Moscow Hotel

There were two English guys, apparently agents or operatives of some sort.

They were beginning a meeting with two Russians who were sources or agents themselves, who’d been providing information, it’s not clear what.

But the atmosphere was tense. It wasn’t clear if the Russians had turned or been turned or if the situation were entirely safe.

The meeting seemed to start out on kind of a high note. The Brits had brought some gifts, suits, no not suits but blazers and ties which vaguely matched the blazers.

They were apparently difficult to come by in Moscow at that time. There were compliments and thank you’s and what not.

And as they sat down I noticed, looking from behind one of the Russians that one of the English dudes, a, the English guy’s cheek was torn. And bleeding. And looking a little more closely I realized that there was a chunk missing out of his shoulder and neck. And that the Russian in front of him had literally taken a large bite out of him. 

After a couple of moments he took another bite. 

The Englishman’s face tore a little more, but he remained still and impassive. In a couple of more minutes he was clearly dead. But it was oddly quiet. Though he had a look of absolute terror on his face, he hadn’t made a single sound.