Sweet Home, Alabama (Kirian)

[Alagon Drago]

The night was clear and chilly - both uncharacteristic for Alabama in December. It was even colder in the city. The steam from the factory chimneys crystallized in the air, creating massive clouds of fog that diffused the electric red glare of the streetlights. Few walked the streets at this hour, especially in this part of town, a depressed industrial zone full of broken windows and abandoned steel mills. The people who were walking about were generally the sort you didn't want to meet on a dark night in a bad neighborhood.

People like Alagon Drago.

He drew some glances as he strode purposefully down the littered sidewalk, but no one moved to challenge him, even when he crossed gang territories. They could see he was out plainly of their league.

So he sensed no threat from them. And no threat from his quarry, either - which meant Kirian didn't know he had been followed from Tuscaloosa.

Stupid kid. No one escaped the Hand. Not even a magician like Scorpion.

Drago paused and laid a hand on the hilt of his vibranium ninjato as he looked up at the faded logo painted on the factory wall above him. Then he made his way down to the nearest street-level entrance. Finding the lock already broken, he silently slipped inside.

[Kirian Graves]

It's funny how something so simple can change your whole life.

As far back as Kirian could remember, he had worked for the Hand. He could even remember being raised in a Hand orphanage, playing with other children whose families had been lost from this conflict or that war or some various plague. As far as he knew, the Hand was rather benevolent. Once he reached the age of 12, he was shown more of the organization... the assinations, the grasping after power. Still, it was all he had ever known. The Hand was not quite a family, but at least it was a home.

He still wonders why he went along with everything. Why would he have believed the Hand? How could he have ever thought that an organization who would kill for the highest bidder could be anything other than evil? All those lies...

He had always thought, in some strange way, that his actions were part of a greater good. He was often told of how the target was either a tyrant or a madman. That scientist he was sent to kill three years ago? Developing biological weapons to be used on villagers. The doctor from three months ago? Ties to the local mafia. No matter who the target was, they always "deserved" to die. And Kirian had believed them. It made things so much easier.

His most recent target was businessman from Alabama. Supposedly, this man was selling arms to terrorists and lining his pockets with the profits. So, to Alabama Kirian would go.

During the trip, Kirian couldn't shake the feeling of deja vu. Everywhere he went were small reminders of things he couldn't quite put his finger on. That store where he bought his lunch, the small shopping center he passed on the way to his targets business, the general layout of the city itself. It was as if he had been here... no, lived here before.

One he had established a base of operations, he tailed his client, following him throughout his day. No opportunities presented themselves. No matter, Kirian was a patient man. With his illusion abilities, Kirian would walk right in front of the man 100 times without him ever being the wiser. He was sure the opportunity would present itself. But none did until he followed the man home.

The whole way to the man's house the feelings of deja vu grew stronger. Shaking them off, Kirian had hidden his vehicle and proceeded to the man's house on foot. As he was staking out the house planning his attack, all the memories returned to him. He had seen this house before.

No, he had lived here. This was his house. In a rush, all the brainwashing by the Hand fell away, and the memories he had lost returned to him in a flood. The Hand had killed his parents and abducted him when he was young. They had used him, lied to him, exploited his powers.

His thoughts of finishing the contract all slipped away. True, if he were to kill the target he would buy himself some time. If the target wasn't killed soon, the Hand would know something had happened. No matter... Kirian would not be used again. He returned to his vehicle and left the scene, not even returning to his temporary base.

Fast forward one month. He has slipped slightly further north, to Birmingham. After a brief search, he was able to find an abandoned factory to hole up in. If he were a more cautious man, he would have left the country and started a new life. Changing identities is no problem for an illusionist. He could simply fade away. The Hand would never find him.

But he wanted the Hand to find him. He owed them for the way they had used him. He would have his vengeance.

By now, they had surely send someone after him. The Hand was not well known for allowing their operatives to simply quit. Thus, he had fled only to Birmingham. Perhaps he could capture the agent they would send. He needed information in order to find out who had done this to him.

He was reclining on a makeshift cot, various improvised weapons, particularly explosives, laying around him. He had a view of the door he had broken into. No reason to let anyone get the drop on him too easily.

He is nearly asleep when he hears the creak of the old rusty door. He snaps awake to see a dark haired man slip into the factory. He does not get a good look, but the glimpse he saw looks oddly familiar.

He mutters under his breath, "No way... couldn't have sent him..."

[Alagon Drago]

Drago stepped past the shaft of light angling in from the glass on the door and into the shadows. He paused as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. This used to be a steelworking floor - around him were molds, cauldrons, chains - above were tackles and tracks, and on the far wall was a row of defunct furnaces smeared with soot and carbon.

