Nidhogg 3

[b]Eh, each to their own. Here's the next chapter. This character is the one who wasn't created by me for this resistance. However, the creator has basically told me that it's not hers, so I guess that settles that aspect.

[center]Chapter 3: Deadpoint[/center][/b]

[i]One year after the recruitment of Simon Goodman, seven and a half years after the fall of the [/i] Archangel
[i]Tsunami Sewers, Folkvangr[/i]

The sewers were massive. Granted, considering that they were in the same design as the upper city, a gothic style was usually incredibly large. Many pits helped to control flood waters, with paths on either side of them and on multiple levels. Some lights exist, but they were not enough to truly illuminate the many small creatures that passed down below, hundreds of thousands of them that might have been mistaken for constant flood waters except in the short times when they were allowed to the surface.

These tsunami-holding sewers were not much better than the alleys above them. Every man, woman, and child was on his or her own unless the rare case came of a family dynamic. Small stashes of materials were scattered around, with theft common, as well as murder.

This wretched hive was where Pax had been searching for recruits for quite some time. He generally kept to the shadows, since he had opted to take his old uniform, the one in which he had met Kira. Given that there was no common uniform here, that was just as good as any. There had not been any recruitments for a long time. There had been several attempts, to be sure, but they generally ended in the death or refusal of the subject. Sometimes both.

The man had been following the trail of a woman for one month. From tales around, she was some kind of "ninja", and also good with a gun, but had stolen from too many of them to be considered a friend to any. She had to be saved before someone went to kill her. Granted, she had survived this long. But she still needed his help. Needed the help of them all.

The man heard the sound of someone running in the distance, followed by the sounds of several more rapid footsteps besides.

[i]"Hey, get back here!"[/i] That was one man's voice. Unknown and likely unimportant.

[i]"She's got our gun! Come on, someone stop her"[/i] Another man, similarly unimportant and anonymous.

Several gunshots followed, followed by the sound of an explosion. At that, Pax broke into a run, only stopping when he reached the corner that he was more or less certain was just before the presumable trio. Without a word, he leaned out, watching with one eye. out of cover.

The woman seemed to be approximately nineteen, and was dressed entirely in black, with a black mask covering her head, her eyes not shown well in the darkness. One man lay dead on the ground, two more coming at her. Taking the one closer to her, she stepped aside of his charge to stand at his back, her left hand grabbing his same wrist and pulling back, forcing him to lose his balance. With one motion, she wrapped her right arm around his neck. Before she could snap it, the other was at her, stabbing a knife into her left leg. She cried out instinctively, but took out a small gun. A revolver, by the looks of it, from the 1950s by its design. The handgun was in her hand, and she fired a single shot into the one she held, one bullet to the back enough to kill him in his weakened state from time down here.

The other held the knife up as she checked her ammunition quickly. By the looks of things, she seemed to think she had enough, but would not be fast enough to pull it on him. Instead, her leg leaking crimson in a steady stream, she grabbed the man, forcing him to drop his knife in shock as she held him at the edge of a flood-holding trench, the creatures moving down below. Her gun pressed against his chin, she held him back, off over the edge.

"I-I'll leave you alone, I promise!" the man was pleading. "Just let me go. Let me go home..." He seemed to sob, knowing she didn't intend to do any such thing. "My brothers...." He evidently meant the other two. "Let me see my family again....please...."

Several seconds passed in silence.

"No dice." And she let go, firing her shot. The only condolence was that he felt no pain, even as the creatures below overwhelmed him, those mushroom-like beasts that carried him away in their unending flood.

"I know you're here", she called out after watching him for several second, seeing the body go. She took aim with the gun, both hands on it as she aimed at the corner where Pax was hidden, though he had again flattened against the wall. "Get out. [i]Now![/i]"

The man was having second thoughts about hiring her. Her mental state could be a serious issue. Could he risk it?

"I said [i]now![/i]" She was shaking, her finger pressing down on the trigger. "This is a High-Explosive .44 Magnum. Bullets laced with glycerin. I pull a switch, and your little corner gets blow to hell and back. Now [i]show yourself![/i]"

He walked out, calm as he could be. His hair was dark, possibly black. His eyes were dark as his hair as well, his skin tan in comparison to the paleness of hers that showed in the gaps between her gloves and shirt. He seemed to be in his early thirties, about thirty-three to her nineteen.

