Carlos St. Michael a four thousand year old immortal now left the game and became a priest, pillar of the community a much loved and respected man in his parish left the alter after his service had ended, quietly he stood at the church door wishing his parishioners a good day as they left. As the last parishioner left the all to familiar pain rang threw his mind like a lightening bolt as the alert of another immortal close by, his eyes darted around the streets as he tried to find the immortal. However it was not easy to find an immortal on these back streets of the Bronx, New York.
The church doors opened directly onto the most run down streets in neighbourhood, burnt out cars and abandoned stores and apartments made up the streets like some kind of post apocalyptic world but it was a place he thought he could do the most good. In his long life he was a war lord, a soldier, a doctor, a shaman, married almost 30 times even an Egyptian Pharaoh but his true calling he found 50 years ago when he became a priest. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted the immortal, long dark hair tied behind his head wearing a long black coat, black trousers and boots; a smile came over his face as he recognised the man from before he became a priest. Smiling the man walked over too him and held out his hand in greeting.
"Duncan Macleod of the Clan Macleod… what in the name of all things holy are you doing here?"
"What I can't drop in to an old friend from time to time?"
"It's been a few centuries since I saw you old friend"
"Well I was in the area and thought I'd drop by"
With a hug he slapped him on the back and lead him into the run down church and into his office behind the altar. Fifteen minutes past as the two immortals chatted about the old days over a large bottle of whiskey.
"Well Carlos, I gotta go, I have a hot date with twins tonight… perhaps you should come along. Could be fun"
"I can't Mac…"
"Give me one good reason why not and leave. But your giving up the time of your life"
Carlos stood to join him, however before he could speak the all too familiar pain of a sharp knife being trusted into his heart took over as he looked at Macleod in shock as blood poured over his robes, seeing the killer look in Macleod's eyes made him panic slightly as he feel to the floor as his life quickly past away. Picking up the priest with the knife still in his chest Macleod dragged him out the back door and into the car park away from the church as he pulled out his sword and severed the head of the priest. The skies darkened as the quickening enveloped him, windows exploded and trash cans erupted as the lightening storm faded as quickly as it started. As he fell to his knees the sound of an old woman screaming broke his concentration instantly he stood and spun on his heals as he pulled a gun from his jacket and shot the woman before placing it and his sword back into his coat as he ran away quickly into the back streets of the Bronx.
The doors to Joe's bar flung open as young woman came running in panic stricken, quickly she ran too Joe and slapped a file down on the bar.
"We got another one Joe, this time it's Carlos St. Michael"
"What?"
The disbelief in Joe's voice was evident as he quickly opened the file and thumbed threw it.
"Their's more sir, apparently an old woman was found shot threw the head near his body, this Macleod fake, has upped the game to killing mortals"
"Damn find Macleod and get him here now Louise. Quickly he's gonna wanna see this!"
"Aye sir!"
As quickly as she'd entered the bar she left as Joe sat down and read threw the file before him. Two hours later the young watcher pushed the doors opened almost bowing in respect as the real Duncan Macleod entered the bar, her face was one of owe and respect yet Macleod looked more then annoyed with the situation.
"Joe, who's your messenger?"
"She's new Mac… We got a problem. It appears your doppelganger has struck again"
"I know she told me, what have you got for me?"
His fists clenched tight as he looked at Joe as if too say 'one wrong word and I'll tear this place apart' however as he picked up the file on the counter something caught his eye, and English dagger.
"Joe, what is this"
"It was found in our victim's heart, one of our guys works for the NYPD; he took it before anyone saw it. We got a containment team there now"
Slowly Macleod picked up the dagger and ran his finger slowly over the intricately carved hilt.
"Mac?"
Glenfinnan, Scotland.
1810.
