Here's a new story Idea I had. I was roadblocked in my others, and this one will be low priority, but here goes anything.

The characters written about within this story are fictional and all rights are owned by the creators and publishers. I simply came up with the idea of combining their worlds and the mannerisms I saw for their characters. I hope you enjoy

Chapter 1

Ian Nottingham frowned as he watched the rough looking man make his way up the stoop and into the building. He knew the man was visiting the object of his surveilance, Detective Sara Pezzini. He didn't understand how he knew, but he could see no other reason for such a powerful presence to visit this particular building. None of the good detective's neighbours would be of any interest to a man who was so obviously suited to combat and strife. The man's whole bearing told of a warrior who had seen many battles and lost few. Ian suspected that the man might be a match for himself, and if not for the genetic and chemical therapies he'd endured as a child, would be more than a match for him.

All these thoughts and observations took place in a few seconds, as the man disembarked a custom motorcycle the likes of which he had never seen, and took the few steps into the building, pausing only to buzz an apartment. Ian took the time to note that it was indeed his beloved Sara's home that was rung before making his way by the roof top to his customary place across the alley looking into Sara's living room. His cell phone went off in his pocket and he felt a moments irritation at his master, for he knew that it was his master as only he had the number for this phone.

"Yes, master?" he stated calmly, no hint of his irritation coloring his tone. He had learned many hard lessons under his master's tutelage, the main lesson being control: both physical and emotional control of self and others.

"What is the detective doing at the moment, young Nottingham?" the cool controlled voice of Kenneth Irons demanded over the multiply scrambled line.

"She is currently awaiting the arrival of a visitor, master. Someone who exudes an aura of strength and skill. I do not like this, master. He could be a threat to you." Ian stated, attempting to use his master's vanity and ego to his own ends. It was true that he didn't like the man who was currently manouvering himself up the five flights of stairs to Sara's loft, but it had little to do with any threat to his master. Rather, the man was a walking, breathing example of male perfection and Ian felt, for the first time, that most dangerous of emotions: jealousy. It was true that he had disliked Conchobar, and had very little tolerance for the exuberant and misleading Jake McCarty or any of Sara's other interests since he had met her, but he had felt no threat from any of them, knowing more about their character than Sara would.

He knew that Sara would never seriously consider McCarty as a romantic interest, even without knowing the secrets he withheld. And Conchobar's destiny had lain elsewhere. He would have eventually turned from Sara, as he had in so many lifetimes before, or he would be doomed to die. But this man, whoever he was, was not someone with whom he was familiar and was exactly the type of man Sara had shown a previous attraction to. He looked ruff, hard living and spoiling for a fight. The textbook example of masculine aggression and behaviour.

Irons voice brought him out of his reverie. "Describe the man, Ian."

"About 5'10" - 6'. Dark hair, almost blueish tinge. Unshaven, smells of cheap cigars and expensive alcohol. Wearing jeans, a black muscle shirt, and leather jacket. His hair is styled oddly, framing his hair in three points to the rear, exposing a lot of temple, but it is not an affect of balding. It seems natural. He has a feral expression, looking quite annoyed to find himself here for some reason. Age is impossible to tell, but looks somewhere between 25-35. When he dismounted the motorcycle, he rubbed his knuckles and looked around, passing over my hiding spot and muttering to himself. He appears quite unsavory, master, and I wonder what business he has in Detective Pezzini's home."

For the first time in a long time, Ian winced as he heard his master emit several swears in a dozen languages. He waited patiently, knowing full well his master would regain control any second now.

Irons' voice came back on the line, only a vague hint of his anger betraying his cool tones. "Return immediately. I must plan carefully."

Ian stood and made to close the phone before his master's voice interupted his actions once again.

"Tell me Ian, could you tell if he was wearing dogtags?"

Ian frowned as he considered his observations of the man. With Irons information regarding dogtags, he could see the faint after affects of military training coloring the man's bearing. He could not recall seeing dogtags or their outline through the rather tight shirt, nor had he heard them. "There were no dogtags, master."

"Then return here immediately. Do not tarry, Ian." The dead phone in his hands was the only clue that Irons had hung up.

