Artis takes the radio Samantha was so-recently using, punctuating Jess' offer with the sound of coup-de-graces.

"You know what?" *BLAM BLAM* "I do believe this is the second time I've run this particular sister over." *BLAM BLAM*

Elena's hovercraft idles for a quick second then goes full-throttle. The remaining soldiers are routed, leaving their ultimate fates up to the Jess & Company.

Several minutes later, Artis arrives in Sam's armored Rover with the bodies of the late Illiavics stacked in the back compartment.

He's never seen the Team so badly injured. Correction. He's never seen EVERYONE so badly injured. Loose teeth are being checked out along with the usage of various makeshift tourniquets and liberal application of duct-tape.

"Agent Gossard. How good of you to show up. Is this visit for business or pleasure?" snarks Nightengale, dressing his burns with various bit of dead soldier camouflage.

Jess staggers over, a clear limp on her left leg as she rests part of her weight on a rifle.

"Pleasure *is* his business."

"And business is good", Artis finishes, pausing to spit a bloody loogie onto the pink snow.

Peter staggers over the snowfield, with a couple of new nicks and scratches and some of his old bandages bleeding through. Judging from his pain-twisted face, it's a minor miracle that he's alive, much less up and walking.

"It's not over yet, I'm afraid."

The revolver in his hand rises slowly until it points - more or less - at Carla.

"Carla Manotok...we have unfinished business. Do not misunderstand my intentions; this is nothing personal, but I've always stuck to my word, and I'm not giving that up now for convenience.

I demand...satisfaction."

"Honey, you just went and done the dumbest thing in your life," Artis says, swinging Samantha's shotgun towards Peter.

(You might as well roll initiative or whatever 'cause I'm opening fire)

Brians sidearm comes up as well as Peter starts waving guns around.

"Bollocks."

"You don't understand any of this. You're just doing what is good for you. I'm not in the business for flexible morality. I'm doing what I think is right. I wanted to give you advance warning and negotiate for a time and place that would be agreeable to both of us, but this mission has made the decision for me."

He coughs up some blood as he focusses on Carla.

"Five years again, you killed Alejandro Diemas in Colombia. It has recently come to my attention that he had an indiscretion with a young waitress 36 years ago. A waitress - that went on to become my mother. I do not harbor any sentiment for Diemas, but he was my father.

I've got a 9mm hole where my liver should be. I know I'm going to die here, but I want to die knowing that I met his killer in combat."

The Team surrounds the duelists, ready to throw down if the situation presents itself.

Let's have at it...

Peter makes a suprising first strike, slicing Carla across the abdomen with a quick blade swipe. Carla reacts with a feign coupled with a sharp overhead attack, carving off part of Peter's ear in the process but not before he catches her arm as she retracts.

They back up, licking their initial wounds...Carla definitely giving better than she got. As Peter clutches on to what's left of his lobe, he feels a bootheel kick him back into the fray. Carla grins at Brian's help, lashing out at Peter's flailing left arm, spraying fresh blood over across the snowpack.

The wound is deep, going through mutiple layers of clothing and knicking the bone in the process. Peter growls in pain, replying with a corresponding cut across Carla's arm.

They in get in close, struggling to obtain the upper hand. Carla uses her free hand to squeeze the deep incision in Peter arm, the pain nearly overwhelming the andrenaline coursing through his veins. He responds with a knee to her solarplexus, breaking up the melee and sending both reeling back again.

Peter's vision is blurred, the early indications of massive bloodloss taking effect as he attempts to regroup.

"Enough of this."

Carla flips her blade grip-side up and throws it, burying the stamped steel deep into Peter's chest. He remains on his feet for a long second, before his eyes rolls back and the knees give out.

Peter sinks down to his knees, tears swelling up in his eyes.

"Left pocket..."

His eyes roll back as his weight slowly shifts to the right, and finally he falls down into the snow.

By the time he hits the ground, Peter Krueger is dead. A small piece of paper peeks out of his left coat pocket.

Quote:

Quote: from Gatac on 12:43 pm on Sep. 26, 2005
Peter sinks down to his knees, tears swelling up in his eyes.

