Illya Kuryakin walked down the narrow street lit by a single lamp post. He stood, clothed in his usual black, arms crossed in front of himself as he waited in the mist for his contact. He regretted not wearing his coat to ward off the the dampness, but there was no time to retrieve it when word came.
A steady click of footsteps on the cobblestone street neared, still hidden...
"You?" He hissed as the face in the fog appeared.
"Yes, it's me," she said, raising her hand holding a silver pistol, putting gentle pressure on the trigger and firing.