Illya Kuryakin had been accused of possessing nine lives. Today he felt as though one of them might be slipping away.
If blood could drain any faster from a gaping hole in his shoulder then he wasn’t aware of the statistics; the bullet had gone to ground in the deltoid muscle of the UNCLE agent’s left arm, something only slightly less damaging than had it been his right arm. No doubt Mr. Waverly would have something to say about…
Dizziness was setting in, possibly shock. Why had Napoleon not just stayed where he was? It was going to be nearly impossible to get them both out of here, and Napoleon looked even worse than Illya felt.
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