Year One RPG

A tower of immense proportion stood above the busy streets of Hong Kong, the neon lights reflecting on its massive glass walls. High above, on the top floor, two men paced back and forth in a large office. On the desk were three generous stacks of cash, a suitcase and a gun. These two men were high ranking members of a very powerful Chinese mafia. Their competitors wanted them dead and they came to the right people to ask for help. The two well dressed men conversed in Chinese, not knowing that right across the way, a silent observer sat in the shadows. He was perched against a windowsill, only the faint red glow from a device on his eye illuminated the right side of his face. A muffled, static voice echoed in his ear. "Do you have visual?" the man on the radio asked. "Affirmative." the red-eyed man replied. "And the distance? The wind velocity?" "All accounted for and adjusted." said the red-eyed man. "Excellent. No explosions. Be subtle." "Yeah, I know." replied the red-eyed man, "The mafia guys picked me because I'm subtle. I'll be at the pickup point in an hour." There was a brief silence before the man on the radio responded, "Alright. Good luck, Longshot."

The man known as Longshot looked out the window at the one lit room in the building across from him where the Chinamen conversed. He reached over his shoulder and drew an arrow from his quiver. It gleamed in the moonlight as he put it to the string and drew back. He stared down the shaft of the arrow, letting the tension of the string strain his fingers. "Zai jian, fellas." he whispered and let slip the arrow. With impressive speed, it silently sifted through the glass window and straight through the first man's throat. A spurt of blood shot from his mouth as his eyes went wide and he fell to the floor, dead. Before the other man could even scream, an arrow hit between his eyes.

Longshot casually jumped out the window and fell freely. The cool rush of breeze was exhilarating. He quickly spun around and fired a cable out of a device on his wrist, catching onto a ledge and landed safely on the lower level of the building, running off into the night.

The helicopter sat on a helipad at the airport when Longshot arrived. Two men dressed in black stepped forward and through a bag over his head. After several hours in the helicopter, they got out and led him inside a building, removing the bag. There he was in the Horizon compound. This was the home of the greatest fraternity of assassins who ever lived, yet the assassins themselves were not aloud to know where it was. Longshot strolled through the lavish mansion-like dwelling. The walls were fine polished hardwood, as were the floors and intriguing pieces of art were displayed all around. He passed a very large, muscular man who leaned casually against the wall. "Hey, Ox." he said. The beast of a man looked down at him, "Hey, Pax." he replied. Longshot continued down the hallway which suddenly juxtaposed from lavish, welcoming interior to cold, hard concrete with fluorescent lights. This was where the assassins slept. Everything before was for recreation, food and Brixby's sleeping quarters. Brixby was the man behind Horizon, the puppet master. Longshot strolled down the long, narrow hallway until he came to his room, an eight by six concrete box with a desk and a bed.

Undoing the two black straps around his chest, Longshot hung up his quiver and bow. He removed his jacket and gloves and, finally, his mask, revealing a young face with scraggly dirty blonde hair. He sat down on his bed and tossed his mask aside. Turning off the lights, he rolled over and closed his eyes.

The hours droned on and yet, he couldn't sleep. Too many thoughts clouded his mind. He had never had trouble sleeping after a job. After lying awake for so long, he flicked on the lights, got up and sat at his desk where he kept his laptop. He lifted it open and typed a few words in Google. He clicked a link and there, on the screen, was a newspaper clipping from 1992. Jonathon Riggs' Son MISSING! The article went on to talk about a wealthy industrialist and philanthropist in Boston had lost his newborn son, Paxton in the night. A nationwide manhunt was put into effect for the kidnapper, but he was never found. Paxton turned off his computer, turned off the lights and crawled back into bed.

  Michael had many firsts in his life. He had his first breath when he was born. He used his first gun when he was 14, hunting deer with his father. He found his first cause when he was 18, to take action against the Veravian king for his crimes. His first tragedy in a street, with him buried under hundreds of people who had recently vomited and cried blood, now dead. His first boat ride when he immigrated to America the day after. His first disappointment when he realized he needed an education to get the jobs he wanted and had to work at Mac Donald's. The next first is the one that determined his life from then on.
 
 Michael walked on the city streets back to his apartment building from his job. When he had come to America he had expected more opportunity then a crap job at some fast food restaurant. He walked past the display of people celebrating a new year. This was going to be his first whole year in America and it didn't seem like it was starting off too well. Michael sometimes regretted he hadn't stayed there and tried to kill the king, at least then he might not have to deal with the nagging feeling. 
 
 He got back to his apartment building. It looked terrible with smashed windows from punks and the smell of cat pee burning the nostrils of anyone within its radius. He walked in and went upstairs to his room. It looked even worse than the apartment. There were a few good punches in the walls and a broken mirror from when he was frustrated and drunk. On the bright side his tolerance to alcohol had gotten better. This room symbolized how he felt and who he was and he wouldn't hesitate to take it all back if he could.
 
"Nice guns" Michael spun around to face the intruder. It was a black haired woman. She was so stunning he froze, or that could have been because of the gun in her hand. She held up a gun looking it over. Michael recognized it from his fathers collection. A collection he had brought with him. He replied to her comment "Luger, owned by my father". After she looked over it for a little while longer she handed it to him "well then it's much more valuable to you then me". Michael took the gun out of her hands. He held it, wondering whether he should shoot her. He actually might have but he was curious to what she had to say. "Why are you here?" he asked. She smiled peevishly  "Because you didn't lock the door". He didn't like her answer "tell me now, or I will shoot in leg and watch you bleed out". This had the opposite effect of her, showing her perfect teeth off. " That's exactly why I'm here. You're pissed because of what happened to you in your country and because of your shitty job. I have a means of at least getting you a better job".  Michael thought about this. Not that it needed much thought, he hated his job and anything else would be a godsend. "Fine ,but if I don't like it I'm out". The woman walked out with Michael in tow " it's not going to be as easy as that hon. Besides once you've seen it you won't want to". 

Paxton awoke as the wakeup call sounded from the small speaker in the top corner of his room. "Good morning, assassins. We have a client in the lobby, make yourselves presentable. At ten o'clock, we begin training and finish at two thirty. After that, tactician studies, dinner and lights out at nine thirty." He slowly crawled out of bed, wiping the crust from the corners of his eyes, rustling his hair. He had a dream, all night the faces of every man and woman he'd ever killed flashed in his mind, without relent. He quickly dressed himself, slinging his quiver and bow over his shoulder. The bowstring was strong and tight. It crushed his chest whenever he wore it like this. The door slid open as did all the others and they all stepped out. Ox and Sting were on either side of him in the narrow hallway. They had been on the team for two or three years before Paxton and used to sneak into his room and beat him at night. But he had worked with them, fought alongside them and he had earned their respect. From his first memories, Paxton was trained to fight. His first book was Sun Tzu's Art of War and he had been educated in the deadly arts, learning several different styles of hand to hand combat. All the assassins turned and walked in single file down the hall, into the lobby where four men in suits waited. Three of them wore black, but the one sitting on the couch with slicked black hair and olive skin wore a white suit with a black shirt and a red tie. They all stood shoulder to shoulder, making themselves visible to the clients. Brixby was in the shadows, just out of sight. In all his years in the compound, Longshot had never seen their leader's face. He held out his hand signaling to the assassin on the end, a striking woman carrying two curved blades. She moved like a swan, graceful, but in the end, deadly. He described every killer and the client nodded slowly as he did this. "Next, we have Ox. He's strong, fast, intimidating. If you want to send a clear message to your enemy that they will be broken, Ox is the man you want." it was then, staring at Ox's menacing physique, that Paxton remembered the pills. The pills they had placed in front of him years ago. That little cup of yellow pills. "Come on Paxton." the man said with a reassuring voice, "This one makes you fast, this one makes you jump high, this one makes you hear and see things no normal man can. Take the pills." They gave him two doses of the pills every day for a month, and when it was over, he felt amazing. He did the entire acrobatic course, something he had seen as impossible before, without breaking a sweat. He ran at record times and could hear a pin drop on the other side of the compound. The pills they had given Ox made an average ten year old into a giant. He became a grotesque pile of muscle, but somehow, none of it got in the way of his speed. Brixby pointed to him, "Next, we have Longshot. Fast, efficient, devastatingly effective. If you need a job done quick, clean and precise, Longshot is the man you want." Before any others could be introduced, the man stood up and quite rudely pointed to Longshot like an item on auction. This was how clients usually acted. "I vant dis vone." he said in a thick Russian accent. "Very well." Brixby replied.  
  
 
 

The briefing room

Chicago

              Antonio Mancini was born an experiment. A solider of its kind. A Vampire. A creation, to be used by Vampires to reclaim control of the surface world, which was once theirs centuries ago. Of the many memories long forgot of Antonio Mancini, the memory remembered best were the feelings of pain and suffering. With every hero, comes a story. Thus the Spurs story begins.

            “uhhhh” groaned Antonio. The whip struck his shirtless back as if it were lightning. After a couple more lashes, the big, bearded man left the teenage monster to the darkness of the cell. Antonio’s legs were tied to a wobbly bar stool, which was in a large cell, housed in a huge catacomb system under New York City. The only light shining in the room was that of a small barred window which led to the world above, near the top of the slowly rotting wall. Antonio bent over, resting his head on his legs, his long untrimmed hair hanging low by the filthy floor. The stinging was slowly going away now, as the cold November air helped souse the pain.

