There was a story Charles Winters once overheard...Well not so much of a story as a gruesome legend that his "owners" once spoke of and one that he soon wished he'd never heard. The legend spoke of a monsterous individual. A soldier who had lived long beyond his time, wandering from war to war, from battlefield to battlefield in search of a glorious death. But the glorious death that he sought never came to this monster among men, and month after month, year after year, battle after battle, the damned soldier could never find his sweet release, not from bullets, nor from bombs or knives. They even said that he was present at normandy, that he'd taken out ten machine gun nests full of nazi troops, and that he'd come back with dire wounds which healed in mere moments.
At the time Charles couldn't really believe that such an invidivual would actually exist. Hell, there were probably some freaks out there sure, but no way were there such things as nearly immortal soldiers who had lived for so long...At least that's what he told himself. But deep down inside himself Charles knew, he just knew that the men that he had overheard talking had the power to actually find, or even make such people. And shiver went down his spine each and every time that he remembered that story. Because if he should ever fuck up, and I mean really fuck up he knew that he was going to find out just how true that story was.
Now as the mystery woman pressed her cold and very sharp blade against charles throat he recalled the story once again and tears began to flow down his cheeks like the rain that softly started to pour outside the large, clear, windows in his bedroom. "They sent you didn't they?" asked Charles as he tried to stop his blubbering. " They think I fucked up somehow right?" asked Charles again. "But I didn't tell anyone anything. I swear. They can check it out for themselves. I'm as secure as fort nox. I can pay you, make you fucking rich. Hell I can even get you a nice little spot in Bermuda!" Charles was losing it and it was starting to show.
Outside a clap of thunder lit up the room for a split second. But that split second was all that Charles needed to see that the young woman holding the knife up to his now very vulnerable throat was the least of his problems. A second clap of thunder and Charles knew that whatever fucked up nightmare his dream evening of sexual debauchery had turned into was indeed very, very real. As out in the hall, lit up momentarilyby the thunder was a man. A tall, muscular man, with a biker jacket and torn jeans. The mans unfeeling green eyes looked straight into Charles's own deep blue hues and paralyzed him. For a moment Charles didn't think that the man was looking at him really, but into his mind, his soul, his very being. And then came the chilling voice. Calm, collected, soothing even, like some devil who'd kindly ask you for your soul before ripping out your heart. "Hey there Charlie boy." The mans voice gave Charles winters goosebumbs in places he'd never known he could have them. Charles wanted to scream. He wanted to run. Hell, he'd even take wetting his pants at this point. But he knew that it was over. "I fucked up didn't I?" Asked Charles just before the throwing knife entered his forehead and killed him instantly.
After killing Charles Winters, a loose end and all around scumbag, James Zodd turned his attention to the would be assasin now before him. Again his voice was calm, cool, and collected as his spoke in a velvet soft pitch. "So you're the big bad shadow?" Asked Zodd as he reached behind him and pulled out a large combat knife. "Gotta say. I like your work sweetheart" said Zodd as he moved ever closer. "But let's see how well you do without fighting old men." With that Zodd closed the distance between both him and the shadow in a few strides and arched his blade towards the young womans body. It's aim and speed were that of a professionals. Yet he didn't intend to do real harm. At least not yet. No, this a simple greeting to most assasins, like a hand shake really, except if you weren't quick enough you lost a lot more than your grip and pride.