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Grant Stonehouse glided across the ankle deep murky water of the sewer tunnel with the elegance of an Olympic ice-skating champion. The rainwater poured down onto him through the open grate above his soaking wet head, saturating his dark boiler suit. He epitomized the proverbial drowned rat. But he didn’t care; he wasn’t at all bothered about his state of utter dishevelment. Why oh why was he feeling so incredibly energetic? This was just one of many questions racing through Stonehouse’s mind as he rushed through the damp labyrinth of pathways towards an old chemical plant in the Stag Heath district of Harper Rock.

For the past week or so, the former executive had been feeling excessively perky, like the Duracell Bunny on amphetamines. There was a real snap to his celery, an abundance of enthusiasm. Not that he was in any way complaining. Stonehouse was loving it!

The businessman had recently devised a new moneymaking scheme, and had already, seemingly, fine-tuned it to perfection. Stonehouse wanted to play the role of the businessman; a role with which he was more than familiar. He’d purchased yet another expensive dark suit, the best he could find in town, and buffed his leather shoes to create a half decent impersonation of a city banker. Instead of sticking to the shadows and sneaking in through the metaphorical back door, the showman had bounded in through the literal front door, bold as brass. There had been some kind of evening fund-raising dinner in one of the city buildings. His plan had been simple: walk into the office block with the masses of other city types, talk the talk, steal a few items while nobody was looking, strike a few profitable deals, and vanish into the underworld.

The huge beneficial factor in the plan was the large number of other people. They had acted as his shield. Effectively, the sneaky salesman had hidden in plain sight, camouflaged by numerous other businessmen in smart suits, blending in like a corporate chameleon. The shear volume of voices, the concentration of conversation, and the barrage of business banter, had caused Stonehouse to focus all of his attention. He still hadn’t managed to control the crazy overload on his senses that regularly haunted him, and a crowded room was rapidly becoming his nemesis. However, majestic professionalism had dragged him through like a tugboat hauling a battleship into harbour. And what a harbour! How many deals had the entrepreneur managed to secure, five, six, maybe seven? Add to that a bounty of half a dozen credit card filled wallets and the occasional gold wrist watch, and this was plunder that the most feared pirate in the Caribbean would have been proud of gathering. This was an excellent night’s work!

Normally, such a successful escapade would be cause for a celebration, a time to relax and reflect on a fantastic business venture, but not tonight. Stonehouse was no longer his usual self, no longer as cool as a cucumber, but was more like a fiery chilli. He felt like he had a beehive inside his belly, the worker bees buzzing away, driving him ever onwards. Barging past many other suit-clad executives, spilling several Champagne cocktails in the process, the energy bomb that was Stonehouse rushed out into the cool night air. He wanted more action, more stimulation, that rush of excitement and adrenaline that go hand in hand like a pair of star-struck lovers.

No sooner had Stonehouse given the pompous business executives the slip, than he was already hatching up another cunning plan to feed his thirst for excitement. He ran, at electrifying speed, to an apartment that he owned in the city centre. Ditching his stuffy business-wear in favour of the far more practical black boiler suit that he had grown to adore, Stonehouse sprang back out into the streets, descending into the underground system at the first opportunity.

The splashing of the grimy sewer water around his shins as his sturdy boots slammed down didn’t phase Stonehouse one bit. He was on a mission. He had energy to burn, like a giant pile of wood ready to be set alight on Bonfire Night.

Bursting into the chemical plant, which had become some kind of hub for a faction known as the Helheim, Stonehouse whipped out his firearms. There was no time to waste; he wanted to dive straight into the thick of it. The gunslinger quickly came face to face with his new foe, a soldier of some description wielding a gun. The hunter wasted no time in introducing himself, firing several rounds in the direction of the startled corporal, turning the hapless Helheim minion into Swiss cheese as each bullet thudded, satisfyingly, into its target.

A second trooper, dressed in combat gear acquired from goodness knows what dodgy website, rushed towards Stonehouse, clearly having been alerted by the sound of gunfire.

“Oh, so you want some too?” yelled Stonehouse, guns blazing like a firework display on New Year’s Eve.

Another volley of lead erupted from the barrel of Stonehouse’s weapon, heading directly towards the onrushing guard. Fortune was not on the side of the naïve corporal, and several bullets pierced his skull, ripping open his soft brain.