            Around Antonio’s neck was an electric collar, which they used to render him powerless. If Antonio wasn’t wearing the collar at the time, the stinging wouldn’t have hurt at all. Working similar to one a dog would wear, the collar only allowed Antonio to do what his “masters” wanted him to do. In this case, his masters were the members of the Vampire Council of New York, six individuals governing North Eastern parts of the United States secret Vampire population. The Council Man who enforced law was Diablo, the man who was whipping Antonio.

            After hearing the sounds of the door unlocking, Antonio lifted his head and sat upright, showing good posture for whoever it might have been. The door slowly opened, revealing Otis, One of the nicer Council Men. 

 “Hello Antonio” said Otis, who was circling Antonio, looking at his scarred back.  

Paxton stepped into the elevator, waiting until the second the door closed to drop his bag to the floor and unzip it, pulling out his red jacket. He slipped it on and pulled out his bandoleers and belt, then put on his mask. Last was his bow. He pulled out the two halves and clicked them together, locking the bow between his legs and attached the string. Paxton wasn't given any intel on the target itself, just to get through security and kill the witness.  
 
He unsheathed an arrow and twirled it in his fingers. "Gas." he muttered to himself, reaching for a gas cartridge on his bandoleer, "That oughta take a few of them out." He clicked the cartridge onto the shaft of the arrow and pulled his re-breather off his belt and slipped it under his mask. He watched as the little orange light went from 10th to 11th and 11th to 12th when the elevator came to a stop and Paxton pulled back on his bow string. "Show time." he whispered as the door slid open and he immediately fired the arrow into the chest of one of the guards, gas spewing everywhere. "Take him down!" they shouted. Paxton ducked into a corner, narrowly avoiding the hail of gunfire. "Jesus!" he said, surprised by just how many guards there were. There were somewhere between twenty and twenty five armed men in suits out in the hall, ready to kill anyone on this floor on site. He overheard everything going on in the hall, the pills had enhanced his senses to the point where he could hear even the faintest whisper. He listened carefully to the hiss of the gas spilling out into the hallway. He heard the faint coughs as four men choked on their own lungs. When the smoke cartridge was empty, he'd have enough cover to move.  
 
Finally, the cartridge went silent and Longshot dashed out of the elevator, switching his eye piece to thermal imaging. He looked down at a man in the cloud of gas still alive. The man reached for his gun but Longshot came down on him and snapped his neck. On the other side, the guards stood, guns at the ready. One of them signaled to two others to go in and they nodded, moving cautiously into the gas with cloths over their mouths. They looked  around, trying to see if they could spot the assassin in the mist. Suddenly, a gloved hand came from the mist holding in arrow and slit the throat of one of the guards, promptly taking down the other one. They both hit the ground before they even knew what hit them. Longshot got down on one knee and drew three arrows as the remaining guards opened fire, bullets whizzing over his head. He could see them, moving orange and red masses through his infra red lens. He let slip the arrows and three men went down. The others watched as arrows flew from the haze, picking them off one by one. 
 
Now there were only three. Longshot pulled a handful of flash pellets from his belt and tossed them to the end of the hallway, sputtering with bright flashes of light. In their momentary distraction, Longshot pounced, wrapping his arm around a guards throat then delivering a precise blow to his peripheral nerve. After striking the nerve, he clutched the spot between two knuckles and twisted, dropping the guard to the floor, dead. The other two quickly turned around to see him and Longshot jumped in the air, repelling off the wall and fired his arm mounted cable gun at one of them while coming down on the other, striking his collar bone. He yanked the other guard, who now had a grapple stuck in his shoulder, towards him and pounded his palms into his temples, killing him effortlessly. He looked down at the last guard, the one with the shattered collar bone who now looked up at him in shock, looked at him as though he were a monster. Longshot placed his boot over the man's neck and crushed his windpipe.  
 
Bodies lay strewn around the hallway, lifeless. Now, all that stood between Longshot and the completion of the mission was the door. He walked to the end of the hall, slipped the key card he had taken off a guard into the lock and slowly opened the door. When he looked inside, he realized that he was standing before his target, a five year old girl. She looked up at him, still in her pajamas. Her big, glassy eyes stared into Longshot's red glass eyepiece. "Are you here to kill me like my mommy and daddy?" she asked. Longshot fell to his knees and held her gently. "No..." he whispered, "No. You're safe now. You're safe."  He picked her up and held her close. "Let's get you out of here." He took the girl and walked back to the elevator. This was the first time he had ever failed a mission. And he couldn't be happier. 
 

At the Horizon Compound

The room was cold and dark. In the middle there was a cage of wire. The cage was meant for two men or women to resolve their differences, no matter how bad it got. Michael had been in here a few times. He loved the privacy of the cage. People couldn't see the emotion he let out on the people stupid enough to get in here with him. This time it was for a job down in Hong Kong. He couldn't decide what he liked more, taking this idiot out or taking the Chinese bastards out.
 
Michael looked over his opponent that was in the cage with him. The man was taller than him and a little younger, with a smirk plastered on his face. Michael couldn't wait to beat it off of him. A little over confident he spread his arms apart "take your best shot rookie". The man complied and charged forward. He was fast, they'd trained him to be ,but Michael was faster. The man threw a right punch, Michael side stepped it to the right, letting the fist pass him by. He brang both of his hands down , the mans head between them. The sickening crunch of his nose gave Michael the pleasure of knowing he was better. His opponent quickly recovered and performed a high kick. The kick was formed well but it was to slow. Michael simply stepped back and it surpassed him. He grabbed the man by the ankle smiling grimly. "Congratulations jack ass. You single handedly won the fight". Michael twisted the mans foot, a crack echoed throughout the room as he turned it to face the opposite direction. "For me that is". The man fell to the ground in agony.
 
Michael walked to the metal door that was the exit. A giant of a man opened it. His name was Cole. Michael's and everybody elses trainer. He'd trained him in combat for over a year. Michael had been quick to learn the skills he needed. Like all the people underneath Cole,  he had bones broken and flesh cut. If that wasn't enough Cole had given him the nickname Myriad which had unfortunately stuck. Out of everybody in there, Michael hated Cole the most.
 
"Only a minute Myriad? I thought you liked to play with your food" Cole taunted, with a sneer. Michael thought about killing Cole, cutting out his tongue would make for some peace and quiet. Anyways he had a mission to go too. 
 

Later

Chicago

Longshot set the girl down and started changing back into his street clothes. She was quiet. Seeing all those bodies obviously upset her, but she seemed lost, like she was still partially in shock over her parents' deaths. He couldn't blame her. He had taken too many fathers from too many children. "What's your name?" he asked, removing his quiver and bandoleers. "Krissy." she replied after a moment. Her voice was quiet and shaken. "Well, Krissy, I can't change what happened to your parents, but I swear I'll do everything in my power to keep you safe." Longshot pulled off his mask and smiled warmly. "You're a very brave little girl."  Suddenly, Paxton overheard something. He his acute hearing caught the sputtering of helicopter blades and the sound of a gunshot. "DOWN!" he shouted, pushing Krissy to the floor. A bullet pierced clean through the metal doors of the elevator, stopping in a small crater on the back wall. An armor piercing round from a high powered rifle, the only way the shooter could've pulled that off. Staying flat on the ground, Paxton started putting his gear back on. It seemed as though he had one last opponent today. He never did like guns.  
 
Stopping the elevator, Paxton peered over at Krissy who lay curled up on the floor. "Alright, Krissy..." he said to her, "Arms around my neck and don't let go, alright?" she nodded, "Good. Let's go!" she climbed up on his back and held tight. Running down the hall, he quickly took out an arrow, aiming through the glass window and onto a helicopter hovering in the distance where he saw the faint reflection of a scope. He shot the arrow,shattering the window and jumped out, Krissy riding on his back. He hadn't checked to see if the arrow hit its mark, but if his aim was still as superb as it was ten minutes ago, it had shot straight into the barrel of the gun, rendering it useless. As they plummeted to the ground, Longshot took aim for the roof of the hotel with his cable gauntlet, all the while tolerating Krissy's high pitched shrieking. He fired and the grapple dug into the side of the building. They swung through the air, towards the parking complex. He grabbed Krissy, holding her at his side and retracted the cable. The two of them rolled on the ground of the concrete maze packed with cars and soon came to a stop, getting to their feet. Hopefully, he had lost their assailant.

Texan summers are revered and reviled as the hottest then any season that particular state. And of course Fort Worth was no exception. But one day in an early part of summer is where young fifteen year old Paul Ruff decxided that playing hookey for a day would be beneficial..to himself. 
Now Paul Ruff was no bad seed, far from it. However, this texan teen had a little problem with his attitude. He was very carefree to the point of slacker. 
His interest in physical activities didn't overshadow his 'ok' performance in the classroom, though not many people from classmates to teachers and even the principal himself would take him as an individual seriously. 
However, that would change if they ever found what he intended to do on that Thursday. Yep, that was too big a chance to risk anything from detention to a week-long suspension. 
But Paul decides to go through with it. After all, everyone deserves a break including and Kevin Sanchez, his main friend. 
 

