2245 HOURS | SEPTEMBER 05, 2014 | THESSALONIKI, GREECE

In accordance with every account, rationale and logical conclusion of a reasonably sensible individual, she shouldn't even be here. Not in this reality. Not in this solar system. Not on this planet. Not on this continent. Not in this country. Not in this city. And most certainly not parked on her ass atop a shipping container nearly sixty feet up in the air while drinking from an open bottle of Metaxa.

But fuck it. What else did she have to do at nearly eleven o' clock on a Friday night?

Not much, that's what. So why couldn't she take the opportunity to enjoy a nice drink while looking out over the glittering surface of the Thermaic Gulf?

The work week was done so the only thing of importance she had to do was get back home to her low-end apartment in one piece. Not too much a challenge and it wasn't like she had any real constraints on her time to adhere to. Her trip up north wasn't until next weekend so she didn't really have any plans until Monday when she'd had to report back for work. Two days of relative rest and relaxation was in her future, but unfortunately that was part of the problem.

She had a craving for action.

A desire for excitement.

The hum-drum of her work here at the Port was just not doing it for her, despite the fact that it allowed her to make enough money to keep herself alive. She was lucky to have gotten the job at all. In a rare stroke of luck, fortune had smiled upon her that one night all those months ago. Save the right guy from getting his face beat black, blue and bloody in during a barfight and wham-bam one decent job and an under-the-table paycheck were suddenly thrust into her hands. And she wasn't dumb enough to turn down such an opportunity. All because of that she had an apartment that wasn't an absolute piece of crap and a SUV that didn't run like it was one bad cylinder from death.

But still… It just wasn't the same. It wasn't home.

She took another swig of the herb-infused brandy, humming in pleasure at the burn, before the sound of vehicles rolling up from the far side of her stack of containers caught her attention. The security gates to this section of the Port should've been shut tight hours ago so there shouldn't be anybody driving around. Something was up and her gut was telling her that it was bad business.

As the saying goes: Speak of the Devil and he shall appear.

Grumbling a bit under her breath, mildly irritated that her evening drink has been cut short, she stood up and capped her booze before she sliding it back into her backpack. She slunk forward in a crouched position; her measured footsteps nearly soundless against the container as she made her approach. Going prone at the edge, she peered over and laid eyes on the arrivals bathed in the pale moonlight.

Three nondescript SUVs and larger armored truck, like those that carried money between banks or other sorts of precious and valuable cargo. Painted all matte black with darkly tinted windows, which she was nearly a hundred percent sure were also bulletproofed. Five men off-loaded from each SUV and another group of six exited from the truck.

A full team of twenty-one, each of them quite tall and muscular to her eyes, and each and every one of them gussied up to the nines with tactical gear and serious looking body armor. She hummed in thought as the men moved with practiced ease to arm themselves with a variety of long guns, mostly shotguns and rifles, before gathering up for a last minute debrief. One of the men, the only one who had yet to put his helmet on, stepped to the forefront and by his bearing she figured him to be the one in charge.

"As of the latest ping from five minutes ago," he began, loud and clear, catching her slightly off-guard by speaking English instead of Greek, as he glanced down at some sort of device in his hands. "The Asset's location has been narrowed down to a fifty square meter area four hundred meters from here towards the end of the pier. It is assumed that it has taken refuge in one of the containers offloaded this evening from the Liberdade, which docked late this afternoon."

There was a murmur of anxious energy from the other twenty, some shifting their weight around and others fiddling with their weaponry. All signs that there was some serious shit about to go down.

"The mission is simple, gentlemen. Locate, contain and disable the Asset for transport to the Facility for reconditioning. Lethal force is not authorized. I repeat, lethal force is not authorized." The team fidgeted and seemed about to protest, but he cut them short. "However, that being said, it'll take a beating so lay into it fast and hard with everything we've got. There'll be three teams of seven approaching from the east, north and west simultaneously. We pin the Asset in and get it done as quickly as we can."

