Marcus hit the ground running, his feet pounding the pavement like the pistons of a formula one race car. Racing down the hall of the Grand Palace which was the venue for the World Peace Conference, barely noticing where he was running, his mind focused on one thing; getting out of there as quickly as possible.

How could things have gone so wrong? His mind screamed.

He’d thought of everything: the time, the place, the position and the personnel attending. Everything.

But somehow that bastard Sterling knew I was there, lamented Marcus, his mind analysing and calculating in an attempt to discover what had went wrong.

He looked straight at him before all hell broke loose. Something about this whole situation was all wrong. Sanctus, the enemy of the Demons wasn’t this good at protecting their targets.

As he rounded the corner he came to the exit of the building, in front of it stood two of sterling’s security detail, black suited wearing men with their eyes hidden behind glasses. Without need for much more incentive Marcus picked up considerable speed and as he ran towards them he hit the floor and slid gracefully between the two men and swept upwards. He regained his footing and was off again racing with the two men in hot pursuit of him like blood hounds hunting a fox.

He ran out into the Avenue des Champs-Élysées and was caught in the early morning bustle of tourists and shoppers visiting the stylish rows of expensive boutiques, roughly pushing through the crowds of pedestrians blocking that blocked his way and ran through some parks and across the Pont de la Concorde that spanned the River Seine. With all his grace and personal composure forgotten he rushed over the bridge and came to a large office building that overlooked a small private docking area. Marcus paused as he heard bellowing growl of a distant helicopter besides the great stone and glass Grand Palace across the river and watched as it took off in the distance.

“Damn it!” Marcus cursed in a poisonous mix of anger and horror. “He’s gone.”

His target had escaped and now there was no way to salvage this disaster. His thoughts strayed to Mr Xardos and what he was going to do once this failure reached him. He’d have to go into hiding after this fiasco. The sharp whiz and crack of a bullet flying past his head brought Marcus crashing back to reality.

He flashed a look behind him to see that two more of Sterling’s security detail, who he knew had joined his pursuers. He made the quick decision to lose them in the building that stood before him.

Pushing through the glass doors he jogged through the foyer and scanned the area with hurried precision, finally pinpointing the room he was looking for he rushed over to a door furnished with a sign that said Sprinkler Room in luminous red letters. He roughly pulled it open and quickly closed it behind him. He started looking wildly around the room.

Where the hell is it!? His mind screamed.

A small glint caught his eye and he grabbed a small silver key and used it to open a large control panel that occupied most of the back wall, his hand found the switch he was looking for which was the sprinkler override for the entire building. He flicked the switch and cringed when the piercing scream of the fire alarm went off, followed by the soft sound of water raining down inside the building.

Marcus waited until he could hear the dull rumbling of the buildings inhabitants marching out. He opened the door and casually strolled through the thronging crowds and over to the now vacant fire stairs. He rushed up the stairs, allowing himself a sigh of relief after realising how close he’d come to being brutally killed. The door slammed open and the four members of the security detail poured into the stairwell.

They locked eyes for a moment before Marcus sprinted up the stairs, his serpentine enhanced muscles working in perfect tandem with his mind as he climbed the stairs. Somehow the security detail was managing to keep perfect pace. Something was wrong, the thought splashed over Marcus like a bucket of ice cold water.

Sanctus! He deduced. They were Sanctus men posing as the American secret service.

Somehow it reassured him that it wasn’t regular mortals that had managed to outsmart and corner him in this stairwell. They continued to dash upwards at a dizzying pace, Marcus slowed slightly, appearing to be out of breath allowing one of the more athletic of the detail to catch up with shocking suddenness Marcus jumped forward, twisting around in mid-air, bringing his pistol up to face the shocked young man. Marcus winked at him and fired without hesitation, the guards head snapped back and he limply rolled down the stairs.

Marcus landed back-first against the wall of the stair well, firing down at the chasing security team, forcing them to take cover in a nearby alcove. Straightening himself up, Marcus took off again.

