Hello. It's a beautiful Saturday-no, not really. It's dark and stormy.
'Silver Scorpion' is about Yassen Gregorovich. A happy, happy birthday to two people, one whom was supposed to get this YESTERDAY, but alas, I did have a Microsoft Word issue...
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO iamlordmoldyshorts AND PrimoWing...
This is dedicated to you two special people! Don't you just love me?
Yassen sat quietly on the stool in the kitchen. He casually twirled a combat knife, the silver scorpion glinting in the dim light. A door slammed and the silence was broken by a little girl's voice. "Daddy!" she shouted, pointing at the blond. "There's a strange man!"
The father—Michael Ray—entered the room, his eyes widening at the sight of the twenty-three year old assassin. "Yassen," he breathed. He averted his gaze towards his daughter, whose wide gray eyes stared at the two men. "Go upstairs and play for a while, I'll be back later." The little four year old nodded, hugging her father's legs.
After the girl left, Michael turned towards Yassen. "It's been a long time," he said, smiling slightly. His voice was steady, his cool green gaze locked on Yassen's icy blue orbs.
Yassen inclined his head, regarding his old comrade through long, pale, lashes. "Indeed. You haven't changed in three years Michael."
Michael smiled, sitting next to the assassin. "Neither have you. So, I'm assuming you're here to kill me?"
He frowned slightly. "Yes, as a matter of fact. SCORPIA didn't like the idea of you leaving, and you've been branded a traitor."
Michael laughed quietly, shaking his head, his black curls falling into his eyes. "It was for love, Gregorovich. I love Rebecca and my daughter, Celine. You know why I had to leave."
The Russian looked away. "Love makes people weak, Michael. The problem here; you left SCORPIA. You're a traitor. You could sell our secrets to the government. It was only a matter of time before you were hunted down and killed."
Michael sighed heavily. "I s'pose I shouldn't be surprised...I just...what's my family to do?" His green eyes met Yassen's, searching for an answer. Yassen's eyelids drooped, the lashes shielding the ice.
"I'll do whatever I can to help them. If they need money; I have much to spare. They need a place to live; I'll buy them a place. You can count on me, my friend. We were comrades once."
Michael laughed shortly. "Thank you." He stood abruptly, the stool sliding cleanly against the marble floor. "Well, let's get this over with...tell my wife and daughter, that...my death was my fault. You can't outrun your past, no matter how hard you try...and that I love them." The last part was whispered quietly, as if they had been stuck in his throat.
Yassen stood quietly, silent. One hand was holding Michael in place, the other whipped out a gun that was pressed against Michael's forehead, just between his eyes. "I will, comrade."
A single shot rang out, echoing in the silence. Pounding footsteps raced down the stairs, before a tiny brunette skipped in, skidding to a stop as she took in her father's body sprawled across the ground. A scream ripped through the girl's throat.
The assassin turned, locking gazes with the girl. Hers was wide and frightened, like that of a cornered animal. Yassen's gaze was cool and calm, the blue so pale it looked white. "Your father loves you. He wanted me to tell you that his death was his fault. You can't outrun the past."
The girl hiccuped, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Who are you?"
Yassen walked over, making her back up into a wall. He knelt down so he could look her in the eyes. He took out a silver phone from his pocket, placing it in the girl's hand before unfastening the silver scorpion pin from his shirt. He fastened it onto the girl's blouse, before standing up in one fluid motion.
"Call the police. Tell them—SCORPIA never forgives, SCORPIA never forgets."
Eleven years later, Yassen Gregorovich stopped outside Michael Ray's house. Or, more specifically, his wife Rebecca's house. It had been renovated, the white door now painted a forest green. The shutters replaced by large glass windows. The large oak that had occupied much of the front yard was now gone, instead rows of flowers covering practicallye very inch of the ground.
He smiled slightly to himself as he caught sight of a young fifteen year old girl brunette with steady gray eyes pick up a purple Hyacinth. Yassen stopped in front of her, surprised she hadn't noticed him yet. "A purple Hyacinth. You know when someone gives you one, it means they're sorry."
The girl looked up, startled. She smiled softly. "I didn't know that," she said.
Yassen smiled wryly. "Now you do."
"I've never seen you around the neighborhood. Did you just move here?"
The Russian shrugged. "No, I'm just visiting. I had an old friend who lived here."
She frowned. "Did he move?"
"No. He's dead." Yassen said coolly, raising an eyebrow as her gaze turned sympathetic. "I'm sorry."
The girl twirled the stem of the purple flower around in her hand. Yassen plucked it nimbly out of her grasp, before tucking it in her hair. "No. I'm sorry."
"Wh—"
Yassen pulled off a heavy silver ring. He placed it in her hand, wrapping the fingers tightly around it. "That was your father's ring, Celine. I hope you take care of it, and know that I truly am sorry."
Celine blinked once, and the tall, slender blond man with the frame and grace of a dancer was gone. She looked down at the ring in her hand. It was silver, and heavy, a silver scorpion etched on the metal. The word SCORPIA was in a smooth, cursive script, encircling the scorpion, small clean-cut diamonds embedded in the silver.
SCORPIA...where had she heard that before? Her eyes widened as she recalled the blond man who had resembled the one who had shot her father.
SCORPIA never forgives, SCORPIA never forgets...
She raced into the house, and up the stairs, bursting into her room and opening the drawer that kept all her personal belongings. She shuffled through the stuff, opening a small wooden box. Inside laid a small, silver pin in the form of a scorpion.
A perfect match...
Tada!
And...I have finished. I sincerely apologize if you don't like it, but I honestly had fun writing this...I felt that Anthony Horowitz never did Yassen justice, as he was probably one of the BEST characters in the series (not counting Alex Rider, of course).
So...you other people whom I promised I'd dedicate a story to you...you're going to have to wait...especially if your birthday happens to be in December. Of course, there is a BIG chance I'll have posted your dedicated story BEFORE your birthday, as I'm one of those people who forget things constantly.
Next up...Sora Nadeshiko gets a story in August!
I've got a vague idea of where I'm going with that one...