Prologue

He had escaped.

Well, of course, four others had died…but he was still alive. Terribly wounded though, yet still alive.

His bulk leaned against the gaping doorway, eyes bloodshot and large. His heart was pounding; his breath was too deep. He had the impression that a rib or two had snapped, but he wasn’t really keeping track. As he stood there, wobbling lightly, he couldn’t ignore the fact that the four closest things to his heart had just been murdered in front of his eyes. No, he couldn’t ignore the fact that, just seconds ago, he had lost everything in his life worth living for.

A surge of adrenaline suddenly shot up through his body, sickening him to the brink of nausea. Standing, suddenly, had become difficult, almost painful. His free hand, the one not clutching his stomach, tried to grope the side of the building, desperately searching for a hold to keep his footing.

It doesn’t matter, His grin was bittersweet, lips stained with blood, I’m still alive…

He lurched forward, a moan ripping through his throat.

…barely.

As he felt his way around the building, he continued to stumble time and again. Both knees shredded against the rocky floor; palms were now a mess of crimson red. As a light wind blew across his face, beads of sweat dribbled onto the concrete walkway. They trailed a line behind him in the dirt, sporadically zigzagging where he had fallen. He tried to wipe them away, tried to clear his eyes before he continued, but, again, he staggered forward awkwardly, his legs buckling, his shoulder grinding into the uneven pavement. Another cry lurched from his lips, this one deeper, more bestial.

It had happened so fast, he thought, his head shaking heartlessly as he tried to recall. He never had a chance to see who they were; never even had a chance to react. They had seeped in like fog, so silent and effortlessly. Had they simply oozed out of the walls? Had they just been hiding in the shadows the entire time watching him, waiting for him to turn his back? Never had he seen such an astounding level of skill and patience. He had never witnessed something so pure, so haunting. They had moved like water; with a mastered grace and elegance; they had coiled around him like wind. When they had attacked, only then had he seen that sinuous style that made them so infamous and revered.

A sudden cry brayed from his lips; his chest heaved painfully. He let himself fall then, neither struggling nor fighting to right himself up. He let himself lie on the ground, breathing in the dirt through his blaring nostrils. Every cough sprayed a fine mist of blood into the soil, and, quite the reverse, every inhale choked him with black soot. All he needed was to rest. He had escaped, that much was true, but he was terribly wounded. He figured the bullet had hit him on an angle. Being the doctor he was, he guessed the shell had bypassed his heart but, sadly, as he lay there staggering for air, he knew at least one lung had been pierced. That thought alone made a second moan billow through the night air. The realization that he was dying, that he had failed, overpowered him. The cry ripped through the night; a disturbing and overwhelmingly poignant realization that if he closed his eyes now, he would never again open them. His howl ceased only when his mouth overflowed with blood.

Four dead, he cried. They were children to him, his children. How easily they had fallen, one right after the other. The youngest, so beautiful and pure, had screamed so dreadfully. He remembered that sound clearly. Of course, he would remember it forever. Like a broken record, it would replay in his mind. He though, suddenly, that death would be an easier remedy for his broken heart, that living on in this state of mind would be torture.

‘She screamed’, He thought to himself, How ironic.

Suddenly, as tears started to fall, a light flashed in his eye. It stung for a second, enough to make him shift his body from the ground. He lifted a hand to block both his terrified eyes, squinting as the light waved before him. It moved down his body, highlighting his scuffed Armani shoes, his blood stained lab coat, the gaping wound against his upper chest. He could almost make out a person behind the flashlight; in fact, only a silhouette, tall and lithe.

“Oh.” He breathed, his voice weak as he lifted his head. “It’s you.”

The silhouette froze, the light stopped swimming through the air. It locked onto the man’s pale, tear-stained face. The silhouette stood motionless, observing.

“I’m hurt.” He grunted, his eyes narrowing sharply. “Stop standing around like a fool and help me up.”

The silhouette remained still.

“For God’s sakes woman, help me up!” He hissed, a hand extending to her. “Hurry before they come back.”

“They?” The voice sounded dim, wispy, a depressing tone satiated with pain. It was low, inquisitive, thickly accented.

“Yes, they.” He scolded as he pushed his weakening body up. He hunched forward, his breath catching in his throat. “Schriet are dead.”

His head jerked up suddenly, his eyes burning with anger. So much energy was building up inside of him; so much resentment was spilling out.

“Now, you idiot,” He roared, a sliver of blood trailed down his chin. “Give me your hand!”

The woman stayed silent, unmoving.

“They think they’ve killed me.” He started, his mouth and mind rambling through the pain. “Those devils think they’ve killed me. I barely got away. I--”

Masafumi, so deeply buried in his odious blather, never saw the woman unsheathe the pistol from behind her back. He was so totally enveloped in his fretful ramblings that he failed to see the black shine of the gun rising up to meet him. The cold circle of the gun’s barrel pressed against his forehead; the safety clicked off. For a moment he looked up towards the silhouette, into hellish, black eyes.

He saw nothing.

As he opened his mouth to beg for mercy, the gun discharged. An explosive bang rang out into the night air. One body, tattered and lifeless, fell to the cold ground.

The flashlight switched off. A woman, with a disturbing glint growing in her charcoal eyes, started away from the corpse.

“One down.”