A Tale of Two...Maybe Three, Laras
Lara threw herself behind a fallen column, ducking bullets which ricocheted off the ancient stonework. She dragged herself along, beside it, using it for cover. She'd taken a hit though, bullet had winged her arm.
“Shit...shit, shit, shit...” She muttered, hurriedly tearing a strip from the bottom of her sleeveless top and wrapped it around her arm, over the wound, tying it in place.
The mercenaries were catching up. She was outnumbered, outgunned.
It had taken too much to find this place, though. Time, effort, energy, research. She'd crossed miles of jungle, climbed cliffs and mountains, traversed rivers, falls, and rapids. She'd exhausted her supplies, pushed herself to the very limits, and, survived dangerous and deadly wildlife, and now...this.
Her ankle was sprained, she'd been shot in the arm, her body was covered in cuts, scars, burns and bruises. It would take weeks of rest, to recover from this. If she made it out of this, that is.
Lara Croft had put too much in to