"D-don't move". She was aiming right at his chest.

Still he kept walking toward her, unafraid. "I mean you no harm. Your leg-"

"[i]I said don't move![/i]"

He stopped, trying to appease her.

"Why are you following me? Tell me [i]why![/i]"

He raised a hand, his only hand, trying to calm her down. "Please I-"

She saw a glint of metal from the lighting here. Metal on his wrist and along his body. He was not peaceful by a long shot.

[i]Click.[/i]

=====

[i]One year after the fall of the [/i]Archangel
[i]New City development of Callaghan's City[/i]

She punched the door open, sprinting into the next building.

Hell of a life, Running at the age of twelve. Especially with these improvements to the Blues from those strange guys.

There was a bit of scaffolding in a window, something from the New City developments. Those people who came in a month ago were making their work go a lot faster.

The next roof was a ways off, but not too far if she could maneuver through this complex fast enough. She had to lose those pursuers. Not exactly the Pursuit Cops she'd been told about, the Blues that could follow on her trail for hours due to their parkour training. Something different, alien even.

Wait a second. What was this, a video game? Aliens didn't exist.

A bullet whizzed by her head, and she ran even harder, arms pumping hard. Focus, Abby, focus. Think, think, think. How could she trick these guys? She had to get to safety before she could get contact with her remaining backup.

Again, her path was outlined in red. An instinctual change in her perceptions since her training was ingrained by her Tracker. They called it Runner Vision in their network. A sign about something with construction, written in several languages including English and several European and East Asian tongues. Maybe a crane was up ahead. In any case, she was working her way through office blocks now, cubicle-lined rooms. Maybe she could lose them in this maze. Left turn.

The footsteps pounding behind her. "We ain't gonna hurt you if you stop! Stand down!" The bullets weren't exactly the best motivators.

Instead, she took a deep breath, keeping her way through the many spaces as a shock of electricity burst next to her, setting a stack of papers aflame. Again, alien. Tasers couldn't have that much charge that fast. As the smoke rose, she allowed herself to take a deep breath. Let the flow take hold, let it guide her. Run, run, run. Don't think, just run.

Taking a right, the traceuse shoved a stack of papers off of a desk, hoping to slow down the others as the fire alarm went off. The shrill screech of the alarm barely registered to her as she kept moving, nor did the feel of the water of the sprinklers. Maybe she could find an office to hunker down for a few minutes. Somewhere open.

"Damn, I lost her! You two, split up! Hecate didn't pay us to lose a Runner!"

More gunshots, but in the distance, not aimed at her directly. Abby turned, and sprinted along one of the walls of the room, putting one foot up on it, then another, sprinting along the wall for several feet to help her momentum. At the height of her run, she saw one of the figures rounding a corner right near her. A man dressed in black clothing, with a black cloth, red-eyed, full-head mask on, a pistol in his hands as he shone a flashlight into the smoke, looking for her. She jumped off of the wall, and tackled him to the ground with both hands on his shoulders, slamming his head into the wet carpet as another screech came up. His eyes widened, then were dazed as he seemed to try to call for aid, disoriented by the impact. Before he could, she grabbed his pistol from the ground, smashing him in the face with the butt of his own weapon to knock him out cold before jamming it into the back of her pants for the time being, careful to avoid the trigger. Young, yes. But trained and definitely not defenseless. Not with her Tracker.

Very quickly, she felt his pockets. Anything to see how they could shoot lightning from their fingertips like that. She felt some kind of container on one of them, and yanked it out, not bothering to see right then.

Again she rose, and looked to a door nearby. That one was open. Without another moment's delay, ran in, sliding to the wall next to the door as she touched her right ear, the communication headpiece within.

"Leaf!" she whispered sharply. "Leaf, come in! Please!"

The woman answered at the other end of the line. She was her mentor, the ex-Runner Tracker who specialized in combat training. [i]"Where are you, Abigail? Did you help the Con-?"[/i]

"Please, please help me", the young girl interrupted, terrified. She looked down at the container in her right hand. It had a flat bottom and a glass case all together, four lines of plastic evenly spaced around its area reaching from the bottom to the tip. At the top, a plunger was visible, possibly a needle to remove. Inside, there was a red liquid of some sort. She dropped the gun beside her, and replaced it with the container in the back of her pants. "The janitor... They... I don't...."

