, she just fell on his shoulder asleep.

-”Well fook meh!” - muttered Olga to herself when she took over the reins and turned the cart back towards the hideout - “If any job wen dis smoof!”