Darkness is both friend and enemy
The foolish and unwary find surprises
And among them, death awaits.

***

Joe was sitting in front of his laptop, and he had a headache. His cellular phone hadn't stopped ringing for the last three hours straight. Most of the calls were from his associates and the field agents. Most of them had suddenly lost the immortals they had been assigned to observe, and reports from the Watchers Chronicles' database had been undergoing changes for the past 48 hours or so.

"Oslo… two deaths," he murmured whilst reading the report from his laptop. "Singapore: one death." He cracked his back loudly and sniffed. He thought he might be coming down with the flu. "They should make pills for this…" he sighed, and continued to read from his laptop. "Tokyo; one death…"

He snorted in disgust.

***

The room was dark. The only light came from the window, against which the rain seemed to beat incessantly. Brief flashes of lightning occasionally illuminated the room and the old immortal in the rocking chair. His eyes were closed but his breathing was heavy, and he rocked back and forth slowly. His cane lay beside him.

He was muttering something in foreign language.

"Vengeance will be mine…" He hissed.

***

Methos' eyes snapped open, and he awoke with a start.

That was a weird dream. A man, sitting on a rocking chair in a dark room; his face obscured by shadow. But something about the man had jolted him into wakefulness. It sent a chill down his spine, somehow. But after all the dreams that had flitted through his mind in the past few months, he was used to dreaming about weird things.

He stared at the ceiling, and for a second he couldn't tell where he was. He looked around and found that he was sleeping on a bed, and he realized that he was in his own apartment in Paris. He sighed as he recollected the events of the past week. Methos groaned and tried walking to the bathroom. Joe was pissed with the whole thing. The Watchers were being all mysterious for no reason at all, and all Joe would tell him was that he had sent three Watchers to watch over them. He and Joe argued about that…

Evelyn said that the best way to save the world was to let the Sword stay buried, but Joe argued that Thorpe might find it and he would definitely use it for his benefit. Not to mention that every forsaken immortal on the planet was looking for the Sword, due to the rumours that the Sword was THE Prize.

Methos was brushing his teeth when suddenly he felt a buzz.

He spat and walked out of the bathroom in time to hear a pounding on the door and Amanda yelling his name. "Methos! Open the damn door!" Methos sighed and walked to the door. Amanda could be a pain in the ass sometimes, and he couldn't believe that he had once said to Macleod that he would date her. What a stupid thing to say.

"You know, you really have got to stop with this coming to my apartment uninvited." He opened the door and Amanda brushed past him and walked straight into the kitchen. She was wet. "Thomas Edison invented the telephone; how come you don't use it?"

"Because it was Alexander Graham Bell, stupid." Amanda was in really a bad mood; she opened the fridge and grabbed a beer bottle. "I thought you'd met the guy." Methos sighed and hung his head, and the door suddenly flung open again, almost knocking him flying. Evelyn came in with a big suitcase and holding a wet umbrella, the water dripping to the floor. Methos groaned.

"Good morning Methos," she said and threw the briefcase to him. "Thank you for helping me with the suitcase, Amanda," she said sarcastically. Amanda just shrugged and drank the beer straight from the bottle.

"What the bloody hell is this?" said Methos. "Why are you even in my apartment?"

"You just got up, you lazy git?" Evelyn commented and looked at him, noticed that Methos wasn't wearing a shirt. "It's 11 o'clock." She decided that she liked what she saw.

"I still have a jet lag, okay?" Methos looked at the heavy suitcase. "Could someone tell me what's going on?" Amanda burped and Methos looked at her. "It is morning and you're finishing my beer supplies."

"Oh shut up, Methos. You can buy a dozen of beers easily, and don't tell me you never drink before lunch."

Methos blinked and put the suitcase on the table, while Evelyn just snickered. "What's wrong with you?"

"Some problem with her boyfriend, or something." said Evelyn. "We met downstairs. It's pouring outside."

"Why are you here?" Methos asked again, with an annoyed tone.

"You're coming to Egypt with us," said Evelyn. "We're going to find that Sword."

Methos gaped. "I don't want to go to Egypt!"

"Tough luck. You're the one who came to me, and now I'm available. We are going now."

Methos grumbled, "I'll get the coffee." He turned around when Evelyn tried to say something, cutting her off. "I need my coffee!"

***

Dark clouds were covering the whole city and the rain was pouring. People were hurrying about with their umbrellas. Some teenagers were playing and laughing in the deluge. Methos closed the trunk of his car after throwing in his travel bag, and hurriedly got inside. Evelyn was sitting on the passenger side, with Amanda in the back seat. Methos closed the car door and huffed. "This weather blows."

Evelyn looked up. "It's been like this for weeks now. I'm worried about this weather…"

Methos frowned. "It just rain."

"Maybe," she answered shortly. Methos started the engine, looked in his rear mirror and saw Amanda sulking.

"What's the matter with you?" he asked.

"Nick refuses to pick up the phone," Amanda answered. Methos rolled his eyes. "He went ballistic when I told him that I was going with you guys. I tried to call him since last night but he didn't pick up the damn phone."