As the bullet passed through the concrete and the metal, the heat signature ducked down to the ground, letting the bullet pass over him. Myriad's arms tensed, the only way the man could have done that was with super human speed and most likely hearing. He had been informed of a drug that could enhance certain physical abilities. There was a steady flow that supposedly went to Horizon. "F***ing pills" he grumbled under his breath. With the man on the ground Myriad couldn't get a clear shot, it was annoying as hell to have to wait for the elevator to open. Another thing that bothered him was that there was another source of heat. Maybe the target was carrying something with him. If he was it could make Myriads day a lot hardy, maybe even more fun.
 
Michael took aim as the elevator opened. He waited for his target to make it's move. What was the guy waiting for? Then he saw a blast of crimson as the target ran down the hall. Michael quickly put the man in his sights, but not quick enough. Myriad could see his adversary pull his bow back. Wait, a bow, is this guy for real? This guy thinks he's Robin Hood. Actually that would explain the red, Michael said aloud. The target let go sending the arrow hurling towards him. Of course, as an arrow, it was prone to being slower than a bullet fired out of a gun, giving Myriad, with his fast reflexes time to move out of the way of the incredibly well placed weapon. After it zoomed past him, Myriad chuckled to himself "well at least he's good with it, but there's is something about him that just screams commie" he directed at the pilot. The man didn't laugh. 
 
Myriad looked out to find his opponent had leaped out of the building, plummeting towards the ground. Now what was the guy up to? In answer, the target shot out a grappling hook, past the helicopter, onto the roof, saving himself from becoming a pancake. Using the force of gravity as the rope, tightened, he expertly swung into the parking complex. Myriad grinned and looked over to the pilot " drop me off on that level down there and then swing the building around to cut the target off". The pilot did as he commanded and quickly flew down. Myriad geared up just as fast. Bringing his customized assault rifle, 10 pistols around his body, an AA12 automatic shotgun, frag grenades, non-lethal grenades, a grenade launcher with tear gas rounds, a combat knife, his customized Luger(more accurate, faster fire and more power) and his wrist guns hidden in plain sight under his sleeves and perfect to take somebody out quickly in a fight. 
 
Before he jumped off he shot off tear gas rounds from his grenade launcher. The white gas seeped into every single space in the complex. Now came the jump. Michael didn't have any powers, but he sure as hell wasn't some fat American slob who couldn't even jump rope. He jumped off gracefully, never taking his eyes off the scope which outlined the targets heat signature. He landed on his feet, quickly aiming his AA12 towards the archer. Hopefully the man was feeling the effects of the gas, giving Myriad time to be a cocky bastard. He grinned at the Horizon man "hello Crimson Commie. You are a commie right? I mean with that get up you're either a commie or another American dumb ass. Red doesn't blend in very well in case you haven't noticed". His cold grin vanished as he realized the guy had 2 heads, not one. Judging from the size it was a kid, maybe a girl. This made things complicated. He could kill a man who had just slaughtered so many upstairs, but a little girl. It reminded Myriad of his wife. When she had died, she was with child. It wasn't known whether it was a boy or a girl, but it hurt either way. That one thing brought out his rage and it became a little more personal.  Michael dropped his gun and put his fists up to his face. "Lose the girl and the bow Robin Hood".  

Longshot ran to the and of the parking lot when he heard the helicopter following overhead. Suddenly, a grenade bounced on the floor with a reverberating TINK. Suddenly, the thing began to spew a cloud of gas. The archer swiftly reached for his belt and pulled out his re-breather, a pocket sized air filter inserted in the mouth. He handed it to Krissy. "Put this in your mouth and take slow, deep breaths. Plug your nose!" he told her. She promptly did as he instructed and he tried to outran the rapidly spreading cloud of gas, covering his mouth. As he turned around, he saw a man in tan clothing, a navy blue mask, body armor, and carrying an array of weapons. He currently held an AA-12 Atchisson assault shotgun. As much as Longshot hated guns, he knew everything there was to know about their function, use, and effectiveness. In an environment like this, the echo of a gun like that would make a deaf man's ears bleed.   "Hello Crimson Commie." he said in a brash tone, "You are a commie right? I mean with that get up you're either a commie or another American dumb ass. Red doesn't blend in very well in case you haven't noticed." "Neither does blue and tan, pal." he retorted. The man's gun remained fixed on him. Longshot had no idea what to think of this amateur, whether he was an assassin who someone hired when they couldn't afford Horizon, or if he was just out for his own jollies. Either way, that gun didn't require much accuracy so his only plan was to hope his body armor, flesh and bone were enough to stop the flack before it hit Krissy. Which one of them was he after? Had Sergei hired him to take out Krissy in case he failed, or was he out to kill the competition? 
 
Out of nowhere, the man dropped his gun to the floor and raised his fists in a flawed stance. This wasn't much of a show of confidence, since he could easily reach for any area on his body and pull out another weapon, but it told Longshot a lot about him. He was obviously a brawler, cage fights and improvised martial arts fighting style. Longshot had learned this method when he was learning to read. He had advanced so far beyond and had a chance at taking this man down. All the weapons were overtly compensating for a lack of hand to hand skill, and they would all weigh him down and slow his movements.  "Lose the girl and the bow Robin Hood." He said. Longshot held out his bow to his side and promptly tossed it to the floor. He pressed and twisted the arrow crest on his chest and his bandoleer straps and quiver fell to the ground. "Krissy..." he said, kneeling down so she could get off of his back, "I want you to run and hide somewhere. I'll meet you when this is over."  
 
Krissy ran as fast as her little legs could carry her, all the while pitter-pattering on the hard concrete until she vanished into the shroud of mist. Now, it was man to man, Longshot versus the stranger who attempted to kill him. Perhaps this man was an instrument of divine retribution come to punish Longshot for all the wrong he had done over the years. The man was admittedly more experienced and more imposing then most opponents he had encountered. But he was done, he would never take another life as along as he lived. At that moment, he promised himself that he would devote the rest of his days to righting his wrongs and trying to atone for his sins. But first, he had to stop this psychopath before he killed someone.  
 
Longshot rushed the assassin, ducking left and right with blinding speed to throw off his focus then jumped in the air, aiming a precise jab to the bridge of his nose. On the downward arc of his jump, he rolled on the floor and stopped posed in a tiger stance, facing his enemy. There were dozens of points of attack from this stance. The strategic benefit of this style gave him an edge that would prove incredibly useful in a fight with this deadly foe.

The archer did as Myriad said and dropped the bow and quiver. After that he sent the little girl on her merry way. At this moment Michael was finding some clarity. Sure he had learned and advanced through the many military styles that had been taught, some including martial arts a quicker way of killing, but in hand to hand fight with this Horizon agent, he was destined to lose. The archer was faster and stronger, not to mention more skilled. This was not a fair fight and Myriad had almost let his anger and arrogance get the better of him. Almost.
 
The archer then burst off with astounding speed, quickly closing the gap between them. He moved from side to side, like a cobra. It was hard for Michael to keep up, but he didn't need to. This guy was obviously trying to finish this quickly and the best way to finish off an opponent fast in a hand to hand fight is to go for the head. Fortunately it was easy to dodge these most of the time. Sure enough a flash of red came flying at him. Myriad started moving before he say the punch and simply tilted his head and the jab went flew past. He could feel the wind of the blow. That would not have been pretty if it had hit.
 
He turned to face his opponent who had rolled out of a jump and was now facing him in a tiger stance. As he'd already figured, this guy new his stuff. He'd already figured this out though. He knew he couldn't take on this super soldier in a quick hand to hand fight, but he could use what he had to slowly wear his opponent down. 
 
 He drew his Luger pistol with a speed that even rivaled the archers. He'd always loved those old western flicks in the old country. In his other hand he drew a tear gas grenade and used his thumb to open it. The gas spewed out making him invisible to his enemy. He backed away into the gas that was quickly covering the lot and fired three shots at the mans robotic eye. He never liked surprises and that eye might hold a few.
 
Making sure the veil of tear gas made his movements unknown to Horizon agent he went into a stealth run. Even with all his gear there was utter silence as he ran, except for the hissing of the tear gas grenade as it spewed more of the substance into the air. He'd mapped the lot in his mind when everything was visible. For even more accuracy he pulled out his sniper rifle with the infrared scope. He could still see the body heat resonating off the mans bow and quiver. No sound was made as he picked them up. He found the archer using his scope. The bow and arrow was perfect for stealth. The weapons he'd packed made too much noise. They only problem is that his opponent would be able to tell where the arrow had come from if it didn't kill him. Myriad had a plan for this as well.
 
Michael put an arrow into the bow and drew the string back. Even though he thought it was an idiotic weapon, he was skilled with it just like his other weapons. Instead of aiming for his target, he aimed for a corner of the lot. He had to aim perfectly for this to work. Their! He fired, the arrow was impossible to see through the cloud of tear gas. It hit the wall corner, ricocheting then correcting itself to the new direction it was going in, which was, of course, towards the Horizon agent. Even though it seemed ridiculous to do, it confused the enemy to where he was.
 
