Mittenwald loomed before him, a constantly shifting menagerie that put the city on the cusp of metropolitan and quaint. There were dark tidings on the forefront on the city’s future. A person who spent their life dealing death learned to sense the brooding darkness with the anticipation of reuniting with a long parted brother. A worker of the shadows would walk comfortably in the coming storm of death that stood just outside the doorway of the present, peering, waiting for its moment to leave its mark in history.<br/><br/>But it was not here yet. Hamish could feel the heavy specter of death looming but it would stay away for now, simply building its appetite. For now the specter of Hamish Buchannon shifted silently through the shadows. He was death unknown and he had not worked in several weeks. The pile of pictures in his stack had gotten no smaller since that day he had taken in Isolde. He had thought little of it and had done well to hide the slight twitch in his hands. But there was no denying that once his focused shifted from healing, he had felt the need to work. Not just work, to kill. It was bordering on madness; he had not slept in a long time.<br/><br/>For now he was keeping himself busy watching over his wards but soon, he would need to work before the twitch in his hand led to uncontrolled shaking. Somewhere an ephemeral memory drifted through his thoughts of a resulting madness. Only work would keep that beast at bay and there was time yet. There were a lot of faces matching those pictures in Mittenwald right now, tonight he would find one of them.<br/><br/>His senses suddenly went into overdrive as a man emerged from across the street brandishing a gun. Hamish tried to read where the target might be but before anything could happen, Isolde was there. Hamish assumed she had used magic as the gun flew from the man’s hand and the man went into a row of hedges. A soldier appeared to take the man away and no one seemed to understand what had just happened. Isolde had moved on from the moment, and entered the church.<br/><br/>Hamish could not hide his wry grin. He had given her the tools to rip apart the men who represented every ill intention in Germany, yet her first act had been to stop violence. Hamish was relieved that who Isolde was at her core had not been compromised. He was her balance just as she was for him. Life and death were the most trusted companions here; the ironies of the universe.<br/><br/>Hamish lost sight of Chaya and whatever companion she had found. He was glad to see her trusting again but there was something about the situation that sat cockeyed to the assassin. Something about the man…something familiar in his manner. Hamish had not seen the face as he was too far down the street but after the incident with the gun, Chaya had moved on. A small fire ignited in his skull, a grain of worry grated at him incessantly that Chaya might be in danger. Isolde was out of his eye sight inside the church, and Chaya had vanished into the crowd with a strange man.<br/><br/>Hamish was paralyzed with indecision. The stone hearted killer almost laughed at the simple complexity of his situation. He took a step out of the shadows of the alley when he felt something writhe over his skin. His hand twitched involuntarily and his eyes felt the sudden need to see everything right now.<br/><br/>Someone had him in their sights.<br/><br/>Hamish stepped back and merged with the shadows. He heard swearing and he tensed as he realized it had come from behind him. He had been so distracted for his friends, someone had almost got the drop on him. Hamish went as still as the wall, his breathing slowed to the point of being completely imperceptible.<br/><br/>There, a slender blonde man crept in his own shadow towards the alley entrance, a gun with a silencer carried efficiently in both hands. The man was well trained for he made little noise and used the shadows like a professional. He stopped less than two steps away from Hamish staring right at him. This man might be a professional but Hamish had been suckled in the darkness. It cloaked him like a second skin and warped the senses of reality even to a hunter. The blonde man saw nothing but deeper shadows where there should be a wall.<br/><br/>Hamish watched as the man passed through the realm of uncertainty and dismissed the impossible. He was cocky, he was not used to being wrong, and he could not fathom anyone could have simply vanished. The gun disappeared smoothly as the blonde man stepped into the morning sun. He was dressed in mottled grays and his face contoured into cold cruelty. This was a man who enjoyed his job.<br/><br/>Hamish materialized from the shadows and placed the tip of his knife at the base of the mans neck. The blonde stiffened immediately. Hamish tugged him further into the alley until they were out of ear shot<br/><br/>“You are Lazarus,” the man whispered, catching Hamish by surprise. Lazarus was the code name given to Hitler when the contract was signed. “The Fuhrer requests a renegotiating of your contract.”