Stepping cautiously through the debris, he made his way to the catwalk that led to what used to be the supervisor's office and paused. He was here. And he knew who'd come to visit him.

Alagon smiled.

"Kirian! Come out and say hello to your old friend."

[Kirian Graves]

Kirian springs to his feet as soon as the man slips out of view. He grabs his swords and sheathes them on his back before slipping away from his sleeping area. As he attempts to reaquire a visual, he hears a far too familiar voice ring out.

He was curious about the voice earlier, but now his suspicions are confirmed. It is his old trainer - Drago. He immediately shields himself in illusion, rendering himself invisible. Direct attacks won't work on him, either. Kirian is going to have to get clever.

He slips to a ladder, and quietly climbs to a higher catwalk. He uses his powers to make his voice come from everywhere at once.

"You know they trained us better than that, Drago. And, seeing as you trained me, you should know better than to show yourself so soon. Obviously, you're not here to kill me. At least, not just yet. Let me guess, the old masters from the Hand sent you to bring me in? Figure out what's taking so long, and why I didn't kill my target?"

[Alagon Drago]

Kirian could hide his body and his voice, but he couldn't hide the waves of suspicion he was radiating like a beacon. Already he was busy calculating how he could eliminate his old teacher and colleague from the equation - even though he had to know it was futile. It wasn't enough of a palpable threat for Drago to pinpoint his position, but he knew his old student was above him.

The Hand assassin glanced up the steps, down along the catwalk, and saw a ladder that led up into the chainworks at the ceiling. Lightly, he laid his hand on one of the metal struts that supported the catwalk. He felt footsteps vibrating through the structure.

"I was in the neighborhood," he replied. "Just finished a job in Houston. They were going to send a team of enforcers to track you down, but I volunteered instead. I figured I could at least give you a chance to change your mind. Write it off to fatigue, or a bad case of the flu. You look like hell, did you know that?"

[Kirian Graves]

Kirian can't help but smile at the other assassin's comments.

"Very funny, old man."

An illusion of Kirian appears directly in front of Drago. The image looks like Kirian does normally, except his teeth are long, bloody fangs. The image leans in toward Drago abrubtly, and says, "Boo!"

It is a pointless gesture. Alagon doesn't scare easily, and is almost never startled. He's come to rely on his powers. Fortunately, he relies too much on them.

Kirian pulls a small IED (Improvised Explosive Device) from his belt and tosses it toward his old teacher. It's not meant to hurt him. Kirian knows that the man will easily avoid it. He just needs to buy some time. As soon as the device leaves his hand, he's sprinting away, heading down to the factory floor.

"I need information, Drago. Otherwise, you'd have never found me, and you know it."

[Alagon Drago]

Drago smirked at the illusion and turned toward the furnaces. There was another staircase there leading up to the catwalks. If Kirian was still up there, he could go up to meet him.

Something stabbed at his perception - a shard of warning was arcing from the catwalk down toward him. In a heartbeat, his ninjato was swinging in his hand, still sheathed. He caught the explosive device on the butt end of his scabbard and slung it away into one of the furnaces. The flash lit up the floor for an instant.

Drago looked up and saw the catwalk shuddering. He moved toward the furnace-side stairs.

"You're funny, kid. I think that's why I always liked you. But you know your tricks aren't good enough to fool me. So what information? Better ask quick before my patience runs out."

[Kirian Graves]

"Your patience? I've just remembered that the Hand killed my parents, kidnapped me, brainwashed me, and made me their assassin. Do you think patience is something I have an abundance of?"

The interchange, coupled with the explosive, gives Kirian enough time to slip down to the factory floor. Once there, he sneaks his way over to the machinery. This was once an iron smelting factory. The iron industry built Birmingham, so finding an out-of-use one was easy enough. Not too much of the plant is still in operation. The main furnace, however, is. He throws the main power switch, and the derilict factory shudders to life. The ambient sound should mask Kirian's movements without him having to cover them with illusions.

"I want to know who is responsible for killing my family and turning me into what I am. Their lives are forfeit. They are dead men already. If you help me, they will die soon. If not, they will die once I track them down on my own."

"The only difference is whether on not you will live."

While he has been speaking, Kirian slips around the factory until he regains sight of Drago. Still invisible, he rushes past his former teacher, slashing with his twin katanas as he does. He drops his invisibility just past him.

"Catch me if you can, old man!"

He runs off in the direction of the main furnace, remaining visible until he turns a corner.

