Cute.” She paused. “And you are…?” “Oh yeah, sorry; I’m Boris.” It seemed like a funny thing to say, and apparently it was, because she ...aughed. “Boris and Natasha – what a coincidence!” “Yes, isn’t it? That was my first though as well.” “You don’t look Russian, Boris – isn’t that sort of a Russian name?” I nodded. “Great grandmother, on my father’s side. Sturdy woman, from the pictures I’ve seen. Nice, full mustache, uni-brow, you know the type. I think that’s where I got my taste for vodka.”. She reached over her head to try to reach her attacker, perhaps scratch his face or eyes but he wore a helmet and visor and so this avenue of attack was thwarted. She then tried to twist herself free or at least around far enough to face her attacker, but by now the smell was overpowering and the anesthetic beginning to take effect. Her coordination was failing her as her arms were now simply flailing the air with no effect. As she felt herself collapse and the darkness descend, the last thing. More

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