From atop her perch, she was confused, concerned and curious in equal measure as she watched the team break up into the squads and move off to begin their approaches from their assigned directions.

Just what in the Hell was going on here?

When all of the men vanished from her field of view, she let of a huff of air and stood.

What to do. What to do. What to do.

Should she make the smart choice and just go home? Keep her nose clean and under the radar from anyone who might have the resources to connect her dots and find her wanting? Or should she follow her instincts and indulge her burgeoning sense of curiosity? Should she follow these glaringly obvious bad guys and try to foil their nefarious plans for this mysterious Asset?

She ultimately came to the conclusion to do a little of Column A and a little of Column B. She'd follow at a distance, but do her best to keep her nose out of it. Observation only. Should be easy enough for someone of her considerable talent and experience. After all, reconnaissance and covert operations had been the air she'd been breathing for near on a decade now. Her bread and butter, as it were.

She dismounted from the stack with care, making sure her landings were as quiet as they could be. She didn't want to tempt fate and have one of the teams hear a disturbance behind them and come to investigate. It would've been a good time to have her jump kit, but she was out of luck on that front with most of her gear locked up nearly three hours away. But she'd been in harder spots than this before and, with any amount of luck, she wouldn't need to get involved at all.

Nonetheless, she had the comforting weight of a knife tucked in her boot and a handgun nestled into the waistband of her jeans. Not the best loadout with only twelve rounds in the magazine, but definitely better than nothing.

Coming up alongside the vehicles, she tested the doors and found them all unlocked, which wasn't all too surprising. The SUVs had nothing of interest. However, what she found in the back of the truck had all of the hairs on the back of her neck standing straight and the prickling sensation of gooseflesh breaking out along her arms.

It was some sort of reclined full-body restraint, clearly designed for the human form, and bolted onto a wheeled gurney, like something that could've once been in the back of an ambulance. But it was the restraints themselves that had her feeling chilled down to the bone and just a tiny bit nauseous. They were thick, curved bars of metal, nearly an inch thick on reinforced hinges for nearly every area of the body. Singular bars for the neck, chest and abdomen and three sets each for each limb. Biceps, forearms and wrists. Thighs, calves and ankles. Each of them magnetically locking into place within a matching socket on the other side.

"Just what the fuck are these guys trying to catch?" she whispered in a horrified sense of awe, turning away from the truck and looking towards the path that the team coming in from the north had taken.

The leader had mentioned reconditioning, that meant that this Asset or whatever had escaped from whoever these guys were and was on the run. And just the fact that they called it Asset had her feeling pissed off, like it was a just a machine or a tool to be used and abused until there was nothing left. She didn't like that. She didn't like that one bit.

Oh, no way in Hell was she turning back now. Not with something this serious going down.

Choosing to lighten her load, she slung her backpack off and threw it into the passenger seat of the SUV at the front of the convoy. A decent enough place to stash it for the time being. Additionally, just to be on the safe side, she pulled the hood of her sweatshirt up to cover her hair and the hem of her shemagh up to cover the lower half of her face. She wasn't taking any chances of being spotted by any sort of camera or recording device. She wouldn't be too surprised if these guys were wearing body cams.

And if this ambush was going to go down like she had a feeling it was going to, then the tactical team wouldn't be making it out of this alive and the cameras would be her biggest threat. If the Asset – whoever they were – emerged victorious, then they'd all be dead. But if the team somehow managed to get the upper hand and take this person down then she'd intervene and they'd still all end up dead.

Goes to show what happens when she asks the Universe for a bit of excitement.

She took off at a run towards the end of the pier, keeping her steps light but her pace quick, hoping to catch up with them before the shit hit the fan. But her hopes were in vain as the telltale sounds of gunfire, muffled by suppressors but still audible, lit up the night. Rounding a faded blue container, she came to a screeching halt and ducked back into its shadow for cover and bore witness to the brutal fight taking place in front of her.

