A Past Unwanted
Chapter One - The Nightwatcher
The curtains of the open window fluttered in the breeze.
She sat on her bed, arms resting on the windowsill, chin on her folded hands.
She was watching the sun set over the city, staining New York in the warm colors of autumn.
Reds, golds, yellows, oranges. The skyscrapers were painted in a wash of fire.
Pitch-black hair fell well down her back, pulled back into a thick braid that ended in a ring of some black stone, as equally dark as her hair. Her bangs framed her pale face, shielding her.
Her hands were thin, well boned, and stained with paint, ink, and graphite, the hands of an artist. The calluses on the palms, however, gave away her martial arts training.
Her body, thanks to her multiple arts, was well muscled. Sleek, lithe, powerful without anything extra.
Her most shocking feature, however, were her ice blue eyes. They pierced the soul and made others feel as though she was looking straight through them. At the moment, they were lit by the last remnants of the setting sun, making them look even more unreal.
The sun had sunk below the horizon when she heard the far off crash.
Starting, she turned to look out her window towards the end of the alleyway that fed onto her street. It dead-ended with the buildings next to and behind hers, creating a perfect place for someone to get cornered.
Through the quickly gathering darkness, her ice blue eyes flashed. She had seen a streak of metal.
Moving quickly, she leapt out onto fire escape, which ran up past her window. Grabbing the railing, she jumped over.
Landing lightly on her feet five stories below her bedroom window, she turned to the commotion at the end of the alley.
Ducking behind a trash bin, she looked out on the sight before her.
A group of thugs were fighting a figure completely encased in metal and leather. The figure's helmet had two lights on the sides, supposedly so he could see.
The thugs weren't doing so well. Scratch that. They were getting their asses handed to them.
The figure, The Nightwatcher, as she had seen him named in the papers, stood victorious, the thugs all running for cover.
She turned, fully intending to go back to her window before he saw her, but the tell tale click of metal made her freeze.
'Oh god' was her only thought as she turned to see one of the thugs who had managed to scramble away relatively unscathed. He held, in his hands, a small handgun.
Eyes widened in shock and alarm, a finger pulled back on a trigger, and all hell broke loose.
Three shots split the otherwise tranquil New York air, causing several flocks of pigeons to take flight in alarm.