“Take it in the face!” exclaimed an exuberant Stonehouse

The pain would surely have been intense, as if all the buzzing bees in Stonehouse’s stomach hive had flown into the soldier’s skull and stung him at once. The lifeless body of the guard slumped unceremoniously to the floor like a giant sack of potatoes.

There was no time for the urban cowboy to rest on his laurels. Two more combatants leaped from a corner of the safehouse bunker, both wielding sizable firearms, and brandishing particularly mean expressions across their angry faces.

“Bring it on!” cried Stonehouse, unloading a full magazine at the menacing soldiers. “Is that all you’ve got?”

One of the warriors fell to his knees as a spray of bullets cut through both his thighs, mowing him down like a mighty oak under a lumberjack’s axe, effectively putting him out of the game for a short while. The other, however, was clearly made of sturdier stuff, and fired back a volley of rounds, despite having caught a slug in his midriff. A couple of lead projectiles struck an over-confident Stonehouse in the left arm, knocking him off his balance.

“Clumsy!” said Stonehouse under his breath. “Don’t get too cocky.”

Retaliation was both swift and decisive, a wave of bullets from a handgun that Stonehouse always kept as a spare flying directly at the stronger of the two soldiers, pounding into his chest and stomach like guided missiles, ending his participation in this particular battle in the most dramatic and lethal way. Stonehouse let out an almighty sigh as he deliberately fell backwards into the cold, hard floor of the bunker. Staring at the dusty ceiling as he clutched lovingly at his faithful firearm, he grinned almost uncontrollably. This was turning into one hell of a night! And he still felt like he had plenty of fuel in his tank.

“Fifteen?!” Satine asked as glanced in the back seat where Furious George sat taking another drag off his oversized blunt. “I swear if you two fall asleep on me I will be tempted to swap you out for some cold blood. Now what was it...ten or fifteen?”
“Uhmmm…” The sound of the voice drifting over into the space of the front seat said that the benefits of the weed pinched between the sixties relics fingers was finally kicking in. “Maybe it was twelve. Hell, what do you think, Jeeves?”
“Now how in the hell am I supposed to know that?” The squeak of latex shifting over the steering wheel as Percy looked in the rearview mirror to the one out of all of them that should know. “I was in the car waiting for your *** to go in and come back out. I do know it took you an hour to find the goddamned door.” Percy, the lanky firebug covered in head to toe red latex, shook his head and found a set of assessing silver orbs pinned on him like he was on trial in some hot seat. “Seriously, boss, can’t we get him checked out? He is getting like my uncle who used to go to the park for a walk and ended up needing a search party two days later. Or…” Percy bravely broke the eye contact with her and glanced once more in the rear view mirror. “You can microchip him. He looks like a big old mutt. Fix him up. Get his cotton balls snipped and shove a chip…” A quick sweep of crimson dipped talon like nails delivered the sticky smacking sound interrupting his sentence. The attention getter to the back of his head inspired the man to sit up straight and keep his eyes on her no matter what happened next. “Damn, watch the latex!”
“Shut the **** up would ya?” She ignored the flow of her long obsidian hair as it rode the cool night breeze that floated over her shoulders.A few sharp clicks of lethal heels on the rough asphalt where she stood outside leaning on the driver’s door. “You two stay put. I am pretty sure I can divide and conquer. When I get back our merchandise we are going back to the club you two, my little goons. Then we will be sitting down for a fireside chat so clear your dance cards. Tonight I own you.”

As soon as Satine disappeared into the doors of the chemical plant Percy was finger saluting the stoner in the back of the antique black mobster car. A toss of a lighter over the massive front bench seat was all it took. Any witnesses would have been viewing yet another predictable wrestling match of sleek red and dull grey between the front and back seats of the restored 50’s Crown Victoria. With the mood she had been in lately the young necro couldn’t be bothered by what the two were up to while she was out of view. There was a mess to clean up and she was set on taking care of it with her own two hands. She had been unusually successful at doing this very thing all week. So much so that if she was a drinker she would go as far to say as it must be something in the water, but she wasn’t.

