Quicksilver waited by the road. He'd already figured out where his favorite little runaway prince was going, and his ride. It wasn't hard to make further geusses when he saw the van speeding out of town at nearly sixty over.

Inside the van, the prince was screaming at his driver "Faster! Emery isn't much of a shield anymore as a pile of ash!" all the while horrid memories of the club hit playing through his mind. The lights had gone out in the club leaving them blind... and then they'd seen it. A pair of crimson pinpricks of light entered from the front door. There had been screaming, gunshots... and the young toreador on his right arm had crumbled to ash where she stood. It had been pure luck he'd gotten out at all.

And before his horrified eyes, a figure stepped into their headlights, pulling out a large gun and opening fire at the oncoming vehicle while the he shrieked, "He's here! Floor it, run him over!" All the while the man just stood calmly firing his gun. First taking out the headlights, then, the windshield as the mercury tipped bullet exploded on impact. The driver took a stray bullet and slumped over to the side, causing the dangerously fast vehicle to make a hard left and tip, sparks grinding as the metal came down on ashpalt and kept going before finally it came to a stop.

Quicksilver brought his gun to his lips and blew into the fire chamber to cool it down as he calmly walked up to the van, then loaded in another clip before reaching for the door and tearing it off its hinges to expose the terrified vampire inside. Glancing over to the corpse of the driver, he breathed, "Fuck, human." Then he turned to the prince who was already scrambling towards the back of the van. "Hope you're pleased with yourself. You were more trouble than this contract was worth."

A half second and a gunblast later, Quicksilver threw the corpse over a shoulder to carry off for disposal, then, eyeballing the blood on the seat, sighed. "Fucking princes." he said as he pulled a screwdriver out of his pocket, jabbed a hole in the gas tank, walked away lighting a match, and tossed it behind him. As the gasoline ignited behind him, he looked over at the lifeless eyes of what remained of a cleanup job and said, "Thats done then, now, lets go somewhere we can get a little privacy."

Six hours later, Quicksilver had tossed the last of the chunks of meat to some local dogs, dumped the last of the bone powder into a lake, and burned his old clothes and the tools he had used. He kept the gun because it was a custom job - no serial numbers to even grind off, let alone a registry number. All in time to catch his train.

"Hello Sefira," he said on the cell phone as he propped his feet up in the dining car. "Got that business meeting done, and I am glad to say that we've sealed it. Meet me at the train station and we'll look over the details, just to make sure everything is in order." Quicksilver shut his phone and looked up at the waiter, "Steak, done rare, eggs and toast," he said and handed the menu to the man. Looking down at himself, he grimaced; he normally never wore suits, they just weren't his style. Then again, they did make that phone conversation plausible.

Sefira scowled as she hung up the phone and slid off her latest doll, when he began to make noises of protest, she put a finger to his lips. "Now now, I have business to take care of. We'll have more fun later, so no more whining or I might just have to rip your throat out!" she said cheerfully, then walked out of the room to another phone, dialed a number, and waited three rings before her assistant answered, then spoke. "Dee, do be a darling and meet mister quicksilver at the station... just like we talked about?" she said, waiting for a positive response, then continued "Thankyou, you're just too good to me," and hung up before heading to her wardrobe.

Hours later, at the station, Quicksilver stepped off into the tunnel that served as part train station, part subway station and looked around. Then his eyes narrowed as he spotted Dee, who he recognized as one of Sefira's creatures, coming up to meet him. "Sir, please forgive Sefira and myself, but pressing business came up and she couldn't come to meet you herself, she sends her deepest regrets, but gives me authority to look over the details in her place," she said as they walked together to one of the more deserted train station waiting areas. Once there, she proceeded to open the suitcase, hand it to him, and was about to leave when he said, "Hold a moment." as he counted the money. Speeding through it, the numbers seemed to be in order, until about halfway through the second stack. The numbers on it, supposed to each be distinctive and unique started to match exactly. "What the fucking hell," he growled as he grabbed Dee by the throat and slammed her against the wall, knowing there were no witnesses, "Trying to cheat me?" he said, barely restraining a roar, "Now Dee, I know you're just doing what Sefira tells you, so I'm going to let you go, he said as he dragged her out of the train station area and back into the tunnel. "But I'm going to need to borrow your cell phone and call Sefira, so we can put this right and forget it all happened, okay?" he said, and she pulled her cell phone out of her pocket, all the while sobbing so much that Quicksilver was grateful the station had cleared out. "Thanks Dee, now, as we agreed," he said, listening to the rumble of a train coming down the tunnel, "I'm going to let you go." he finished as he dumped her onto the rails, then walked away dialing numbers, as the subway train sped by. When Sefira picked up, he growled over the line. "Big fucking mistake bitch."

