Home, Sweet Home

As the car weaved back and forth through the curving two-lane road a glistening city revealed itself briefly from around hills or between trees. A light, but steady rain saturated the ground and shined the streets, reflecting the sky or distant cars lights.

The driver was enjoying himself; a rare smile crossed his olive skinned face. He knew he was driving too fast, especially considering the rain, but he didn't care. His driver side window was rolled down and his hair, normally falling just short of his shoulders, whipped behind him in the wind. His beard, short and dark, was damp and glistened with dew drops.

He reached down and turned up his after-market stereo system, thinking to himself, 'I love this song.'

It was a remix of Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata using modern digital technology. He particularly liked the deep baseline of the track and the way it reverberated through his black Lexus SC Hardtop convertible. He chuckled to himself, as his fingers kept the rhythm on the leather steering wheel, at the irony of this particular song. It seemed as if this song characterized himself, somewhere between the beauty and refinement of the past and the sexiness and stylishness of the future. Maybe that is why he enjoyed the song so much. Or maybe it was a good song; he mentally shrugged.

It had been a long time since he had been back here. True, he had a condo here and had been paying a housekeeping service to keep it clean (oh how he hated coming home to a messy house), he hadn't visited since the early 90's, and only then for a few days between jobs.

His espionage, both physical and electronic, had made him a valuable asset to a number of governments over the past two decades; although he had spent a majority of his time working for China, Russia (and the USSR), Britain and the United States; contracting himself out to the highest bidder.

Recently, he had rewritten his security management and administration software, completely revamping it. His first major clients, the people he had avoided for the past twenty years, his people, deserved to be informed.

As his mind wandered, thinking about business, he became irritated at himself; not only had he missed the rest of the song, but he had almost reached the city limits and had been thinking about work. As he rolled up his tinted window his mood soured, if only a bit. Coming back was risky, perhaps more risky then anything he had done during or after the Cold War. That risk energized the man.

-= ~~ =-

He walked in the door to his flat and took off his shoes at the door. His footsteps were soft, undetectable by everyone but the most observant. His moderately short body was trim and toned, leaving his weight fairly low, but his relative strength, even before his unnatural abilities, fairly high. However strong he was, however, he was worlds more agile and quick. His entire life (and following unlife) had been built upon his quickness of mind and body. He prided himself in such things and feared sloth and apathy more then death.

He went to set his keys on the small glass table in the foyer but stopped suddenly, dropping the keys casually in his coat jacket. He subtlety grabbed his pistol, a semi-automatic 9mm, from the inside of his jacket at the same time. The calm breathing from across the room remained at a steady pace; the person lurking there hadn't noticed the motion. He could have killed the man from here, but he needed answers.

Not even stopping his stride he walked into the main living room, noting a small film of dust on the floors and furniture. Sighing, he knew it had been at least a week since his housekeepers had visited, perhaps the $300 a day he was paying them was not enough. Its too bad for them, he could be most unpleasant when dissatisfied. He spotted another hidden person in the dining room sporting what looked to be a silenced sub-machine gun. Impressive, he thought, these guys are well trained and well equipped; this isn't some nobody setting me up. His curiosity piqued, he most definitely wanted to find out more.

He continued walking, maintaining a deliberate pace as he passed underneath a balcony, predicting the attack from above from intuition, experience, and knowledge. The mercenary's timing was a bit off, a quarter second too early perhaps, and he landed before the smaller, shorter man. His size advantage didn't save him.

Relying on his speed and training, the mysterious man grabbed the assailant and spun him around, using the human's frame as a body shield. A dagger seemingly materialized in his hand, the blade a dull black, reflecting nothing.

In perfect English he said, "Boo. I scared you."

Suddenly, the scene erupted into chaos; the man behind the couch rolled from behind it firing his silenced pistol as he did. Two shots went wide right, a common occurrence when rolling, but the third was center-mass. Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on your perspective, his associate took the shot instead of the man's intended target. Nearly simultaneously the man in the dining room opened fire, spraying the pair from the side. Dropping his burden and rolling back into the foyer, their query evaded the shots and effectively reduced the firing angle to only one man.

There, the middle-eastern man waited, counting off the milliseconds before; finally, nearly a second and a half later, the rush came through the front door, behind him. Reversing his grip on the dagger, he thrust it into the expected man's path, catching him in the armpit and effectively making the man's firing arm worthless. With barely a glance over his shoulder, he struck out at the fourth merc breaking his knee and hip with two quick reverse kicks.

Finally becoming a bit irritated at the mess that was being made, he brandished his pistol, shot off 3 bullets in rapid succession, crippling the attacker that he had first indentified from behind his leather couch and then half sprinted, half tumbled into the dining room grabbing the man with the semi-automatic by the throat and lifting him several feet over his head.

"Do you want to die?" he asked.

The man, already becoming weak from lack of air, managed to shake his head no.

Lowering the man slightly, so that his feet just barely touched the ground, the Persian looked into the hired killers eyes with his own, dark and piercing. "Well then you had better tell me the truthful anwer to every question I ask."

The fear in the man's eyes answered for him.

"I am Xerxes Asha and this is my home, why exactly are you here, and who sent you," he began.

He knew it was going to be a long night.

Home, sweet home.