September 11, 2001.

The stars have fallen from the sky.

It is the beginning of a terror unknown to the world; it's said that this is the beginning of a war. Indeed, it is.

The towers are falling now. They all watch as the dust and the soot, the fire and flame, they all become the skyline of that vaunted city, teeming with wasted life. Fear paralyzes them indefinite, their eyes saddened with the prospect of fallen comrades and loved ones.

It is the most beauiful scene I have beheld in almost all of my life.

Destruction and death of ungrateful children. I think the bin Laden associates have taste. They know where to strike. No one knew they were coming. Then they will know nothing.

No one knows I am coming. Everyone is too busy with the Americans, to know of the noble race which lays but a desert and worlds away. No one now, as we storm the island, we see the horrified faces of the animals as we hold our guns steady, steady. Then, like rain, we fall upon them, a hum in our voices.

I watch, I am near the doorway, if my men do not survive, that is their problem. We have the gem, their gem of their world. We examine it, get what we need. I know we must get him if we are to be successful. And we will. I know it from the screams, the noise of the guns. Like a symphony.

I am going to twist the knife, I will twist it so hard she will beg for mercy. Then I will cut her throat, watch as her friends die under the power of what I seek. Watch also as the residents in the sky die under gunfire.

Pitiful species. Both of them. Had it not been that I seek the information, the creature of the island, I would care less. And her. She is what I seek. She must die as well. They will all die when I am through.

Indeed, it is the beginning of a war. My war. And victory will mine......................all these years..........these long, long years.................................

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January 8, 2002

Metropolitan Museum of Natural History, New York

The Heart of Hestia has become, in recent years, the highest grossing attraction of the museum. Millions have swarmed to see the mysterious emerald, perched upon a necklace older than the oldest building left standing in the Americas. Historians believed that Hannibal, Carthage's greatest general, wore the chain with the emerald around his neck as he pressed forth in the Alps those many years ago. He was defeated after the Romans captured his troops near Rome….as well as his necklace.

And now it is night, in January of 2002. The Heart has passed through countless owners during its lifespan. Rich and poor, male and female, Caucasian and Oriental, Crimean and African - all have had a hand in some way when it came to grasping the jewel. So it would be this night, the smell of death in the distance. The Heart is about to pass from the upscale keepers of the Guggenheim to that of the mysterious thief silently cutting the window apart up on the fourth floor.

The window shatters to the floor as the cutting is finished, but the thief pays no mind. He is used to such noise, and he is on the deserted block of the museum so that none may hear him. The room that the heist is to take place is enormous, but judging from his investigation today he can easily conclude that the acoustics of the room are terrible. Besides, he prefers silence in general, in comparison to the hustling of the people that he has had to deal with for the duration of his stay in the dismal place.

Looking to each side to ensure that no security cameras can spot him, the thief cocks his wide-brimmed hat, grasps his staff (used to cut the window open) and suddenly jumps off of the precipice of the fourth floor railing. Instead of falling, however, he gracefully floats in mid-air; like an angel he lands softly on the ground floor. His first mission - not getting killed when jumping off a high story - accomplished, he then proceeds to the center of the room, his shoes clacking softly on the marble floor as he walks.

The elegant and simplistic beauty of the Heart of Hestia does not fool the thief in the least as he silently cuts the diamond-edged glass that surrounded it. He knows the power that it possesses - he has seen it, has been in the front line of battles in which the ultimate destructive power was unleashed, killing millions as the waves of pure energy swept the land in cold fury. He is more than determined the disallow such a possibility to happen here, in a place where such power is much more dangerous than ever - because no one has known of it's true capabilities. No person living or dead in the land of the free and the home of the brave has ever witnessed such a catastrophe that this jewel is known to cause.

The collapse of the towers, that was close. But a razor nick in comparison.

Finally, after much difficulty, the thief manages to carefully take the Heart out of its millennia-old shell. Looking it over, he is relieved to see that none of the jewel is missing; it is intact, no terrible explosion to kill the poor man trying to save the world.

"Astanovka!!"

The thief's heart stops when he hears the Russian word spat out like ice. He knows that he has been followed, and that he has a choice: Leave the jewel or die.

But this time, he decides that chance was on his side. The last attempts ended the same. He would give up the jewel and run like hell. But not this time. He closes his eyes and wait.

"Yest iz mooravyey!!! Ezoomrood chiem Astavlyat!!"

Grasping his staff, he waits until the soldiers have closed in, waits until he can see the whites of their pitiful, squinted eyes as they aimed at his heart with their guns. Then he mutters, in a language unknown by human ears and unprintable by human hands. It sounds almost like a prayer as he suddenly leaps up and lashes out at his captors, knocking their guns out of their hands with a sweep of his foot.

The Russians give a shout, but it is of no use. The yest iz mooravyey, as they called him, is too quick for them. He punches out one of them, then turns with a deftness unmatched by any in the land to smash another man's nose with his staff.

As soon as the battle begins, it is over. But the thief knows better than to stay and assess his victory. There are probably more outside; it is wiser to leave and fight another day.

With a fantastic leap, the thief lands back on the fourth floor and climbs out of the window, the Heart of Hestia in tow. It would be another day that he would continue the score with these certain cold-hearted Russians and their friends; indeed, it was the fact that there would be another day to live that gave him the strength of hope as he disappeared into the crowds of the remains of what the humans called the Big Apple.