((ooooh...Quicksilver has a nasty attitude indeed!

keep it comin'!

If she weren't already, Sefira would have grown cold as the grave as she heard Quicksilver's nearly feral voice on the phone. "I... c'mon Quick honey, we can fix this!" she pleaded over the phone. The sheer terror in her voice giving the man a moment's pause. "I'll call you again in an hour with instructions," he said softly over the phone then hung up, and headed back towards the tunnel once again.

It was a long, nervous hour that Sefira waited for the phonecall she wasn't sure was going to come. When it finally did, she nearly leapt out of her skin. "There is a cab pulling up in front of your building, Sefira. Don't bring your bodyguards, just get in, and let the driver take you to the station. Proceed to platform twelve... the one that is out of order and always deserted. Dee'll have your instructions for you when you get there." Quicksilver's voice said over the phone. Looking out, Sefira saw the yellow cab pull up, and rushed down to get in.

"You that Sefira chickie I was told to pick up," the cab driver said, though he started driving without waiting for an answer. Sefira ran her hands along the leather seats, glad that this cab driver kept his vehicle so clean. When they got to the station, she flashed him a smile, and slipped him a five in way of a tip, "Can you wait here for me? Pretty please?" she said, putting just a touch of pout to her lips and letting some of her purple hair fall down into her face just as she leaned in to give him a nice view of her cleavage. The driver tipped his hat and said "sure thing lady." then watched her walk calmly into the station before grinning, clicking off his headlights and removing his shades to reveal gleaming red eyes before he drove away.

"Platform nine.... platform ten.... " Sefira said as she got deeper into the tunnel, hearing her footsteps echo around her, she realized quickly just how alone she was, and cursed herself for listening and not bringing a bodyguard. looking for any sign of Dee. She found what Quick had wanted her to find. There, shredded and crushed, eyes frozen in terror and marks of mascara running from where she had cried before death, lay the body of Dee, in her mangled hands was a piece of paper that read simply "Check on your herd."

Quicksilver got out his tape and carefully applied it to where Sefira had brushed her hands, then wrapped it around and attached each to a set of gloves, which he immediately stashed in a plastic bag, then, he stepped out of the cab, stepped over to his other vehicle, and drove a few miles to where Sefira stayed, and walked into the building. Before his eyes passed rooms that he knew well, he had studied Sefira; she was a client, and he knew more about her than she might have ever realized. Finally, he found her room, opened the door, and headed over to her nightstand, removing the twenty two caliber from her drawer, careful to make sure none of his skin touched the weapon, then headed down the hall.

Demitri, Sefira's favorite little doll, was easy, a pretty face that the vicious Toreador enjoyed seeing enraptured in her embrace, and at her 'kiss', but really little more. He had made Quicksilver's job even easier by falling asleep having drank a half a bottle of wine already. It was a simple matter for him to not wake as he was carried to Sefira's bed before one of Sefira's favorite bodyguards was dispatched by the ever cliche'd chloroform rag over the mouth, then dragged to the bed and placed in a compromising position with the drunken bloodbag.

Quicksilver slipped on the taped gloves, pulled out Sefira's gun, and shot both of them in the heads at point blank range. The small caliber bullet lacked the power to go out the back of the skull, so instead bounced around inside, turning whatever gray matter they might have had into a fine grade of pudding. Dropping the gun in a manner that might suggest panic, Quicksilver then opened a window, climbed out onto the ledge, closed the window behind him, and leapt three stories to the pavement below, landing lightly on his feet.

With plenty of time before Sefira would be able to manage to get back, Quicksilver drove towards one of places where she kept some of her other favorites.

Quicksilver pulled into the apartment building parking lot and considered his options. Sefira owned the apartment building, that much he knew, and, moreover, she kept the vast majority of the human cattle that she fed off of there... not only this, but she had an almost two million dollar insurance policy on the place, something he had long ago learned by using real estate agents and public records.