Replacing the phone in his pocket, he took a second to look into Sara's window, just in tiem to see her open the door and throw her arms around the man. Gritting his teeth in rage, he began the rooftop leaps to his vehicle, which was parked three blocks away. He made a promise to himself to learn everything he could about this man that would so anger, and perhaps even frighten his master. So that he could end his existence.

BREAK

Logan grinned as his enhanced senses allowed him to pick up the person standing in the shadows atop the brownstone building he had parked in front of. Casually, he scanned the area after sliding off his souped up bike. He easily spotted the shadowy figure hiding in a pocket most would doubt any one but a child would fit. He continued to scan the area, showing no trace that he had sighted of the figure. He tuned his hearing to the man's heart beat and rung the buzzer. He was buzzed in immediately. He entered and began the trek up the stairs.

There were a few moments when he lost the heartbeat among the sounds of the occupants of the building, but he was able to pick it up again. He noted only a slight rise as the man moved from his position in front of the building to the rooftop across the alley in the back of this building. He already knew where the man was going, as he was heading to visit an old acquantaince who had called him up to ask for his help in dealing with the man.

He reached the door of his friend and knocked, not having to wait long for the door to open.

"Logan!" the occupant screamed, throwing her arms around his neck in a bone cracking hug.

He returned the hug, grunting at the surprising strength she now displayed. "Good to see ya,Sara. How you been, darlin' ?"

Sara Pezzini pulled away from the man, taking a good look at him. "I'd say not bad, but things pretty much suck right now. That's why I called. I've been having a few problems lately and I needed someone I could trust to watch my back. I'm actually surprised I was able to get in touch. I hadn't heard from you in so long, I thought you had disappeared or died or something. Then I got a message from some high end Westchester private school with your name on it. Hard to believe it's been 20 years. You don't look any different at all."

Logan tossed his jacket over the back of a chair and collapsed on the couch, gesturing for Sara to sit across from him in the comfy looking chair. "Well darlin', I had a few problems of my own. I don't want to get in to it, but there are a lot of shitty people out there. As for the age thing, well, I'm a mutant. That goes with what happened to me and why I disappeared. See, I'm what they call a regenerative. A fancy word meaning I heal from almost anything. Including old age. Hell, the people who screwed me over fucked with my head. I don't remember most of my life from more than about 15 years ago.

Just recently, I've been having some help trying to get those memories back, and that's when you came in. I still don't remember everything, but I remember enough to know that I owed your dad and your mom a lot for something that happened long before you were born. So, soon as I remembered you, I had some friends start searching for you, then mailed you my contact info. I was actually surprised to hear back from you. Especially to have you ask me for help."

Sara shook her head, wondering what her father's friend had been through that could strip his mind so clean. Her wrist warmed and she glanced down at the jewelled bracelet that was so much more. 'Not now, please Witchy. Show me later, okay?' she begged of the ancient sentient weapon. There was a slight flare heat and a swirl of deeper red in the jewel, before the bracelet grew quiet on her wrist. 'Thanks, Witchy. I'll make sure to polish you with the best solution I can find.' She turned her mind away from the object of many of her problems back to the task at hand.

"You're a mutant? I didn't know that." she stated. "Did dad know?"

Logan nodded. "Yup. Of course, back then, no one knew what a mutant was or what it meant. All he knew was that I was different. He saw me get stabbed a dozen times and came to help me. That's how we really met, when he was a rookie. I was at a . . .well, let's just say it was not a nice place. I pissed off some people who didn't like how easily I was able to beat them and they and some friends decided to follow me and teach me a lesson. I would have been able to handle muself, but one of them had this new stuff that they sprayed into my face. Everyone has it now, but back then mace was pretty new. After that, well, there were about 7 of them and they were working me over pretty good when your father and Joe Siri noticed the commotion in the alley and ran in to help. Like all punks, the thugs beat it at the sight of a pair of blues coming down the alley, not even thinking about taking them on. Not like it is today, were every punk and wannabe thinks they can blow a blue away with no problems." Logan leaned back against the couch as the freshly returned memories played loosely in his mind. "No cell phones then either, and their talkies weren't working, so Sirri went to look for a phone while your pop tried to staunch the bleeding. Imagine his surprise when I started healing and he could see the tissues and skin joining together. So I woke after a few minutes to find him starring at me and at the blood that I'd lost, and I asked him what the problem was.