“You…” She arrived with a relaxed strut of white cling v-neck blouse, anchored by an out of place pencil line black skirt carried, of course, by a stunning and sharp set of ankle wrap black mary jane stilettos. Her right finger curled slowly with a come hither prompt. “I came to pick up something my boys neglected to bring home.”
“You got a death wish lady?” The set of eyes had seen her before. Usually she was in the company of what appeared to be a small circus side act following her. Tonight it appeared that she was alone and he was calling it like he saw it. It was unfortunate for her that he wasn’t the type to be impressed with the petite Wednesday Adams finally grows up and goes rockabilly look. A cocky smirk surfaced across his face then went flat and cold as the lethal steel in his hands. “And it looks like you are **** out of luck.”

The click of a safety was lost on most within earshot with a pulse but not on the wall climbing, lion’s jaws sporting necro. Her eyes sparkled with the issue of the challenge in front of her. She was in the mood for getting her hands full and dirty and the musclebound meathead with a pop gun in front of her was going to do just fine.

“Care to make place a wager on that?” Satine wore the face of one that was fully prepared to win.

Agility was a strength that Stonehouse had always possessed. As a child, he was a master at the game where one person holds their hands together as if they are praying, and assumes the role of the defender, while another player tries to slap the defender’s hands. Whether this skill was down to being blessed with dexterity and lightning fast reflexes, or the fact that he always maintained eye contact with his opponent, and tried to somehow psyche them out, he would never quite know, but his win to lose ratio was outstanding.

While playing the part of the attacker, Stonehouse could frequently fool his adversary into thinking that he was about to strike, making them jerk out of the way, handing the sneaky Stonehouse a free slap. Alternatively, he could simply hit, almost at will, without his hapless counterpart being able to dodge his assault. Similarly, when he took on the position of the defender, the nimble-limbed youth would regularly avoid the attacks by quickly withdrawing his hands before the aggressor could land a single blow. Such games were long forgotten in the school playgrounds of time, but it appeared that the old avoidance mechanisms were still very much alive and kicking. Well, pretty much.

After a few seconds of gazing upwards into the nothingness that filled the space between his eyes and the reinforced concrete ceiling, Stonehouse slowly raised himself up into a seated position. A pair of inquisitive eyes scanned down across his athletic frame, focussing on the arm injuries. In fairness, they were barely scratches, flesh wounds that would heal in a day or so, but they still stung like the tail of a scorpion. However, this minor irritation was surely nothing compared to the distress currently been endured by the soldier who’d just had his legs hacked down by Stonehouse’s concentrated spray of bullets.

The pain radiating through the incapacitated trooper’s legs from the bullet wounds was undoubtedly intense, like giant termites boring deep inside his burning fibres. The slugs of lead had penetrated the kneecaps of both limbs, probably shattering each patella into dozens of tiny bone fragments. A handful of projectiles had lodged themselves in the juicy muscles of the warrior’s thighs, snuggling up to the thighbone like little children tucked up in bed on a cold winter’s night. Although Stonehouse's reasonable knowledge of human anatomy reassured him that the soldier wasn't about to die just yet, especially as there was no blood spurting uncontrollable out of either femoral artery, he did know that his adversary was in a precarious state.

The crippled corporal lay on the cold unforgiving floor of the underground bunker, curled up in a foetal position, clinging to the oozing openings on his legs as best he could. Almost involuntarily, Stonehouse sprang to his feet, the grip on his firearm tightening as a burning question flowed through his mind: should he finish him off, kill the soldier and put him out of his misery, or should he offer to help him? Was Stonehouse now Freddie Krueger from the corporal’s nightmares or Florence Nightingale from his dreams? Murder or mercy; it was time to make the call.

Momentarily, Stonehouse’s attention was distracted as he heard a noise from somewhere else in the building. The banging of a door was accompanied by a female voice speaking. The woman’s voice initially startled Stonehouse, although an additional person in the old chemical plant should have really come as no surprise. The Helheim soldiers were packing some pretty good weaponry, gear that was well worth risking a bullet or two in order to scavenge from the dead bodies of a recently deceased enemy. Perhaps the woman was an entrepreneur just like Stonehouse, out for a quick kill or two before hurrying home with the loot?