The three teams of seven had converged like the leader had planned them too, boxing in a smaller stack of shipping containers, where one of the doors on the second level had been busted open like a tin can. A dark-haired figure, clearly male from the shape of his body, in grungy civilian clothes was tearing through those who were rushing him even as they shot at him. He'd already taken down five, but she couldn't determine if they were dead or just knocked out from her position. But the speed and strength with which this mystery guy, the Asset, was fighting was far beyond anything she'd ever seen and was obviously too much for the tac-team to handle.

By watching mainstream media, she had accumulated a fair share of information about those sorts of people that the world labeled as "Enhanced". Superheroes, like the famous Avengers, and the equally dangerous threats that they were supposed to combat. But it wasn't something she'd really paid much attention to, merely data that she'd logged away for further study if it ever became necessary.

Necessary was looking a lot like now, however.

The majority of their armaments, which she had mistaken for normal firearms, seemed to be modified into non-lethal variants. The shotguns were shooting a sort of stun round, with the shells that managed to hit discharging a visible burst of electricity upon impact. They had the Asset recoiling violently and twitching for a short time afterwards, but he still didn't stay down. The rifles were shooting darts, most likely loaded with high-dose tranquilizers, and he'd already taken six and wasn't out of the fight.

"Fuck! Why won't he stay down!" one of the men shouted, fear and panic getting the better of him as he backpedaled away from the fight as four more of his fellows were taken down by the Asset in the thirty seconds it had taken her to study the field.

Only twelve left but it was looking like the stun rounds and tranqs were beginning to take their toll. The Asset was slowing down and getting sloppier even as he commandeered a shotgun from one of the fallen and shot two more with their own shells before it was out of ammo and he dropped it.

One of those downed got a shot off as he went, a stun round catching the Asset's left arm which went limp upon impact and pulled his body off balance ever so slightly. He stumbled backwards, reaching up and ripping the attached shell off of his disabled arm, tearing the sleeve of his shirt in the process. Silver metal, painstakingly forged in the shape of an anatomically accurate – and incredibly muscular – arm, was exposed and gleamed in the light of the moon through the tears in the worn fabric.

It was definitely a prosthetic. A replacement for an arm that he'd lost at some point.

Had these bastards done this to him? Had they taken his arm and bolted on a shiny metal one just to make him a better tool in their arsenal? Made him into a more dangerous weapon for them to point at their enemies and order him to destroy and kill without any choice of his own?

She knew that feeling intimately, but it had been her choice to make. A voluntary decision. But she'd bet more than anything that he'd had little say in the matter of being turned into a living weapon.

Coming to the conclusion that now was the time to intervene, she prepared herself to enter the fray, and it wasn't a moment too soon. The Asset stumbled, going down onto one knee, panting for breath and one of the tac-team shot him in the neck with a tranq dart when given the opportunity.

Her handgun and knife were in her hands in the blink of an eye, safety clicked off and she advanced on the member of the capture team nearest to her position. She slid in behind him and before he could realize she was there she drove the blade of her knife into his neck from behind and severed his spine. He dropped like a stone and she moved onto the next and the next with her knife thirsting for blood.

Three down.

Four of the remaining seven, realizing that there was another hostile on the field, turned to confront her. But the other three, the leader amongst them, moved in on the nearly defeated Asset who had gotten up but stood on unsteady legs.

She spared a moment of thought to hope he'd be able to hold off those three for a little while longer.

Charging forward she took her opponents by surprise and opened fire; one took a shot to the head with the second taking a bullet through the neck. Not her finest work, but she's gotten a little bit rusty living as a civilian. But they were out of the fight and that was what ultimately mattered. The final two seemed to realize that they were outclassed and backpedaled, firing blinding in her general direction, but she was just too fast for them.

The third and fourth bullets took down the next and she leapt at the last with her knife bared, knocking his gun aside with a push of her forearm and driving the blade straight through his neck. She withdrew her knife and spun around, gun up and at the ready to find that the Asset had taken down one of the three, but was only just managing to fend off the remaining two.

