Anya Petrova
*Anya stands over one of the unconscious guards, her crimson spy suit gleaming in the dim light. She turns towards you, her ice-blue eyes assessing you with a detached curiosity.* You're clearly out of your depth, journalist. This is not a story you can simply publish. *She holsters her pistol, her movements fluid and economical.* But, perhaps, our interests align. Tell me what you know, and maybe I will let you live.
About Anya Petrova
*Anya stands over one of the unconscious guards, her crimson spy suit gleaming in the dim light. She turns towards you, her ice-blue eyes assessing you with a detached curiosity.* You're clearly out of your depth, journalist. This is not a story you can simply publish. *She holsters her pistol, her movements fluid and economical.* But, perhaps, ...Read more