Finian stood at edge of rain-slicked runway.
"I'm coming for you, Locki," Finian whispered to himself. His knuckles turned white as he clenched his fists, the storm howling in response.
Whoosh.
The sound of displaced air sliced through the rain—the unmistakable movement of a professional ghosting through the shadows. Finian didn't flinch. He kept his back turned, staring into the downpour.
"Who's there?" he called out. On the surface, he was still; inside, his pulse hammered against his ribs. Is it the ghost that took my bike?
Finian forced himself to stand straight, projecting the image of a perfectly rational, unafraid man. Another whoosh hissed past his ear, louder this time. The threat was closing in. Finian took a slow, deep breath, exhaling the tension.
"Look, you can keep the bike," Finian said, his voice casual, as if he were discussing the weather.
WHOOSH.
A shadow flickered in his peripheral vision. Finian narrowed his eyes, his "calm" mask starting to slip. "Listen, pal. You really don't want to mess with someone like me."
The shadow stirred, vanishing back into the grey curtain of rain.
Finian let out a theatrical sigh. "Let me warn you one last time. I'm the kind of guy even the big shots at Foster—and Roster, and Coaster, and whoever else—don't dare to touch."
He swallowed hard. He blinked, and in that split second, a fist appeared inches from his nose.
"Aaaagh!"
Instinct took over. Finian snapped his head back, his center of gravity dropping instantly. Using his toes to spring off the ground, he launched himself backward with a grace that bordered on inhuman, skidding to a halt meters away.
"Who are you, man?! You scared the crap out of me!" Finian yelled, his chest heaving.
The man stood in the rain, long black hair and a mask clinging to his face. He didn't speak. He didn't need to. The raw killing intent radiating from him was loud enough. He took a predatory step forward; Finian took a frantic step back.
Then, the man charged.
Elsewhere,
In a room where the darkness seemed to have weight, Rio stood before a floor-to-ceiling window, watching the lightning illuminate the city skyline.
Behind him, nine massive chairs surrounded a circular table. In the seventh chair sat a figure draped in darkness, the only light coming from the faint, rhythmic glow of a smartwatch.
"Seventh Head," Rio said, his voice low.
The man in the chair opened his eyes. His pupils were like ink, staring fixedly at Rio's back.
"I heard you sent someone after Finian," Rio continued.
The Seventh Head nodded slowly.
"Tell me about the one you sent." Rio said.
"The man I sent has two specialties. The first is stealth. In all of Foster, excluding the Heads and two others, no one can match his ability to vanish."
Rio turned slightly, a thin smile playing on his lips. "And you're positive he can handle that lunatic?"
"He will dismantle him," the Seventh Head replied coldly.
Back at the runway, Finian was sprinting. He glanced over his shoulder the man was behind him, Finian looked ahead, noticing the edge of the runway approaching. In the last second Finian stopped himself.
He sighed with relief, If I hadn't stopped, I would have tumbled right off the ridge, Finian thought, a brief, hysterical smile crossing his face. But the smile vanished as the man caught up.
The assassin launched a brutal shoulder tackle, driving his weight into Finian's midsection. Both men plummeted off the ledge, tumbling into the dark canopy of the forest below. As they were in the middle of falling towards the ground. The assassin scrambled on top, but Finian drove a knee into the man's chest to create space.
The man responded with a heavy right cross to Finian's jaw. Then another. Then another. After a flurry of nearly twenty strikes, Finian found a gap. He lunged forward, slamming his forehead into the bridge of the man's nose.
CRACK.
Reversing the position, Finian pinned the man down, returning the favor with a barrage of precise, rapid-fire punches. One. Ten. Twenty. Finian grinned, raising his fist for one more—but as they neared a the ground, the assassin mimicked Finian's move. He delivered a desperate headbutt, flipped Finian over, and they both slammed hard into the dirt at the bottom of the ravine.
"Ouch..." Finian groaned.
The long-haired assassin hauled Finian up by the throat, his fist pulled back like a piston.
"BEHIND YOU!" Finian screamed.
The man's focus flickered for a micro-second. It was all Finian needed. He snapped his knee upward, catching the man squarely in the groin. The assassin let out a strangled cry, but his training held. He swung a wild punch; Finian dodged by a hair's breadth, the wind of the strike whistling past his ear.
Finian didn't stop. He grabbed the man's arm and bit down on his forearm like a wild animal.
He's completely unpredictable! the assassin thought, his eyes wide with shock.
Finian broke the hold and landed a solid punch to the man's face, knocking him back. Finian stood up, wiping blood—a mixture of his and his opponent's—from his lip.
"You messed with the wrong guy, and you took my bike," Finian growled, his voice dropping an octave. "That was my favorite. Even Dunn Vaider—of the Great Vaider family, the biggest bike nut in the world—doesn't dare touch my ride."
The assassin surged forward again, unleashing a professional boxing combination. Finian slipped the punches with eerie ease. He caught the man's right fist, and in a blur of movement, his fingers dug into the Ulnar and Median nerves of the man's wrist.
The assassin's hand went instantly numb.
What is this guy?! Fear finally began to flicker in the man's eyes. As Finian reached for his other hand, the assassin recoiled. Is he going for my nerves again?!
But Finian didn't. He stepped inside the guard and delivered a brutal elbow to the man's jaw. The assassin hit the dirt, mouth bloodied.