The heat of the day was fading fast as Falkner sat on the rooftop of a deserted shopping mall, watching the passers-by below with idle interest.

The most beautiful part of the sunset, where the pollution on the horizon blazed red and gold, was over. What remained now was the smudged, grey half-light before the streetlamps came on in the sectors of the city fortunate enough to have electricity.

Tabriur had not changed drastically from the city Falkner used to know. It had only deteriorated. There were more destitute deadbeats and drug addicts, more black market magic shops, more hollow-eyed hookers half-heartedly peddling their wares, but the air of despondency and hopelessness was the same as ever.

And of course, now there were more empty shells of rusted, useless cars, stripped for what parts could be used elsewhere. There had been no running cars in the city since the Wizards had banned the use of all fuel save magic - magic that most of the population could not afford.

Now those who could pay the price took the train. Those who could not, walked. Families lucky enough to receive their monthly ration of pre-packaged 'tame magic' had barely enough to run their fridges, and only businesses who had gained the Wizards' favour had any hope of being given enough power to stay open. That explained so many of the abandoned shop fronts.

For some reason, Falkner could not shake the image of the girl from his thoughts. There was something about her bright eyes and long, black curls that reminded him so much of--

No! He couldn't dwell on it. It would drive him mad with guilt. Maybe it was better just to forget the whole thing. He pulled his spare cloak around him and set off to make his seven o'clock rendezvous.

The suburb had been a nice one, once, years ago, when people still had time to care. Now it was a slum; fences were broken, lawns reduced to nothing but weeds and dust. The once leafy trees that had lined the streets were mutilated and dead. The fast-falling night did little to improve it.

Falkner walked around the used condoms, needles, and other debris he didn't even want to identify, scanning the houses as he passed. All were in various states of decay, all inhabited, whether by rats or more human scavengers.

Sethlyn had said the house in which they were meeting was a drug dive borrowed from an absent dealer. Sure enough, there was the mandatory pair of shoes hanging over the useless telephone wire outside number 1719. The number seven hung upside down.

He stepped over the pool of vomit on the rotten patio and pushed aside the curtain of black garbage bags that served as a front door. The interior was dark; the broken windows covered over with cardboard. The smell of the real dregs of society was too much to bear. Falkner reached for his handkerchief to cover his nose, then realised he'd given it to the girl. He cursed.

His trained eyes took the room in at a glance, and then he wished he hadn't. The carpet was a mere technicality, worn completely away in patches, with mysterious stains that Falkner didn't even want to contemplate. There was a scarred wooden coffee table, burnt in places, littered with half empty crack pipes and an open packet of needles.

The addicts lay wherever they could find a private spot; the threadbare, dirt-encrusted couch, filthy mattresses with the springs poking out, even hunched on the floor in the corners. A few of them looked up as Falkner entered, ascertained that he did not look like a Legion, and went back to their personal haze of drugs and misery.

Not wanting to watch these wretched souls for longer than he had to, Falkner headed for an open doorway - the actual door hung off its hinges. Many of the floorboards in the passage had been pulled up, and he stepped carefully. He tried a door on the left, then shut it again hastily, gagging. The room was occupied.

Falkner found what he was looking for at the end of the hall in what had once been a breakfast nook. He walked over to the window and opened it with a sigh of relief. The room held a couch, mercifully covered by two clean-looking beach towels, and three metal folding chairs.

A woman sat on the couch, waiting. She was in her late twenties and Falkner always thought that she might have been beautiful, given a different set of circumstances. In this reality a triangular-patterned burn marred her forehead and her close-shaved head removed any last race of femininity.

"Do I pass inspection?" The woman laughed, lifting a thin, dark eyebrow.

"Sorry Sethlyn, my mind's been elsewhere lately."

"Hey, we all have days like that. Especially lately. Sit, chill," she patted the spot on the couch next to her.

Falkner took note of all exits to the room, and sat.

"Can I get you a beer?"

"A beer?" Falkner's face lit up. "You mean a real beer, not the watered down urine samples they try to pass off as beer around here."

"One genuine beer, ice cold and straight from Athista, coming right up." Sethlyn swung a leg over the side of the couch and padded off to the kitchen. There were shrieks as she came across a junkie.

