Skinner dropped the bag and lunged sideways. The men encircling him closed in. They couldn't be sure where he was exactly, but they had a rough idea. The invisible man knew he had to move fast, or they'd have him trapped. He spotted a small gap between two men, and dived through. The men felt him brush against them and whirled, shouting.

Skinner was already on his feet, weaving his way towards the open window. A man suddenly loomed up in front of him, blocking his path. The burly thug started swiping the air in front of him, probably hoping to strike the thief. Skinner shrank back, and decided to escape another way.

He darted for the doorway out of the dining room, but skidded to a halt when he saw three men standing there. They had the whole place covered!

He looked frantically around, panic rising in him. The only advantage he had was that they couldn't see him. He was unarmed, outnumbered and naked, dammit!

The window was his only way out. There was one man standing in front of it. Skinner swallowed, and made up his mind. He braced himself, and charged forwards at the thug.

Kevin Ryan was an elite soldier, as were the rest of his team. They were trained to be quick, strong and deadly, if need be. But for all of his training, he was unprepared for what happened next.

With a yell of triumph and terror, Skinner knocked the man clean out through the window. The thief tumbled out after the startled soldier. He swiftly rolled to his feet and tried to run, only to be tripped by Ryan, who had accidentally grabbed his ankle.

Skinner desperately pulled on his leg, trying to break free. The other soldiers had seen their team-mate fall out the window, and had worked out what was going on. They were already starting to climb through the window. Skinner gave one last, frenzied kick, and managed to smack Ryan in the face. Those watching saw his head suddenly jerk back, and blood spurt from his nose.

Skinner yanked his leg free and ran down through the gate, and off into the dark streets on London, heading for home.

Back in the house, the man who had come for Skinner glowered out into the darkness. They had come so close! But it seemed the thief was going to be more trouble than they bargained for. He sighed irritably. Oh well, nothing for it. They'd just have to track him down again.

"Bring me the bag," he ordered one of the soldiers, who obeyed immediately.

He riffled through it, searching for something that would give them a clue of where Skinner might live. He didn't hold too much hope though. What thief would leave clues lying around?

His probing fingers found a slip of paper, just a grubby scrap with the address of a tavern on it. The man smiled. Bingo.

000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Skinner hammered on the door of a run-down apartment. He paused for a moment, gasping for breath after his long run, and then resumed bashing the door.

"Pete! It's Skinner! For God's sake, let me in! PETE!"

The door swung open a crack, and two eyes peered suspiciously out. The voice that spoke was just as suspicious.

"How do I know it's you, and not some other thief?"

"Do you see anything?"

"No."

"Then it's me, you idiot! How many other invisible men do you know?"

"Alright, alright," grumbled Pete. "Don't get so touchy. You have to be on your guard around here."

"Yeah, yeah, I know, just let me in!"

Pete opened the door wider and stepped back to let the exhausted thief stumble in. "So, how'd it go?"

"What do you think? Does it look like it went well?"

"I wouldn't know. I can't see you, can I?" Pete said with a grin.

"Oh, ha ha." A depression appeared in a shabby seat nearby. Pete assumed his friend was inside and closed the door. "It was a disaster. The whole thing was a bloody trap."

"A trap?" said Pete, surprised. "What do you mean?"

"I mean they knew I was coming. Surrounded me. Some smarmy guy walked up and yabbered on about abilities and other people like me."

"Other invisible men?"

"Dunno. Wasn't really listening. Didn't let him finish either." Skinner yawned. "Made a break for it. Don't worry; I don't think they followed me here. God, I could use a drink."

"Scotch's in the cupboard. Two glasses only, we're running low."

"I'll get some more later." Both men knew very well that when Skinner said 'get', he really meant steal.

"Sure you're up to it?"

"Yeah. Just a bit buggered right now. Be right as rain tomorrow."

The depression disappeared from the chair, and Pete heard the sound of Skinner lurching over to the cupboard. The door swung open, and a bottle and two glasses lifted themselves up and out. Skinner poured one for Pete and one for himself. Pete accepted the glass with a nod, and took a gulp.

The glass in the air tilted, and a stream of brownish liquid flowed down into nothingness. Pete grimaced. "Do you mind Skinner?"

"Oh, sorry mate." The glass set itself down, and Pete heard the sound of footsteps leaving the room. A few minutes later, a black coat strolled back in. Skinner had applied his greasepaint, so Pete could see the grin the thief threw him.

"Better?"

"Much," Pete said fervently. "At least it's not as bad as when you eat. Seeing food getting crushed in mid-air – yuck!"

"Wimp," commented Skinner. He plonked himself back onto the chair, and took another gulp from his glass. "Anything happen while I was off?"

"Nah, been fairly quiet." The pair were silent for a while. They understood each other fairly well, having lived together for a couple of years. They'd met when police where scouring the nearby streets, looking for thieves. Skinner and Pete had huddled in the same place, hiding from the cops.

After the police had moved on, they'd chatted for a bit. Pete was a thief too, but a rather unsuccessful one. He hated stealing, and only did it because he was completely broke. Skinner however, was a skilful thief and spent most of his time on the streets.

Pete had a house, but no money. Skinner could get money whenever he needed to, but had no house. So they joined forces.

They were firm friends now. Skinner had helped Pete out when he'd run into trouble with some thugs. Pete had supported Skinner when he'd first become invisible, and realised it was permanent.

"Well, I'm off to bed," said Skinner, yawning. "I'll get the Scotch tomorrow. Anything else?"

"Some bread would be good. And some milk."

"Ha. Easy. See ya in the morning."

"Can't say the same here, but good night anyway."

The grinned at one another. It was an old ritual they'd been following ever since Skinner became invisible.

As the thief collapsed onto his hard bed, he briefly wondered about the encounter in the house. How had the guy known his name, and what he was? Skinner fell asleep with the question still turning over in his mind.