[Alagon Drago]

Sword and scabbard came apart, and Alagon turned both of Kirian's blades aside. As he crouched to take the blow, he swept out a leg to catch Kirian's shin - the younger assassin stumbled but kept his feet on his way to the back of the factory.

Drago was hard on Kirian's heels, his long strides easily matching the shorter man's speed. When his quarry turned one way around the corner, he turned the other and ground to a halt, keeping his ears open and his senses tuned. He slipped the scabbard back into his belt and drew a pair of shuriken.

He scanned the area - a jungle of machinery, including the main furnace blower. It was difficult to move through here quietly.

"Bleeding heart, is it? Give me a break. You intend to take on the most powerful private agency in the world for the sake of a pair of mundanes you never even knew? I've got a better idea. You make it easy on me, and I'll make it easy on you. Otherwise, the gloves come off, kid."

As he expected, the jibe struck a nerve. Kirian's thoughts must just have turned to what he'd like to do to his old trainer. And the animosity was coming from the blower.

The first shuriken came whizzing toward the blower controls at stomach-level.

[Kirian Graves]

The older man was better than he'd remembered. He'd gotten cocky from taking on too many mundanes. He'd have to be VERY careful with this one.

The shuriken comes flying. He attempts to dodge, but he doesn't have the early warning system that Drago does. The bladed projectile slices through his shirt, nicking him on the side. The damage is minimal. The problem is that he lets out a grunt of pain, letting Drago know where he is.

He grabs the last IED from his belt. This one has a crude timer on it. He sets it for about 20 seconds and clips it to a nearby machine. He moves away quickly, but continues to grunt as if he's hurt worse than he is. He drops the illusion of invisibility covering himself, but covers the mini bomb to mask it. As well, he makes it appear that the shuriken embedded itself in his stomach. He staggers a few feet away between two machines. Thus, if Drago follows him, he'll be between Kirian and the bomb.

[Alagon Drago]

There was little that was as invigorating in a battle as drawing first blood - of course, in Drago's case, that often was all the blood he ever needed to draw. He nearly dashed forward to pounce on his ailing student before he could recover, but then he found himself wondering why Kirian would drop his invisibility just when he'd rendered himself the most vulnerable.

He refocused his senses. The man staggering away was Kirian; an illusion didn't put out that kind of hostility. But Drago had a feeling he was crying crocodile tears. It was still no time to let his guard down.

The Hand assassin pocketed his other shuriken and seized one of the hanging chains, one about as thick as his thumb, and struck it savagely with his ninjato. The hardened steel under tension was no match for the vibranium blade, and the chain came away in his hand, about a six-foot length with an iron hook on the end as a counterweight. He spun the chain so it wrapped around his closed left fist a few times, then caught the hook in his sword hand.

Now with a pair of weapons to counter Kirian's twin katanas, he charged at Kirian, confident in his melee skills and precognitive senses to overcome whatever the illusionist had up his metaphorical sleeve.

About ten seconds had run off the timer.

[Kirian Graves]

... 8... 9... 10... 11...

Kirian mentally ticked off the seconds until the small bomb would go off. He has both swords in hand as Drago rounds the corner into the aisle of machines. There are about ten feet between the machines. Just enough room to swing a sword, but not so widethat Drago will be able to move around Kirian. All he needs to do is hold this fight for a few seconds more...

A wicked grin comes across his face as his former teacher advances. He has a chain wrapped around one hand, his sword in the other. Apparently his lessons about using weapons at hand came from personal experience. Kirian crosses his blades in front of himself, parallel to the ground, and wades in to the fray.

"Have at thee, old man..."

Kirian's blades flick upward, the left to swat his sword wide, the right to stab at his torso. A chain may work well at stopping a slash, but it's harder to intercept a straight shot with it.

... 14... 15... 16...

[Alagon Drago]

A very good lead to put oneself in an advantageous position from the outset. But Drago saw the opportunity to attack the same instant that Kirian did - it was that head start that always let him react a moment before any human being reasonably should.

As the sword in Drago's right hand went wide, he opened up the slack on the chain with his left and spun to his right with the momentum of his sword - the stretched length of chain caught the outside edge of Kirian's thrust and pushed his katana aside as Drago spun his body clear of the attack.

As he completed the turn, he released the hook from his right hand and, whirling back toward Kirian, he brought both weapons to bear - the sword swinging high at shoulder level, the chain fully extended and sweeping low for Kirian's legs.

... 17...

[Kirian Graves]

His opponent's spin knocks the stab off to the side. By the time Kirian recovers his balance, Drago is coming back around with his spin. The sword comes at him high, the chain low.