The most obvious solution, was to walk in and kill everyone of the thirty or so people living in the complex, as too much evidence of crime pointing at Sefira would make the police think that someone was setting her up. The second solution was to go down into the basement and blow out the furnace's pilot light, then find a way to let the building just blow itself up.

Stepping out of his car, Quicksilver paused a moment, taking a deep breath, then exhaling to calm himself as he moving towards the building, all the while the voices in his head growing louder with each footstep. "Do it! Murder them all!" the all to familiar voice in his head started whispering in the back of his mind. Quicksilver ignored it and kept walking; if he went in there and started shooting, he had to make sure he killed every last living person that might potentially see him, and on severe time limit, the odds being that the cops would get involved.

Reaching the entrance, his gloved hand immediately met resistance; the door was locked. Out came a very slender piece of wire, and a Zippo cigarette lighter. Holding the flame to the lock opening to heat it up and soften the spring loaded tumblers inside so they'd trigger evenly, he slid the wire into the mechanism, and, moments later, stepped inside the building, pocketing the lighter and wire as he did, then pulling off his shades to see better in the dimly lit hallway.

As the shades came off, he winced; adjusting from the dark shades to the dim light of the hallway was, for his eyes, like the difference between a large room lit only by a small lamp, and stepping out into the full light of day. Sudden and painful, but not enough of an impediment to keep him from heading down into the basement, where he quickly found the furnace and blew out the pilot light, then turned the valves to all the way open, quickly filling the room with the rotten eggs smell that gas companies put in so that people knew when there was a signifigant problem.

Then, spotting a mousetrap in the corner, he grabbed it up and pulled out some masking tape and a book of wooden matches, taping a match to the trap and the box of matches to it so that when the trap went off, it'd rake the match across the lighting strip, then, to make sure it triggered, he leaned Dee's cell phone against it, and set it to vibrate, before walking out of the building, deliberately leaving the basement door open, and waiting a few minutes for the gas to spread.

Then, as he drove away, he pulled out another of the cell phones he had collected, and called Dee's number, causing the phone to vibrate, and the mousetrap to trigger. In the rear view mirror of his car, he watched the explosion just as Sefira's cab pulled up and she stepped out.

Her scream of outrage was music to his ears.

Morning came, the first rays of light creeping over the city and stinging at his eyes. Quicksilver took a deep breath, and stopped the car in a nearly abandoned parking lot, the only other vehicle there being a beat up, but otherwise non-descript, champagne colored Ford, about six years old. Stepping out of his cab, he pulled the keys off his keyring and tossed them into the front seat before getting in the other vehicle and driving away.

Considering his next move was always a risky proposition, and made all the more difficult by the bad feeling that his gut was giving him. He just couldn't place the cause of his discomfort, even though he drove more slowly for a moment, his eyes darting about to take in his scenery, then, the cause of his discomfort hit him like a ton of bricks as his stomach growled loudly; he was hungry.

A sigh escaped his lips as he stopped his car in front of a nice indoor cafe, one of the few places he visited with any sort of frequency, just as the owner was opening shop. Always glad to see him, the heavy, tanned face flushed as the man grinned "Mister Black! Long time no see! Got your usual table free, so come on in!" he said in the most genuinely cheerful voice Quick had heard in a long time. Unable to help himself, he cracked a smile of his own, and stepped into the cafe, pulling off his gloves, and taking a book from one of his jacket pockets before sitting down to a cup of coffee, "Thankyou Joe," he said as he took a sip and began reading.

He was just shaking his head at the sloppiness of the killer in the novel when the not unwelcome smell of bacon, eggs, hashbrowns, steak, and a variety of other foods drifted to his nostrils, followed momentarily by Joe bringing out several trays of food. "It's been a while" he murmered to himself, amazed that Joe still remembered every dish that he always ordered whenever he came here; it was a very large amount to remember, but Joe always did, and Quicksilver always apreciated it. Sometimes, part of his job was knowing when to relax.

It was sometime around noon when Quicksilver stepped out of the cafe, the formerly pleasant shadows he had enjoyed in the building giving way to the harsh, glaring light of the sun and forcing him to pull from another of his jacket pocket an even darker pair of sunglasses; most people wouldn't be able to see through them, he put them on, and got into his vehicle, heading back to one of his apartments.