She could, of course, be another member of the Helheim clan, ready to dish out some swift revenge for the felling of her comrades. If that were the case, chances were that she wouldn’t be alone. Maybe this fight wasn’t quite over yet? It was time for Stonehouse to refocus and be prepared for another skirmish. First, though, there was the small matter of the wounded foot soldier.

“Sorry, mate,” said Stonehouse, with a rather unapologetic, sarcastic tone to his voice. “It’s nothing personal.”

Personal or not, the short sword that plunged silently through the trooper’s chest, bursting his heart like a balloon, ended his existence in a flash. In this instance, Stonehouse deemed the blade to be a better weapon that the firearm, as further gunshots would potentially attract the attention of the unknown woman and any companions that she may have with her. Despite his apparent limitless energy, stealth mode was the new order of the day.

There was something to be said for the weapon toting corporal who took the words from her mouth as a first move. He wasn't pulling the trigger like she expected and what happened next left her rethinking her strategy. First sign that she had to shift gears and be prepared for the unexpected was a whole lot of darkness settling over her head. She had found herself in a similar predicament before. In fact more times than she felt comfortable recalling. Shadows were a powerful force to reckon with. Especially when she was in the middle of trying to make a first strike.

Satine was no powerhouse. Never was. She knew it. However, she had something that balanced things out just enough that it usually cashed the checks her *** wrote early on. Trial and error with a generous and inexhaustible core of tenacity. Life was an invaluable teacher and she learned whatever she bit off she would be wise to choke on and chew down one way or another. Never give in and never ever let something hit her twice without making her move. Which is exactly what she did while the force of shadows did their best to aid their summoner.

Despite the disorienting presence building around her, the necro gained her footing and fired back with the first response she was known to use. It came to her without a whole lot of focused effort or energy expended in its delivery. Rigamortis was a ***** to shake when it set in. The helheim ranked was showing the signs and that was all the inspiration needed for the crimson tipped fingers to pull out a stunning weapon from a rather impressive concealment. The volley of gunfire exchanged was rapid and so close that she felt the movement of hot lead leaving a warm trail behind.

With the speed of any memorable arachnid on the defense she took to the wall closest to her and ran up and over the dark cloud and out of the current line of fire. This bought her just enough time to reach for Chester. With a firm grip claiming the custom ax her spidey power released her from the hard surface beneath her feet. That is when the necros true gifts came raining down.

Through the self-induced darkness the raven haired challenger gave an all business sweep of her petite but full hand. A quick fine glint of light and silver bouncing off sharpest point that her cherished ax was all the notice given. A coppery sweet explosion of aroma found her face and the scent of open bone followed. Twirling the lethal wood chopper back and forth with the smooth rotation of any majorette with a baton one after another her strikes landed leaving it difficult for the opponent to retrieve the weapon he lost control of.

“I want my goods.” The hiss of her voice was followed by the sounds of incoming. The steps could have belonged to any one of the frequent building bangers that rolled in and out looking for trouble. “Your time is up. Chat later.” A final swing like she was up to bat for the World Series sent the remains of the helheim into the last of the shadows left behind. A heavy set of boots stomping to a skid announced the party was hardly over. She was more than ready to go into extra innings. Her petite blood covered shoulders rolled back. “Just who I was looking for…”

It sounded as though somebody was starting to kick up quite a commotion in a far corner of the Helheim stronghold. There was a party getting into full swing but Stonehouse had not been invited. That situation simply had to change! The inquisitive socialite, armed with swords and semi-automatic weapons rather than a glass of Champagne and a canapé or two, needed to gatecrash the soiree. Stonehouse had energy to burn, as though the pistons of a tiny steam-train were pounding away inside his body, and he wanted to party all night.

As much as his adrenaline seemed to be surging through his soul like a constant wave of electricity, and he had a mischievous voice inside his head telling the normally cautious businessman to rush into battle like some kind of headless chicken, Stonehouse knew that rash decisions usually lead to nasty wounds. Instead of charging towards the noise of gunfire and fighting with all guns blazing, adopting the role of a crazed kamikaze pilot, the stealthy salesman instead used the shadows as his cloak. Blending into his surroundings, effectively rendering himself invisible to any potential eagle-eyed assassin, Stonehouse glided, undetected, through the bunker complex towards to hub of activity ahead of him.

