Silas walked to the first of the elite he killed and smoothly retrieved his blade from the dead man’s chest. He wiped the blade clean on the man’s black garb and moved cautiously to the edge of the building to survey the street below. The three bodies were still there painting the street crimson and the rain came down harder than ever. Streams of water cascaded off the inclined roof tiles like a waterfall. The streets would soon be flooded.

A flutter of activity caught his raptor like attention about hundred feet down the street. The weather made it hard to see, but Silas could make out at least eight figures moving along the buildings, looking for him no doubt. One figure loomed above the rest; the wavy outline seemed to be directing the others. This was their leader. Silas decided that he wouldn’t waste time hiding from them. There were only eight after all.

Silas breathed deeply before leaping from the roof. He revolved once and with a perfect three point landing hit the ground with a heavy splash in the middle of the street. Voices cried out from the end of the street and he knew that they had seen him. His focus was on the hulking figure striding towards him. The massive warrior was bare- chested like him save for a leather strap holding his weapon, but nearly twice his height and much broader. Bulging muscles threatened to rip apart the hulking figure’s tan skin as he reached behind to draw his weapon.

Silas’s dark, emotionless eyes followed the massive sword as the berserker whirled it around in wide arcs. It was a zweihander, usually just a large two handed sword, but this one had a blade that was least a foot wide and least as long as Silas was tall. The remaining fighters formed a loose ring around him and the leader as Silas watched with disinterest. He knew that they would try to stop him if he tried to run.

He was sure that if he prevailed against this monstrous opponent, it would end. Silas trained his gaze back on the hulking fighter as he slammed his massive blade on the ground. Water sprayed over Silas as the leader waved a hand for them to commence. He cast a quick, analytical assessment over the battle ground and his foe. The man was gigantic, his strength would be outrageous and it would be foolish to attack him head on. That sword would cut him in two if he wasn’t quick enough.

Footing is going to tricky…I might be able to use that to my advantage though…rain is going to provide visibility issues as well…Silas thought as the leader began to descend upon him. The broad blade suddenly whipped toward him from the right, Silas could hear the air whistle around the sharp edge. Silas barely had time to throw his guard up. The blow crashed into him like a freight train and would it not have been for his hasty guard, he would have been obliterated. The force of the blow made him leave his feet, causing him to slam into a wall nearly ten feet away.

Dazed, he tried to get to his feet, only to have to dive to avoid the massive blade again. Silas darted away from the hulk as the wall exploded from the violent strike. Shards of brick and mortar pelted his naked chest as he tried to regain hold of his senses. He shook his head to clear it and brought his blade up in a high guard.

The leader withdrew his sword from the giant scar in the wall and turned to face the assassin. The blackened metal masked encased his entire head, with only three slits at the mouth for breathing and two more for vision. A mane of tangled hair flowed out from underneath the mask. Silas shook his own sodden hair out of his eyes and held his guard as the barrel-chested warrior descended upon him once more. Silas thought to parry the strike, but too late realized it was a mistake. His arm felt as if it were being torn from his body as the blow hammered into his blade. He staggered back several steps before he realized that his sword was no longer in his hand.

Lightening flashed and he saw the glint of steel several feet away. The sword came for again in for a horizontal swipe, but Silas somersaulted over the blade, only to have the giants ham sized fist slam into his midsection. Silas crumple to the ground, his vision washed with rain and red pulses. Silas wheezed as he held out a hand, as if to postpone the killing blow that was sure to come.

A guttural laugh came from above him and the sword point nudged him sharply to roll onto his back. His vision was blurry, but he could see the wide point gleam dully in the stormy light. With a wild roar the sword point descended to his chest with the speed of a bullet. Time seem to slow as Silas cast out for that quiet center at the heart of his being. Calm spread over him and he gave himself over to his instincts. His left fist came up and clouted the tip of the giant blade, forcing the sword to bury itself in the pavement a mere couple of inches to right of his chest.

As soon as the sword crashed into the stone, Silas sprang into action. His ribs burned fiercely from the blow they took but he made himself move. It was attack or lose. Silas flipped to his feet, then sprang onto the stunned leaders back, using the buried swords hilt as a launching point. He hooked an arm underneath the metal mask and clasped his hand with to other arm. He tightened the pressure and attempted to snap the berserker’s neck, but he may as well have been wrestling with a raging bull. Each time his neck flexed, Silas’s grip slipped a little.

