Disclaimer: I sadly do not own any part of Alias

The dim light of the moon shown down upon the bare Mojave Desert casting the sand in a strange bluish light. In the darkness one could just barely make out a small party of people. All of them seemed to be focused on one single man in the center of the group.

"So this is how it's going to end?" The last thought that entered Julian Sark's head as he lay on his back, a .9 mm pushing roughly against his temple. It was little too cliché for him, the assassin always got betrayed in the end or at least he did, unless of course it was him doing the betraying. But he said it even if it wasn't the end, which was most likely the case.

He could always find a way out, always.

The man holding the gun flashed him an evil grin revealing a set of mangled, yellowing teeth. "Quite a repulsive brute aren't you?" Sark commented, his smooth English accent caressing every syllable.

The grin on the man's face was replaced with a look of utter dislike. "Cock sucker," he muttered in a thick Scottish accent, smacking the gun across Sark's face. "I'll teach you to talk back to me." Sark found himself being thrown into the sand. He pulled himself up, using the distraction to start untying the ropes that bound his hands from behind. It proved to be a far more difficult task than first anticipated.

Sark licked the fresh blood off his lip, smirking at the man. If he was going to die he would at least die with his dignity in tact. "Dammit man, you hit like a little girl, don't I at least get the privilege of a competent guard?"

The look of intense fury on the man's face was enough to make Sark laugh out loud. The man was about to hit him again when a loud voice made him stop suddenly.

"Please Angus, calm yerself laddie, Mr. Sark will pay his dues in good time."

Sark recognized the voice immediately. "MacLean, Travis MacLean, you son of a bitch." Sark's brilliant blue eyes stared into the other man's dark ones with a passionate ferocity. Then he let out a hollow laugh that was lost in the wind.

"It's nothing personal Mr. Sark. You see, you've become somewhat of threat to our project as a whole, what with your constantly changing loyalty and all. So myself and our nameless employer have decided to," at this MacLean paused smiling, "dispose of you. Buck up laddie," MacLean said seeing the look of utter distaste on Sark's face, "just think what an honor it is to be killed by myself."

With that MacLean pulled out a gun that was in fact Sark's own Jericho 941. It had been taken from him when he had initially been knocked out in LA. This stirred Sark's rage even more. He forced himself to take a calm tone. "I see you've taken my gun McLean, fancy it do you?"

"It is a nice little trinket isn't it?" MacLean said running his free hand down the gun's handle. "You can take comfort in the fact that I'll keep this little beauty for myself, so it won't go to waste once you're dead."

Sark watched as MacLean lifted the gun and rested it on the side of his head. The ropes were almost untied, just a couple seconds longer.

"Any last wishes Sark?" MacLean asked mockingly, his eyes gleaming maliciously in the moonlight. "No, alright then, let's get this over with." He shut one eye and pointed the gun at Sark's head.

The next few moments happened so fast that Sark barely had time to process any of it. There was a gunshot but Sark felt no pain. He had managed to untie himself and had sprung forward to grab a gun from one of the men surrounding him.

Sark took the man closest to him by surprise and knocked him unconscious with one blow. More gunshots followed the first. Sark whipped around, gun in hand, to face the spot where MacLean should have been.

What he found was McLean, crouched to the ground grasping his leg tightly. Blood stained his pants and was oozing everywhere. Sark looked past MacLean to the shooter who was busy fending off some of McLean's men. He couldn't quite make out their form but there was something familiar about the person.

Sark helped them out by shooting down a couple of men from where he stood. A couple of moments passed and the desert was silent once again, save the small whimpers that were uttered from MacLean.

Sark stood face to face with the person that he most likely owed his life to. It was a woman. She had long silky brown hair tied back in a loose bun. Her large brown eyes met his and Sark found himself unsurprised as to who it was. He had dealt with her many times and though he loathed her he could not deny that there was no other beauty like hers. "Sydney Bristow, it's been a while hasn't it?"

I hoped you liked it..more chapters coming.. ;)