Three hours later, Quicksilver woke, taking the few steps to the sink, and splashed cold water in his face to clear the sleep from his eyes, then looked around the pitch black room, seeking for anything unusual or out of place, anything at all that might tell him to go for the gun under the sink. When nothing met his eyes, he walked another four steps to a closet, and pulled out a very nice set of black clothing, suitable for any occasion even if it was a one piece. Slipping into it, he pulled up the zipper slowly, and ran his hands over it to smooth it, then reached into the closet to pull out a dark gray overcoat, and threw that on over it, before kneeling down and opening several of the floorboards up, saying to himself as he did "Now Sefira, where were we?"
----------
Sunset came, and Sefira shot bolt upright in her room, gasping in terror from a horrid dream, then, memories of the previous night washing over her, she realized that she had woken from one nightmare into a worse one.

She had double crossed Quicksilver, most of her herd was dead, the cops were investigating not only her other place, but the apartment building, and it was a miracle she hadn't been arrested yet. It was only a matter of time before she was, for either the murders at her house, or for the arson of the apartment building where the majority of her dolls had died horribly in the fire. Worse still, she doubted that the killer she had double crossed was quite finished; he had traveled hundreds of miles to kill a single vampire that had escaped a club hit, and hadn't stop until the job was finished.

Only now, too late, did she realize the enormity of her mistake in trying to cheat him, now that she had believed she no longer needed him. Her competitors were dead, and her power base had grown tremendously. The only one that could help her, she knew, was her sire.

An hour later, her limo pulled into the older vampire's extravagant estate, and, greeted by one of the local ghouls, she stepped out, and moved quickly up the walkway and through the door into the home, where she was directed to his private study.

"Ah, Sefira," he said as she walked in, smiling pleasantly, then smoothing his suit. "I got your message, what can I do for you my dear?"

"Sir, I fucked up. I need your help," she said, but then her sire held up his hand, pausing for a moment. "My dear, you know the price for that," he said, answered only by her silent nod before she moved closer, undoing his pants, then moments later, taking him into her mouth.

Minutes later, she wiped her lips, and looked up at him. "Now, darling, tell me your problems," he said pleasantly. "You know the hit man I've been using? I gave him bad money, and he caught me at it... he has killed my herd, my favorites, burned my property.... he is going to kill me," she said quietly, praying he had a solution, her face full of hope, though inside, she shuddered with disgust at the price she had just paid for this; his help cost her the little self respect she had, everytime she had to perform for it.

"I'm sorry, my dear Sefira, but with Quicksilver... well, the man is far more trouble than I can handle. I'm afraid darling, that you'll have to find a way out of this one, but no worries, you're a clever girl, I'm sure you'll manage... besides, he isn't your only problem, and I'm holding the police off you." he said with that same sickening smile on his face, making Sefira feel even more used than she had before, especially as she realized that he had known her problem all along. Suppressing the urge to swear, she straighted, nodded, and walked out of the study without another word.
-----
From his hiding place, rifle perched against his shoulder, Quick whispered into the microphone "Very good Mr. Leighton, you follow instructions beautifully. You may take the earpiece out now," he said into the microphone then, taking a moment's pause to watch Sefira's sire remove the earbud, he put his rifle back into its case, and, waiting a few more minutes for Sefira to leave the property, slipped out and headed around the back of the mansion, got in his car and left.

Sefira fumed as she her limo brought her to one of the office buildings she owned. Her sire couldn't help her, this much she now knew, and now isolated, new plans and ideas came to her quickly.

In previous days, Quicksilver had a partner, always referred to as Hollister. She hadn't had the opportunity to meet the man personally, but Quick had referred to him once or twice, prompting her to do a little research of her own. In nights not long after she had met Quick, Hollister had been turned by a Ventrue. If any man knew how to bring the insane hitman down, it would be a former partner, and thankfully, not only had she managed to dig up his number, it was happy circumstance that he happened to be in the area.

Hollister arrived at her offices two hours after the call was made. "So, got troubles, do we," he asked slipping into the door. "You must have, or you'd not have brought up my old partner in crime. What happened? he finally gone off the deep end?" he asked cheerfully as Sefira offered him a bottle of vitae.

"Doesn't matter," she said, taking the time to admire Hollister; he was physically taller than Quicksilver, but about the same build; broad in the shoulders, narrow in the waist, but not hulking. He had jet black hair and bright blue eyes, his looks leaving her to wonder why no Toreador had snapped him up instead of the Ventrue. "I just want him dead. Can you do that for me?" she said sweetly, pouring on the charm in her voice and stretching to give him an image that would have made most men's eyes pop out of their heads.