Right after Myriad fired, he broke off into another stealthy run. Right at the blob of heat marked on his scope. He figured the archer was either busy dodging his arrow or busy with an arrow wound and besides, he was completely quiet and hidden in the tear gas. As he ran past the archer he swung the bow at the back of the archers head. He estimated the blow would daze his opponent and hurt like hell. As attacked he ran back into the gas again to hide himself and slowly wear the man down.

The assailant had refused to honor his own challenge and quickly drew a Luger pistol and opened fire, simultaneously tossing a tear gas grenade between them. The gas spewed out, quickly filling the area as Paxton heard three gunshots. He instinctively dropped to the ground, but not before one of the bullets grazed the side of his head. So close was the shot that it gouged a piece out of the plate covering the side of his head in his mask. He fell to the ground and was about to reach for his eyepiece to switch it to infra red imaging when the red glow went dead and it was nothing more then a glass lens with crosshairs. Apparently, the bullet had shaken loose or severed a wire running through his mask and it would have to be repaired. Longshot couldn't worry about that now, however, as tear gas began to scrape against his lungs and he reached for one of the pouches on the back of his belt and pulled out a re-breather, sticking it under his mouth and took a long, deep breath. He stood back up, lost in a fog without any way to see, hoping his enemy didn't have any similar equipment. 
 
Longshot suddenly heard footsteps, but they were too faint to determine the direction. This guy was armed to the teeth and no doubt wearing combat boots, and yet he could run around and even Longshot could hardly pick him out. This was impressive, but Longshot couldn't dwell on that as he suddenly heard the soft krik krik krik of a taught bowstring pulling back and suddenly, he realized where his attacker was and ran towards him just as the string went THWONG and the air parted ways around the fast moving projectile. He braced himself, but the arrow passed right by. This man's aim was appalling! For such a tactical weapons expert, he didn't know much about using the pivotal weapon of the millennium. But suddenly, Longshot heard another sound echoing down at the end of the parking lot behind him and he quickly turned around, swinging his arm and swatting the arrow away just before it hit its mark.  
 
He looked around in the fog, trying to spot some shadow in the white haze. "Listen," he said calmly, "I don't wanna fight you. If you can just tell me what this is all a-" He cut himself off mid-sentence as he finally heard the attacker behind him, planting his foot down firmly as he put all his force into a swing. Immediately thereafter, a piece of metal and wood slammed into the back of his skull. "Oof!" Longshot grunted as his own bow cracked over his head, hardly hitting the area on the back of his head covered by a plate. He fell to the ground with a throbbing pain bouncing off the walls inside his skull. But out of the corner of his eye, he caught the man's leg sinking back into the gas and lunged forward, trying to tackle him to the ground and pummel him.

Michael's new bow made contact with the archers head. The Horizon agent felt it, as he responded with an "Oof"! The man fell to the ground, giving Myriad just enough time to escape. Or so he thought. Just as he was about to escape into the tear gas, he heard the faint step of his adversary pushing off. Damn this guy was fast! Michael whipped around and tried to pull out his Luger. He was only fast enough to accomplish the turning around part. As the man pounced he became a blur until Myriad felt the force of the archer pushing him off balance on to the ground. No! If this guy pinned him he'd lose. As he fell. Myriad put his foot up onto his opponents chest and used the force of the mans jump to go into a rolling motion when hit the ground and push the guy off with his foot.
 
As the archer came off Myriad used the rest of his roll to get back on his feet quickly. He pivoted on his feet to face his opponent. He smirked at the mans last comment under his mask. "You want to know what this is about? Horizon didn't tell you about us did they? Or did they not know"? This was funny. Horizon didn't trust their own. Well it seemed they made the right choice. Judging from the girl he was carrying he'd gone rogue. Still he had what they wanted. 
 
Suddenly he heard the buzz as the intercom in his ear began receiving.  Michael put a finger up to his ear to hear clearly "Myriad, this is Cole. We have the girl over". Myriad's jaw tightened. In a hushed voice he started replying. "Dammit Cole! Let go of the girl. She isn't involved in this". "This mission is important and you're taking too damn long. Inform the Horizon agent that if he doesn't come with us quietly we will kill her". Cole's voice was stone cold. It reminded Michael of what they really were. Murderers. He turned his earpiece off. "Did you hear that"? his voice as cold as Cole's except with a waver of anger "Come with me or the girl dies".

The man went down, but in yet another impressive maneuver, he used his own momentum to throw him off and jump back onto his feet. Whoever this assassin was, if he had the same enhancement drugs as Horizon operatives did, Longshot wouldn't dare imagine his potential.  He turned to face Longshot and his mask shifted enough to let the archer know he was smiling underneath.  "You want to know what this is about?" he asked, "Horizon didn't tell you about us did they? Or did they not know"? Paxton was left a bit perplexed by this. Brixby had sent others on missions before to kill competitors, whoever this guy worked for, Horizon had probably crossed swords with them before. In the moment after he spoke, Longshot realized just what he'd done. He'd gone rogue. Brixby wasn't someone to be crossed, he would send everyone after him for this. Still, he couldn't take the killing anymore.  
 
An intercom piece in the assassin's ear tuned in and Longshot listened in. A man spoke with minor signal interference,  "Myriad, this is Cole. We have the girl. Over". Paxton's eyes went bloodshot as he heard this. The man, apparently known as Myriad, replied, "Dammit Cole! Let go of the girl. She isn't involved in this!" Longshot was again impressed by him. Apparently, he was capable of compassion. That was more then Paxton could say of the people he used to call his friends. "This mission is important and you're taking too damn long. Inform the Horizon agent that if he doesn't come with us quietly we will kill her." There was no give in this threat, no sign that the man on the radio was bluffing. Longshot's heart sank as he thought of how Krissy must have been, scared, alone, god forbid they had already killed her. There was a sigh of discontent in Myriad's voice, however well he tried to hide it, as he turned off his communicator and looked up at Longshot. "Did you hear that?" he asked with a stern tone, "Come with me or the girl dies."  
 
Longshot grabbed his mask and slowly pulled it off, revealing his solemn expression, his head bowed in shadow. He slowly put his hands behind his head in surrender. Before Myriad took him to his associates, Paxton looked up, staring through his mask with a cold stare. "If you hurt her," he said, "I will make your life a living hell until the day you die." 

The clods of dirt fell from his body as he pulled himself out of the hole.  His mind was clouded.  He couldn't even remember his own name. 
 
Only the watch... the watch that had somehow plunged shards of sharp metal into his chest. 
 
"Dear God! What's happened to me"? 
 
He turned around and looked at the hole he just pulled himself out of.  To his horror, his suspicions proved true.  It was a grave he had just clawed his way out of.  The headstone was faded and weatherworn.  Only the year of death was visible... 1893. 
 
The man brushed himself off more and the rotted remains of his clothing fell in tatters.   
 
He fell to his knees before the defiled grave.  The details of his death slowly surfaced in his mind.  It was September of 1893.  He went into Mr. McArthur's clock shop and bought an Elgin pocket watch.  Then the watch had... exploded.  Not like a BOOM explosion but the tightly wound springs broke free of the case and pierced him through to the heart. 
 
He grabbed his chest as he felt the pain once more.  But his chest was whole now.  There was no wound and he felt the beat of his heart. He felt the cold night air rush into his lungs. 
 
"GO"! 
 
The voice boomed inside his skull.  There was no one around but the voice sounded again. 
 
"GO"! 
 
Other's joined in, "GO! Go! go! GO!" 
 
His mouth opened in horror as he realised the source of the voices.  They were the Dead all around him. 
 
"GO! go! Go! GO"! 
 
He ran 
 
"Left"! 
 
"Now right"! 
 
"There! A coat"! 
 
And so it went through the night.  The voices lead him to the things he needed.  A vintage store with an open window.  Soon he was covered in the manner he was accustomed to.  Well, better actually.  He never had things this nice in his life.   
 
Down the street now... an antique store.  The door was firmly bolted and no window open.  But the door opened anyway.  They lead him through the store.  An Elgin pocket watch.  The irony was not lost on him.  This one wouldn't explode, though.  No, ideas formed in his head, things he never knew how to do before... but he knew how to do them now. 
 
Watch Maker's tools and ahhhh.... here was the masterpiece.  A sword cane.  Not one of those silly ones with a glorified ice pick hidden in the stick, but a full fledged small sword blade.  Finely forged too.  He had no idea how he knew it was a blade of quality, but he knew. 
 
Now on down the street. 
 
Left, right and left again. 
 
A dark alley and a muffled scream. 
 
Ruffians were the same anywhere.  The clothing was strange but the acts were the same.  A girl held down to the ground and the tearing of cloth. 
 
"Unhand her this instant"! 
 
His own voice startled him. 
 
They turned and laughed at him.  Called him names he didn't know.  But he knew ridicule.  He drew the blade from his stick and they stopped laughing. 
 
One of them reached in his jacket and pulled something out... a gun.  But not like any gun he had ever seen.  It was oddly square shaped. 
 
BANG! 
 
The pain in chest again.  Just like when his old Elgin had hit six o'clock. 
 