Turning a corner, Stonehouse witnessed the final act of what appeared to be a ferocious battle between a woman and another of the Helhiem soldiers. A shower of blood sprayed the victorious female’s upper torso like she’d just opened a well-shaken can of Coke over herself, an axe slamming down onto the hapless guard with a deliciously sounding crunch. Stonehouse was waiting for the slow-motion replay of the attack, with the woman slowly shaking the dripping blood from her hair, but they weren’t on a beach, and this wasn’t the set of Baywatch. The sound of a pair of sturdy boots slamming down against the hard concrete along the corridor from the opposite side of the room quickly snapped Stonehouse out of his brief daydream. Another trooper, heavily armed with an assault rifle, was entering the fray.

On a regular, uneventful day, this would have been the point at which Stonehouse would have paused to assess the situation, making numerous mental notes, calculating the risks involved by jumping into the skirmish, and the potential rewards on offer by doing so. But today was no normal day. Although Stonehouse started each and every day with a spring in his step, full of determination and enthusiasm to make a success of the hours ahead of him, today, he felt doubly invigorated. He was so full of beans that he could change his name to Heinz. It was time for the meticulous planner to throw caution to the wind. He was either going to take the chequered flag or crash and burn trying.

Hurling off his shroud of shadows, Stonehouse burst out of his mystical cover, and charged like a rampant rhinoceros towards the weapon-wielding soldier who was running towards the blood-soaked woman. He briefly overhead the petite female axe-mistress call out a few words, but they fell on deaf ears. Stonehouse was consumed by excitement, buzzed up on energy. Right now, he only had one thing on his mind. Squeezing the trigger of his firearm - which felt so amazingly good - the tall Englishman unleashed a hail of bullets into the chest of the onrushing soldier. It wouldn’t have come as any surprise if the woman had felt the breeze brush past her face as the projectiles whizzed through the air.

Who was the mystery woman? It was difficult to make out her facial features as she was looking away from him, and more than likely her skin was splattered with blood anyway, acting as a temporary mask. Stonehouse didn’t really care who she was, or why she was here in the first place; he was having far too much fun mowing down Helheim guards like a runaway lawnmower. He’d worry about making a polite introduction later.

A cool breeze flowed to the back of Satine giving her a next to nothing warning over her bloody shoulders that more company had arrived to the impromptu gathering. Heat followed with an ear stimulating chorus of pulsing gunfire. The invites were going like hotcakes on a Saturday morning in a community basement fundraiser. Now that the odds were starting to balance out and she was ready to take full advantage. The arrow straight hair on the tiny necro fanned out as her hand fixed tightly around the one thing that kept her and Chester connected. In a smooth arch coming from behind her the weapon rounded at her side. A precision trade off hand the axe shifting from her right to her dominant left as the flow of its path was virtually uninterrupted. Chester divided the newly filled space which lost its first meat shield.

The next party crasher arrived just in time to be cut down to a manageable size. The custom axe was lodged in the mass of muscle and bone. Anchored tight in the writhing mass of coiling flesh and she took advantage of it. Balancing on the handle of the axe her leg kicked up then spun like the blades of a helicopter firing up at the first call of duty. Each sharp shoed limb spun delivering a brain rattling series of blows that left the soldier dropping to get his bearings straight.

“I want my goods!” Her announcement was delivered with the faint hints of a connection to the land down under. Just as her body was corrected with the impact of her heels once again meeting solid ground she barked with the force of marine worthy drill sergeant. “Now!”

The rush of unexplained energy jolted through her setting her right foot in motion drilling the toe of her right shoe into the back of the wounded uniform. Looking to the new face that recently entered the fight she gave a quick nod up and pulled her steel orbs back to the point of vulnerability for her current position.

That is when she got a reality check with the yank of a thick no holds barred hand in her hair and the cranial drilling from an oversized elbow all courtesy of the same owner. All of which she didn’t appreciate and she didn’t smell coming like the rest. Rage filled her instantly and that is when any of the electricity in the general area where they were standing in the chemical plant started pulsing to the pounding in her temples. The distraction was hardly what it would take to make the walls rumble but more than enough to catch attention.