The man roared in anger and tried to grab Silas, but the rain made Silas’s body slick. Each time the wide hand grabbed him, he was able to slide away. Silas’s arms burned with effort as he closed tighter around the berserker’s throat. The bellows cut off sharply to the sounds of gagging and wheezing. Silas roared in tremendous effort as he gave an almighty wrench to the left and the vertebra popped as they violently parted from the spine.

The giant of man tumbled forward, mercifully dead, slinging Silas across the rain washed street until his back slammed into the flat of the zwiehander’s blade. Silas slowly pushed himself into a seated position and rested his head against the cool blade. His breath came in short, rapid breaths as the adrenaline pounded through his body. His arms fell to his sides as his breathing slowly started to normalize. He scanned the street through heavy lidded eyes for any other threats, but only the empty street stared back. The others must have disappeared when their leader fell.

Silas tilted his head back until his eyes sought the sky above. They closed as the rain rapidly let up until there wasn’t a drop hitting his face. He couldn’t say how long he stayed that way, could have been hours for all he knew. He allowed his mind to rest, something it hadn’t been able to do in a long while. He drifted off into a peaceful, oblivious void where he wasn’t quite asleep, yet not awake.

When he finally opened his eyes the soft, warm glow of the training room lights caused him to squint. He was lying flat on his back in the center of the floor. He slowly and methodically checked his body for any remaining wounds, knowing he wouldn’t find any but doing it anyway. The only thing that reminded Silas of the battle was the phantom pains where his wounds should be, but that was just a trick of his mind.

He laid back and put a wrist over his eyes, “Ruben?”

A voice heavy with resignation sounded throughout the room, “Yes, sir?”

The way the A.I. said sir always made him smile a little, “Well played, you almost had me this time.”

“I should have had you this time.”

Silas grinned and pushed himself up on his elbows, “Maybe next time, Ruben. Maybe next time give them something other than medieval weaponry. I don’t usually come across to many bows in my travels.”

“Duly noted, Night Angel.” The A.I replied in derision. Cassie had written the programming for Ruben and Silas could sometimes detect traces of her personality in the A.I. He often wondered if she had done that on purpose. Silas pushed himself to his feet and started walking to the door, grabbing his shirt along the way.

“Go ahead and power down, Ruben.”

“As you wish.” Ruben replied again with resignation, and the room darkened as Silas walked out the door, pulling on his shirt as he did.

The garage was frigid as he paced about it, picking up scattered tools as he went and putting them onto a workbench along the wall. Having worked off the nervous energy he had pent up from the Raikov assignment, his thoughts were easier to navigate. He was absently looking at the far wall while sliding a hand over a sleek black car, again thinking of the red haired woman, when his hand brushed a piece of yellow folded paper sitting on the windshield of the car.

He picked it up and unfolded it, a credit card slipping onto his palm. It read: Dr. Cross, Sorry about leaving the tools out, my car blew a tire and my dad had to drive up here to change it for me. I don’t know the first thing about cars! Atticus was a good boy while you were gone as usual, though he seemed pretty lonely. Oh, and thanks for letting me use your credit card to get him food and stock your kitchen! Love, Hallie. She had dotted the i in her name with a tiny heart. Silas pocketed the black credit card and the note. He walked up towards the kitchen, curious of what liberties his dog sitter had taken, the lights dimming behind him as he stared up the stairs.

Silas walked over to the walk-in pantry once in the kitchen and peeked in. His eye brows shot up when he saw the sheer amount of dry goods she bought, most of it with long expiration dates to accommodate his long absences, though most of it would stale long before he finished it all.

I’ll have to find some way to thank her, Silas thought as he glanced at the stove clock.  Midnight… Sleep is for the weak, Silas reasoned, though he yawned wide as he thought it. Slowly, losing himself to his thoughts once more, Silas made his way to back to his study.

He didn’t want to try his luck with sleep just yet, seeing as he added more fuel to his nightmares recently. Instead, he began to formulate a plan for extracting his target. All of the methods that immediately came to mind could have been basically summoned up as kidnapping…but he rejected that. If it came to that then so be it…but he felt that collecting Ashlin McGuiness would require gaining her trust, getting her to willingly come with him.

Silas halted in the doorway when he realized what that meant…he would have to contact her…he would to speak with her in a way that didn’t suggest he was an international assassin. It was strange, but just that thought alone caused a nervous lump to form in his throat. His social skills had gone into hibernation years ago and he was quite sure that they had died in their sleep.

Past the lump, Silas headed to his desk, his mind working towards devising scenarios to get in close to her while trying to ignore the fluttering in his stomach when he imagined those eyes were finally trained on him.