He was all business. "I can, but I'll want some extra muscle for this hunt. He isn't an easy target," he said as he took a sip from the bottle, completely ignoring what she was doing, giving her the impression that perhaps this man and Quicksilver were from the same breed of asassin, a thought that brought a smile to her lips.

"You'll have it," she said, putting on a pouty smile, before she started talking price.
-----
The next night, Quicksilver looked down the darkened hall on the sixth story of the office building Sefira was said to be using as of late. Footsteps silent as the grave, he stopped to listen at intervals, then quietly opened a door, quickly jumping out of the way when a hail of gunfire greeted him from within. "Geuss I got the right door," he said to himself as he pulled a shotgun from under his coat, then came in firing.

The first shot dropped one of Sefira's minions straight away as he dove through the door, the thunder of his opponent's weapons echoing in his ears. He immediately realized his mistake however, as two more came out from their own hiding places next to the door, where he hadn't been able to see. Sidestepping bullets as he turned, he racked another shell into the chamber and blasted one of the goons point blank, spattering him with blood and sending the poor bastard flying. Moments later, the unfortunate, clearly a vampire, started getting back up.

Quicksilver felt the impact of several bullets in his chest, and silently thanked himself for putting on the Kevlar body suit, then turned and opened fire on his assailant. "Sonofabitch" he said as he did the momentary math. there had to be better than a dozen men in this room, and his exit was closed off.

He found himself backpeddling and trying to sidestep bullets as he now found himself ducking under a pair of machetes weilded by the vamp he had blasted, and realized immediately that he was running out of options. "Fuck this shit" he said and did what any sensible madman would do; he made a dash for the window, pulling something from his jacket as he went and bringing it to his mouth before dropping it and shouldering through the glass, six stories in the air, yelling "Present for you, motherfuckers!" as he went.

The jubilation of Sefira's goonsquad was shortlived as the grenade hit the floor, catching them long before any had the time to get out the door, and blowing more of the windows out of the office building as it went off.

Quicksilver landed with a solid thump on top of a bus, denting the ceiling and causing the driver to slam on the brakes, throwing him clear off the vehicle and into the street, where he nearly lost conciousness from the second impact. "Damn it," he swore, stood shakily, and staggered into an alleyway.

Scowling at his former partner's persistance and the loss of Sefira's enforcers, Hollister quietly followed. It didn't take him long to realize that in spite of Quicksilver's injuries, he still wasn't being careless, weaving through the back alleys of the cities and somehow still managing to hop fences to slow down any pursuit. Again, he cursed the loss of the extra muscle, but in wounding and unbalancing his quarry, they had served their purpose.

It didn't matter anyhow; he knew where Quicksilver would go.

Two hours later, Quicksilver found himself reclining in one of his safety houses. A preliminary check had indicated that he had only cracked a rib or three, and bruised the hell out of everything else; nothing fatal, and he healed quickly enough.

He had almost relaxed when the doorknob suddenly moved, attracting his gaze. Looking at it, he sighed, threw his shades on and pulled one of his guns out from beneath his coat.

The door finally burst inwards in a shower of wood as Hollister kicked through it. "Changed your locks I see," he said, but the only greeting his former friend had for him was a hail of mercury tipped bullets.

It can be said that Ventrue are tough. In spite of, or possibly because of, the fact that they mire themselves in vampiric politics, Ventrue develop thick skins through the discipline of fortitude, and the result was that the mercury tipped shells were largely inneffectual, abrading the skin as they struck Hollister, but little else. "Should've known. That little ambush had your name all over it," Quicksilver spat as he realized who he was up against, then, thirty-eight special rounds whistling past him, he turned and headed for the concealed exit that led around into the hallway, dashing through the door just in time for bullets to impact wood, barely missing his head and showering him in splinters.

Darting into the hallway, Quicksilver rushed for the stairs. Knowing that if Hollister was still true to form, he had detonators waiting to catch him if he headed down, Quick headed up towards the roof, narrowly dodging more gunfire as he did, weaving his movements erratically so that he'd be harder to hit.

"Damn, he never slows down," Hollister said with more than a touch of admiration for his former friend and partner, then followed him, thinking Quick had nowhere to go.