But they'd made the mistake of turning their back on her.

Bang. Bang.

All tangoes down.

She let her pistol drop to her side and took a non-threatening stance as she surveyed the scene.

All twenty-one of the capture team were down, but she'd have to check them all to see if they were dead or just unconscious. She'd have to kill those who were still breathing to cover her tracks, along with those of the complete stranger who she'd just impulsively chosen to save.

He was down again, nearly bent in half over his knees with only his arms to keep him upright. His left, the metal one, was holding steady, but his right arm was visibly trembling. And yet, his head was up and he was watching her like a hawk with pale blue-gray eyes. He was one tough bastard to still even be conscious at this point. She couldn't even begin to guess at how many amps they'd shocked him with or how many milligrams of unknown tranquilizers were running through his system.

In total she'd seen him take at least a dozen stun rounds and nearly the same number of tranq darts. She would have been unconscious by this point if she'd taken a comparable beating.

But still… What should she do now? Turn around and walk away. It'd be the smart thing to do.

She came, she saw, she helped. Job done. Time to go home before any law enforcement showed up.

But no, she didn't do any of that.

Instead she chose to jump right off the cliff and into the embrace of the unknown without any regard or consideration for the consequences that might follow.

"Easy there, big guy. Stay calm," she said, as she tugged her shemagh down to her chin, in what she hoped was a soothing tone of voice. She tucked her knife back into her boot with openly telegraphed movements. She wasn't trained for this sort of shit, but she knew enough from all of the traumatized refugees that she'd come into contact with over the years that slow and steady was a good starting point. "I'm a friendly. See? Knife's gone." She switched the safety back on for her gun before that too was stuffed back into the waistband of her jeans and splayed her empty palms out on either side of her body. "Gun's put away too. I'm not gunna hurt you. I promise."

He said nothing in reply, but she could just barely make out the slight loosening of muscular tension in his shoulders and back. She began to take slow and even steps in his direction, hands still up and out, while maintaining steady and unflinching eye contact.

"I'm just gunna come over to you and make sure that you're alright, okay?" she asked. "Didn't save you just for you to keel over on me, yeah?"

A huff of air escaped him and she hoped that it might've been his exhausted attempt at a laugh. That would be a good sign. An indication that he was beginning to see that she wasn't a threat to him.

His right arm gave out and he nearly fell forward onto his face, but she lunged forward and somehow managed to catch his shoulders before he went down. But he was much heavier than she had thought and the brunt of his weight forced her onto her knees and his chin ended up nestled firmly in the space between her neck and shoulder. If his rapidly failing motor controls were anything to go by then he wouldn't be conscious for much longer. The tranquilizers were definitely hitting him hard now, but it also meant that he wouldn't be able to fight her should he choose to reject her help.

He mumbled something that she didn't quite catch and every second that passed more and more of his body weight was being supported by her own strength.

"What did you say?" she asked, craning her head over to look down at the back of his head. Long hair, tangled and a bit on the greasy side, tickled her nose and she resisted the urge to sneeze. But her question went unanswered and his body turned into dead weight as he finally fell unconscious. She managed to turn him over, laying him with as much gentleness as she could out on the ground, bringing her fingertips up to his neck to feel for his pulse.

Strong, a bit arrhythmic, but slowing down and evening itself out bit by bit. The arrythmia was most likely from the electricity and the rapidly slowing pulse was probably from the drugs. She'd have to make sure his pulse didn't get too slow. With deft hands she checked him over for any other glaring injuries, but – beyond the tranquilizer darts that she ever so carefully slid out of his skin – he was mostly unharmed. He'd probably be a bruised mess by the morning, but that wasn't something she could do much about in any case.

Ultimately, it would be better across the board to get him back to her apartment where she had a fully stocked medical kit and could monitor him more closely and with a greater degree of safety.

But she had to clean up the mess they had made before she went anywhere with him.

