He nodded, hesitantly, "Sure."

"I know what happened last Friday at the party."

"What are you talking about?"

"I know how you were saved."

He stared at her, but told her to go on.

Rachel flicked the blade out and quickly cut Jordan on the hand. He recoiled and snapped, "s.h.i.t Rachel, what the h.e.l.l are you doing?"

She tossed the knife away and tried to calm him down. "Trust me. Just show me your hand."

He reluctantly agreed and gave her his hand. She examined it, saw how deep the cut was, how it bled, and how long the cut was before she closed her eyes and tried to focus. Rachel hadn't ever tried it on someone else before but she believed in what the armored stranger had told her. She'd cut herself a few times and learned how to heal herself, but as for another person's injury, she had yet to consciously mend someone.

A small beam of light shot out of his hand and sealed the wound. Jordan wiped the blood that remained on his hand away and examined the s.p.a.ce where the wound once was. There wasn't a mark or bruise at all.

Jordan looked back at her, alarmed and taken aback. But he finally smiled and told her what she did was astounding.

"You aren't going to freak or anything are you?"

"Yeah right, that was amazing. Almost as cool as Ian's pow..." he stopped himself.

"Ian's what?"

"Huh? Oh nothing, nothing..."

"What? Jordan what about Ian?"

"His...power." he said slowly.

"His power? Wait, Ian has powers too?"

Jordan nodded, "Yeah, he does. He can control electronics and can shoot lightning out of his hands and everything."

"Does anyone else have powers?" she asked.

"Not anyone that I know of..."

She paused, "Do you?"

"Me? I wish." He sighed, "If I did I wouldn't have such a c.r.a.ppy job and a c.r.a.ppy manager..."

"Are you talking about your new boss?"

"Huh? Yeah, he's always watching me; it's really annoying...But whatever."

"Where do you work now?"

"Some stupid burger flipping job," he said with as much distain as he could inflect. Jordan changed the subject and asked if she wanted to get something to eat, which she agreed to. They walked the trails back to the roads, but once they made it out of the woods Jordan noticed her bracelet and asked where she'd found it.

"Oh," her hand slid to it. "I...It was just on my bed, I guess I did just forget about it last week," she lied.

"See, I told you that you just left it at home."

"Yeah..." She looked away from him and mentioned that he'd need to pay for them.

Jordan only scoffed and muttered that he wouldn't mind. "It's only money after all."

10:43 PM.

Las Vegas, Nevada "Desert Eagle."

Nick and Strom sat on two separate beds in one moderately sized hotel room. There were two beds, a small bathroom, a television neither of them used, a small nightstand littered with empty beer bottles Strom consumed, some chairs, and an air conditioner neither of them were sure could actually turn off. The only belonging Nick had with him was his jacket which he kept draped over one of the chairs. Strom had his duffle bag, which only contained weapons, and a second black duffel bag with his clothes and a few other personal belongings.

Nick concentrated on the type of gun Strom rattled off. He remembered firing the weapon a day earlier, he knew what it looked like, what each of the pieces were (as Strom showed him how to take apart each of the weapons as well as how to put them together again), and all of the details he needed to know about the weapon to form it.

A small cloud of smoke burst from around his right hand and after it cleared a silver bodied pistol with a black grip and bronze barrel. Nick recited, "Desert Eagle XIX. American patent, Israeli made. Semi-automatic, gas powered, with a nine round magazine."

"TT-33."

Nick quickly tossed the weapon over his shoulder, which erupted into another smoke cloud before it hit the bed, though before it vanished, Nick created the next gun which was a silver handgun with a black grip. "TT-33. Soviet, semi-auto, eight round mag."

"Alex."

Nick then disposed of the previous weapon and produced a large army green rifle. "Alex, Polish, ten round magazine, and has roughly an eight-hundred meter range."

"Kimber Eclipse."

He let the sniper vanish in a dark cloud and out of the same smoke came a black steel pistol with a black grip. "Kimber Eclipse, American, semi-automatic, and an eight round magazine."

Strom grinned and congratulated him. "I think you've got the hang of it." He told Nick to relax and after the final firearm was gone Strom rested against the back of his bed and told him they were done.

"We're done?"

He nodded. "I think Mizuno'll be pleased with the results. I mean, you're a much better shot, you can withstand the recoil of most firearms, you can utilize your ability well enough to defend yourself in a fight, and from here on out as long as you continue to practice you'll continue to grow."

"So we're done?"

"Yes."

Nick let out a breath and eased up. Strom got off of his bed and walked over to their room phone, called room service, ordered two different wines Nick wasn't familiar with, a whiskey, some beer, and only paused once to ask Nick if he wanted anything.

He shook his head, "I'm fine."

"Are you sure? I'll pay."

"I'm okay."

Strom finished his order by adding a turkey sandwich and hung up.

The two had only spent a very short period of time together, but what Nick hated the most were the moments when they weren't training. He felt out of place in the company of an a.s.sa.s.sin (as he expected anyone would be), yet Strom seemed completely sane, calm, and aware of who he was in relation to the world.