"Out! You're crazy if you think I'm going to let you cook drugs on my stove. Out, I said!"

A painfully thin boy ran out. He looked young, not much older than that girl…

Forget her! Falkner commanded himself. Forget about the damn girl!

Sethlyn came back with two beers, muttering, "Bloody junkies. They'll be trying to sleep in my bed next."

"We really have to get ourselves better headquarters," Falkner agreed.

"I guess here's the safest place. Who'd believe a group of werewolves would meet in a place that smells this bad!" She kicked off her boots and draped herself across the couch with her feet in Falkner's lap.

Popping open her beer, she asked idly, "So how was your day? Kill anyone new and exciting?"

"Uh, not really. So, where are Tainer and Judd?"

If she noticed his rapid change of subject, she didn't comment on it. "Judd's off on one of his bleeding heart missions again, but Tainer should be back any minute now. He just went out for a pack of smokes."

He and Sethlyn sipped their beers in silence. He looked around the bare room, trying to keep his mind away from the inevitable thought of the girl. The bare bulb hanging from the ceiling shed pale, jaundiced light that did little to dispel the gloom. Wait a second, light!

"How is it that this hole has electricity that actually works and the two star motel I'm staying in, courtesy of Hestrod's hospitality, doesn't?"

"Tainer broke into the magic grid, stole a few cables. If they won't let him make his own magic, he has to find other ways to screw The Man."

Falkner smiled in appreciation, then his look turned serious. "How is he holding up?"

A voice from the kitchen made them both jump. "How is who holding up? I hope you're not talking about me like a cripple again?"

"Tainer, how did you get in?" Sethlyn looked guilty.

"The kitchen door was open," Tainer replied.

Sethlyn swore. "I'm going to kill those junkies one of these days."

Falkner looked round at the newcomer. He was twenty-two, tall and as usual, his hair was different from the last time Falkner had seen him - a tall pink Mohawk this time. There didn't seem to be any new piercings; just the old nose, lip, eyebrow and numerous ear piercings. His hands were in the pockets of his trench coat, but Falkner knew where his right hand should be was just a blackened stump.

Mages had three choices in Tabriur - to be milked for their magic in black market establishments, to work for the Wizards, or join a resistance movement and risk punishment. Tainer had chosen the last option and paid dearly for it. With no right hand, there was very little magic he could do without enduring terrible agony.

"Get us some more beer while you're up, won't you?" Sethlyn asked.

Grumbling good naturedly, Tainer threw beers from the fridge to the others one by one, before pulling a folding chair closer to the couch and flopping onto it. He did a fake double-take at the way the others were sitting. Sethlyn pulled a tongue at him.

"What took you so long?" she asked.

"Let's just say I 'found' something on the way back, an opportunity that was just too good to resist."

"Well?" Sethlyn looked expectant.

Tainer held his beer can between worn jean-clad knees, opened the pull tab with his left hand, and took a long sip.

"Oh no, business before pleasure. It stays in my pocket for now," he said.

"Fine," she sighed. "In that case, I now call this meeting of the Wizard Opposed Liberation Front to order."

The others just looked at her with their eyebrows raised.

She blushed. "Sorry, I just always wanted to say that."

Falkner hit his forehead with the heel of his hand, then looked up with a pained expression.

"It's like you're asking to be caught. A secret organisation called WOLF; hmm, I wonder what they do," he hissed.

"Well, what do you suggest, hotshot?" Tainer countered.

"Look, it doesn't matter what we're called if we have no members," said Sethlyn. "Maybe we could make some real plans now, and argue about penis sizes - I mean, names - later."

Tainer grinned. "Nothing to discuss, we all know I'm bigger."

Falkner pseudo-smiled at Tainer who ignored him and took a packet of cigarettes from his pocket and slid it open on his lap.

"Well," Falkner said, "the Wizards ordered a hit on Lord Cavender, so it's clear they're still going ahead with Operation Harvest. But we can't worry about the 'Taintless,'" he smirked, "if we're ever going to get all of our kind out of Tabriur."

Sethlyn told him, "Judd and I checked out the blockades again yesterday, and there's no way we can get even twenty people through there, they're too well guarded. And you don't even want to know what happens to a Change-bound if they try and go into that train station."