When he reached the roof, he was greeted by Quicksilver's voice, and words he couldn't possibly have dreaded more.

"Ventrue, huh?" Quicksilver said from behind the big piece of metal that was providing him momentary cover. "I love Ventrue. Tough targets, hard to punch through that nice thick skin of yours. makes a man start thinking." he continued, then smiled as he dropped a clip and loaded a new one in. "Makes a man get creative."

((dang! slow down champ! i'm getting left behind here!

Sorry bout that, you know how it goes. Get bitten by the writing bug... and yes, I am aware of how much I jump around.

However, I have to say, thankyou for your praise... and for reading my work. Gives a fellow the warm fuzzies inside.

((no problem, it's great to have something to read. i just need to catch up, one of those times where you see a new post and say 'oh, i need to check it out when i get home' and then that happens twice and before you know it...well you get the picture. :)

Okay...just caught up...where's this taking place btw?

Where is this taking place.... uhhhh..... I have noooooooo idea.

Seriously, I never came up with the name of a city, for the sake of not putting my lack of geographical education out there anymore than I already have.

Quicksilver gave it exactly a half second for those words to sink in, then stepped out from behind the big metal piece of whatever that was attached to the building, leveled off his gun, and fired three rounds in rapid succession at Hollister.

Hollister sidestepped one, but not the other two, the rounds punching through the natural armor provided to him by clan and discipline. Moments later, he stopped cold, clawing at his chest and screaming in agony.

"What the..." he screamed, as he dove around the roof exit, hoping the small bit of brick would provide him momentary cover. "What the hell.... did you do to me?" he howled.

Quicksilver smirked, "Steel core bullets, tipped with sodium phosphate," he said, his gun leveled and waiting for his former partner to come out. Hollister blinked as the words sodium phosphate registered in his head. "You hit me with fucking rocksalt rounds?" he growled out, "What the hell?"

Quicksilver sighed, starting to walk around the other side of the roof exit, hoping to catch Hollister on the other side of it. "Yeah. Mercury tipped bullets are too soft and flatten out. Rocksalt dries you out and contaminates the blood, makes it hard for a vampire to heal the wound," he said, then suddenly stepped around firing off another three rounds at Hollister, sending the Ventrue scrambling again to avoid the painful bullets. "Hurts like hell too, but thats just a fun little bonus, isn't it?" he said with a smile.

His smile however, was cut off as a gunshot cracked off, causing him to jerk off to the side. The round missed, but only just, slicing straight through the kevlar on his arm, but not actually hitting flesh. Spinning and dropping with bullets whistling overhead, Quick fired a round into Hollister's kneecap, eliciting another scream, and inciting the ventrue to head back around and dive through the exit, this time with what had been his quarry in hot pursuit.

Quicksilver gave chase, but fired no rounds as he did, not quite able to get a clear shot at his former partner, in spite of the knee injury that was obviously slowing him down. Chasing him out of the building, he resisted the urge to fire off a round as Hollister dove into a vehicle, started it up and drove away, transmission grinding as the other hitman pushed through the gears too quickly.

Getting into his own car, Quick took a deep breath, started it up, and followed at a slower pace.

Hollister locked the door to the bar behind him, then turned, looking about his surroundings, the lingering, faint scent of whiskey and charred wood reaching his nose simultaneously, the situation and location bringing back old memories, unbidden.
------
[i:9ed034a8f5]Eight years prior, same place[/i:9ed034a8f5]

"Whats the job tonight?" Ryan Hollister asked cheerfully as he poured a glass of scotch for himself, then for his often quiet partner. Quicksilver shook his head and smirked, "Sometimes Ryan, you just need to learn when to relax, you know, take a night off, think of other things" he said, glancing apreciatively at an attractive young waitress nearby.

Ryan sighed; though Quicksilver looked to be only a few years older than himself, the man had a lot of knowledge, more to teach than he could have believed possible, and his plans and style often spoke of experience uncommon for someone who only looked to be perhaps twenty-eight years old. "Yeah, thats bullshit," he said with a skeptical look on his face, "Whats the job?"

Moments later came the cryptic reply, "Tonight, maintenance in the tunnel."