Walking threw the dark empty streets of this small town at night was not a safe thing too do, even for an immortal especially since the back streets where so tightly packed anyone looking for a quick steal usually hung out around these streets, almost the instant he passed the next corner the feeling of another immortal flooded over him as he gripped his cane ready to draw the deadly sword hidden from within. As he passed the next corner a blade was placed at his throat, his eyes widened at the feel of cold sharpened metal against an immortals only weakness as he quickly darted his eyes along the sharpened blade to the elegantly decorated hilt of a Scottish Claymore sword.
"Macleod you bastard!"
"Did I give you a little scare old friend?"
"Almost soiled my britches"
Mocking his old accent Duncan smiled as he stepped out of the shadows into the light while raising the sword to his shoulder playfully.
"Well ya shouldnee be going down dark alleys Fitz"
Four hours later the two immortals where enjoying a drink in the local pub, Fitz his usual self examined the drink with disgust as he raised it and yelled.
"HEY BAR KEEP, I ORDERED A DRINK NO THIS SWILL!"
Clearly annoyed the barman, a large man weighing over 250lbs almost 6 foot 3 inches in height leapt over the bar and pushed people out his way to get to Fitz, Macleod's eyes rolled as he thought to himself 'here we go again' one problem with this strange immortal he now called his friend was he never knew when to shut up. Looming over Fitz the barman grabbed him by his neatly pressed suit and pulled him too his feet and higher as he looked into his eyes and spoke with an accent that not even Macleod could translate.
"Pardon me sir… What?" Fitz replied though his coughs.
"If Yee have a Wee Probl'm With the Drink… Wither Pish off or I'll put yee threw Ma Bar Wendoww…. Li'l Man"
"Macleod, A little help please?"
Rolling his eyes Macleod stood and muttered 'Perfect' before he was grabbed by his collar and the two men where thrown out of the building by the large window. As Fitz hit the floor he fell before a young woman with a slight smile he stood and dusted himself off before bowing slightly.
"Hugh Fitzcairn very much at your service my dear"
Blushing slightly the young woman looked at him, however before she spoke the large barman threw the doors open and stopped for the briefest of moments before yelling at the two immortals as he broke into a full sprint.
"First yee insult ma bar, and noww yee make eyes on MY DAUGHTER, for this, yee both die!"
Once again Macleod rolled his eyes as he looked at Fitz before they both drew their swords and ready for the attack.
"Like Florence Macleod?"
"Perhaps Venice Fitz"
"Alright, on three… one… two… RUN AWAY!"
Macleod looked on in shock as he stood face to face with the man that was more then twice his size, his foul breath burned the immortal's nose as he stood his ground sword in hand at least until the large man ripped it from his hand and broke it over his knee. What happened next was a blur a flurry of left and right hooks ploughed into his face as the familiar sense once more took over him. Quickly he dodged the next punch and looked around expecting to see Fitz stood at his side, yet in his place was a short muscular built man, neatly cut hair and well dressed. Quickly he man ran at the barman and swept his legs from under him and kicked hard before he drew his sword and placed it at his throat, with a smile pulled it away and laughed as he looked at Macleod.
"Duncan Macleod?… Carlos St. Michael at your service sir… And that rather unusual little man running in the opposite direction was?"
"Hugh Fitzcairn… A man I intend too have words with later, so I guess it was you who sent the message?"
"Yes…"
Quickly he pulled out a small dagger and handed it too Macleod before he turned and left, an eerie feeling came over Macleod as he looked on with shock over what had just happened.
"Wait, what is this?"
"A test Macleod… A test"
"What?"
"A friend if yours asked me to give this too you, you call him Connor"
"Wait you know Connor?"
"Yes… He said it's 'Your Final Test'"
Back at Joe's bar Joe looked at Macleod with interest as he listened too the story, the small group had since moved too a small table away from the doors as Louise followed the two with a tray full of glasses and two bottles of scotch.
"I never knew what he meant by 'a test' but Carlos became a good friend. He left the game for the Church about fifty years ago… in some way he reminds me of Darius"
With a loud crash the bar doors slammed open as Methos bounced in followed by Jenna, Methos looked at Joe with shock as his eyes asked the question 'is it true' all they could see in the eyes of the group was 'yes'.