In that moment of opportunity Satine was like Houdini with the slight of her petite hand retrieving her gun from its concealment. A heel imbedded in the hard wall of muscle sending it on a slow backpedal. Ignoring the fire erupting on her scalp where the waist length hair had been secure she held the firearm tight in both hands. With her jaws clenched tight she leaned back and sprayed lead at the one with a handful of her hair. There was art to be found in the way she could make the whole of a body wither into ashes. The only problem was the grunt caught up in the fight at hand wasn't so willing to give in to her whims.

“Is that how you like them, Mr. Bond?” She called out as she scurried to her feet. With a growl her significantly smaller body sent the holed up uniform down to the floor with a powerful ***** slap of her pistol stuffed hand which somehow managed to do the trick. “Shaken to dust and not stirred?”

Satine turned around presenting her blood bath soaked features to the slick moving dapper dressed vampire that was exceptionally easy to rest her gaze on. None of her would stand out as entirely recognizable to him and deliver the shock of the mirror image of her identical twin. Unless he would be familar with those unusual steel orbs that seemed childlike in their width and nearly out of proportion to the rest of her face. The eyes were the windows to the individual soul. As forsaken as hers was she would never change it even if she could.

A second salvo of scorching hot bullets screeched through the stale air, slamming into the stomach and skull of the sacrificial sergeant. Slumping to the stone floor like a sack of soggy spuds, the Helheim soldier released a sickly scream before collapsing face first with a thud. Another one bites the dust, thought Stonehouse while a grin sprawled leisurely across his face.

Stonehouse’s berserker charge ground to a halt as he gazed at his latest victim. Peering briefly at his left arm, which was still gently releasing a few wispy droplets of black blood that floated away like the seeds of a dandelion on a spring breeze, the gunslinger shuffled the torn sleeve of his boiler suit to cover the minor flesh wounds. A pair of shimmering dark eyes panned across the undecorated, dirty room, focussing on the petite woman wielding the bloody axe. Although she was small in stature, the blood-spattered female killer clearly knew how to handle a weapon, and Stonehouse didn’t want her to notice his injury in case it would be viewed as a potential weakness.

Astute ears half overheard the words that had flowed from the lips of the savage assassin. There was something about the woman wanting her goods, and judging by the way she’d dispatched the soldier with such brutal force, he obviously hadn’t delivered. But what were the goods in question, and more importantly, who was the blood-soaked woman? At first glance, she looked like the leading lady in a horror movie, ready to slash her next victim into tiny pieces.

Stonehouse had always possessed a great knack for remembering faces, a skill that often came in useful during business meetings or swanky soirées around town. The ability to acknowledge an old acquaintance, to make them feel special, memorable - important - was an excellent gift to have. Convincing someone that they had been on your mind, or that you had only been thinking about them just hours earlier, was a sure-fire way of gathering favour. People loved to be appreciated, to be thought of as being unforgettable, as owning a face that stood out in a crowd. The problem with the face that Stonehouse was currently trying to decipher was that it was smeared with blood, like terribly applied Halloween clown make-up. Recognizing its owner wasn’t easy.

Suddenly, the realization hit Stonehouse like the powerful glove of a boxing champion.

“It’s you!” he exclaimed, his eyes widening as the gears of his memory finally kicked in.

Unfortunately, “you” was the only noun that Stonehouse was able to assign to the mystery woman. There was definitely something familiar about the bloody figure standing across the floor from him, their paths had most certainly crossed before, albeit only briefly like ships in the night. Had she tried to use those nimble hands of hers to pick his pockets? Quite possibly. Had Stonehouse tried the same move on her, whether out of necessity or simply for pure one-upmanship, shits and giggles for cash? Almost certainly! Everyone in Harper Rock was trying to get their hands in each other’s pants for one reason or another.

What was currently frustrating Stonehouse, the itch that he urgently needed to scratch, was the fact that he hadn’t a clue who the woman actually was. What was her name, what was her story? Stonehouse craved knowledge because knowledge was power, and right now the control freak didn’t know enough. That was a situation that had to change… that had to change immediately.

“Nice work with the axe,” said Stonehouse. “I take it you two weren’t friends?”

Stonehouse had not only thrown all caution to the wind, his energetic disposition leaving him feeling practically bulletproof, but he’d hurled it headlong into a giant tornado. For all the normally cautious businessman knew, the woman could launch herself straight at him, her lethal axe swinging like a huge pendulum of pain. In addition, the building could be swamped with a dozen more troops at any time, seeking revenge for the deaths of their colleagues. The internal alarm bells were ringing, but Stonehouse wasn’t heading for the exit, he was dancing along to the crazy tune.