He said that he couldn't believe his eyes and asked me what I was. I gave some smartass answer and then nodded behind him. Being a rookie, he turned, and that gave me the chance to slip away. But something about him attracted my attention and I spent the rest of the night folliwing him and Sirri around as they did their beat. Then I followed him home. A few days later, I arranged to meet with him as he finished his shift and invited him for a beer. Soon, we were palling around. He never asked what I did and I never offered any info that might make him regret being my friend. Occassionally, I would hear of some deal going on and pass him the info, but mostly, we didn't talk about work. Guys stuff, like booze, sports, and babes. Not that your pop ever even thought of going out on your mom, but guys just like to talk, you know?"

Sara shook her head. It had been a long time since she had had a chance to sit and talk about her father. They had been fairly close and she had loved him, but he had always been a little reluctant to talk much about what life with her mother was like before they had adopted her. She had later learned from Marie, Joe's wife, that her mother had suffered through several miscarriages before they learned that she was unable to carry a child to term and they had decided to adopt. It was good to hear that her father had had other interests besides the job, something that she herself sometimes struggled with.

"Sure, girls talk to, Logan. But I do need your help. You didn't happen to notice anyone outside, did you? Or feel like you were being watched?"

Logan smirked. "You mean the tall guy, about 6'2" black hair, wearing all black, even leather gloves. Has a blond streak in his hair- natural not dyed. Jumps around on rooftops as easily as you climb the stairs? Carrying a lot of firepower for someone not in the middle of a gang war. Has extensive martial arts and military training. Has the hots for you and don't like me. That the guy who's following you?"

Sara blinked. She hadn't expected that kind of a detailed report about her stalker. "Did he say anything to you? Usually, he stays in the shadows, but how could you describe him so well without even speaking to him."

Logan tapped the bridge of his nose. "Enhanced healing also comes with enhanced senses. I hear, smell, see more that other people. He was hidden very well in the shadows, but not well enough to escape my enhanced sight and hearing. I could smell the gun oil and powder of his weapons, a few of which have been recently fired and not cleaned. His whole manner while standing in the shadows was of someone who was familiar with their body and could maximism his movements and the effects of a blow from any position. That shows he's had a lot of training in fighting and in tactics. I could hear him as he moved from the front of the building to the roof just out your window there. His hearbeat barely sped up at all, also indicating that he is in excellent health and superb condition. I can understand why you're worried about him. It's not too often a weapon like him is sent to watch someone like you. So who's the guy who set him to watch you? He might have the hots for you, but his whole manner screams that someone else pulls his strings, and keeps him under a very tight leash."

Sara shook her head, standing and pacing slightly. She sorted through her thoughts, trying to figure out what to tell Logan and what to hold back. She paused as she reached a desicion. "Look, this is going to take a while, you want a beer?" she asked as she moved to her fridge and pulled one out for herself. Seeing him nod, she tossed him the bottle and took out a second for herself, noting again that someone had restocked the fridge and cupboards with all her favorite foods.

"The guy pulling the strings is Kenneth Irons. Some whacked out billionaire obsessed with the past and what he calls 'Objects of power'. One of these objects is this, " she removed the Witchblade and set it on the counter, moving a foot or two away. She held out her wrist and the blade flew back onto her arm, tightening slightly and glowing sullenly. "This is the Witchblade. Looks like any other extremely rare and valuable piece of jewelry, but it is much more." She willed the gauntlet to shift forms into the sword, then the knuckle protectors and finally the stilleto.

"I'm not sure how many other things it can do, but it is old and powerful and has a mind of its own. Throughout history it has been worn by woman who have become legends. Cathain, Cleopatra, Joan of Arc. These are just some of the woman who have worn the blade. Others have sought to control the wielder and the blade through her, some pretenders taking the blade onto their wrist. But only one chosen woman is a true wielder, all others are false and the Witchblade does not treat pretenders kindly. It is a weapon created for use by women, and can only be worn by women. It will kill any man who tries to wear it.