As quick as she could she swept through the fallen bodies, finding only two that were still alive, and put them out of their misery with her knife. After that she began the painstaking process of the dragging them all to the edge of the pier and dumping them into the water. With any luck, between the wildlife and the tide, the bodies would go at least a day or two without being discovered. On a hunch she also chose to climb up and into the busted shipping container and found a large backpack at the far end amidst the crates of cargo. Probably belonged to her mystery man. She shouldered the bag before jumping back down and formulating a plan on the easiest method to get both the bag and the man back to her car.

A fireman's carry would be the best bet. At least until she got back to the SUV where she'd left her own bag. She could drive from there to the parking lot she'd left her own car in and transfer him over.

A quick check of his pulse found it quite a bit slower than before and thrumming at a noticeably steadier beat, but it still wasn't into dangerous enough levels to have her worried.

Yet.

With a heave and grunt of effort she rolled him over onto his stomach, heaving him up into a standing position with her arms wrapped under his own and around his back. It didn't help much that he was just that much broader and taller than her to make him awkward for her to hold properly. Her right leg went between his and she grabbed at his right hand with her left as she pulled it over her shoulder and placed her head under his arm. Her right arm wrapped back and around his right knee and as she dropped into a squat as she shifted his dead weight forward and across the full span of her shoulders. A few more shifts of his body had him settling into the right area for the carry before she stooped slightly to pick up his bag with her free hand.

It took a great deal more time to get back to the SUV with her recently acquired burdens, but she wasn't going to try and rush it and drop the poor guy to crack his head open on the concrete. So far it seemed as though no one was responding to the scene. She couldn't hear any sirens or footsteps or yelling of any sort. Just the normal ambient sounds of the Port. It was odd, but she wasn't going to be the one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Without any further difficulties she unloaded the man into the trunk of the SUV, figuring it would be easier to transfer him from there and into her own vehicle. A third check at his neck found his pulse unchanged from the last time. Slow, steady and strong under her fingertips. Some good news at least, she thought as she tossed his backpack over the center console to join her own in the passenger seat before turning her eyes on the ignition.

No keys.

"Fuck," she hissed, before bending down and yanking her knife back out of her boot to pry off the panel below the steering wheel. She'd have to hotwire it, but she was a fair hand at mechanical stuff and it only took a minute or two before she had the SUV running. Climbing into the driver's seat, she lamented the low level of technology to be found on this world. Back home she could've just used her knife to hack the car's ignition to life and been on her way in half the time.

The drive back to her own car was uneventful and she was thankful for it.

The mystery man, the so-called Asset, remained unconscious throughout his transfer onto the backseats of her smaller SUV. The backpacks went into her own passenger seat, after she had extracted her keys, before she turned to her interim vehicle. She'd disconnected the wires but was concerned about the possibility of someone pulling her prints from the steering wheel and gearshift. They wouldn't be in any database, but still it wasn't something she really wanted anyone to have their hands on. It would be a surefire way for someone to try and track her, should they take an interest and want to.

An idea came to mind. From her bag she pulled out the bottle of Metaxa and using a scrap of cloth from a tattered blanket in her trunk she doused the rag and wiped everything down as liberally as she could. It would stink, but the alcohol should do the trick at erasing her prints or at least damaging them enough so that they'd be useless.

With the job done, she tossed the rag into the back of her car, checked on her passenger once more, before getting in and driving away. She drove normally with no speeding of any sort. It was the idiots who drove stupid that always ended up getting caught anyways. Nonetheless, it would be about a half an hour drive with the minimal late-night traffic to her complex and then she would have to figure out how to get him up the stairs and into her apartment without arousing suspicion.

She couldn't really ask anyone for help, could she? They'd see the metal arm and start asking questions. Questions that even she didn't know all the answers for. No, she'd have to do it alone and even as she pulled into the complex's parking lot, she was mulling over possible strategies.

Wearily she got out and went to open the doors to the backseat, looking down at the man curled up on his side across the cheap-ass fake leather interior.

"Now would be a really good time for you to wake up, ya know?"