“Thank you. Not so bad yourself. As for him...” It was rather soothing to be wearing the blood of what was no longer able to tell its side of the story. She enjoyed it if the truth were to be told. “Sadly we never got that far.”

Then again Satine rarely got that far with anyone. She was hardly the social butterfly or known for her congeniality. Understandably there was a brief pause in her movements when she was caught off-guard by a sign of recognition that she didn’t entirely expect. Mr. Bond showed an enthusiasm that would suggest they had met before. That was all it took for the wide pools of mercury to narrow as her gaze fixed on him.

Mistaken identity? Quite possibly with her inability to recall if they had. She had a few cracks to the head and near exterminations thanks to Mr. Wonderful himself. She was fortunate to be able to walk and form sentences after some of their rows. With a brow lifting upward as if hooked suddenly by growing curiosity she raised her ax with the curl of her thumb. The weight of the weapon was pressed tight to her palm as she managed to slide it over her shoulder and secure it behind her back.

One of the many mysteries of the city was how some of the most intimidating weapons were not detected by the public eye until it was too late. Vampiric powers had something to do with it. The ability to move faster than a human eye could track certainly helped. So did the current awareness level of their presence. Few wanted to question why a body observed with a seriously concerning customs ax was strapped to the petite woman's back like a backpack on student heading for the bus stop. If the effort was made it meant they wanted to invest in being part of what could potentially happen next. Few had that kind of energy or time. Even less could truly afford to risk the consequences of sticking their nose into her business. Mr. Bond was an obvious exception and for that alone she gave a grin that felt as disturbing as it likely would be to those limited few who knew her so well.

“I thought we had something promising but it appears I was asking for more than he could deliver.”

Pale flesh influenced by a necromancer’s lie stroked over the fluid on her face and effectively smeared any build up before it caked to her skin like it had elsewhere. Her attention briefly pulled from the dark eyes and face that could launch successful marketing campaigns to the nearest wall. A multi-color thermal visual of a body giving off more red then than the average relaxed person appeared then quickly faded. The shape was not a match for either of the clowns she arrived with which was a mild relief. Best bet would be on the human source, whoever it was, likely found its way out of the twenty foot or so range her power was limited to and was likely running for its life. No aroma of freshly drawn warm blood hit her senses so safe to say there was a heart still beating nearby. The tip of her tongue found the sharp points of her hidden teeth. Her desire to dine was curbed by the unfinished business she still had at hand.

“I won’t be leaving until I get what I came for.”

The fact she was a bloody mess standing there and so far had come up empty handed for her efforts was not settling well. She didn’t owe the one sharing her current space any explanations but giving him a heads up as to what he possibly could be in for if he felt adventurous and stuck around was exceptionally generous. Given the history of the wall walking, pulse of death, chaotic presence inspiring , haunted and sensory overloaded female it was safe to say damn near anything could happen. The sounds of incoming heavy footfall was all that it took for her to reach to the middle of her back and pull out a sure fire deal closer she fondly called ND MINKS.

“Maybe that is the pony express finally coming through with my goods.” Her hands had the gun ready for use faster than any combat seasoned front line soldier. She nodded to signal his attention towards the flak jackets that were rushing around the corners and coming at them. “Find a package chances are it is mine. There is a reward if you do.” Not that his sharp attire left him appearing as if he needed any sudden windfall-but money was money. She certainly wasn't one to allow him to slip away with what was rightfully hers if he was the shady type.

Everyone loves to open a box containing a surprise. Whether it’s an unexpected birthday gift from a long lost friend, that present that you’ve wished for all year finally arriving in your Christmas stocking, or a simple token of affection from a lover, a treat will put a smile onto even the most gloomiest of faces. What, then, was the special delivery that the blood-soaked woman was so keen to get her messy hands on? Money, weapons, stolen goods; the possibilities were almost endless. Whatever it was, the axe lady seemed desperate to have the mystery package, even if it meant mowing down a small army of foot soldiers in the process.