BANG! BANG! BANG! 
 
The world went dark again    

 
xboltwatched with amusement as the would be hero fell to the ground, blood gushing from hs bullet wounds, the metallic stench of blood mingled deliciously with the taste of the large meat lovers pizza he was dining on. "Another one bites the dust" he chortled darkly "i suppose its time that i intervene. 
 
at his mental commands a mass of nliving shadow encompassed the fallen avenger, caressing his body slowly ,removing the bullets from his body and healing his wounds."now that the chumps taken care of" X-bolt cackled to himself"i can get down to busness". with manic speed and precision the Manic Marauder shot thre blobs of acidic slime at the gangbangers.
they scumbags sqealed in pain like stuck pigs as they slowly melted in to a soups of liquified flesh and bone marrow. x-bolt turned to the woman whom the men were assaulting he grabbed her and held her ears to his mouth and whispered a few words. the womans eyes closed as she drifted into a peaceful sleep."take her home" he said, in response to his command the shadows swirled and combined to form a giant bird, the avian mass gently took the dreaming woman in its claws and carried her off into the night.  "now" x-bolt muttered as he turned to the now fully healed "hero lying on the ground "what are we going to do with you"

The Horizon agent slowly pulled off his mask. He expected to see a man, instead he got a boy. A blond haired kid who looked like he wouldn't be able to hold the string back on his bow. The teen held his head down in defeat. The archer put his hands behind his head signaling Myriad his victory. Then the boy looked up staring Myriad in the eye. Making sure to be as intense as possible.  "If you hurt her, I will make your life a living hell until the day you die". In turn Myriad took his mask off, revealing he was young as well. Older than the archer though. He gave a reply "my life already is a living hell. The only way it could be worse is if that girl died".
 
He held the archer at gunpoint, leading him to where Cole had told him to go. Michael lead him to the top of the lot. He could see two helicopters. Ones blades began spinning faster and faster until it was lifted off, and flew until it was just a speck in the sky. He assumed that one had the girl in it. That way the archer wouldn't risk trying anything in the other helicopter to save her. At the other helicopter there were a few agents that belonged to his organization. The funny thing was that they were all better then him. Myriad was actually fairly low ranking in the organization. They wouldn't even let him know the name. These guys were the elite. All trained in every martial art imaginable and more. They'd  been known to take down very powerful  mutants with just skill and wit alone. They all were covered in a light, Grey armor that covered them from head to toe. 
 
One of the ones he knew was Cole. He was the biggest of the group and carried a M61 Vulcan slung on his back. He looked at them and seemed to be studying his prisoner. "Only Longshot"? he asked, sounding a little disappointing. "Couldn't even get me Ox" he grumbled. Michaels fist tightened. He glared at him "shut it Cole". Cole didn't take the hint and kept talking. "Right, you're probably worried about that little girl. Who Knows what could happen in a small space full of men with no morals and haven't seen a woman in mon-". Cole was interrupted as Michael's fist came hurtling towards him. Cole caught the fist easily showing a speed faster then Longshots and simply squeezed Myriads hand. Michael grunted as the he heard the bone crack under the pressure. He used his Spetsnaz training to fight through the pain. When that failed, he thought of the day everyone he knew and loved, died. Funny how some pain could help you fight through others. Cole let go and turned away, "You just lost the privilege of interrogating your prisoner". With Michael put in his place he placed a steel girdle that restrained a prisoners arms, onto Longshot and loaded him in the helicopter.
 

Undisclosed Location

Myriad put a gun to Paxton's head and they walked to the top of the parking complex. Every step was more agonizing as his fear for Krissy's safety escalated. They'd torture him. This was always part of the deal. Longshot had been tortured before. It was nothing new. They reached the roof where there were two military grade helicopter, one just about to take off and the other still resting on the ground. The chopper lifted off and as it turned around and flew away, Paxton could see Krissy inside. He could tell that she looked down at the ground and saw him there. She waved goodbye.  
 
Men in advanced grey armor stood around the other helicopter. The one carrying a heavy chain gun (M-61Vulcan if his memory served him right) whispered "Only Longshot?" Paxton was a bit surprised. In his five years in the field, his reputation as one of the deadliest assassins in the world had become quite well known. But he wasn't offended. That reputation was his greatest sin.   "Shut it Cole."said Myriad. Cole. Paxton memorized the name. He memorized the face. Cole was the man on the radio, he was the one who put a gun to Krissy's head and ordered Myriad to do this. He would be the first to pay. "Right," Cole said in a snide tone, "You're probably worried about that little girl. Who Knows what could happen in a small space full of men with no morals and haven't seen a woman in mon-" He was cut off as Myriad's fist punched him across the face. The others stepped back, not daring to get in the way of a good fight. Myriad swung again but, with a blinding speed, Cole caught his fist without even a twitch of effort in his face. He crushed Myriad's hand. Myriad took the pain pretty well as Paxton could hear a bone snap in his hand all the way from where he was standing. Finally, he gave in and Cole let go.  "You just lost the privilege of interrogating your prisoner." Cole said callously, grabbing a pair of steel restraints and twisted Paxton's arms behind his back, locking them together. The helicopter blades began to turn and the man piled in, Cole shoving Longshot forward. "Get in, you piece of sh*t." he ordered.  
 

In an unknown location...

Michael was still in his cot. Waiting for the time to strike. Even though he didn't even know the name of his organization, he knew enough to take them down. The rookies and the inexperienced slept in the above ground parts of the base so that they would get taken out first in case of an attack. The elite and veterans, were in the lower barracks for the night. Holding cells, such as the ones holding the girl and Longshot, were located above ground as well. He needed to block the passages that would allow the elite's to stop him when his plan went into action. That was why Michael was working on making four bombs. It took Myriad longer than he would have liked due to only having one working arm. It did give him a chance to listen in on conversations. Most of the rookies talked about the how Cole was taking his time with the prisoner. Using techniques that would keep the body in tact. Good. Even though the men up there were rookies there was a lot of them and the one handed assassin would need help getting out of here in one piece. There was also talk of the actual prisoner. Talk of his blood specifically. But that didn't matter now. It was almost midnight. Almost time for his plan to go into action.
 
Michael got hopped off of his cot and took out a bag. It was full of weapons. Part of it was his fathers collection. The man who had gotten him interested in weapons, who had gotten him to join the revolution, who had died along with his family and everyone he'd ever known. An event that stopped him from feeling what his father had felt for his child. These weapons were sacred to him ,but it was time he left another bad memory behind. He took out a mini uzi, a ballistics knife and a crossbow. After, Michael zipped the bag up and slung it over his shoulder. It would slow him down, but he should still be able to run.
 
Michael got out of the room and traveled down the hallway. He always hated these hallways. Dank, dark and depressing. There was no wood or carpet or marble, just cold, hard metal. Michael reached the first passage without incident. An elevator that went a couple of miles underground Nonchalantly placing one of his homemade bombs on the ceiling near the elevator. This was the easy part, where nobody could figure out what you were doing until you actually did it. The other three were just as easy as the first. After that was done he strolled over to the prisoners cells. Michael slowly walked over to the cell that contained Longshot. There wasn't any windows for him to see through, but the cell was meant to hold threats above the norm. There was one guard. In the day there would have been more than one. Myriad slipped his mask on. The guard looked over with suspicion in his eye. The man was too tired and too nervous to remain calm. He raised his gun and pointed it at Myriad. "State your business" he demanded. Myriad looked him over. The man was more like him. Too good to be a rookie, but too new to be elite. He had his working hand behind his back, holding a detonator. "State your business" he repeated, much louder this time. Still Michael didn't reply. "State your business or I will blow off your head"! he yelled. The man obviously was wired, maybe too much coffee. Michael slowly lowered his thumb down on the detonator, pressing the button.
 
The explosions shook the whole complex. The man lost the hold on his gun and his balnce. Michael lunged at him with his one good arm, grabbing him by the side of the head and smashing it into the door. He slumped to the floor, unconscious. The alarms came on and the hallways were flashing with red light. Michael took the man by the head and brought him up to a retina scanner. a line of green light came on, rolling over the mans eye. The door unlocked on command, allowing Myriad in. He searched through the guard and found a key. Michael rushed into the room seeing Longshot dangling from the wall by his cuffs. Michael stopped in front of him and reached up, key in hand. It was a little tricky to unlock his cuffs with one working hand, but he managed. As the cuffs released, Longshot fell to the blood stained ground. Michael realized if he didn't say something he'd probably have to fight the man. "Listen. I know you don't trust me, but I want the girl out of here safe and sound as much as you do. Neither of us can do this alone so can we have a truce until we make sure the girl is safe"? He asked. He hoped the archer would make his decision quickly, he could already hear about ten soldiers clambering in their direction.

