Chapter 1: Skyfall
Slithering within the tall grass, Martin couldn't see much in front of him, but he thanked nature for giving rattlesnakes thermal vision. He has to be around here somewhere, he thought. He had recharged the battery in his creature power suit earlier that morning, so there was no problem when he had reached into his pack and pulled out an old piece of snake skin from his and his brother's last adventure in the Sonoran Desert. Right now, though, the Serengeti sun was already heating his blue scales. Martin wiped his forehead of sweat when a green harpy eagle suddenly swooped down and scooped him up.
Chris laughed triumphantly, "I WIN!" He soared into the sky swiftly with Martin in his talons. Martin retorted, "You almost gave me a heart attack!" But Martin was one of the last people on Earth to hold a grudge against his own brother, especially if he was just playing Creature Power Hide-and-Seek with him. Before he could argue any further, they both spotted a gold-and-black shape far below them.
She was slinking elegantly across the savannah with her large, oval ears to seek mice, but instead, she noticed a strange green bird flying above her with a blue rattlesnake. It circled her before steadily landing close to her, and both animals suddenly glowed green and blue before turning into humans.
"Awesome!" Chris cheered. "Martin, look at who we've got here!" He strolled over to the spotted cat as not to scare her and petted her. The wildcat purred happily. She liked these guys.
Martin smiled. "I can't believe it," he said. "A serval! I was hoping we'd see one." Chris added, "I know. I love her fur. She can really blend into the grass with these gold-and-black patterns. And check out these ears! They're so huge, I bet she could spy on anyone with them."
"Really?" Martin asked.
"Yeah. A serval's ears are especially created for hearing prey miles away and listening for small rodents underground. They were meant to heighten the serval's ability to hunt. They can actually hunt better than any wildcat, you know. They catch their prey more than lions and cheetahs do."
"Skyfall," Martin said suddenly.
"What?"
"That's her name. Skyfall."
"…which means?"
"You said that she could spy on anyone with her huge ears. That reminded me of the latest James Bond movie that came out. It's called Skyfall." Martin then chuckled, "Seriously, bro, you have to go to the movies more often…"
Bulleting through the tall grass, a bright red blur stunned a nearby pride of lions resting in the sun. The trail of smoke behind it made them cough. The motorcycle and its skilled owner gracefully swerved every rock and crevice that got in the way. This wasn't just any motorcycle. This was a red-and-black Yamaha YZF-RI.
Wait, it wasn't red―it was vermilion.
No person could see Vermilion Sokolov's face under the same colored helmet with the jet-black visor. Her white, sleeveless shirt blew in the wind, and her desert Army pants protected her legs from any flying dirt. When she parked the superbike, the peach-skinned, freckled woman yanked off her helmet and sighed. Just a month ago, she was in a duel with a Mexican gang lord. Even though she won the fight, her thigh was partially lacerated, and her right shoulder was dislocated. She couldn't stay at the hospital too long because if she did, the Mexican authorities would've found out she was on the F.B.I.'s Top Ten Most Wanted list. And that would have sucked.
Finally, she thought. Some quiet time for myself. Just me and my arrows.
On her back was her simple brown backpack, and she set it next to the superbike. Through her left arm was her polished bow with a newly replaced bowstring. Slung over her right shoulder was a quiver full of arrows.
On her right upper arm was a mysterious tattoo―or, rather, a completely natural mark on her skin, in the shape of a DNA molecule.
A breeze from the northwest whispered through the woman's cropped, wavy, natural red hair. Vermilion closed her eyes and inhaled slowly. Just the touch of the smooth wood of her bow empowered her. With every heartbeat, all the memories of her past adventures and worries faded away.
Suddenly, a twig snapped behind her. She grinned evilly. In a split second, she spun around, fitted an arrow into her bow, and instantly shot it in the direction of the sound. Sailing through the air at an infinite speed, the arrow lodged itself right between the eyes of an innocent Thompson's gazelle, knocking him to the ground. All the poor thing wanted to do was eat some nice grass…but they say fate is a cruel mistress.
"Podeba moya!" the woman whooped triumphantly in Russian, her native language. "A perfect shot!" The huntress half ran, half danced to her victim. Studying it, she said, "Been a while since I've sold any furs. Wonder if anybody's ever forgotten 'bout Vermilion Sokolov." Then again, she'd like it if some people would forget about her. Outdoor markets were very common in this part of Africa, but peering eyes and ears were everywhere. One wrong move, and someone would find out she didn't have a hunting license and that she killed this animal on a wildlife preserve. Stupid poaching laws, she silently cursed.
Drawing out her dagger, she began to skin the body. At first, Vermilion wanted to take out her syringe and draw some blood, but she shook her head. Nyet, she thought. My powers ain't worth using on a worthless piece of prey. I need an animal that strikes fear into the hearts of my enemies. Something with teeth or claws or something…
A gold shape blurred past her. She whipped around to spot a small, sleek cat dash down the grass and swiftly LEAP into the air. It sailed high into the sky to sink its claws into a small, unsuspecting bird. On the fall down, the black-spotted cat bit into the bird's neck―and successfully landed on its feet back on the ground!
The huntress eyed this mystifying wildcat.
A slow smirk formed on her face.
She readied her arrow.