Stonehouse had several questions balanced on the tip of his tongue like a diver standing on the springboard about to plunge into the pool. Had he inadvertently wandered into some kind of deal, a dodgy exchange? The inquisitive businessman wanted, no needed, to know the answer to this little puzzle. Stonehouse was always seeking new business partners, fresh traders with whom to conduct a shady deal or two. Was this petite woman a potential client?

The questions would have to wait just a tad longer, as the thundering noise of yet more heavy boots signalled the imminent arrival of additional troops. The thud of the sturdy footwear was like the sound of trumpets announcing the entrance of the king into his royal palace. But this was no regal courtyard, it was a grubby old chemical plant: a factory that had a stale yet nostalgic odour of long since gone manual workers grinding away to make their hard-earned cash.

As was the case in many industrial towns and cities across North America, the manufacturing sector in Harper Rock had taken a beating in recent decades, replaced by service industries, call centres, men in suits rather than overalls. The abandoned chemical factory was just another decaying skeleton of a once mighty manufacturing monster. The thought had previously crossed Stonehouse’s entrepreneurial mind that property could be an excellent investment. Buy a cheap, rundown warehouse; spend some time and effort renovating the place, then rent out the space as luxury city centre apartments. It was certainly a proposition to consider, although not right now: not when an angry commando was charging straight at you.

The onrushing soldier was definitely not the king, not even a prince or a duke, but Stonehouse decided to kneel regardless. The Englishman scooped up an impressive-looking assault rifle that had been dropped by one of the slaughtered corporals, and assumed the position of a skilled marksman about to shoot for a medal at the Olympics. Despite the amazing abundance of energy that was coursing through his body, Stonehouse decided to revert to his more natural state of being calm and measured. Caressing the trigger of the firearm like the smooth neck of a lover, the assassin gently squeezed off a single round. The deadly projectile exploded from the barrel of the gun, plunging itself directly into the forehead of the hapless trooper, causing a minor eruption of blood and brain matter to spurt from the soldier’s head like a mini volcano. Stonehouse, the deadeye shot, grinned as he watched his prey tumble to the ground.

“It looks like the pony express is a dead donkey,” said Stonehouse, turning to face the woman.

He arose, like a proud and loyal servant who had just been knighted by his liege. Examining the assault rifle, Stonehouse decided to keep hold of it. It would make a handy addition to his ever-increasing collection of weaponry. One could never have too many guns, right?

“A reward sounds good to me,” said Stonehouse, addressing the woman. “This package that you’re waiting for must be quite important to you? What exactly is it, may I ask?”

It was unclear what would come first: an answer to the question just posed, or another guard with an even bigger weapon.

“It’s actually two life preservers of sorts.” She could be leery of his need to know what she was waiting on but he seemed to be up to the same antics she was and leaving the same results. “My boys, Thing One and Thing Two need a little more security than I can offer sun up to sundown so I ordered a couple jackets that were basically a steal if I pick them up here. Not your average smoking jackets if you catch my drift. Anyways, they came to pick up and got stiffed in the process.” Her silver orbs danced around the width of his finely dressed shoulders and then to the evidence on her own skin. She was a mess. “I don’t like to be taken for a ride and I won’t tolerate my boys thrown in front of a bus.”

Satine really had to have no reason to cause a scene. It was when the mood would strike, when she had nothing better to do or even something so unreasonable as she didn’t get what she wanted. She just was one of those who had her way of handling things and obviously she wasn’t alone. The fools knew what they signed up for when they got the money from Furious George then asked him to return in a couple hours for the goods. Maybe they forgot who the boys rolled with. So far she was in the positive with the reminders she was leaving behind. It shouldn’t take too much more before they turned up with what she came looking for and she would be on her way.

“Any of that sound like something you have come across?” She eyed him as if perhaps she would discover something close to what she was looking for on him. Stranger things have been known to happen. For all she knew he was toying with her until he found out what she was really up to. Didn’t really matter to her. She was clear on her intentions. “In this case I am looking for a size medium and one extra large with the wide fit option. The latter is why I am a bit impatient. Something like that isn’t easy to come by and Thing one has been more work keeping together than I really can afford to waste.” Her eyes shoot the direction of the entry into the next room when a gun is fired. Finding nothing running their direction as a result brought her attention back to him. “He isn’t as fast as he once was and has a hell of a chip on his shoulder.”