"Left pocket..."

His eyes roll back as his weight slowly shifts to the right, and finally he falls down into the snow.

By the time he hits the ground, Peter Krueger is dead. A small piece of paper peeks out of his left coat pocket.

Dear Mr. Sawyer, you don't know who I am, but I know who you are and I know what you done. You had sex with my mother and then you stole my dad's money all away. So he got angry, and he killed my mother. And then he killed himself, too. All I know is your name, but one of these days, I'm gonna find you and I'm gonna give you this letter, so you remember what you done to me. You killed my parents, Mr. Sawyer.

Just kidding! Shall we assume the letter is sans explosives and have Carla read it?

To Carla Manotoc

I'm assuming you did the right thing. Thank you for that.

If you can, please accompany my body to my family. I want them to know how I died.

I have also left instructions for you to be the sole beneficiary of my monetary assets. My family does not approve of the ways I used to earn it, so I foresee no objections. I'm sure you'll find it useful.

Don't let the job get to you.

Brian shakes his head, looking at the bloody mess of the dead German. His own breathing is more than a little pained, and that's when it hits him.

Fuck this

Two days later he's gone. His usual spot in the living room of the safehouse is unoccipied, his room empty. The phone records show a few calls to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and the British Embassy, but they have no records of what took place after he was connected. Royal Marine records suddenly show "Brian Mallory, Killed In Action, October 27, 1996: Bosnia." He has, for all intents and purposes, disappeared. A young, fit man matching his description is stopped at a security checkpoint at London Heathrow, but is waved on after his boots are passed through the metal detector.

Sitting on the table of the safehouse is a note, and a cellphone.

Jess, Carla, Artis and Auymi,

A friend in need is a friend indeed. I presume you know what to do with the phone. Should you ever find yourselves in London, drop by 17 Kensington Avenue, Flat 3C. The combination is the coordinates of where our chopper went down in Korea. A clean bed and a warm meal await.

Otherwise, take care of yourself. I'll be keeping an eye out for you.

Fondly,

Brian

P.S. Carla, you still owe me a suit.

Postscript

---

"You gotta be kidding me."

The young man's eyes dart around the room - to a tall man with graying hair, another tall - but young and blonde - guy and an older woman who looks distinctly like the blonde fellow.

"Let me just run the checklist. You're Peregrine, Egret and Nightjar, right?"

There's a round of nods from the audience.

"Well, congratulations for being on time, then. We've still got three warm bodies missing...Bald Eagle, Swan and - Duck? This is ridiculous."

The gray wolf scoffs.

"The entire bird motif is highly suspect."
"Yeah, but you're Peregrine. That's...well, that gives you some cred. But those guys?"

The old woman perks up.

"Pardon me, young man, but where in Siberia are you from?"

Anatoli glances at her.

"Krasnoyarsk."
"I knew I heard that k before. Alright, thank you."

The blonde guy weighs in next.

"I have a question."
"Yes?"
"I'm assuming you're Q-ing this team?"
"I'm more of a fixer, actually, but yes, if you want to put it that way...I get you what you need."
"Then why are you here instead of our mission commander?"
"Because the mission commander asked me to be here instead. There are a couple of details, all high-level shit I never want to deal with."
"So? When are we going to meet this Phoenix?"

Peregrine scowls at that.

"Wait. I was told I would be assigned to Nightengale."

Anatoli shrugs.

"You didn't hear this from me, but Nightengale got bumped up to Control level. I hear he's on the board now."
"The board?"
"Forget I ever said anything. Bottom line is, he doesn't have time to babysit op teams."
"And this Phoenix guy..."
"...is the new Field Ops Director for Europe. Yes."
"Wonderful."

Before Anatoli can expand on the issue, the doors part, admitting that which is indescribable. Dark red suit, white blouse, a pair of shades and long red hair with blonde highlights.

Anatoli coughs and turns to the team.

"If I may introduce you...This is Phoenix, Field Ops Director, Acting Director BoP Project. Phoenix, these are Peregrine, Egret and Nightjar. We're still looking to scare up the rest of the recruits."

She takes off her shades and smiles.