"Is something wrong?"

Nick looked at him and lied.

Strom accepted the answer, grabbed his duffle bag, unzipped the front pocket, and retrieved a small paperback novel. Nick glanced at the t.i.tle and asked, "Why are you reading that?"

Strom opened to a certain page and continued from where he'd left off while he answered Nick, "Because the novel interests me. If it didn't I wouldn't keep it."

"No, I mean, why are you reading it?"

"Because it's an American novel?"

Nick nodded.

Strom only turned a page. "There was a German invention by a man named Johannes Gutenberg in the fifteenth century called the printing press. Since its creation books are easily available for anyone with money or something called a library card to get. And another amazing concept was the idea of translating written material into other languages, so anyone could get books written in languages other than their own."

Nick wished he hadn't asked such a stupid question. "Why aren't you reading it in German though?"

"Because I can speak and read English and German copies of The Catcher in the Rye are not typically sold at American airports." He mentioned that he could also speak Arabic, Spanish, French, and Russian before continuing, "Besides, reading materials in languages other than your own helps you from getting rusty."

"Is it good?"

Strom nodded, "It sort of reminds me of my childhood."

"Why?"

"The reason I ended up in the military is because I wasn't very good at school or getting along with the other kids."

"Why is that?"

"I hated school because I always had to learn about things that didn't interest me, couple that with all of the fights I got into and I was a regular Holden Caulfield," he said with a grin.

"What do you mean?"

Strom looked at him and laughed, "You ask too many questions."

"Well I'm curious."

He sat up and faced Nick. "How about I ask you a question for a change? Why the h.e.l.l did you join up with Mizuno?"

Nick shied away. He winced as he told him of his brother's murder and how he wanted to find the man responsible.

Strom nodded. "What if I killed him? What would you do if I was the killer and I was right here?"

Nick couldn't answer.

Strom rolled his eyes and reclined on the bed. "I entered the German military when I was seventeen and though there wasn't really any actual combat I managed to prove that I held some skill in the whole run-and-gun thing and they asked me to join another program within the military. They told me it would be far more challenging and as I was a stupid kid I naturally said yes without any hesitation."

Strom's order came to the door and brought their conversation to a pause. Strom got his alcohol and sandwich, tipped the server who brought it up, and left the items on the shelf where their unused television sat.

He reclaimed his seat and continued, "It was the German Hostile Operative program, or at least that's what a close translation is. Germany basically wanted soldiers who were the top of the line in every way." He paused, got up from the bed, grabbed one of the bottles of wine, uncapped it, and drank straight from the bottle. "They basically wanted a.s.sa.s.sins on leashes, which obviously didn't take."

"How did you go from German soldier to hired a.s.sa.s.sin?"

Strom took another drink and said, "They put us through two years of training, told everyone we'd died or something, and even planned on giving us entirely new ident.i.ties."

"So what happened?"

"Only ten of us actually survived the training," he told Nick, "But after the rest of us finished the training we were given our credentials, sent off into the field, and given a.s.signments. Only, once we'd made it out we learned that the Germans only wanted one of us."

"What do you mean?"

"They worried that having ten operatives was too risky, especially if one or two of us defected or went rogue, or whatever the h.e.l.l they call it, and caused international issues."

"Which you did."

He agreed, "Which I did after the fact. What they planned was a battle royal for the ten of us." Strom took another long drink and continued, "I didn't want any part in it and as such they told the other nine to take me out first."

Nick frowned. "How could they do that? I mean, couldn't you all have just said no and gone out and told the world about what they planned?"

He only shrugged. "We could have, had the other nine guys not actually taken to the plan."

"Wh-Why on...Why on earth would they?"

"We were taught for a year that an order is an order and that life is but a brief avenue. We learned that life wasn't anything to cry over."

Nick scowled. "So they told you to shoot and you did? Without any question?"

"They did, I didn't."

"And why was that?"

He got off the bed and walked back to his collection of drinks to claim his turkey sandwich. Strom pointed to the book on his bed. "Despite being a terrible student, I've always loved to read. These books caused me to look at everything objectively. It was why I wanted to go into the program and it was how I withstood whatever brainwashing they put us through. They said jump, I asked why while everyone else obeyed like little lapdogs."

Nick nodded. "What happened?"

He set the bottle down and told him nothing happened. "They all came after me and I killed each and every one of them." Strom saw Nick's disgusted look and he elaborated, "I didn't want to but I knew if I let them live they'd simply come after me again. I didn't have a choice. Anyway, after that I left Germany, adopted the persona of Ghost, and a series of events led to me here."

Nick let out a small breath. He asked Strom, "Do you enjoy what you do?"

Strom swore, "You've already asked me that." He paused in antic.i.p.ation of another question, but Nick remained quiet. Strom rubbed his eyes with his left hand and added, "I've never enjoyed it. Who the h.e.l.l would? I've already told you I'm not some blood thirsty murderer Nick, it's just a job."

"So none of this keeps you up at night?"