"Diffusion magic. Not pretty," Tainer muttered around the cigarette between his lips, flicking the lighter.

"And we don't want to try hitting any Hestrod targets before we have the people out of the city - the Wizards would only take it out on them, and Feyolan knows I don't want to be responsible for any more deaths." Sethlyn wore a sad, faraway look.

"Sethy, it's not your fault, if they don't want to be mobilised, there's nothing you can do." Tainer turned to Falkner. "I've been working on a thousand different ways to break the Change-binding magic, but it's nothing I can crack. Not that I'd be able to cast the spell anyway."

Falkner shook his head. "You might as well forget about that. I know the idea of a mass Changed army is a nice thought, but it's just not practical. I, of all people, should know what the Legions are capable of, and we'd get slaughtered."

"We have to do something! Sitting around doing nothing is driving me crazy!" Sethlyn stood up with her impassioned speech, looked down at the filthy floor under her socks and hastily sat down again. She sighed. "If only we could find a way to use the Wizards' own plans against them. There's no way you can sabotage operation from inside, is there Falkner?"

He shook his head. "Not without blowing my cover."

There was a thoughtful silence until Tainer chirped up, "Your turn to get beer, Falky."

Falkner grimaced at the nickname, but got up anyway. With his head inside the fridge, he called out suddenly.

"I've got it!" He looked at the others and a slow smile spread across his face. "There are a few kinks we need to work out, but it should work."

They talked into the early hours of the morning, arguing the merits of the plan, drinking beer and complaining about Tainer's chain-smoking.

Finally when they could think no longer, Sethlyn sat back and asked, "What was that surprise you had for us, eh Tainer?"

Tainer said nothing and pulled a lunchbox-sized silver box from his pocket.

Sethlyn gasped.

"A TalkWave!"

"I haven't seen one of these in ages! Where did you find it?" Falkner asked.

"It fell off the back of a truck." Tainer nodded. "And better yet, magic cells." He produced three black packets.

Sethlyn made suitably impressed noises.

Tainer tore open one of the packets with his teeth. The cell was half the length of his finger, oblong, with rounded edges, soft and organic, pulsating with a faint red glow. Shaking his head with disgust at the inferior 'tame magic,' he squeezed it into hole the back of the TalkWave with a wet plop.

There was a crackle of static, and Tainer fiddled with the dial, skipping from station to station.

"…service has been… discontinued … unavailable at this time… terrorist found dead… not available…"

"Wait a second Tainer, I think we had something there," said Sethlyn.

Tainer eased the tuning knob back, and got to the Hestrod sponsored news station.

"…seventy year old George Scarrow, believed to be working with underground terrorist groups, was found dead in his home early yesterday morning. The execution-style killing bore the tell-tale marks of the infamous assassin known only as the Scourge of the Shadows, a vigilante crusader for the noble leaders of this city. Legion at the scene, Mattheus…"

Sethlyn got up and snapped the radio off.

"Dammit, Falkner, you didn't!" She ran a hand over her scalp, as though brushing back hair that was no longer there, a nervous habit left over from happier times. "When were you planning on telling us!"

"Never, if I could help it. I had no choice! I have enough trouble hiding what I am, even without a brand scar. How long do you think the Hestrod fools will take to find me out if I will not even kill an insignificant old man!"

"Please. Spare us the bull excuses." Tainer's face was dark with fury. "We all know you hated Scarrow."

Sethlyn's voice was more measured, but disappointment coloured her words. "If you couldn't get over your past with him, you should have just said so. Whatever your differences the two of you had, he helped us a lot. You cannot go around killing everyone you don't get along with."

"How can you be so naïve! He sure as hell did not join the rebellion out of the goodness of his heart. Once you work for Hestrod, you always work for Hestrod."

"A lot like you then," Tainer spat.

"I did what I had to do! And if I derived a little bit of enjoyment from killing the old pervert, so what? You have no idea what I went through as a child. No idea. So don't you dare judge me, either of you."

"And we haven't suffered, Falkner? Is that what you're saying? That my dead sons mean nothing?" Sethlyn's voice cracked and angry tears pricked in her eyes.

"That's not what I…"

Tainer shoved him back roughly, the mage's left hand prickling with magic he knew he couldn't use.