Only three more floors to the roof, maybe I’ll get out of this in one piece, he managed a smile as he thought to himself.

He reached the exit that led onto the roof and wrenched the door open with all the force he could muster and spilled out onto the concrete roof. He looked around for something to block the door and finally deciding on a heavy crate, pulling it across the door moments before he heard the dull thumping and scraping of the guards against the door.

Marcus thought back to his training and carefully considered his position. He wouldn’t have long before Sterling’s cavalry made an appearance. He looked over the bustling cityscape, allowing himself to become momentarily lost in the allure of its ancient charm then calmly walked over to the edge. He considered jumping into the river and taking a boat but he quickly dismissed that idea as foolish. He’d been alive long enough to know just how truly filthy the Seine was, he spotted a window-washer’s platform hanging just over the edge of the building.

He chuckled at the irony and looked down in the direction of his eternal master: “I’ve done it! It’s a little cliché, but I’ll take it.”

He walked over to the railing but then he heard the quiet snap of a silenced sniper rifle firing, followed by a searing pain in his stomach. Marcus touched his stomach and saw blood on his fingertips. Horrified he turned around to see three of the security detail, guns drawn, the door behind them splinted and ruined. Marcus’ head was reeling and he willed himself to take another step but his body had reached breaking point. He snatched out to the railing for support, incredulous at the pool of blood forming on the concrete around him. The guards rushed forward to restrain him, taking his gun and forcing him to the ground face first into the crimson pool in which he’d previously stood.

Amid the pain and movement Marcus vaguely registered the familiar sound of a helicopter landing. It idled for a few minutes before powering down and soon Marcus heard the sound of multiple footsteps approaching him.

“Tanner’s dead Sir” he heard one of the guards say.

”Right, get him on his feet” a strong voice Barked in reply.

Sounds American, thought Marcus.

The guards pulled Marcus up and he came face to face with the man he’d tried to kill: Dr Maximillian Sterling. At six foot four he was towering figure to Marcus, immaculately combed blonde hair and square chiselled jaw line. He puffed away at a fat brown cigar and he wore a plain black suit with a black tie and chequered silk scarf. His steely blue eyes stared at Marcus regarding him with contempt.

“Are you people that arrogant to think we didn’t consider you’d try and kill me?” he spat at him.

“We’ve been working towards this for years... It’s almost insulting to think that you believe us to be that careless.”

“We?” wheezed Marcus.

“You’re a clever lad, put the pieces together yourself,” replied a visibly smug Dr Sterling.

Marcus’ mind raced out of control, it all made sense now.

“Sanctus?” he said coughing up a little blood as he said it.

“Very good,” boomed Sterling. “Who said that you fallen were thick?”

Marcus felt the familiar twinge as his wounds began to heal.

One of the perks of the job, he mused as Sterling continued to lecture him.

“I’m almost considering letting you go back to your master, but I’m not going to be that cruel to you...” Dr Sterling threw his cigar stub on the ground and stamped on it with his expensive Italian leather shoes. “I know the price of failure for your kind.”

With Marcus’ wounds now fully healed he regained a clear head but continuing to feign injury as he considered his options, not that he had any. It looked like he was going for a swim after all, but he needed something to find in order to fend them off. His eyes fell on a piece of loose steel piping on the wall.

Dr Sterling was now pacing back and forth in his pious attempt to convert Marcus to the side of what he considered the good and righteous.

“All you have to do is tell me when and where they are meeting next and you’ll be completely absolved.”

He smiled and cocked his head to one side “Well?, it’s a good deal boy, take it and you have the chance to live, don’t and I’ll shoot you, go home and sleep like a baby.”

“I’d like to say ‘I’ll see you in hell’, but then again that’s not likely is it,” choked Marcus.

“Stubborn, eh?” Dr Stirling chuckled. “I like that. Alright then have it your way. Packer, kill the boy and leave the body somewhere where Xardos will find it.”