Paxton drifted in and out of consciousness. Every tie he drifted off to sleep, a new level of sharp pain shot through him and pulled him back into agonizing reality. Minutes passed like hours and he almost prayed for morning, knowing full well that the elites would return to torture him. Blood trickled down the backs of his legs and pooled on the floor beneath him. He focused on the sounds going on outside. He heard the paranoid guard outside grinding his jaw, the painful moans and wails of a torture victim down the hall and the whir of an elevator coming down. A pair of feet stepped out as the elevator came to a stop and the footsteps came closer. There was a digital beep, like a timer being set. And another. And another. And then, the footsteps came right to his door and the guard started yelling.  "State your business!" he ordered, "State your business or I will blow off your head!" He was cut off when a series of explosives went off and the sound of a head being pounded into concrete could be heard loud and clear until blood began to splash against the cold cement. The guard was one of them. Who could take out someone on par with Myriad with such ease? Paxton assumed it was a Horizon agent sent to finish him off. As the door creaked open, he closed his eyes and accepted his fate. 
 
As a blinding light washed over the dark room, Paxton looked with heavy eyes to see that it was no Horizon agent he knew, but a man with short brown hair and a stern disposition. He selected another key on the ring and undid the cuffs. Paxton fell to the floor, propping himself up on wobbling arms.  "Listen." said the man. That voice, Myriad? "I know you don't trust me, but I want the girl out of here safe and sound as much as you do. Neither of us can do this alone so can we have a truce until we make sure the girl is safe?" Paxton felt a fire building in his heart, a determination that overpowered every ounce of pain in his body and he rose to his feet, looking Myriad in the eye. Not a word needed to be said and he quickly went to the table where his equipment and weapons had been placed. There was no time to bandage the cuts on his back and he instead simply threw on his coat, ignoring the sting. He then put on his belt and bandoleers and quiver, the tension of which only exacerbated his injuries. He held his bow at his side and raced out of the cell.  
 
Longshot ran down the hall, listening carefully as he passed by each cell. Finally, he heard the whimpering of a young girl and the devious snickering of a man. He threw open the door and saw a man standing over Krissy with a perverse smile stretched across his face. The assassin spun around as he noticed Longshot. "What the hell?!" he growled, reaching for his gun. As he stared down the sights of his pistol, Longshot already let the fletchings of the arrow slip between his fingers and fire right into the man's shoulder. He screamed, firing the gun wildly at the ground, frightening Krissy even more. The killer dropped his gun and ran towards Longshot with the arrow still jammed in his shoulder, tackling into him. They were both sent flying out into the hallway, Longshot landing on the ground. The guy pinned him down and punched him repeatedly. He had gloves with plated knuckles. With no restraint, he pounded Longshot's face into the cement. Longshot was overwhelmed. He had a hard time beating Myriad, and now he was injured. He felt powerless to get the man off of him. But suddenly, a sound reached his ear, the sound of Krissy, scared and alone, crying. She didn't deserve this, to be dragged down and locked away in this place because of him. To die because of him. She wouldn't. As the man threw his fist down once again, Longshot caught it, stopping his punch. He was surprised, and even more so when Longshot drove two fingers right under his rib cage. He was bereft of air for a moment, then fell to the floor, vomiting uncontrollably. Longshot staggered to his feet and raced back into the room, untying Krissy. He took her and comforted her in his arms. "It's okay." he whispered to her, "Everything's gonna be okay." With that, he picked her up and walked out into the hall with Myriad. His ear twitched as the faint sound of boots storming down the hallway could be heard. "Here they come!" he exclaimed.

Longshot rose up from the ground. Myriad had ignored the archers face until now. It had been beaten nearly to a bloody pulp. Evidence Cole was having fun with him instead of doing his job. His thoughts went back to the gossip. Blood? What would they want with Longshot's blood for? Even with his puffed up face, Longshot managed to look him in the eye. There was a look of determination on his face. Hard to see with the bruises, but it was there. Michael hadn't had a look like that in a long time. It had been on him when his father told him they would fight for the peoples freedom. It had been on him whenever his sister had told him to stay out of the rebellion. It had been on him when he thought of his child that his wife would bare and bringing him into a world like this. He'd lost that look on the day he'd lost all of that. With that look, he knew the answer to his question. Longshot broke the stare and turned to the table, where  his equipment had been put, showing off the gruesome cuts on his back. Michael waited for the archer to get prepared. 
 
Then in one blurry movment, Longshot ran out the door and through the hall. After he disappeared down the hall, Myriad ran after him. He had to remind himself that even though Longshot had been beaten and bruised, he was still super powered and an A class athlete. As his head peaked out of the room, he could see Longshot fire an arrow into a cell. As the rest of him came out of the cell he heard gun shots. Myriad sprinted down the hall. A man, with an arrow in his shoulder, charged out of the room and tackled Longshot to the ground. He wailed on the archer, repeatedly punching his already puffy face. He thought he could hear something else. Somebody crying. The grunts as the man strained to get all the power out of each punch overpowered it. Then out of the flurry of punches a glove rose and caught the fist that was coming down on the archer. It gave Longshot time to jab two of his fingers under the mans ribs. The guard fell and started vomiting wildly. Myriad gritted his teeth. He knew guards were supposed to stand outside of the cell, not inside. There were too many sick bastards here. He regretted joining them. Longshot rushed back into the cell. Michael got there soon after. 
 
He stood over the guard, who seemed to be recovering from his experience. Michael glared at him, his fists tightening. The man didn't deserve to live, he didn't deserve second chances. Not after what he had been prepared to do. Myriad took out his crossbow and raised it up ,slowly, to point right at the pupil of the mans eye. The guard looked up. He didn't talk or glare back. He was completely calm. Like he knew what was about to happen and accepted it. Michael felt the anger rise up into his chest. There this guy was and he wouldn't even give let the last bit of sympathy he had for him go, by spitting out a few insults. He had to concentrate on the girl. What the guard was about to do to her. This man before him was a monster not even worth the arrow he was about to put through his head. With that one thought in his head, Myriad pulled the trigger. The arrow pierced through his eye, through his head and into the floor. The arrow stopped the blood from rushing out. All there was, was the body, now limp on the ground. He heard Longshot come out of the cell. Michael turned around to see he was holding the girl in his arms.Longshot spoke up"Here they come"! He assumed he was talking about the soldiers on approach.
 
"Come on" Myriad lead them to another cell. This one he had clearance for. As they walked into the room they were covered by the blackness of the room. He never liked the light in his eyes when he worked. The cell was like Longshots for the most part. There was a man in the room hanging from the ceiling by handcuffs like him. The man had been dead for a while though. They let the bodies hang there for a while to give the hallway a certain stench that scared the prisoners. He hoped it was too dark for the girl to see it. He whispered to Longshot "Use that cable on your gauntlet to wait just above the door. When they're all in this cell, I want you to jump down quietly and get out of here with the girl" he ordered. He didn't think Longshot would care what happens to him in it. They were enemies. He was the reason that he and the girl he cared so much about were in this hell hole. He could hear the guards trying to be ever so quiet as they stepped into each cell and searched. They crept closer and closer to this cell. He turned his back to Longshot, assuming he would heed his commands. He walked up over to the dead man dangling from the ceiling. He pulled out a key, reached up and unlocked the cuffs. The body flopped to the ground. He knelt over the body and gave it his jacket and mask then laid it out so the assassins would spot it easily. He went back to the the chain attached to the ceiling. Myriad took the hand cuffs and put them around his hands, making sure they were loose. Then he attached it to the chain and went limp. As if he were dead. 
 
Myriad heard the men stop at the door. No matter how hard they tried he could still hear them. As they slowly entered they each checked all directions. Everywhere, but up. Michael counted the men. There were ten of them. Four of which were new , the others were on par with him. He'd have to rely on the element of surprise to take them out. Then again he wasn't planning on surviving. Myriad waited for Longshot to make his move and get out as the last man entered.

Longshot followed Myriad into another cell. It was just like his aside from one difference, the prisoner hanging from the ceiling was dead. The pounding of soldiers' footsteps grew louder. They would be here in a moment. Myriad turned to Longshot and said, "Use that cable on your gauntlet to wait just above the door. When they're all in this cell, I want you to jump down quietly and get out of here with the girl." Longshot held Krissy tighter in one arm and put his hand on Myriad's shoulder. "Thank you."  He said, turning to the doorway and held his right arm up over his head, firing a cable into the air. With a TINK  it sunk into the cement and he slowly lifted into the air as Myriad started switching his clothes with the body and locking himself into the chains. That was either a brilliant strategy or absolute suicide. Either way, Paxton was grateful to this man. He had disobeyed orders and attacked his own people to do what he knew was right. He had a conscience, and in the world these two lived in, that was something remarkable.  
 
The soldiers could be heard swinging open the doors of the other cell doors. When they came to the body laying in the hallway, they whispered to one another their fears of what might happen. They came to the door of their cell and the door swung open. Krissy held him tighter as they entered the room, fanning out to search the dark chamber. In one swift motion, Longshot jerked his arm, retracting the cable from the ceiling and simultaneously  reached to one of the gold cylinders on his chest, tossing it into the air. As he fell, the explosive cartridge reached the peek of its flight and fell down towards two of the soldiers. He landed silently on the ground, turned and ran out the door. By the time he was out, he heard the sound of an explosion. That would help Myriad a bit. He raced down the hallway towards the elevator. By now, he heard gunshots and frantic yelling. He pressed the button and a few seconds later, the elevator doors slid open. He stepped inside and reached up, removing one of the tiles on the ceiling. He climbed up out of the box and placed the tile back in its place, leaving no trace of his escape.  
 