Silence for a moment. [i]"Calm down. Everything's going to be fine. I have a lock on your signal"[/i]. A few more seconds.

The pursuers were still searching, but one called out. "Hey! She got Dave!"

[i]"The window. Get the window, now. You'll know what to do from there"[/i].

Without another second's notice, the young Runner sprinted to the other end of the room, yanking open the window and looking down to be sure. Good. She stepped out over the edge as one of the soldiers came to her door.

"Hey!"

Her feet slipped, and she dropped down...

All of ten feet, out of view. Her legs hurt from the landing on the small outcropping, for sure. But they wouldn't guess that she was alive, since she doubted they knew this city.

And, as per her thoughts... "Oh crap! The suicidal runt jumped!" She held her breath, allowing a soft breeze to brush past her soaked clothing. "I can't believe this! All of these Runners are insane! Why'd we get sent to [i]this[/i] world, of all of them?" The sound was just audible over the alarm.

"Because we have some of those Tresspassers or whatever here! The Runners are just a bonus! Leave 'er to the birds! Cleanup's the mayor's job!"

The men were leaving. Abby looked down the roof below. The glass was sloped for aesthetic, but was easier for her job. Or her ex-job, by the looks of things.

She turned around slowly, carefully, to face the mirrored window behind her, looking at her reflection. Her shirt and pants had a few scrapes and dirty smears on it from corners and such, though most of the dirt was washed away inside. There was a bruise on her forehead, some callouses on her palms, fingertips, and knuckles. Pretty much all of the signs of her work. There was the glove in her pocket, but she didn't wear it. Not yet. That belonged to... No, no crying now. She had to keep moving.

She saw the buildings ahead. One was up against the far edge of the slope of her roof. A crane was parallel to the closest building aside from that one mentioned, a bit higher. With a little luck, she could get across.

The young girl took a step forward...and purposely slipped off of the roof, landing on her backside on the downward slope. On the way down, she navigated her way to the side for her next step. However, looking around as she slid, the young Runner's jaw dropped.

The ships were everywhere. Those ships that had brought these men, enormous, sleek, and purple. Some of the smaller one-man crafts were also visible, of the same color and alien sleekness. "Where did they come from?" she whispered, mentally praying that none of them saw her.

She snapped back to attention as she neared the end of the slope, directly beside the roof. Concentration was key, her thoughts mere fragments as she tried to make it to the next roof in one piece. Kicked off of the edge, flew through the air for a split second. Feet made contact with the outer wall of the skyscraper, running along its surface. Starting to slip downward, turning on one foot to face the crane. Jump.

All was flow. Nothing but the flow of her job, clearing out all else. Her body was going higher, higher... and reached an equilibrium. The deadpoint, they called it. A point when she could feel suspended in midair, neither rising nor falling. All she could see was the sky and the ships. All she felt was the wind. All she could hear was her own heartbeat, pounding in her chest despite her momentary calm.

One of those larger ships was moving under her, dangerously close to her legs. A hit could break her momentum and lead to her death, or, in the least, draw unnecessary attention to her. As a result, she curled them inward to her chest, crouching in midair and narrowly missing the top before letting them go again as she reached for the arm of the now-close crane. Both hands grabbed it, her legs swinging forward as her hands let go, straightening her direction as she gripped a nearby electric line temporarily attached to the crane. This last sliding maneuver prepared her for her injury-avoiding somersault on landing that narrowly avoided a metal handrail near the edge. Still, she did not stop, running onward until she came around to the other side of the roof access stairway. She skidded to a stop, flattening her back against the wall, out of sight of the invaders. Again, on the earpiece. "Leaf, where are you?"

[i]"New Eden Mall. I don't know how long there is before they get in here. You need to get out of here, Abigail. It's not safe here anymore".[/i]

"But... how do I leave? I don't know how to do anything about leaving this place".

[i]"Those ships might be able to do something".[/i]

"But-"

There was a crash at the other end of the line. [i]"Damn it! Abby, get out of here! I don't care how you do it, just do it! Go!"[/i]

"Leaf! Leaf!" The line went dead. The little girl was terrified. First them, now this. All she had left was herself.

Another of those ships passed by. It seemed to have a blue light coming up under it, bringing in metal crates and some of the soldiers. Some kind of tractor beam? This would be tricky, nearly impossible. There had to be another way than to use that.