<br/><br/>Hamish rolled the words through his mind. It was a weak story and Hamish did not believe it. “Then why send a mediocre assassin? He knows the usual channels.” The blonde turned icy at the word mediocre but he was not stupid. Hamish had him beaten.<br/><br/>“He sends a strong hunter to find another hunter,” the blonde replied through gritted teeth. “I only wanted to test you, to see if you were as good as they say.”<br/><br/>“I am flattered you think I would give a rat’s ass about your critique of my abilities,” Hamish shot back, he did not like men such as this. They were usually cruel little boys who turned into even crueler little men. They relished not in the kill but in the fear, in the pain, and the loss of humanity. They offered no dignity nor did they pride themselves on the little details.<br/><br/>“Even so, mein Fuhrer will renegotiate with you directly. He would bring you into his inner circle, make you the leader of his assassins. It would be a position of great honor.”<br/><br/>Hamish considered the words. If it were true it would be the perfect opportunity to get at the top officers. The only problem was, Hamish knew it was not true. This man had either been sent to kill him by Hitler or had come seeking to take out his competition for the most lucrative jobs. It was rare in his world to face a challenger but it happened far more than Hamish liked.<br/><br/>Hamish removed the tip of the knife and stepped back. The blonde turned slowly, his hands showing empty but the icy fire never left his eyes. The blondes fake smile vanished as Hamish held up his badge.<br/><br/>“I do not believe I can get any further into his inner circle than I already am,” Hamish said. “So either tell your second to stop hovering behind me and let’s get the dance over with.”<br/><br/>The blonde’s icy demeanor turned into a storm of rage at this. “Take him Hans!” he yelled and Hamish felt the man who was posted to keep watch at the other entrance moving into range. Hamish grabbed the blonde and spun him around just as the loud pop of the muzzled gun sounded.<br/><br/>For Hamish, the seconds stretched. The blondes weighted struggled against being controlled but his balance was wrong. Hamish's balance was perfect as his own muscles responded with expert precision, firing cellular energy into his economical motions to turn the blonde into a bullet shield.<br/><br/>A second pop of the muffled gun and Hamish was pulling the blonde’s own muzzled pistol from his jacket holster. Hamish acquired his target in a nanosecond of overclocked brain power and his finger stroked the trigger like a drug addict does his newest purchase. A loud sneeze of the gun and the bullet takes wing, through the blonde’s jacket and into the chest of the second man. Two more sneezes, two more bullets chewed through the thick German material and sprouted bloody holes. The second man went down in a heap as Hamish stepped away, the gun now pointed at the blonde whose teeth were bared in a psychotic rage.<br/><br/>“Hitler will find you if you kill me, he will know you are a traitor!” the blonde was all bluster now, it was all he had. “He will throw you into a work camp, you and your red haired whore…”<br/><br/>Hamish brought the gun down on the blonde’s head and there was sharp metallic ping. The blonde went down, his eyes fighting for focus. Hamish stood over him, the gun an extension of his will, each bullet ready to answer his bidding, anxious to rest wherever he pointed. The gun was a Walther P38 but had been modified to fit a silencer. It had been called the whisper of death in some circles for the silencer greatly affected the range of the weapon, but the sound was no more than a loud sneeze.<br/><br/>It felt right in Hamish’s hand, as if the gun itself had been waiting for its home. Hamish watched as the blonde’s eyes regained their focus and stared down the barrel of the gun. For the first time, doubt registered behind the icy barricade. Hamish let the blonde peer into his own dead eyes, certain of what the blonde would find there. Suddenly, the blonde man looked like a frightened kid. His life of torture had not prepared him for this. He enjoyed the pain, relished in the fear of others, aroused at the control and power.<br/><br/>Hamish was simply a killer.<br/><br/>“Fuck Hitler,” Hamish said with an emptiness that tore through the blondes remaining calm. Hamish's hand was perfectly still.<br/><br/>The pistol sneezed.<br/><br/>Hamish left the alley a few seconds later, Mittenwald pleasantly unaware that death stalked her streets. He made his way back towards the house but stopped to by fresh flowers from the shop the women had visited earlier. The florist would not be able to recall him directly only that he was polite, but seemed to be a dark man, as if the shadows followed him. Then the florist would laugh and complain about the long hours and little sleep. Meanwhile, Hamish aimed himself towards their home.