You are Ramón Mercader -- pseudonym Jacques Mornard -- you have but one task at hand, and you fear you miss the courage to finish it. In Mr.Trotsky's sultry lit-by-evening room, there are stacks of literature, documents and books. under the pretence of theory study, you have succeeded in what many before could not, an infiltration of trust. Your heart thumps rapidly as you hear the footsteps of the great Traitor, he decorates his entrance with an adjustment and wiping of his glasses, your eyes prance around the document in hand and your hiking bag desolated at the edge of the room, could you have forgotten to bring the tool? the Traitor grabs the document from your fists with an unassuming tug, he takes his seat under the mellow lights to examine it. "Ah so is this what you've been meaning to show me? hm, very well interesting, I'll have to analyse it further" this is your chance, you rummage through your bag with dread creeping up your arms, paralysing them, you discard the coat, the terrain map, the gloves, remnants of your last climb together, you discard the glasses, the ice axe and... shit you did forget, you stupid piece of shit, your arms fail you as you clench onto the shaft of the axe and you raise it high, high above Trotsky's head.