Russian Roulette (The Agency I)

The Nightmare That Came To Life

 Viktor POV ( 1 years later)

I bolted upright in bed, gasping for breath. 

I had that dream again. The one where this magic creature massacres five men and pushes me off the stage, saving me from a bullet wound by seconds. 

 Her eyes were the most mystical emerald-green color. They look surreal. Unreal. 

 Surely she was a figment of my imagination, but that dream has haunted my dreams since the opening of The Swan Lake in Harper Hall Theater. 

 I remember it as if it had been yesterday, not over a year ago. The show had been a hit and I had been hired by the company to do an original production with them named "What A Night!". 

 It was a work in progress because all the music had been composed and the whole script was written that same year, but we had opened four months ago in the States and now the group was on tour. In Europe. 

We had arrived in Italy a quarter past midnight and we had all crashed the second we got to our hotel. Tomorrow we would perform in Italian and the whole cast was nervous that they'd forget their lines. 

 I stood and walked towards the window to look at the city. It was amazing, but nothing could compare to the beauty in my dreams.

 I wonder if she would ever go away. But I knew that I didn't want that. 

 Even if it meant I barely slept. I knew it was a relief to see her. 

 Maybe I should consult a doctor, since I think I'm in love with a dream. 

  ***

Opening night in Italy was a hit! 

Their encouragement and applause was contagious and I found myself smiling from ear to ear.

 As soon as we were backstage, the cast and crew hollered and hugged.  

"Bro! This is so sick! We're in Florence fucking Italy! We've got to go out and party." 

I smiled at my friend, Tyson. We all knew his last name, but we just called him Chicken Strips.  

"Agreed!" George said from behind us. "Know what this means? STRIP CLUB!"  

"How does a bunch of naked hoes equal 'Opening Night Celebration'?" Maggie, our principal violist asked, her voice dripping with amusement.  

"Mags do us all a favor and shut the fuck up! All these months we've spent working on this damn play has earned us a little time to...play. Lighten up."  

"I'm so in," Claire, one of our clarinets and fellow lesbian declared.  

"It's settle then! I will not be happy until a pair of tits are in my face," Tyson Chicken Strips announce and all the girls in our group (except Claire) made gagging noises.  

I laughed and shook my head, "Um I think I'll pass." 

 "Oh no! You are so getting some tonight! I'll even pay! You gotta get out more, babe. We don't want spider webs to grow down there!" I glared at Claire but couldn't fight the smile off my face.  

"Fuck you. Fine, let's go."   

***

I sat bored in the strip joint by the bar drinking a glass of whiskey while Tyson, George, and a few of the other guys threw down singles on the stage.  
Maybe I should film them. It'll make great blackmail material for later. 
The topless strippers retreated backstage as another woman appeared.  She was taller and thinner than the others. But the lean muscle lining her legs, arms, and torso made her look fit and toned instead of tall and scrawny.  
Her skin was pale and it looked delicate, like silk over glass, as it contrasted with the dark colors of her costume.  
She covered up more than the other dancers but somehow it just added to her mystery. She left a bit to the imagination.