"That's low, Falkner, even for you. Say what the hell you like to me, but leave Sethy out of this. We're not your punching bags and we're not your slaves. You can take your attitude and crawl back to the sewer you came from, we're better off without you."

Falkner straightened himself to his full height, and gathered his cloak around him.

"You know what, forget it. I don't know why I bothered with you amateurs. You let feelings get in the way of what needs to be done. Your rebellion is never going to go anywhere."

With that he marched out of the kitchen, leaving Tainer with his lone fist clenched, still fuming.

Sethlyn sat on the couch, hugging her knees and staring blankly ahead of her.

"One day they're going to ask you to kill me or Tainer or Judd. Then what? Will you enjoy that too?" she whispered to herself.

He is sixteen. Trembling in his hard, narrow bed, dreading the footsteps in the hall. His face is wet with shameful tears. He clutches his dagger in a clammy fist. The iron door opens. The pockmarked face leers over his. He drives the dagger into a hateful eye.

Tonight was the night. He had to do it. He might never get another chance.

He wasn't supposed to have his dagger with him. He was supposed to leave his weapons in the armoury every evening like all the others. But tonight he had managed to sneak the knife back into his pocket.

Falkner knew Scarrow was coming. The old man had sat next to him at supper and run his hand over Falkner's leg, whispering in his ear, "I'll see you later, boy."

Now all he could do was wait in the half dark, dreading the footsteps, but wishing they would hurry up and come. He waited, hunched on the edge of the bed nearest the door to his cell, poised and trembling. And he waited. He checked and rechecked the blade of his dagger, occasionally wiping a clammy palm on the sheets. And he waited. And the more he waited, the angrier he became.

Every injustice he had ever endured at the training house came back to him with the painful clarity that only teenage rage can provide. Every other boy who followed Scarrow's example and made his life a misery. Every draught of the mind control potion that reduced entire weeks in his memory to nothing more than a blur. Every full moon he had howled with the agony of the spells that kept him from Changing, until his body stopped trying, just to keep him alive.

He hated being confined to human form. He itched to show them, once and for all, what he was capable of doing. But Scarrow would have none of that. The man always made sure that Falkner was under his control just enough to stop him taking revenge, revenge for all the things Scarrow did to him after lights out.

Not this time. This time Falkner had learned to beat it.

Hot, angry tears of shame pricked in his eyes as he blocked out the memory of those night time visits. All that remained in his mind were Scarrow's words.

"If you tell anyone, I'll kill you … I'll report you to the Commission, vermin … No-one will believe you … No-one cares what happens to animal scum like you … I'm the only person who loves you…"

The old words. The typical words. The words of an abuser, a master manipulator. And all these years, Falkner had believed those words. He loathed himself. He was worthless. He deserved what he got. He owed his entire existence to Scarrow, and the man was just taking what was his.

No! He punched his pillow. No! It's not true. Scarrow is the monster, not me. I shouldn't have to live like this.

She had helped him see that. Sweet, beautiful Kinny who lived for the moment and trusted too much. Kinny who listened to his story without disgust or judgement. Kinny who cried when he couldn't. Kinny whose dark eyes flamed with anger under the burn on her forehead as she told him over and over that it wasn't his fault.

He remembered how her hair always smelt when he snuck out after a hit to see her - vanilla, just like Rubia. He remembered the softness of her small, teenage breasts. He remembered losing himself completely in those few, stolen hours with her. He remembered her begging him to run away with her, and him telling her it wasn't safe.

But most of all, he remembered the day when he arrived at her house to the overwhelming smell of blood, and the mark of Hestrod sprayed on the door. In the days that followed, Scarrow never said anything, but Falkner knew by the look in his eyes that he had something to do with it. And after that, Falkner wasn't allowed to go out on hits by himself.

The sound of the key turning in the lock brought Falkner out of his thoughts with a jolt. He lay down quickly, rubbed away the tears from his cheeks and clutched the dagger tighter under the sheets. Scarrow mustn't suspect anything. Falkner waited until the old man was leaning right over him, until he could see every pockmark on the hated face, smell the alcohol on his breath.

He lunged.

Scarrow's reflexes were lightning fast. He ducked to the right, but Falkner was quicker.

The dagger sliced into Scarrow's left eye socket. The old man let out a high, inhuman screech of pain and collapsed onto the floor, clutching his wounded eye.