A few months ago, I was working a case and chased a suspected into the museum. There was an exhibit on Joan of Arc at the museum, and the witchblade was one of the centerpieces. It was in the gauntlet form. That's were I met Nottingham, my cryptic stalker. Kenneth Irons owned the pieces that were on display and Nottingham is some kind of bodyguard/ security chief for Irons. He was there that day. Anyway, I chase the perp into the display cases and we exchanged shots. I needed to reload, but lost my weapon. I was diving out of sight with him shooting at me. I looked for a weapon but didn't see anything. Somehow, when the perp came closer, the Witchblade shot out of the case and landed on my wrist, extended the sword, which I used to stab the perp. But not before one of his shots had hit a ruptured gas line and the whole place exploded. I somehow survived unhurt, which I later learned was because of the Witchblade.

I then found that the bracelet was on my arm and that it didn't seem to want to go back. I tracked down Irons as the owner of the exhibit, and offered to return the blade, but he made some cryptic remark about how could any person really own any thing. Then he set Nottingham on me, having the guy follow me every where I went. Hell, the bastard even breaks in here all the time. Mostly, he just restocks my cupboards, but I'm pretty sure he's taken a few things out of some of my dad's stuff."

Logan's expression had darkened as he listend to his friend's daughter explain her life. He didn't offer and objections or make any remarks concerning her statements about hte harmless seeming bracelet. He'd seen stranger things recently than a shapeshifting bracelet with a mind of its own that thirsted for blood and death. Hell, he was pretty damn strange himself, being a freak even among mutants. His mind was so fucked he couldn't really remember anything from more than fifteen years ago, and Chuck suspected that he would never had been able to recall as much about James Pezzini as he now did if he hadn't seen the news reports the prominently spoke of his daughter, Detective Sara Pezzini.

Neither did he react when she mentioned how she found the weapon and the characters that came into her life because of it. The name Kenneth Irons set his teeth on edge and made his claws itch to pop, but he used all his willpower to keep from slashing the furniture into kindling. He didn't even know how he knew the name, so there was no reason to get mad. Yet. "Nottingham? As in Sheriff of?"

Sara started at Logan's statement. A small chuckle escaped before she downed her bottle. "I never thought of that. Sheriff of Nottingham. Huh. Well, it sort of fits, actually. Irons is definitely a lot like Prince John, trying to take control of other peoples property, and Nott- Ian is his main henchman. Nottingham's had some pretty weird shit done to him by Irons and his doctors. Some kind of genetic and chemical therapy to increase his strength, speed, senses, and other stuff. But especially his loyalty to Irons. Part of the package with Witchy here, is visions.

Sometimes, I'll get visions about Ian's life. He was pretty much raised by Irons, and Irons abused him. I'm not talking about a slap here and there, but full on torture. Daily whippings and canings, tests to see if Ian would obey any order Irons gave him, punishment if he failed. Irons controlled all areas of Ian's life. You noticed the gloves? I've never seen him without them. Irons made him start wearing them as a way to isolate himself from human contact. Nottingham is a trained assassin and I know he's killed for Irons, but part of me can't really blame the guy for killing the people.

As far as I know, the only people he's killed were rivals for Irons less than legal business pursuits, people far worse than Ian himself. But lately, Irons has been getting fed up. He's tried to gain control over me, and I've managed to stay out of his grasp, and I think he's getting fed up. Last week, I'm pretty damn sure he sent Ian to kill me and bring me and the bracelet back to him. But Ian didn't, instead he slashed my hand open. I needed ten stitches and some shots. I don't know why he did it, but it has something to do with my blood. One of the benefits of wearing the Witchblade is an extended life span, much like your mutation. Once the blade bonded with me an a cellular level, it changed my blood."

"What's that got to do with Irons?" again the name struck a cord in his mind and a flash of a scarred hand lifting a crystal goblet appeared in his mind.

"See, sometimes the blade doesn't kill a pretender. Sometimes it punishes them in other ways. Irons used to have a relationship with one of the previous Wielder, an American spy in WW2 by the name of Elizabeth Bronte. She was in love with him, and in his own way, he cared for her. So she let him try on the Witchblade. It refused him and marked him, leaving a scar of interlocked circles on his hand. He is connected to the blade. It couldn't keep him from receiving some benefits, including the age thing. That and a bond that allows him to feel whatever the Wielder feels. But there's a catch. He needs the blood of a True Wielder in order to survive, otherwise he will start to age to his real age."