Later, in the cold and damp of the tunnel, Hollister drew his coat in tighter to keep warm while Quicksilver kneeled nearby, a long rifle propped against his shoulder and his eye to the sights as he waited for their target to arrive. "What did you need me here for again?" Ryan asked, glancing at Quicksilver's sniping rig as he did.

As the sedan came into view, Quick said, "You're here for insurance," then lined up his shot and did a quick double pull on the trigger, firing off two rounds almost simultaneously. The high caliber bullets sped through the air, the first shattering the windshield but rapidly losing momentum when the mercury expanded, the glue cap that held it in place destroyed by impact with the windshield. Incredibly, the second shell was no more effective than the first, because the driver, hearing gunshots, immediately swerved, thus sparing the intended victim from that round.

"Shit," Quicksilver swore, then pulled a revolver from his coat as he dropped his rifle, leaping from his position with Ryan on his heels. "Time for plan B" he said as he went. The sedan emptied its contents; the intended target and bodyguards alike, followed by more from another, similar vehicle that had just arrived, following the first.

Though a hail of gunfire rained around the two men, both pressed on, they knew that often times, survival meant keeping your nerve, and even were that not the case, your reputation could be completely ruined by a failure.

As Hollister watched, Quicksilver emptied his revolver, six of the bodyguards turning to ash before his eyes, however, more gunshots rang out and, much to his horror, his partner dropped to the floor. With a guttural scream, he brought his own, much less subtle weapon to bear. The Ak47 wasn't quite as effective per bullet as his partner's, but those that fell to him, did so in several pieces.

With the gunfire erupting around him, Quicksilver lay nearly perfectly still, pretending to be dead, as he quietly reloaded his revolver, each shell to its cylinder in a slow succession, while Ryan danced to avoid bullets. The goons advanced, pressing their supposed advantage, one stepping on the side of his knee and almost eliciting a cry of pain. So too did the intended target, pulling a nine millimeter of his own.

Quick saw a clean shot, and less than half a second later, leapt up, leveled off his gun, and pulled his trigger on a very surprised vampire, then turned on his heels and opened fire, emptying his revolver once more and clearing a hole through the now unemployed bodyguards.

An hour later, they again relaxed in the bar, though this time, Quicksilver had his arm around the waitress from earlier. Eager to know how he had done it, Ryan asked, "How'd you pull off that trick? I mean, it even took Christ three days!"

Quick just smiled in response, taking a drink and then giving the off duty waitress a quick kiss.
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"Damn," Hollister swore as he snapped from his reverie, "How the hell is he still so fast, he should be getting older, should've slowed down a bit," he said to himself, then continued his musings. Quicksilver was in fact, not only as fast as before, but it seemed, even faster, when he should have slowed... and after that fall, he probably shouldn't have been moving at all.

He might have continued on that pattern of reasoning, but he was rudely interrupted as Quicksilver knocked in the door, saying calmly, "Ryan, you do know how to treat an old friend," as he kicked a chair at Ryan to spoil his aim, which came a half second too slow, "Always bringing me to our old hangouts."

Hollister scrambled behind the bar, narrowly avoiding more of the painful rocksalt rounds, then came up firing, but Quick had already turned over a table, sitting calmly behind it as the bullets ricocheted off the solid marble surface. "Ah, c'mon Ryan, don't be like that, lemme buy you a bottle for old times sake," he said, finishing the statement in a growl as he came up and over the table, then, in a flash, over the bar. He aimed, but didn't bother firing; Hollister was smart enough to know what was coming and was already moving, relinquishing this spot to being Quicksilver's new cover, then stood waiting, his gun leveled to catch the man when he made his next move.

Sitting in his newly gained hiding place, Quicksilver checked his clip, then chuckled. "You're not bad, Ryan. You've got me down to two rounds," he said, sliding a knife from its place at his waist. "Wanna taste them?" he yelled as he came up and threw his knife towards the left side of Hollister's head, who instinctively went right to avoid the flying metal, but realized his mistake too late, the cold barrel of Quick's gun pressing against his forehead.

"C'mon man, we're friends right, we can walk away from this, right, have a few drinks, just like old times," the vampire said, praying his former friend went for it.

Quicksilver's eyes narrowed as he spoke, his voice lowered to a dangerously quiet whisper, "Don't you know, Ryan," he said, pushing Hollister back against a beam as he did, "You can't have friends in this business. Thankyou for reminding me of that," he finished, then pulled the trigger, reangled his gun, and pulled again.