Falkner hesitated. He wanted to stay and strip every piece of Scarrow's wrinkled flesh from his bones, but already the scream had attracted the attention of the others. There was a racket in the hallway and Falkner quickly made up his mind.

Run.

In a second he was out of the door, dagger in hand, and his bare feet were pounding on the concrete floor of the corridors. It was dark but he was guided by instinct.

The staircase. Voices from below. He went upwards instead, taking the stairs three at a time. A shout from his bedroom.

"You, go call a doctor! The rest of you, find the vermin and kick the crap out of the little bastard!"

It was Greig's voice. It always was.

Keep running, he thought. Forget about them. Just get out of here.

The top of the stairs. The fire escape door in front of him. Locked. The others rushing up the stairs behind him. No passageway. No escape.

"Up here! The filthy little traitor's up here."

He was going to have to stand and fight. The two on the stairs were an intellectually challenged pair, still in their pyjamas, who almost made up a functional human brain between them. Falkner liked to think of them as the Special Ed Twins, or Left Brain Ed and Right Brain Ed.

"Looks like we've got you cornered, vermin," Right Ed grinned.

"Looks like it." Falkner was unruffled. He sidestepped, trying to make the Twins circle him and give him access to the stairs.

"Where do you think you're going?" Left Ed blocked his way.

"Nowhere."

At this, Right Ed lunged. Falkner's hand shot out and he tightened his fingers around Right Ed's throat, using the momentum of the lunge to slam the Twin into the side wall. As Right Ed tried to loosen the choking grip on his neck, Left Ed ran at Falkner and was met with the arc of his elbow. There was a crunch or cartilage and a whimper as the force of the hit sent Left Ed tumbling down the stairs.

There was a commotion as three more assassins raced up to the fight, each lagging slightly as he tripped over the heap that was Left Ed. The first of them to reach the landing swung his fist at Falkner, who yanked Right Ed in front of him as a human shield. The fist slammed into Right Ed's jaw.

"You bloody moron!" Right Ed snarled.

Falkner took advantage of the chaos, shoving Right Ed into The First, and tried to make a dash down the unguarded stairs. He flew into The Second and Third Backup. Unsteadily, he tried to slash The Third in the stomach with his dagger, but The Second knocked it out of his hand. It clattered uselessly onto the landing.

A punch from The Third flung Falkner after his knife. His startled grunt caught the attention of Right Ed and The First and they clambered down to renew their attack.

Falkner grabbed his dagger and was up in an instant, ramming The Second in the crotch with the butt end. The Second doubled over with a sharp breath, followed by a groan.

Falkner added another bruise to Right Ed's jaw with an uppercut, but The First's knuckles caught him on the temple and sent him reeling.

Left Ed, still on the bottom step nursing his nose, saw his opportunity and made a grab for Falkner's ankle. Falkner sprang aside and brought his foot down as hard as he could on Left Ed's hand.

While Left Ed clutched at his crushed fingers, two new assassins snuck up the stairs behind Falkner - Greig and a younger boy. The Boy thrust fist into Falkner's kidneys and Greig put him in a headlock, allowing The Third to knee Falkner in the gut.

Choking down his nausea, Falkner plunged the dagger into Greig's stomach and ripped sideways. Greig released his hold immediately, and fell to the floor screaming.

Falkner straightened, trying to ignore the tempting smell of innards. The others regrouped and redoubled their efforts. The First and Right Ed caught Falkner's wrists and wrestled his arms behind his back. The Third wrenched the dagger away and held it to Falkner's throat.

"Don't kill him!" Left Ed warned, rejoining the fight now that the odds were better. "Scarrow will want to have his own fun with the vermin."

The dagger still in his fist, The Third punched Falkner in the face instead: once on the brow and then again on the jaw. Wincing at the throbbing in his head, Falkner spat a mouthful of blood at his attacker, who smashed his nose for his pains. The Boy delivered a crucial kick to the groin and Falkner crumpled.

They closed in around Falkner - everyone except Greig and The Second - kicking him from all sides. Before another blow to the head knocked him out, Falkner's last thought was for Kinny.

Why do all the women I love have to die?

What he didn't know was that she wasn't dead. Yet.