And there was, apparently. An opening appeared from a spiral door in the top of the ship, a single guard looking out and quickly scanning the area of the rooftops. His eyes fell on her as she flattened her body to the concrete roof, barely seeing something. The tractor beam (what was this, science fiction?) stopped as the shipment of whatever it was had made its way up, and the ship began moving again toward her position.

She would have to test how easily she could get into this ship. And if that guard got into her way, she would again need to test her ability to fight him off. A last gift from Leaf, it seemed.

Time to take the leap. She took two steps back, then sprinted forward. Again, she was flying through the air before she knew it, her arms flailing, legs cycling. If that ship moved too much, she was dead. If it moved too little, the same prospect awaited her. Falling a couple tens of stories did not appeal to her very much, as being a spot of bloody ruin on the pavement was more or less unappealing.

Time again seemed to slow to a stop, her vision, showing the ship as a shade of red for this time, having a slight blue shift. Some of the Runners called this Reaction time, heightened perceptions for a short time to better see her surroundings. She kept moving...

The traceuse landed in a roll, ending up on the top of the ship. Thankfully, she did not appear to have attracted attention within. Perhaps the engine was too loud or something? The hole in the ceiling was still open, and she peeked down into it, her short hair free. There was the guard, armed with a sniper rifle and looking in a box in the room. It was one of those metal boxes. Talking into a radio set in his mask: "Okay, nothing here. We're good to go. One shipment to Folkvangr coming right up."

Abigail slipped through the opening as it started to close automatically for their departure, feet hitting the ground first. The guard seemed to notice, and began turning around as she made a swift three hundred sixty degree spin on the spot, slamming her right elbow into his right jaw. The guard coughed, leaning forward, and reached for his helmet, presumably to call in an alarm. He never had the chance.

The Runner kneed him hard in the chest, and grabbed the sniper from his loose grip as he fell to his hands and knees. The same foot stomped on the back of his neck, putting him down for the count. The entire operation had taken three seconds. The young girl grunted as she picked him up, dragging the possibly-deceased body behind a box to hide it before slipping behind one herself, making sure that she would not be seen by a wandering eye.

She was leaving them. All of them were gone, and would never be seen by her again. Not that there was much to see anymore. She didn't trust the authorities, and her coworkers...

Finally, she sobbed silently, tears rushing down her face in twin streams. She looked to the needle she had taken as she took it out, turning it over and over in her hands. If this was how they used those powers, she would be able to use them, too. She had to try. If she died in this, who would miss a Runner? A criminal?

She took the needle from its holder, looking at the red liquid, and held out her free arm. Stared at the needle, then her arm, then back again.

[i]Oh well, what's the worst that could happen now?[/i] She bit her lip to keep from screaming, just in case.

Down it came. She was lucky that she kept her lip bit down, though it bled. She thought she saw a box move of its own accord nearby, but could not focus on it, her vision blurring from the effects of the shot, of her first injection of ADAM.

Her world was pain.

=====

[i]Click.[/i]

Nothing happened.

[i]Click. Click. Click.[/i]

She panicked. The gun was broken, jammed up. She didn't have any tools to repair it here, not in time to stop this man.

The Runner threw her HE .44 Magnum at the older man, hoping to knock him unconscious. Still, the mystery man ducked, avoiding the thrown firearm and walking toward her slowly. Though he seemed to try to look nonthreatening, his outfit did not exactly facilitate such an attitude.

"Please be calm. I want to help you. I told you I mean no harm". He pointed to her wounded left leg, with blood still running down it. "I can treat your injury".

That made her pause for a moment. She knew that in her condition, she would be unable to effectively use her close quarters skills as taught by Leaf and improved by her through improvisation over these seven or so years. She was only able to grab that man through sheer luck and the element of surprise. Her gun had been broken, but now was too far away to shoot anyway. She [i]did[/i] need aid for her wound, or she would be in serious trouble, temporary solution or no.

Still, that gun was far away from her. Behind him, to be exact. She held up her hand, then her other one, seemingly in surrender to this tracking man.

Behind him, the High-Explosive .44 Magnum rose up to head height. With a flick of one finger toward herself, Abigail watched as it flew back to her hand, smashing into the back of the head of this man of many knives. He crumpled in a heap without a word as she put the gun in her waistband, too shocked to even express it.

Now came her turn to willingly bring him along. She had questions to ask.

