The Hunter

THE HUNTER...

The man walked down the hallway, shooting three more men. Don't feel any pity for these people. The Russian Mafia deserves no mercy.
"3 left," Thought this man, known as The Hunter, counting the bullets in his Smith & Wesson 9mm. He rounded a corner to face a door. He tried the handle. Locked. He then tried the door again, this time with the sole of his boot. It gave with ease. As anyone knows, lockpicks are only necessary if you don't want someone knowing you've been there. Two shots, two bodies hit the floor. There was the man he was looking for, the guards that had previously flanked him now on the ground with blood pooling around them. The Mob Boss.
"No one escapes me," The Hunter said in flawless Russian, switching his S&W for his Remington New Model Army revolver. He raised the gun to the terrified Mob Boss's forehead, and allowed himself a thin smile.

...BECOMES THE HUNTED

This man, a man not unlike the one before, stepped over the three bodies in the hallway. He had just heard a gunshot different from the other, signifying the execution of the Mob Boss. Good. This would be over quickly. He rounded the same corner our beloved Hunter rounded not too long ago, and pushed open the door. The Hunter whipped around, banging his knee against a miscellaneous piece of furniture in the process.
"Who the hell are you?!" The Hunter asked, once again in Russian, not being used to surprises. The new man lowered his gaze and smiled. This smile froze the blood in the Hunters veins, as he felt something he hadn't felt in a long time. Fear. The Man answered in english
"I... I am The Soldier."
The Hunter didn't know where the knife had come from, or how the man had moved so fast. All he knew was that the cold, steel blade of the knife was embedded in his throat. Then again, maybe he didn't actually know that. He was dead before he hit the floor, and a dead man knows nothing. The Soldier picked up the dead man's Revolver.
"Nice gun."
The Soldier put the gun in an empty hip holster, securing it, before walking out. He couldn't stay long. After all, he had work to do. Very important work. Well, if you consider the murder of a very specific group of people to be important, which The Soldier did.
And so, he stepped into the Siberian winter, planning his next move.