Methos didn't comment on that, but from the corner of his eyes he could see that Evelyn was shaking her head. They drove away finally, failing to notice the intent look of the driver of the vehicle directly behind them. A quick cell phone call went out from the second car. "They just left. We're going with the plan, now." The man nodded to his heavily armed compatriots, and pulled out after the three Immortals.

Methos was driving silently. Evelyn was trying to reach someone through her cell phone, while Amanda was muttering something to herself. Rain was still pouring from the sky and the wipers were making screeching noises. Methos wiped the foggy glass with his palm. A traffic light went red ahead and he stopped the car. Evelyn sighed, "I can't reach my lawyer. I have to know what happened with my house in LA."

Methos didn't answer - he was frowning. He could see a car pulling up behind their own car and recognised it from the hotel. It too had slowed to a stop at the red light. They were being followed. Methos looked at the red light and cursed a little at its tardiness in turning green. Before he knew what was happening, the other vehicle's doors were slung open and the passengers clambered out, guns in their hands. "Shit."

Amanda and Evelyn looked round and gasped. They were surrounded suddenly, the muzzles of more than a dozen guns pointed at them. One of the men gave a sign to them to open the doors. Methos was going to step on the gas when one of the men said, very deliberately, "Don't… even… try." He cocked the gun ostentatiously. Methos set his jaw, but refrained from moving. Another of their captors opened Evelyn's door and grabbed her arm. She struggled, hitting him in the stomach. Without a warning, a shot rang out. The slug hit her in the chest, and Evelyn dropped like a sack of potatoes. She whimpered once, and died.

Methos and Amanda reacted instantly; without a word, both of them kicked open their doors together, catching the men outside. Methos threw a punch to the stomach of one of others, while Amanda span and kicked another. The rest of the men didn't waste their time; a fusillade of bullets rained down on the two. Amanda didn't have time to scream when the bullets hit her several time in her chest. She just dropped and died. Methos was shot in the stomach, knocking the wind from him. He gasped for air. He looked down and saw the blood was running between his fingers. He dropped to his knees, his vision blurring. One of the men approached him.

"What should we do about this guy?" he asked, putting a gun to Methos' head.

"We can't kill them, they're immortals. Just leave them here; we're taking the archaeologist."

"What about the cops?" Methos' breath was ragged. The pain was unbearable.

"You're right. Boss won't be happy if we leave 'em here, right in the middle of the street – cops might track us down. Bring 'em along. Who knows, they might know something."

"Got it." The trigger was pulled - once, twice, three times.

Methos died.

The rain fell heavily on the scene; the three immortals, dead and bleeding on the street, surrounded by their dark clad assailants. The street was slick with rain, and it dripped from the drenched men, running in rivulets down their weapons. "Damn weather," one of them muttered.

The wiper squeaked to itself, unnoticed.

***

Joe was sitting on a stage in his empty bar, playing his guitar. He was singing "Suicide Is Painless", while rain continued to tap against the windowpanes. Occasionally, he heard thunder rumbling from the distance.

Through early morning fog I see

Visions of the things to be

The pains that are with held for me

I realise and I can see

That suicide is painless

It brings on many changes

And I can take or leave it if I please

The game of life is hard to play

Gonna to lose it anyway

The losing card I'll someday lay

So this is all I have to say

Joe stopped singing. He might not be an immortal, but he could sense that someone was watching him from inside his empty bar. "Hello? Anyone there?" Joe peered into the gloom, but he couldn't see anyone. He put his guitar on the floor, and reached for his cane. A shadowy figure leaned forward from behind the bar counter.

"Don't stop singing, Dawson. I think you were great."

Joe looked at the person with wide eyes. "Cassandra? Is that you?"

A brown-haired woman came into the light, pouring herself a whisky. "You don't mind, do you?" She asked. Joe blinked several times, and stared at the woman. She was wet from head to toe, water pooling at her feet. "Damn weather. Can you believe how long it's been like this?"

Joe walked slowly with his cane to Cassandra. He looked surprised to see her, one of the few immortals that knew about the existence of the Watchers. "I didn't expect to see you again after the grueling business with Kronos…"

"And Methos. Don't forget about him." Cassandra said calmly.

"Still holding grudge?"

Cassandra put the whiskey bottle down hard, some of the brown liquor sloshing out. She gave Joe a cold stare, but her smile remained fixed, though it hardened. "What gives you that idea?"

Joe sighed, "Listen, Cassandra. I don't have time for this. Methos isn't here and…"

"I know that." She brushed him off. "I didn't come all the way here from Oslo to find him and kill him after all that he had done with The Horsemen - which was killing thousands of people, can't forget that bit – when I could just come and visit old friends." Joe stared to smiling Cassandra. "No, why would I do that after all these centuries?"

"Cassandra…"

"Chill up, Dawson. I'm not here because of him, unfortunately. I just escaped a tricky situation back in Oslo. A guy almost whacked me – but not before he asked me something about a certain Prize. Do you know anything about this?"

"Does anyone not know about this?" Joe grunted as he sat on the barstool. Cassandra poured him a glass of whiskey. "I think I'm getting too old for this shit."

"You can say that again."