=====

[i]Abigail's Hideout[/i]

Pax awoke in a strange area. It was a small room with no lighting of its own, an area of it left clean presumably to sleep. There was a pile of guns in one corner, each and every one modified to have a scope attached. A rusty knife somewhat close to him, but out of reach unless he leaned for it. The entire place seemed to be somewhat raised and cut into the wall, a deeper part of the sewer system itself. From his position leaning against one of the many pipes of this large indent, he could see that it was something of a sniping post, the place where he had last been conscious visible in the distance.

As he turned, he saw her at the last second. She was coming right for him, grabbing the knife from the floor with her right hand, her left grabbing him by the collar of his clothes, the hard steel against his exposed throat.

She had definitely seen better days. Her quarter-length, light brown hair was a mess, sweaty and stuck with grime. Those green eyes showed her maturity in trials by fire, but also hints of insanity, or at least paranoia. Cuts and scraps marked her face and arms, callouses on her fingers. She wore a black, short-sleeved shirt and black pants, with dark gloves that had extra gripping, as did her black shoes, with a red line marked along the soles. All of the clothing had small cuts and scrapes, likely from her maneuvers that the others he had asked called ninja-like. The woman kept the knife up as she reached for a red, fingerless glove on the ground, putting it in her back pocket. Her left leg had a bloody bandage wrapped tightly around it, the pant leg held up by said bandage to show a tattoo in the shape of a small dagger superimposed over an infinity symbol.

";One more time", the woman spat, pressing the rusty steel against his throat with increasing force. "What the hell do you want with me? You a damned stalker or something?"

Technically speaking, he probably was, but not in the sense she was implying. "I am here to help you, but ask for yours in return. I am part of a resistance movement of a kind. We could use someone with your skill set, your ability on your feet. Or", he looked to the bandage again, but was forced back, "the foot that survives. Could be both, if you help. I know a doctor".

Silence for a few seconds. The young woman laughed grimly to herself. "Resistance? You're kidding me, right? I was a part of something like that. Back where I come from". She looked to her pile of guns. "It....didn't work out". Several seconds passed in silence.

"So", she said calmly, shoving her target up against the wall, though lowering the knife ever so slightly. "What's your name? Or are you just going to try stalking me without one?" From her tone, she hoped that she was showing that any such attempt would be met with her blade or bullet.

"They call me Pax". Oh, so pseudonyms now?

"Pax", she scoffed. "Sure, one name, and a conceptual noun besides. Hell of a thing to call yourself when you've got that switchblade, Peace". She was silent for a moment, looking to her scoped weapons. Finally, she had her answer. "Headshot, if you're gonna call yourself Pax." Her cynicism cut out. "Okay, real name. Now".

"Tell me yours". His dark eyes peered into her green ones, a silent glare that showed utter hatred for her attitude. Could he escape this hold? He seemed fit for his age, though the early thirties were not exactly considered old. And all of those knives on his person were nothing to laugh at.

A small white rat crawled up the side of the entrance, into the area to find the source of the noise. Fitting, really. The two sewer rats locked eyes, and the smaller one scampered back out the way it had come.

[size=1]"Scruffy...?"[/size] the Runner muttered. No, the Janitor's rat was likely dead. And if not, what did it matter? She couldn't share food. She held for several seconds, keeping up her demeanor as she held him up. "Abigail Walters. Not that a name means jack squat anymore when its from the Runners".

Thankfully, he did not ask for an explanation. She would not go into that just then, not with a stranger, a possible stalker trying to steal her guns and ammunition, the food she had stored away somewhere else entirely.

He stared at her, with his dark gray robes of an old time and place, his short dagger at his waist on a brown knife belt that reached around his left hip and over his right shoulder, holding twenty silver knives. The hood over his dark hair met at a point akin to a bird's beak at its middle. Even though he did not have the red cloth on his clothing that would make him stand out more, he had the expertise to be at least very close to a very high rank where he had once been.

"Malik A-Sayf", a Syrian-born Assassin Dai of Jerusalem said, the modified hidden blade he had attached to his remaining arm snapping out its blade once before retracting it, finally causing Abigail to back off. "Now, let us leave here, Headshot".

[b]And so, the secret is revealed to those who did not know. Malik is one of my favorite characters in [i]Assassin's Creed[/i], that is to say the first game. Now then, next chapter you'll get a look at what happened to him.

Please review. I'm trying to add a perspective to her distrusting attitude in War's introductory information/prologue.[/b]