The archer fired his gauntlet once more, clinging to the top floor far up the elevator shaft. He zipped into the air and they came to the top. He quietly slid the two doors open, looking around to see no one in the immediate area. In this situation, he would usually switch to thermal imaging on his eyepiece, but it had been damaged in the fight. All he could hope was that there was no one around the corner. He climbed up and, with Krissy in his arms, raced for the door. He heard two guns begin to fire in his direction, but was out the door before they managed to hit him. He didn't waste a second looking back at the place from which he had just escaped and kept running. He ran until the sun rose and by that time, he saw a green sign readingCHICAGO-20 MILES. He kept on walking down the line until the city  was in sight. He was almost done. Krissy was almost safe.

"Get Up" 
 
The voice boomed inside his skull. 
 
"But I've been shot... I think I'm dying". 
 
"You're already dead.  GET ... UP". 
 

“Hey, Hey, Joe”!

He heard the voice from down the hall

“Hey, Joe, that guy’s getting back up”.

“Whatyer talkin’ about Charlie? I popped 3 caps in him he’s not…”

The voice trailed off, the sentence unfinished

He rose slowly to his feet, lifted his head and let them see his eyes.   His dead eyes.   And the wicked grin on his lips.

“You’ve made your choice then.   Now it’s too late to walk away”.

The one called Joe yelled and charged at him, firing his weapon.   He launched into the air and spun lengthwise.   As he did so, he drew his blade from his sword cane and slashed Joe’s hand as he landed.   The gun flew and clattered to the alley.   Joe’s eyes widened and then the light slowly went out of them as two feet of cold steel protruded from his back.

The other too, Charlie and Bill, funny how he knew their names, stood frozen.   The Dead told him their names, told him what things they had done.   What they had been attempting to do to the girl was minor compared to their past deeds.

They would do such deeds no more.

The girl, sobbing, slowly looked up and saw the strange man standing over her.   Somehow she knew he wasn’t there to hurt her.   His hand was extended to help her up.   He politely looked away while she readjusted her clothing.

“I do hope I was not too late”.

“N..no…” stammered the girl.   She let out a sigh of deep relief and then smiled shyly.   “You were just in time”.

“What’s your name”?

“Abigail.   Abigail MacArthur”.

“MacArthur”.

“MacArthur”.

“Mac Ar Thur”.

He shook his head and looked around.   Indeed, he was just down the street from Mr. MacArthur’s store.

“Tell me, Abigail, does your father own a clock store? Just down the street”?

Abigail’s eyes widened.

“No.   My grandfather did, but he lost the store in the Great Depression.   How would you know about that store”?

“Depression… grandfather… tell me, Child, what year is this”?

“Year? It’s… it’s just turned 2011.   Are you ok”?

“Two…Thousand…dear God, more than one hundred years”…    

Michael hung limp from the ceiling. He could hear the slight sound of the grapple made as it broke free of the concrete. He strained to pick up the faint plop as Longshot landed on the ground behind the soldiers. Without the small bit of extra weight from the girl he wouldn't have heard the landing at all. In their fight the kid didn't try anything stealthy. He would never admit it, but he was impressed. He could hear the soldiers moving in closer now. There was worried chatter as they advanced. He took the time between him hanging there and his death to think. Michael thought about the exact moment in time he decided to betray these people. At first he thought it was revenge. Revenge against monsters who tried to turn him into one of them. But now,Michael didn't care whether these men lived or died. All he cared about was that the girl, and Longshot were both safe because of him. He almost felt like laughing. He should have stopped that fight with him as soon as he hit the pavement of the lot. Michael and Longshot were a lot alike. They both grew up in such a corrupt, hardened environment and it all lead to the same destination. But the archer had something Myriad didn't. Michael had done things he could never be forgiven for. He'd killed his wife,child and his family for an idiotic cause. And the worst part was that he ran away. He would never forget what he'd done. All of the contracts he'd fulfilled, all the murders he'd committed could be redeemed, but that single act would never leave him. Michael could not have redemption, but Longshot could.
 
Suddenly a loud explosion pierced his thoughts. Myriad could hear the screams of surprise and pain. Michael didn't know whether to be happy or annoyed. It showed how grateful Longshot was, but it also showed lack of faith in his abilities. If he did get out of this he'd have to settle that this didn't make them even. Glancing over, he saw the bodies of two that had been hit with the explosives. Their bodies mangled and missing limbs. The remaining eight looked kept their eyes on the bodies backing away at the same time. One stepped underneath where Myriad was hanging. It was amazing how easily these people were unnerved. Michael squirmed out of his loosened cuffs, letting gravity lead his attack. In the short fall to earth, he clasped his hands together and brought them down on the unfortunate rookie. It connected on the top of the mans head, breaking his skull with the force. A shot of pain went up the hand with the cast. As Myriads feet hit the ground he slipped into the shadows of the room. The other 7 spun around and opened fire. The gunshots echoed in the small room and even lit it for a few seconds. Without his weapons Myriad could not return fire, but he could evade them. The rogue soldier swiftly bolted out of the line of fire. It must have taken them 5 or 7 seconds before they realized they weren't hitting sh!t.
 
Even with their masks on you could tell they were worried. Most of them were on par with Michael, but stealth had always been his domain. For most of his life he had learned guerrilla tactics. These men had only been taught for a few years of their life. The soldiers started to look around for their attacker. They should have brought flashlights instead of guns. Myriad felt a certain kind of pleasure when hiding like this. You could be inches away from a person and they wouldn't even know it. He charged out, breaking his veil of shadows for only a second. He reached out and grabbed the heads of two men facing him then smashed them together, either knocking them out or killing them instantly. The two fell to the floor and again Myriad disappeared into the dark. 
 
There was now only 5 standing. The rookies were gone and one real soldier was out of the game. Now it came time for the human ingenuity that groups loved to use. They were going to realize their strategy wasn't working and they needed a better one. Myriad, however, didn't have time for this. He either had to catch up with Longshot or die. He ran out of the cover of darkness at a speed most people considered a blur. Michael abandoned his strategy of stealth and screamed at them. It was funny to him on what went through his mind at this time. Thoughts of the blonde haired assassin boy and the girl. He thought he'd be thinking more about Cole and how he wished he could punch that bastard again. The battle roar had the intended affect of making the soldiers freeze long enough for him to get one good surprise attack in. He sent a powerful right hook to the closest. The fist smashed into the soldiers face knocking him down. The man next to him reacted faster enough to hit him with a fast jab. It connected with his jaw, giving Michael a bruise on his lower lip. He'd almost forgotten they were trained. The same man attacked again, this time attempting a high kick aimed at the head. Myriad's good arm shot up and grabbed the man by the ankle. Another soldier started firing his light machine gun off. In another blurred motion, Michael blocked the pieces of lead with the mans helpful leg. Crimson streaks exploded out of the limb. The man yelped in pain. 2 down, 3 to go. 
 
The rogue warrior let go of the crippled soldier and rushed the soldier who had apparently, wasted his clip on ammo on friendly fire. A fist flung at the bastard, but it was halted when the butt of the soldier's gun collided with his jaw. Michael stumbled backwards, now with a gash on his jaw. Before he could recover, he felt the air part on the back of his neck. In one swift motion he took a step to his left for the fist of another soldier to pass beside him. Once again using his good hand he grabbed the wrist of the attacker and used the mans momentum to flip him over his shoulder, onto his back. He brought his foot up and stomped the soldiers throat open with his boot heel letting blood seep over the floor. 
 
That left two more of these pricks to kill. Michael looked nonchalantly to his left to see that one man standing had drawn a pistol. To his right, the man with the machine gun had reloaded and was aiming for his head. He raised his hands up to point at both men and grinned. "Well. It looks like I'm not going to die today". The two soldiers looked at each other and then back at Myriad. " Whatever you say asshole" the one with the machine-gun replied. He loved that they had no idea who he was. They had no clue about his wrist guns. Without even the tiniest of signs he fired both of them off simultaneously. Michael watched as both soldiers fell to the ground in unison. Both men having a gunshot hole in their heads.
 
Well, he survived. That was surprising to say the least. Myriad started to leave the room, but was halted by a poorly aimed shot speeding past his face. He turned around to see the assassin he'd clocked was still conscious. He was laying up on his elbow and holding a gun with the other hand. This called for a very simple solution. He flicked his wrists in the mans direction and fired another bullet off. The man immediately fell back down, now limp.
 
Myriad rushed out of the room and into the destroyed passageways. His plan was to catch up with Longshot. After that...Well he hadn't planned that far. It was something to think about as he ran through the hallways though. What could he really do now? All he had was his training. He had no education or desire to work for minimum wage. All he had was his combat skills and experience. He would never work with criminal organizations like this one again. That was for damned sure.
 
As Michael turned a corner to get to the elevators he was halted by something slamming into his face. The force sent him to the ground in pain. What the hell was that?! It got blurry for a second. Then his eyes adjusted and he saw none other then the man he'd wanted to kill all this time. Cole. He felt a wave of anger come over him. If he wanted revenge on anybody, it was Cole.
 
