Summary: A group of assassins are out to kill the under-funded six one by one, forcing the agents into hiding. Will they survive the hits and figure out the mastermind behind the attacks?

Rating: PG-13 for violence

Spoilers: Enemy of my Enemy and The New Stuff

Timeline: This story takes place in season three after the events of The New Stuff

Disclaimer: I don't own them, I just seem to torture them a lot

Note: So I tried to write this one as close to an actual episode as possible, meaning I separated it into four acts, teaser, tag, etc. It was quite a challenge, and I must say I really enjoyed myself. As you will see at the end, a huge plot bunny tapped me on the shoulder while writing this thing. It was totally unexpected and unplanned, but nevertheless, it's in there. Yes, I will write a sequel to this one. And yes, Devil's Silver 10 will be out soon. Enjoy this one, folks!

Underground

By Carol M.

TEASER

The six strangers entered a small dimly lit room in the back of the ancient abandoned warehouse. In the center of the room was a large round table with six nametags sitting in front of the six cheap foldout chairs that had been set out. The men each took a seat and gazed at one another curiously.

They were a diverse group, ranging in age from 20 to 65 years olds. A few were dressed in perfectly tailored suits while others were dressed in T-shirts and jeans. Some were blonde, some were brunettes and there was even a redhead. All in all, a very distinct group of assassins.

They all looked up as a young blonde gentleman dressed in a fine Armani suit stepped into the room carrying a black leather briefcase. "Good morning, gentleman. I see you had no problems finding the place," said the man. "I trust you all know what you're doing here."

All the men nodded.

"Good. If you'll look in front of you, you'll see that we have given you new names. When referring to yourself or each other, please use these code names. We don't want security comprised," said the man.

The men all looked at the nametags in front of them. Mr. Pacino, Mr. De Niro, Mr. Cruise, Mr. Depp, Mr. Costner, and Mr. Hanks.

"You can call me Mr. Ventresca," said the man as he pulled a small speaker receiver out of his briefcase. He set it in the middle of the table. "If you gentlemen will turn your attention to the middle of table, you will be given further instruction."

The men looked curiously at the speaker and then jumped when Mr. Ventresca's cell phone rang. He quickly answered it. "Yes sir. All here," he said as he pressed a button on his cell phone. "Ready, sir."

"Good morning, gentleman. This is your employer, Mr. Pitt," came the obviously fake mechanical voice from the speaker. "I'm pleased to find out that you accepted my generous offer. You are all professional hit man in your own right, and I wanted the best for this little job I have in mind. Mr. Ventresca, if you would hand out the folders."

Mr. Ventresca took a stack of folders out of his briefcase and set one in front of each of the men.

Static blared from the speaker and then Mr. Pitt started to speak again. "These folders contain pictures and personal information about each of your targets. I want them all taken out on Friday at 12 noon. They are to be taken out simultaneously to avoid any kind of warning in case one of them gets away. That gives you three days to assess your targets. Be extremely careful when dealing with these people, they have a propensity for foiling even the most secretive of plans. Once you have completed your assignments, you will be contacted to receive your payment. Does everyone understand?"

"Yes," said all the men.

"Excellent," came Mr. Pitt's voice from the speaker. "Good luck with the mission. You're going to need it." The speaker crackled for a moment and then went dead.

"Open you're folders, gentlemen," said Mr. Ventresca.

The six men all flipped open their folders and were each greeted with an 8X10 color portrait of their targets. They glanced through the photos and background information and then looked back up at Mr. Ventresca.

"I trust there won't be any problems?" asked Mr. Ventresca.

The men all shook their heads.

"Very well. That will be all, gentlemen," said Mr. Ventresca.

The men slowly got to their feet and picked up their folders. One by one they shuffled out of the room, all giving one another strange glances.

Mr. Ventresca's cell phone rang a minute after the room was clear.

"Any problems I should know about?" came Mr. Pitt's voice from the phone.

"No sir, everything should go smoothly," said Mr. Ventresca.

"I'm counting on it," said Mr. Pitt. Then the line went dead.

Mr. Ventresca reached into his briefcase and pulled out his own folder, containing all the information given to the assassins. He sat down at the table and began flipping through the photographs of the targets. Albert Eberts, Claire Keeply, Charles Borden, Alexandra Monroe, Robert A. Hobbes and Darien G. Fawkes. In four days, they would all be a memory.

TBC in ACT I