Logan frowned. More pictures had come to his mind while Sara spoke. "Irons, he's a tall guy, looks to be anywhere from 30-45 but is much older. Pale almost white hair and cold blue eyes. The scar, those circles. They're on his right hand. One of the circles represents life, and the other death and together, it shows how the two are always connected and how one can't exist without the other."

Sara was impressed. "How'd you know that? I mean, anyone can get pictures of him, he's not exactly lowkey, but you sound as if you know him. At least, know enough to know what the Witchblade's mark means."

Logan stood and paced, rubbing his knuckles and trying to remember more about the man. "I know him from somewhere. But I can't get a clear picture of how or where or even when I met him." His pacing brought him to Sara's punching bag and he lashed out, only barely keeping the claws in their sheaths before making contact. He still hit so hard that he snapped the chain and set the 100pound bag flying to slam against the wall nearly a dozen feet away. Whirling, he turned a frustrated look on Sara. "I know he's dangerous, but I don't know how or why." Taking a deep breath, he made his way to the couch and sat again. "Look, I think you're right to worry. If this Nottingham guy was conditioned the way you say, than he won't be able to resist any order Irons gives him, no matter what he feels for you. I think it might be a good idea for you to leave the city for a while. I have some friends who might be able to help you learn about that weapon of yours and would be able to protect you better than any of the agencies could."

Sara sighed and rubbed her face. "That's not all, Logan. Irons also funds his own select crew of crooked cops called the White Bulls. They are old, Logan, and go way up the chain of command. Right now, the main guy seems to be Bruno Dante. As in, Captain Bruno Dante, my direct superior on the force. Dante is scum, Logan. The lowest type of cop you'd ever want to meet. He and his gang think they are above the law and that what ever they do to criminals is alright, since they are criminals. They'll kill a dealer, only to turn around and sell the drugs themselves. Sure, they'll donate the money to various charities or scholarships, but it's dirty money. They accept bribes, and do everything they had sworn to put an end to. Money, drugs, weapons, prostitution. They have their hands in all of the underworld dealings. Their signature is an engraved bullet. A White bull carved into the bullets. If any of them get to a scene and find the casing, they immediately shut down the investigation, barely even going through the motions. Ever since I got the blade, I've been getting all the weird and unusual cases. Dante hates me, and I'm pretty sure he hired the guy who killed my dad. A mook named Tommy Galo."

Logan sighed, wondering if Sara's life could get any more complicated. "Shit darlin', if you got a group of crooked cops, assassins and hired killers after you, no wonder you need help. We need to get you out of the city, now. And before you mention a word about not wanted to run from you problems or how you can skip out on your job, take it from me: You do not want to be here right now. You need to disappear for a while. Call in some vacation time. I know you've probably build up a ton of it, if you're anything like your old man. Call it in now, and pack enough for a few days."

Sara frowned, even as she moved towards the phone. "Where we going to go, Logan?"

The ageless mutant smirked. "We're going to visit some friends of mine in Westchester. Don't bring too much, Chuck can get anything you might need besides what you can carry on your bike. That is your Beull outside? Beautiful machine."

Sara puffed up with pleasure as the older man complimented her pride and joy. "Thanks, it took forever to pay it off, but it's all mine now." She vanished into the bedroom, coming out seconds later with a duffel pack she had started to keep packed. She ignored Logan's raised eyebrow, and tossed him the bag. She moved over to grab her cell and weapon, but Logan's voice cut her off.

"Leave them. The cell is probably tapped, and you won't need the gun where we're going." Throwing him a look, she instead plugged the cell into the charger, and locked both her main department issue and her back up piece into her lockbox.

They made their way out of the apartment and down the stairs in silence, tension hovering in the air. Sara understood that she had to leave, but she really felt like she was abandoning her principals. She had never been one to run from her problems, prefering to face them head on and run them over, but even she had to admit that at the moment, things were a little too tense. She needed some time away from it all, from Dante's barely veiled threats to Irons controlling nature and even from the normal stress of being a female homicide detective. "There's a call or two I should make before I go." she stated as they reached the bikes.

Logan frowned and put on his helmet. "You can call from the mansion. It's got better security than most government installations. I should know. I helped revamp them."