He turned around and walked back towards the helicopter, Marcus used this moment to slacken all of his muscles. The dead weight forced the guards to drop him momentarily, and Marcus struck with brutal suddenness. He kicked the feet out from under the man next to him, landing a knockout punch once he’d hit the ground, then, snatching up the steel pipe he brought it down on the other guards leg, breaking the bone with a sickening crunch.

Marcus stood up. This is why I’m the best, he thought.

He picked up the weapons of the fallen men around him and raced off towards the edge of the building. Hails of gunfire stopped him in his tracks, forcing him to take cover. The other guards had heard the commotion. Sterling was furious, firing with expert precision at the air vent Marcus had ducked behind for safety. Stopping only to cringe at the thought of being saturated by the polluted river, Marcus sprinted as fast as his muscles would allow him, leaping over the edge of the building and plummeting down into the murky waters of the River Seine.

He hit the water with a tremendous splash. The cold electrified his body into further action. He freestyle swam, arms and legs pumping like iron turbines through the water over to the dock and hoisted himself out of the water, looking around him to check his surroundings he now saw he was surrounded by a whole host of luxury speed boats. He hurried over to a large white cruise craft and hopped over the side, settling himself into the captain’s chair and hit the ignition button, feeling the deep satisfying roar of the boat’s jet engines come to life. Suddenly they were drowned out by the thumping of rotors.

Marcus glanced up to see Dr Sterling’s Helicopter floating over to the docking area. He revved the engines and took off down the river, almost capsizing an old man’s fishing dingy as he did so. Dr Sterling was in hot pursuit, his men leaning out the side of the chopper raking Marcus’ newly acquired boat with gunfire. Weaving the boat in and out of ferries, barges and other civilian craft, Marcus looked back to see the Helicopter close enough to make out Dr Sterling’s face. An amused smile lit up his entire face as he gave chase.

He’s toying with me! Marcus realised furiously.

It was then that a massive explosion showered him with water and rocked the boat sideways, putting him into the direct path of a ferry. Marcus reacted with lightening reflexes and arced the boat away.

“Grenades!”

“Now you’re all just being mean” Marcus shouted behind his shoulder.

He was pushing the craft to its limits which was beginning to take it’s toll on the boat. The engines whinging in protest had started to give off a noxious burning smell. Marcus looked at the fuel tank now spraying its contents onto the lower deck of the boat.

“No, no, no, no. Come on, don’t do this to me!” he yelled at his boat.

He looked behind and in front of him to see a bend in the river quickly approaching. A huge sandstone building with black tile roofing, and gargoyles dotting the parapets loomed up ahead. More explosions cluttering the air around him and the heat was blistering his hands and the back of his neck. Dr Sterling was no longer playing.

Marcus revved the boat as hard as it could go to squeeze every piece of juice out of it as he could.

Think Marcus, think.

He never got the chance to finish the thought because a grenade was lobbed from the pursuing helicopter directly onto the back of the boat, the fuel tanks exploded into a starburst of flames and metal, sending Marcus spiralling into the air, heading straight towards the sandstone building. Landing headfirst against a parapet with a nauseating crack he continued sail over the wall and violently tumbled through a huge plate glass window and landed with amid a shower of glass.

Marcus shuddered, his mind delirious and struggling to remain conscious as he couldn’t remember ever having been in this much pain before. He strained to gather his thoughts, but they slipped away from him, intangible and vague.

He blacked out of existence for a few moments before looking up and finding the face of a beautiful young woman, her eyes brimming with concern and empathy.

“Who are you, are you alright!?” she quizzed him with a worried tone.

Marcus looked up at her with confusion written in every feature of his blackened and bloodied face. He knew he had to trying and get up and keep moving but... he hit his head so hard on the landing that he didn’t know who or why.

“I don’t know” he murmured. “I don’t remember.”