The summer nights of Farshaw were always quite, always still and extremely warm. So warm in fact more crickets came out to play their lovely harmonies, and a person could sleep without the covers upon their bodies in their air-conditioned rooms. In fact most welcomed the cool air upon their skin, reveling in the shivers and goose bumps such an action brought about in the sweltering summers. This night was no different, the moon hung in all its radiance, while the clouds attempted to hide the stars from those gazing up searching for their presence.

Hidden from all of this -well not quite so- within the wilds of this island not far from the mainland, is an average temple barely lit by moon light through the tightly packed corpse of trees and cumulus. There were no signs of life evident, the air stilled as though the night were holding its very breath. Every inhabitant of the temple lay safely tucked with in their beds, breathing the shallow breaths of sleep. The shadows flickered in the little light the moon offered as they drew nearer to the main house; metal glinting as they moved.

Shooting up from his bed, the youngest of the house bolted to his sister's room looking for the safety his young heart wished for. One would think his first thoughts would be for his parents, but his mother was sickly since the passing of his father, so there was not much she could do in confronting bad men. Not that he would want to put his mother in such a situation in order to find an answer of whether she could or not. There was his grandfather, but he was too old.

He could hear the noises down stairs; the door as it opened, the sounds as the house was being ransacked, and the muted voices of harsh cut commands. The clamor was a frightening cadence to his ears and so he went to the only place he knew he could find security. Trekking through the upstairs hall as deftly as possible for the ten-year-old boy, he paused at his sister's doorway and eased it open carefully, slipping through. At the sight of her sprawled across the bed, blanket having been shoved aside for the hot summer night, the younger boy ran and then jumped unto her full sized bed. All thoughts of stealth and quiet fled to the deepest corners of his mind in his eager rush and heartfelt relief.

His sister would keep him safe.

Crawling up to her face, he wondered briefly how she was able to sleep through all of this. He cringed when the sound of their grandfather's muffled yells reached his ears along with foreign voices. His heart beat painfully in his chest, and he could hear its pulse in his ears. Swallowing hard, he shook his sister gently. "Saoirse!” He bade louder than he wished, wincing in slight regret and fear. He breathed deep and tried again, this time conscience of the decibel level of his own voice. “Saoirse, wake up, someone's in the house!" He whispered in her ear frantically.

"Liam, go to sleep, no one is in the house." She mumbled in to her pillow, shifting so that she could reach her blanket to admit his small body. Being under a blanket close to another’s warmth was a very secure feeling. She hoped to share it in order to ease his terrified mind after what she suspected to be a nightmare he suffered. "Hurry up Liam, I'm tired and have school in the morning." In her new position her face smashed into her pillow and caused her words to be muffled slightly. It took a few moments for her brother to understand all of what she said, and hearing nothing of what he wished, he began to shake her again.

The noises down stairs began to escalate, and Liam thought that he could now hear his mother's voice along with their grandfather's angry yells. It sounded like a fight was going on down there, and not just one involving words. If the crashing sounds of furniture and breaking glass were any indication of the deadly struggle below his feet. No, he amended, not deadly... just very violent. The thought of it being a deadly struggle was too much for the boy to worry over. So, he cast it aside and replaced it with a believable lie. Trembling, he yanked her blankets down and got into position to shove her off the bed.

He stilled as still as the dead.

Four gun shots in rapid procession sounded out in the night. Following that were the screams of his beloved mother and grandfather and in the next instant, at least he dearly hopped not, the sound of bodies colliding lifelessly to the floor.

He nearly screamed his head off when Saoirse jumped from the bed, but refrained from doing so. His heartbeat was slamming in his chest painfully. He watched as she kept her eyes to her bedroom door, her movement made deliberate as she walked to her dresser. Slowly easing the drawer out, she shifted the clothes around. All the while trying to calm her jumble of thoughts that were muddled with sleep and to steady her increasingly pumping heart. Her hand came to close around the cell she got a couple weeks ago. It was nothing grand, an average hand phone with a sliding keyboard.

Tossing it to her brother, she whispered lowly. "Liam, phone Crais and tell him what's going on, and then call the police and let them know someone has been shot. Tell them you're all alone, they'll come faster that way." Not looking back, she headed toward her closet and slowly slid the door open.

Pushing aside her clothes at the back, she came across her myriad of weapons, hands shaking at the thought of real live combat. Crais, her older brother, had always thought it best to train her in the ways of self-defense, claiming that a girl should not be left hapless. She liked that idea much more than her suspected truth for his taciturn teachings. While she may not have bested him in anything, but perhaps the handgun, she came close. That alone was enough to point out the surprising strength contained in her lithe form as anyone who wished to mess with her elder brother also wished for certain death. 

Her brother was an agent in the military forces of the One Government, and although it had been quite some time since she had seen him last, he was always there for her and Liam. She was confidant in her place within his heart and knew that he would not let her down. Not now, in this critical moment of life and death. Belting two handguns around her waist, some knives up her pajama sleeves with a wrist sheath, she lastly took up a single edged slightly curved sword.

She casted a look toward her brother to clearly tell him not to move to which he nodded in acknowledgment. Perhaps what she was attempting might be considered crazy. She realized this after taking note of the looks her brother kept shooting her as he tried to get in touch with their elder brother. Nevertheless, in this moment of split second decision making with a sleep muddled brain, she felt her judgment sound.

