Though Avril was a woman, close combat was her specialty. After knocking the knife from Eddie's hand, she yanked him up with force and followed with a sharp front kick that sent him flying.
Eddie scrambled to his feet in a mess. He had never been a match for this crazy woman—now with a wounded shoulder from days ago, he was even less of a threat.
Crashes and thuds echoed through the room as tables and chairs were reduced to splinters. Avril didn't give Eddie a moment to breathe, let alone grab a weapon. Every time she knocked him down, she was on him again in a flash. The bandages on his shoulder were soaked red once more.
Eddie quickly lost ground. After taking several hard hits, he was gasping for air. He swung a punch toward Avril, but she brushed it aside and slammed a fist into his face. The blow landed squarely on his nose—a sharp jolt shot through his skull. Then she swept his legs, and he crashed to the ground.
His head was spinning. He could feel her grabbing him by the hair, yanking his head up. But before he could open his eyes, a flurry of fists rained down on his face. Eddie nearly blacked out, the last of his strength gone.
At last, the beating stopped. Through his swollen eyelids, Eddie barely opened a slit to see Avril picking up the handgun from the floor. She turned back toward him.
Eddie didn't move. He knew he couldn't escape. If he had a gun, maybe. But now, in front of Avril, he was a dead man walking. He knew she was keeping him alive on purpose. She could've killed him earlier, many times over.
The cold muzzle pressed against his forehead. Avril's face was devoid of emotion.
"Heh… cough cough…"
Eddie let out a bitter, mocking laugh. He didn't care anymore.
"This bullet is for Alfred. The moment you used my brother as a human shield, you should've known this was coming…"
Avril's voice was calm, final. Her finger tightened on the trigger.
Then, her pupils constricted—something flickered in the window's reflection. A man. A gun aimed directly at her.
Instinct kicked in. She twisted, body recoiling to minimize her exposed area, dodging backwards.
CRACK! A shot rang out. Pain exploded in her shoulder as she hit the floor hard. She had dodged a fatal blow—but not completely.
Her handgun slipped from her grip again. Rolling to the side, she avoided a follow-up shot and reached for Eddie's dropped meat cleaver, lunging up with it.
CRASH! Glass shattered as Jason Bourne dove through the window, his silenced pistol raised. His kill shot had failed—this time, he wouldn't miss again.
Since their first encounter, Treadstone had launched three assassination attempts on Avril. Each time, she escaped, thanks to her uncanny instincts. She seemed to understand how the agency operated and had slipped away even from Nightingale's pursuit.
Now, Jason had been sent in after Conklin's last operation failed. Nightingale had been found dead in a bathroom. Conklin had had enough—he wanted Avril wiped off the map, no matter the cost.
Their intelligence indicated Avril was chasing Eddie Cast. It was a rare opening. Jason had trailed Eddie—and sure enough, Avril had come for him.
The moment he burst into the room, a black blur shot toward him. His right arm raised instinctively, only to find himself smacked by a flying kettle. Then, something hit him like a train—Avril slammed into him with full force.
They both went airborne, crashing into a wardrobe and smashing it to pieces before tumbling out, tangled together. Jason didn't get a chance to fire. Within seconds, Avril had knocked his pistol from his hand. They grappled fiercely—falling, rising, limbs locked.
Jason's hands were trapped. He shifted tactics, slamming his elbows into her ribs repeatedly. Avril couldn't hold on and let go.
They separated.
About a meter apart, they stared each other down, both wary. Jason glanced at his fallen handgun and started to move, but Avril kicked it to the wall. It now lay at her feet, but she didn't dare go for it. Picking it up would give Jason too much time to strike.
She recognized him. This was the CIA assassin who had come for her the first time—far tougher than the others. She wasn't confident she could beat him in hand-to-hand combat.
They circled, searching for weapons. Jason grabbed a thick dictionary. Avril picked up a glass ashtray.
Feinting and testing each other, they clashed again.
Jason blocked the ashtray with the dictionary and swung for her neck. But Avril didn't dodge—she counterattacked, bringing the ashtray down toward his temple.
It would be a mutual knockout. Jason would crush her windpipe, but get his skull smashed in return. He had no choice but to abort the strike and switch to defense.
Avril's attacks were vicious. The ashtray and dictionary clanged with each blow. Though one attacked and the other defended, both fought with ruthless pragmatism—blow for blow, risking injury or death.
They were evenly matched. But Avril knew she couldn't keep this up. She was already wounded and would tire first. That's why she pressed the assault—if it dragged on, she would lose. But Jason was just too skilled; she couldn't end it quickly.
Meanwhile, Eddie was finally regaining some clarity. He forced his swollen eyes open and took in the chaos. The pistol lay not far from him on the floor. But he didn't dare go for it.
He was certain that, while the two killers were locked in combat and seemingly ignoring him, the moment he reached for that gun, he'd become their common target. He wasn't stupid.
Around him, the apartment was a wreck—sofa, walls, TV, everything smashed. Wobbling, Eddie stood and stumbled toward the door.
Both fighters noticed him, but neither made a move.
To Jason, Avril was the only target that mattered. Eddie posed no threat.
To Avril, though she was anxious to stop Eddie, she couldn't afford to be distracted. Jason's level was too high—one misstep could mean death. She had no room for error.
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