"Birds," Jessica Spiner says, "let's get this show on the road."

*CUT TO BLACK*

Artis resigned soon after Brian disappeared and bounced from country to country in an attempt to lose any surveillance, either from Odessa or the Agency.

His stint with the Agency had changed him - perhaps too much. Lacking the network of contacts that someone like Jess had, Artis fell into what he knew best. He smuggled people and weapons in the Middle East, and after leaving too many corpses, headed for Hong Kong where he fell in with the triads. The traces the Agency picked up showed Artis' work getting bloodier and bloodier. The man was a slave to his paranoia, burning too many bridges too quickly. The dead men told a tale of sociopathy that led to the South Pacific, where Artis had evidently spent some time at a psychiatric hospital. Seemingly brought back from the brink, Artis took up an almost semi-normal job as a pilot and ship captain in the surrounding archipelagos, taking people here and there (with no questions asked).

It might have been purely coincidence that an Agency team used his services for a covert infiltration. Artis had the skills, the vehicles, and the past for what they needed. He wasn't told they were Agency, but Artis could spot the gear. His barely-repaired veneer of normality snapped. He saw a conspiracy to kill him where, at worst, they were simply keeping tabs on him, and at best, didn't know who he was and were doing business with him based on local contacts' advice. Artis fragged the passenger compartment of the boat they were using and took the life raft back to shore.

He tried to disappear again, but he was out of practice. He was sloppy, killing people who had nothing to do with him or the Agency. Agency records puts Artis' death in Venice - a clean shot through the cranium. The body was found tangled in mooring lines under a pier.

Rumor has it the shooter was Elena Zamnov, although there are a few people clued into the intelligence community who claim Artis' killer was Brian Mallory... and if that rumor about Goose being killed by a dead SAS operator is true, then perhaps Artis Gossard isn't dead at all.

Don't let the job get to you. Good advice from a dead man. For Carla, it well might have been advice delivered too late. Burned far too often by anyone and everyone, Carla took her dark inheiritance after executing Peter's last wishes, and isolated herself from the rest of humanity. Other than the occaisional favor to Jess, the Falconet flew no more.

She was sick of it, sick of being less than human, sick of feeling nothing but pain taken and pain dealt out, sick of treating everyone she met as a potential knife in the back. What else did she know how to do? She'd been little more than a scared girl when she entered the agency. Now, woman who was too tough to die was at the point of being too solitary to live.

She didn't know if she could take away the scars of her time in the company, or if she could compartmentalize that part of her that longed for blood. But she knew that she couldn't live alone. So, she packed a few things, bought a ticket for London, and set out to find the only man alive who'd shown any tenderness toward her.

Besides, she owed him a suit.

(Edited by Threadbare at 11:58 pm on Sep. 27, 2005)

Agent Ibis left Russia with serious doubts about her vocation and the organization that had recruited her from the movie business. She'd had years of playing heroine in the Far East, but as soon as she accompanied the Birds of Prey into the West, she found herself cast as the fool. Following Russia, she demanded to be returned to her home theater. Back home, she felt back in her element, but before a year had passed, a mission that ended up taking her new team to America resulted in catastrophic betrayal and exposure. Ayumi'd had enough.

She snapped and went on a housecleaning tour, backed by upright elements in the Agency's upper echelons. When enough blood was spilled, those elements expressed their gratitude by covering up her involvement and ensuring uncomplicated retirements for her and her brother.

The siblings moved to their childhood stomping grounds and founded the Yokozaki Talent Company, an agency that recruits and trains the best of Asia's rising physical talent. Ayumi divides her time between working as a freelance triggerman and teaching the company's clients everything she knows: acrobatics, stage combat, stuntwork--and for those willing and proving able, the ways of the sword and the gun.

Both Ayumi and her brother Kenji never refuse a favor asked by a friend, and people from their pasts have called them on their generosity, including survivors from the Birds. And while paying those favors sometimes involves signing on short-term with the Agency as a contractor (and some of her own students have wound up being recruited), Ayumi only does so on her own terms, and with the option to back out at any time. She's been fooled once, and would prefer to remain shameless.