The Enemy Walks In

[Arvin Sloane]

Arvin Sloane observed Michael Vaughn’s battered body. They were alone, the CIA agent finally unconscious. Vaughn was a worthy opponent, one Sloane respected for his resilience. Coupled with Sydney, they made an impossible pair. If Sloane had his way, they’d be buried next to each other.

Sloane loved Sydney like a daughter, having been around for most of her childhood and part of her adulthood. The lies he had told her about SD-6 were easy and he had gone behind Jack’s back to recruit her. Sloane had always suspected that Jack had never gone rogue, that he had stayed true to the CIA. The elder Bristow was too much of the old Cold War soldier, with a red, white and blue ideal. Truth is, he neglected his daughter in his tireless pursuit of Irina Derevko. Vengeance was something the Bristows didn’t take lightly.

Walking out of the torture chamber, Sloane adjusted his suit jacket. He wondered if Irina had truly had the nerve to bomb Sydney’s apartment in New York. If she had, Sydney wouldn’t be much of a bother to him anymore. He felt a pang of sadness for her passing, but repressed it. She hated him, vowing to kill him for what he had done to her, to her fiancée. It was a casualty of the business they were in. Sydney was too young, too idealistic and Danny’s execution had taken it out of her. He was sorry in a way he had had to take that away from her, but it was the only way he could teach her to survive.

Only, he hadn’t counted on her resolve to kill him. She had risked everything becoming a double agent for the CIA. If he had known, he would have killed her himself. Allying himself with Anna Espinosa had been a reckless maneuver, but one that would get them both what they were after- the answer to Rambaldi’s mysteries. They had brought Lauren Reed back to life, rescued Julian Sark and enticed Eric Weiss to their side. The Faction was stronger and more deeply embedded than SD-6, the Alliance and the Covenent could ever hoped to have been. The power was his to seize, but Arvin was biding his time and that was when he was at his most dangerous.

[Michael Vaughn]

Michael Vaughn was beyond words, beyond pain. His right eye was swollen shut, the eyebrow split apart from repeated blows. Finally some respite had come, as his interrogator lowered the chain he was restrained to. Both of his feet hit the ground, his leg crumpling under the weight of his body. Blessedly cold the ground was. Idly he realized his fingers were sliding across drops of his own blood, that his jaw hurt, and that he was unable to do anything other than shakily breathe.

But what he knew the most was that he’d given them nothing. Even now, as the man codenamed “suit and glasses” approached he did not answer the repeated question that was being asked.
“Where is Aspen Matthews?”
Vaughn half smiled, despite the pain that it brought his broken jaw, finally speaking something other than a scream of pain.
“Safer than I thought…” he sneered. “…if you think torturing me will-”
Tora stomped down hard atop his wrist, breaking the bones, and while he resumed the pressure, he bent down onto his other knee.
“Do you like your thumb, agent Vaughn?”
Deftly he grabbed at Michael’s digit, drawing it back near the point of breaking.

“Tora!” shouted the Taiwanese man.
“He often gets overzealous… But I believe that it is my turn to question Mister Vaughn.” His head nodded toward the door, “Leave us.”
The door shut and Vaughn truly began to scream. And when his voice let out he couldn’t even do that anymore. All that could be heard after that was the high pitched grinding of a dental tool.

[Tora no Shi]

“Do you believe that he knows anything?”
Tora asked as the pair walked he low-lit hallway. His muscular form was rigid and mechanical as he strolled toward the utility sink. He set to work washing his hands of the blood, leaving most of the professional air once he was finished. He was dressed in a charcoal suit, red button-down oxford and wingtip shoes. His hair, now wet, was slicked back away from his face with a few unruly locks curling back toward his forehead.

“I think he’s holding a lot more than the secrets of the Rambaldi artifact and the woman able to obtain it,” he dried his hands on the adjacent towel, tossing it angrily back toward the sink, “and if I hadn’t been interrupted, I would have gotten them!”
Nostrils flared huffing in disgust at the recent chain of events.
“Always the Yakuza believes himself to be more equipped, more adequate for the job I was designed to do! I was there the day those Ronin stumbled upon the path I carved for them!”

The White Tiger pivoted to eye up Razor, “Despite your youth you have more potential in your little finger… or claw than that man will ever have.”
Everyone was a youth to an immortal being like Tora no Shi. He was tired of waiting for prophecies to come to fruition. He was tired of the curse that had been bestowed upon his naive body.
“If he will not do what needs to be done… I know a man who will.”

[Razor]

Quiet was the walk out of the chamber of screams, the lights flickered on and off in the hallway as they walked. She cracked her neck before raising a brow to his question. "Know anything... I believe he knows everything…” her steps were silent, despite her heals.

Lights reflected off the leather outfit she wore, revealing, tight and seeming to slide down her body as it hugged her curves. With such an outfit, there was no doubt she was as strong as sadistic, muscles glistened in the light, a small cover of sweat beading her body. Eyes stared straight, despite the small conversation she had with the man next to her. Tora no Shi, the White Tiger, lover, and the… immortal.

“However, I do not think he is realizing why we are searching for Matthews… After all, he is CIA and is more than likely wondering why the Yakuza is trying to get information about these artifacts.” Her answers were quick before she once more got silent.

“Despite your youth you have more potential in your little finger… or claw than that man will ever have.” His body turned to eye her up and down. Her eyes followed the frame of his body as well. The signs of years of study of many martial arts were so poignant by the way he walked as well. He was interesting to watch, just as much as he was to tear apart in bed… which could sometimes get at bad as their interrogations.

“You know many men, Tiger… now just which one is the question. I know you can get anything your dark heart desires.” There was something close to a wink that came from her before she turned toward the exit, holding the briefcase in hand.

[Tora no Shi]

Tora’s fist smacked into the palm of the other, “The artifacts mean nothing to me!” His eyes were blazing as he glanced back in the direction of the screaming and the high-pitched drone of the drill. Idly he wondered what part of Agent Vaughn’s body was being worked upon, and this gave way for him to almost look relaxed. Death and grief were a few of the things that he still held onto as precious. They were the essentials that reminded the mind that the body still lived.
“I do know many men and one in particular who rumor says is in need of a new bodyguard.”
His toned shoulders rolled back as he followed suit with a sharp snap of his neck to crack the joints. The gesture wasn’t necessary, his body didn’t feel the rigors of everyday life, but Tora was a creature of habit, and he knew that his career as an assassin would be over if he lost the little things that used to define his humanity.

He held the rusted steel door for her before stepping out into the gloom of the alley. The pair walked like sleek warriors out of a science fiction movie. He was the stylish Asian, with little words and a three-piece-suite on higher consciousness. She was the deadly counterpart with daggers hidden under an exterior that screamed sex appeal. Tora held the door of the black sedan, rounding to the driver’s seat. He snapped on the radio, a sly smirk working over his lips at the lyrics: …Now you can join the ranks of the illustrious; In history’s great dark hall of fame; All our greatest killers were industrious; At least the ones that we all know by name…
“Kenneth Irons.” He offered, as he turned onto the freeway and toward the airport. “He’s made quite a name for himself in the regard of his …unusual interests.”
Tora donned his sunglasses, “And I hear that his personal bodyguard, Ian Nottingham finally bit off more than he could chew. Yes I do believe we might have to look into partnering with someone who appreciates our rare talents don’t’ you agree?”