Stealthily walking past the door, Saoirse monitored her breathing, lowering it as not to be heard by the intruders. She made sure her steps were just as deliberate. One wrong move, one slight noise could alert them of her presence thus taking away the element of surprise and her possible upper hand in the fight. She moved down the hall blending in with the shadows of the night, just as Crais had taught, and paused listening for the movement of her prey in hopes to gain some idea as to their location. Every inch of training came to her so easily, so naturally despite the disquiet rumbling her gut with nausea trapped in her throat.

It surprised her.

She never would have imagined that the inconsequential practices she was forced to perform daily, much like breathing, much like eating, could fall her subconscious mind to such ease of performance. The indolent wonder she felt at the discovery vanished as her ears perked to the sound of shelves being tipped over. The books as they collided with the ground grated across her hearing; Saoirse mentally seethed. She knew where they were, where they had no right to be, where they had no right to ramshackle! 

Moving down each step with explicit care, she paused at the foot of the stairs. She ambled with her back along the wall still covered within the shadows out into the living room. 

Her legs nearly gave way.

She had to bring up a hand to stifle the scream that wished to escape her steadily drying throat. Bracing herself against the wall, eyes squeezing shut to banish the images from her sight, only to have them seen before her in the darkness of her closed lids. 

Her mother....

Her grandfather....

They were sprawled out on the floor like lifeless rag dolls. Blood pooled out around them. Her mother was shot once in the head and again near the heart region. Her grandfather had been shot in the heart in what appeared to be twice and another in lower regions near his liver. Blood trailed their lips and their eyes stared lifelessly ahead. Saoirse once again had to stifle another cry of anguish. Steeling her resolve she opened her eyes, but did not once look upon the scene before her. To continue on her journey toward her father's study she could not look lest she fall to grief.

She was trembling.

Not just with the sadness that wished to rear itself in the form of endless tears and voiced cries. She shook with anger and hatred so fierce that it startled her. Never before had this emotion run through her veins so fiercely. She, under normal circumstance did not bare hatred, and always tried to be understanding. 

Did this make her a bad person?

Had she become what her deceased father loathed and had given his life to protect her from? As the image of their death shifted through her mind her blood felt on fire with the emotion of white hot rage and adrenalin. Her teeth ached from their clenching.

Carefully stepping over the fallen shelf, Saoirse emptied her mind and entered into an emotionless state. Crais, when he had taught her to fight, always explained that she must keep her emotions in check as they could be the thin line between victory and defeat. By reading ones emotions one could predict their opponent’s next move. She had never been able to master this technique. It was beyond her. To feel nothing made her squeamish, as if she was a monster. Thus, she could never quite bring herself to erase her everything. Howbeit, in this instance of rage and need for vengeance, she had been able to accomplish it for the very first time in her recollection.

There was no mood to sing praises over the feat. This was not one of her training sessions with her brother. As far as she knew the murdering scoundrels could be armed with more than a gun. As it were, she only knew of the firearm having heard the shots that woke her from a peaceful sleep.

One of the most important lessons Crais had ever bestowed to her would be this: While she was strong, when facing a man she will almost always be the weaker. So her brother honed her speed, reflexes, grace, but most importantly her mind. The majority of the male fighters in the modern world were all muscles and no brains, thinking it was all they needed to survive in this harsh world of conflict. He had trained her to think, to be shrewd. So in this fight her weapon would be this; she would out smart them into their own graves. 

She knew murder was a crime. If caught, she would be brought to the courts where she then would be judged by the chancellors to leader of the One Government. Death would be the only outcome for her. Be it in self-defense or not. Even knowing this, even hearing the whispers of warning in the back of her mind, she marched forward with lethal intent.

Shifting her grip upon the hilt of her single edged blade, Saoirse pushed her back up against the wall near a shelf that had been left standing amidst the room's ransacking. Taking in a deep breath she took the heel of her foot and knocked it into the wall.

She waited a few moments.

All action within room beyond the wall ceased bringing with it an air of deadly alarm. The low mumbles of their arguing could barely be caught through the wood, insulation, and drywall. Even if the words had been clear she would have likely heard nothing over the blood pumping viciously through her ears. Saoirse forced her focused upon the room beyond. There were movements. She could distinctly hear the dragging of feet upon the wooden planked floors; her father always preferred it to carpeting or tile. There were three individual movements she could make out, so her guess would be that she had three opponents to dispose of.

Miraculously she managed to grasp the voice of one man ordering another to investigate the origin of the sound she had produced. Her heart was beating a million miles a second, and her gut twisted; whether from anticipation or nausea, she did not know. Albeit, she hoped it was a sickness for what she was about to do. Saoirse had never killed before, however considering the circumstances such an outcome may be unavoidable. Her mother and grandfather had already fallen prey to their murderous hands. She was not about to allow Liam to undergo the same fate.

Hands twitching under the weight of the coming actions to partake, she had to admit to herself that this was not merely survival that drove her forward toward this violent end. Vengeance for her slain blood played a major role. Forgiveness was not something she could give for the heinous crime committed. 

The door to the study scrapping as it slide open slowly tapping in its stop caused her far more anxiety than if the comer had been slammed in its opening in all due haste. Her blood was pumping, ringing in her ears....