Kirian has never had much use for long chains like this. Projectiles are fine... short chains can be deadly. But a long chain is only dangerous at its tip, or when it is entangling you. He plans to make sure that neither of these situations occur.

Kirian ducks low under the sword and steps in a bit closer. He raises his foot and stomps down on the chain as it swings in, stopping it cold. He raises his right sword so that it angles at a 45 degree angle above his head. That way, when Drago's sword comes across, it will follow his blade and be deflected high. He is in too close to slash with his left hand katana, so he simply punches out, hard, into Drago's solar plexus.

... 18... 19...

[Alagon Drago]

Drago's senses bombarded him with danger signals from behind as well as in front - it divided his attention for a crucial moment.

The assassin's ninjato skated up the edge of Kirian's block, and he grunted as Kirian buried his knuckles in the center of his chest. The blow staggered him for a moment.

Then the threat from behind crystallized - another explosive device dangerously nearby. No chance for subtlety under the present circumstances. Drago released two more loops of the chain from his left hand, letting him raise his chained fist into the shorter man's mouth and nose. Then he dove forward on top of Kirian as the bomb blew, jarring him with its shock wave and pelting his back with stinging debris.

[Kirian Graves]

Kirian sees a flash of white as the chained fist slams into his face. The blow rocks him off balance, opening up a long, jagged cut on his cheek. Drago follows him in, attempting to carry him to the ground. The man's weight combined with the makeshift explosive easily topple him onto his back. Fortunately, the explosive did do some damage to his opponent. He needs to get away, though. Grappling with his old teacher is definately not in his best interests.

He whips his head forward, slamming the front right corner of his skull into Drago's nose. With a shove, he pushes the man off him and scrambles to his feet. He moves away as quickly as he can, heading toward the end of the aisle where Drago was previously standing. He turns the corner and continues toward the main furnace. He is still dizzy from the blow to the face and is dripping blood from the gash in his face. He shakes his head, trying to clear the cobwebs.

As he moves, he sees a conduit in the wall. An idea forms in his head as he ducks behind a piece of machinery, weapons at the ready.

[Alagon Drago]

Alagon swore under his breath as he rolled quickly to his feet, crouched like a predator. He paused to wipe a stream of blood from his nose. The assassin knew he'd been careless, even by his standards - after all, this was one of his prize students. He'd been hoping to take Kirian down without doing him too much damage, but now wasn't the time for such considerations. The Hand had many ways of disciplining rogue agents - even dead ones.

Alagon couldn't see Kirian anymore, and his footsteps had been lost in the echoes - but he could see drops of dark fluid in the dusty concrete floor. The trail led him back to the open floor of the factory and then -

Ah, yes. Some lingering ill-will was burning just about ten meters forward and five to the right just behind a massive corrugating press.

The assassin twirled the chain so it wrapped around his left forearm like a gauntlet as he prowled toward the machine. "Come now, Kirian. You must know it's only a matter of time. As long as you resist me, you can't escape me."

[Kirian Graves]

It's time to draw his old teacher in... take advantage of the recklessness he always displayed. For all his skill, he was never subtle. He continually dismissed many of Kirian's ideas, never aware that attacks don't always have to be direct.

Using his powers, he makes the sounds appear all around Alagon. A low, sinister chuckle fiils the air before he speaks.

"Why, old man... you misunderstand me. Why would I ever try to escape? You and I both know full well that the Hand will never leave me in peace. I'm not going to escape."

The voice now coalesces, sounding directly in front of the man.

"I'm going to kill you."

At that, a wave of ill-intent comes from Kirian's location, nearly pin-pointing him for Alagon.

[Alagon Drago]

Kirian crystalized in a way that was, for Drago, more "real" than if he'd reached out and touched him. No one knew his enemies like Alagon Drago did.

He moved quickly - though he did not charge outright as Kirian may have expected. He wheeled around the corner and, with a flourish, released the hook end of the chain and hurled it - the chain uncoiled like a snake as the weighted hook flew toward Kirian's head.

[Kirian Graves]

Kirian's eyes widen as the hook projectile races toward his head. He ducks just in time, the chain's hook bouncing off the girder behind him with a pronounced CLANG.

"Too slow, old man. I can sit here and dodge from this range all day."

He clangs his swords together, then steps sideways, moving around the beam and electrical conduit behind him.

"In fact, I can just stand behind this column. Whatsamatter, old boy?"

He walks back around the column, standing in front of it again. He continues his taunts, hoping to pull the hothead in.

"I can hear it now. 'Hand's top assassin defeated by column! Other pieces of architecture line up to attack!' Are you simply afraid of me? Or have you finally admitted that I am the superior swordsman?"