THANK YOU FOR CHOOSING THEAUSTRALIANBOXEN.

Note to readers: Yes, the names of the companies and some canon characters are changed. I did that because this is a school project I decided to post, and if I used the actual names, I'd have an angry literacy teacher on my Canadian behind.

AUTHOR'S NOTE OVER.

A bead of sweat ran down the defined jawbone, leaving a streak of salty dirt in its path. Jagged breaths filled the still air of the sewer, lungs desperate to get oxygen to a depleted blood supply. The blue suit the man wore was stained crimson, his own blood pouring into the polluted water below, leaving a trail not soon to be forgotten. Panicked eyes looked back, horrified at the prospect of seeing the beast that stalked the poor man. The loud sounds of his footsteps sloshed against the scum filled walls, breaking the silence that usually filled empty pipes. Ahead of him, lay the opening. If he could only get there in time, he'd be free. Free to roam the warm August heat that came with New Mexico summers. Free to iron his now ruined pinstriped suit. Free to read the newspaper headlines from last year's papers, such as "Star in '61". Free to live. He snapped back to reality as his ears picked up sound from behind him. It was coming. It was closing in. He vocalized his fear in one sharp note, pure trepidation filling his usually smooth voice.

A shadow of a ghost in the wind followed behind, wicked grin invisible to any that looked upon the figure. It was truly a sight from Hell. A thick rubber suit and a gas mask covered every inch of skin on the demon. In one hand, he carried a can of petroleum. In the other, a simple black lighter. He was a pyrotechnician. He specialized in burning things. And right now, the brown haired man in front of him was that thing. So what? They may be teammates in the war that silently raged, away from the eye of America. But he needed to burn something. He needed his plan to work. And he needed him to die.

Jordan Bertrand ran harder than he ever had before. He felt his designer shoes slip on the algae beneath him. He felt his lungs and muscles burn in effort, begging- no screaming for him to stop. But he couldn't. His adrenalin had run dry long ago, when the hunt first started. He didn't know why he was the prey. He didn't know why his own friend had turned on him. He just knew he had to live. Thoughts rivaling his worst nightmares swirled in his mind, plummeting him into a state of panicked depression. He could make it, right? He would live! He was almost there. Almost there…

SMACK. The sound of bone breaking against concrete filled Jordan's eardrums. Instinctively, his hand reached for his now broken nose. He looked ahead, to be greeted with the sight of muck water and dull cement. H-he fell? What? How...In a desperate attempt to live, the man tried to stand up and gain his footing again, only to fall back down on his stomach, bruising several ribs. He screamed in terror as he felt a thick boot come down against his back. He reached towards the sewer opening; screaming in his native tongue, hope slipping away as black clouds covered the desert sun outside.

The smell of gas overpowered the smell of decomposition in the tunnel as the petroleum covered the writhing body beneath the demon's foot. He laughed manically, the sound only worsened by the muffling effect of the gas mask. The apathetic goggles looked down on the French espionage agent as the empty can was thrown aside.

Words escaped the devil's mouth, meaning still clear despite being distorted.

Green eyes opened wide, and Jordan's struggling intensified. His voice cracked and his throat was sore. No one could hear him. No one was coming to save him. No one was going to know that the man he once called a brother did this to him.

Moments later, a figure could be seen exiting the sewer, thick rubber suit covered in a black ash like substance. Behind him, the tunnel was bright with a weird flame. The stench of charred skin and hair was covered by the smell of waste products. The man fingered his lighter fondly, smiling lightly as he walked up the ladder exiting the trench. His mind wandered back to the tunnel. The beautiful flame, the glorious sounds of his victim screaming for his life, the sweet tears evaporating from the heat of the moment… It was so awe-inspiring. Unfortunately, now his squad was one member short. But, woe is life. Because in the end, Spies always burnt the best.