Myriad hopped back on his feet and gave Cole a sneer. Instead of preparing for the fight Cole stayed relaxed and chuckled. "Is that all it took to get us on opposite sides? I would have done this a long time ago if you told me". Michael couldn't pay attention. That first punch has his head reeling. How could Cole be so fast and so bloody strong? It was inhuman. Without hesitation he attacked. Throwing a right hook to Cole's stomach. In a blur, Cole caught the fist. Myriad gritted his teeth, knowing he'd just lost. The ox of an assassin crushed his right arm like he'd crushed his left. This time Michael couldn't hold the pain back. It brought him to his knees. He tried to yell out in agony, but no noise would come out. Another flash of pain hit him as Cole let go and used his powerful leg to kick him in the jaw. Myriad fell on his back. He could barely move now and there was no point with both hands broken. He felt his ribs crack as his attacker kicked him in the side. "Aw come on Myr. I need a good fight" Cole taunted. Myriad could only hate one man more than this ass and that man was in Europe. Cole grabbed him by the hair and brought his face up so that they were eye to eye. The bastard gave him a cruel smile that only a psychotic man like him could give. Then Cole brought his head back and jerked it forward, smashing his forehead into Michaels. There was another flash of white hot pain as his nose broke. Then Myriad blacked out.

Paxton's feet gave out under him and he staggered, hardly able to stand. A grey puff of air shot from his mask in the cold morning air with every heavy breath. Krissy had dozed off a few miles back and the sun was just beginning to rise behind them. Recovering his strength for a moment, Longshot raced into the city limits of Chicago. Cars were running to and from on the streets and he slipped through the city, out of sight by pedestrians. The police were marching like ants in and out of the hotel trying to piece together what happened, who had broken in and slaughtered the guards and where the girl was. Longshot had never left a trace of any of his hits aside from bodies. The only public knowledge of him was his reputation in the underworld. The Asian drug circuit called him "The Eye of Death". But that was the past. Now, everything he did was in the attempt to redeem himself.  
 
Longshot dropped on the ground in the alley by the nearest police station. He set Krissy down and patted her on the back. "Hey. Hey, wake up." he whispered. Krissy's eyes drifted open and she stared up at him. "You're not safe with me. I want you to go in there. The police will keep you safe." He brushed a loose strand of her hair behind her ear and ushered her towards the door. "Thank you." she whispered softly, turning and vanishing around the corner to the Police Station.  
 
Paxton stayed on his knees for a moment. His breath was slow and heavy and with a final gasp, he rolled his mask up over his nose and vomited. He looked down at the pool of vomit and his lip quivered. He didn't feel right. Perhaps the wounds had gotten infected, maybe there was something else. He clutched his stomach and groaned, rolling over on his side. He knew he had to mend the cuts on his back, but he could hardly move. Every inch of his body was racked with pain and he shook uncontrollably on the ground in absolute agony. He looked at his shaking hand, his vision wavering like a hallucinogenic nightmare. "W-what the hell is happening to me?" Paxton moaned under his breath. He lay there for hours, his skin burning and his stomach feeling as though it was being turned inside out. Finally, the pain passed and he crawled away to the fire escape of an unoccupied apartment building. Hoisting himself up slowly, he sat there and began to remove his equipment, setting his bow and quiver aside and stripping his jacket and shirt. As he looked at his arms, he saw soars, resembling burn marks, that hadn't been there during the torture. These marks had shown up since he last put his clothes on.  
 
With his last ounce of energy, he reached into a pouch on his belt and pulled out a miniature first aid kit and started to mend the long gashes across his back. He would tend to the rest later, but those cuts needed some serious attention. He had a long strip of gauss rapping around his shoulder and lay down on the black iron balcony. The pain killers were beginning to kick in and he began to relax. Unzipping a pocket in his coat, he pulled out a crumpled piece of paper and unfolded it, reading a printed out web page of his parents. It had a bit of blood staining the corner. He read the information over and over again. He'd already memorized it all, the biographies, the pictures, the address. The address! He knew where his parents lived! Maybe when he was on the mend he could see them again! Maybe, he could learn who they really were. Maybe, just maybe, they could be a family again.

Paxton weathered the rest of the night, drifting in and out of sleep. He was lost in an incoherent haze of hallucination and confusion. His eyes stung and his skin continued to burn. In a momentary clarity, he looked at his arm and realized that the soars on his shoulder had spread and were now covering his entire arm and beginning to spread to his neck and chest. The affected skin was an unnatural color and distorted in a hideous way. His heart nearly skipped a beat as he saw this and he wondered what on god's earth had happened to him, was still happening to him. A flash of bad memory pierced his brain, screaming children who watched their mothers and fathers die at his hand, men falling to their deaths with an arrow in their back, blood on the wall, broken families, weeping widows, his own parents, scared and mourning their lost child. Horizon was out of the equation. They had decided what path he would take for far too long. Longshot's destiny was now in his hands and he didn't want to be a murderer anymore. All he anted to do was atone for all the lives he'd taken, and the misery that had fallen on him seemed like a fitting penance, the first step to redemption. He writhed around, exposed to the harsh night as the soars continued to spread and clumps of his hair were carried away in the wind. Minutes passed like hours and as time went on, it only got worse. He shut his eyes and waited for it to end.
 
When next Paxton's eyes opened, the whites had been turned a blood red and they were glassy with held back tears. He looked to the sky and saw that it was a dark bluish hue, getting gradually lighter as it headed east. It was less then a half hour before sunrise. He groaned as he propped himself up on weak and shaky arms, staggering to one knee before he fell over and had to lean against the coarse brick wall. When he saw his hands, he noticed that they had been completed coated in the horrendous deformity that had befallen him. His breathing intensified as he ran his hands over his scalp, completely bald. He reached down for the shard of glass he'd used as a mirror to tend to his injuries the night before and, with a moment of hesitation, held it up to his face, but what he saw was not his face. What he saw was some hideous, deformed monster with gnawed and burnt skin and sunken in eyes. This was not the face of Paxton Riggs. This was the face of... a monster. Paxton's breathing became erratic and in a fit of rage, he flung the glass at the wall, shattering it. He hunched over and covered his face, quietly sobbing in his loneliness. All these years he had carelessly slaughtered people, ever since he was a child. All this time he had acted like a monster, now fate had come full circle and he looked the part. 
 
He spent most of the day laying on the fire escape, taking a few antibiotics to stave off the infection that had no doubt gotten into his wounds. All the while he was wondering what had caused the deformity. His final conclusion was the pills, those three yellow pills they had given him before he started taking assignments. Nothing that could give you agility, speed and unbelievable senses in a single dosage would be without side effects, and grotesque ones at that. Perhaps all this time, Horizon had been putting it in their food, or their water, but somehow they were getting the medication to hold off the side effects to every one of their assassins. This was the automatic punishment for going rogue. It was the most plausible cause, at least. 
 
  It was in the afternoon, around three o'clock that he heard an unfamiliar sound, at least to him. His sharp ears picked up a sound from about three blocks away. There was a muffled scream, something thrown against a trash can and a switchblade springing open. There was a man's voice, leathery like a chain smoker and with a hint of desperation, obsession and instability. "Move and you're dead, bitch!" he growled under his breath. The woman's breathing was fast and panicked as the man kept his hand clamped over her mouth. Paxton covered his ears, it was a hideous sound and he wanted to tune it out. He just wanted to stop hearing everything. Couldn't he turn it off?! There was an echo, the sound of metal slicing string and small plastic things falling to the ground. He was cutting the buttons from her shirt and she continued to try and scream. He pressed the knife against her throat. Paxton couldn't take it anymore. He reached for his mask and his equipment.  
 
Moments later, the man was unbuckling his belt with trembling hands, keeping the woman pressed against the wall by her throat, nearly strangling her. A tear ran down her cheek and suddenly, the man fell to the ground. There was something that had fallen from above that had knocked him to the ground, but it bounded into the shadows the second it touched the ground. He stumbled back onto his feet, reaching for his knife. He looked around frantically, keeping the knife pointed outward as though it protected him from all harm. "Who's'ere?!" he shouted. The poor woman remained where she was, frozen in fear. He was a bit too close for her to run. Suddenly, Longshot emerged from the shadows, standing tall and trying to hide the fact that he was still in excruciating pain. He stared down the punk with the switchblade and simply said, "Take your best shot." The man was trembling in fear and he lunged forward, trying to stab Longshot. The archer grabbed hold of his wrist and dodged the knife, flinging him headfirst into a dumpster before twisting the knife out of his grip. The man got free and swung his fists wildly. Longshot easily evaded his attacks and grabbed an arrow, driving it into the man's abdomen before throwing him to the ground again. He checked to see that the woman was alright then aimed his cable gauntlet into the air, firing it into the rooftop and vanishing.  
 
Paxton sat on the ventilation system on the roof, watching the sun as it drew nearer to the horizon. He had never been exposed to the outside world except when taking an assignment. Was this what people did to each other? Was this the crime the world was faced with? All these years, he was blind. Now, the veil had been lifted and he knew what his mission was. This was the cause he would dedicate the rest of his life to. But first, he had to pay someone a visit.