She stood in the doorway of a rundown little house, in the bad part of town. The sun had set hours ago, and as she leaned against the light brown wood, fools called invitations to her from the sidewalk. She ignored them, the mind behind her hazel eyes a thousand miles away.

She had blond hair, straight from a bottle, and it brushed her shoulders as she moved. The face it framed was pretty in a young and pixie-like way, with a broad forehead, a pointed chin and a snub nose. She was almost twenty-three, but was still being constantly carded in bars. Right now, she was wearing a fine black leather jacket that creaked softly as she shifted. Her body was very slender and athletic, and her black jeans showed off her long, shapely legs.

To those who knew her not at all, her name was currently Kathleen Willis. To those who knew her much better, she was Lady Death and her life had been one long act of carefully choreographed violence. She had been born to a street whore, and to judge from her looks, her father was her mother's pimp. She had made her first kill at the age of ten. At fourteen, she found a mentor, an old soldier gone to drink. She had dragged him out and dried him off long enough to learn the basics of her trade, and dropped him into the gutter again. Then she had gone on to become one of the world's most wanted assassins. Only a very select group knew precisely how many kills could be laid at her door.

Most of the world knew nothing about Lady Death, not even if she was a human or a Reploid. Many insisted she had to be a Reploid, since she was notorious for being able to take out the hardest Reploid targets. Others insisted she must be human, since she had spurned several offers by the Mavericks for the heads of Megaman X or Zero. Some said that was mere pragmatism. Even Lady Death might have trouble with the greatest Hunters in the world.

Her head lifted and her eyes focused as she saw one of the very few people who knew her in both worlds. The respectable one, where she often changed names, and the shadowy one where she hunted and killed. He was her partner, and she would have trusted him with her knife… until lately.

She regarded him calmly, as he walked up the path. His name was Carrion, and his hair gleamed black in the dim light of the streetlamps. He was a Reploid, made to be a powerful combat model. He'd served his time, then left without a word to pursue his own ends. They had been partnered together by a client, for a mission that required more than one assassin. The result had been quite pleasant for both of them, and they had decided to extend the relationship.

Lady Death considered it one of the grand ironies of life that Carrion was almost the ideal of male physical beauty. His face was glorious, with sculpted features, a firm jaw, chiseled lips, and deep, thoughtful grey eyes. Under the armor, his body was just as beautiful… and as externally sexless as a Barbie doll. It made her wonder what his creator had been thinking. Women and men, Reploid and human both, had hit on him and left disappointed, with no idea why. She suspected that had a lot to do with why Carrion had chosen the solitary life of an assassin. That and the fact that one of the few joys he found in life was the excitement of making a kill.

Lady Death was a bit different. She didn't enjoy killing. She felt nothing, nothing at all, an empty static filled place where most people found hesitation and doubt. In that empty place, she killed and killed again and it meant nothing at all.

"Carrion," she said softly, her voice low and husky. The look he gave her was not the calm, cool detachment he usually showed to the world. No, there was something ugly lurking there, contained but dangerous. "Come to the kitchen. I've made casserole." That was his favorite meal. After a moment, the ugliness seemed to soften for a moment. He grunted, then stepped past her as she stepped out of the way.

This past week, Carrion's attitude to her had been changing. If they had been lovers, she would have suspected he had found a new woman and was trying to justify leaving her. But that obviously couldn't be it, and Lady Death had a different theory. Sometimes, the Maverick Virus could be insidious, hiding even from the infected Reploid as it waited for the best time to burst forth. Rare, but it happened. As Carrion walked down the hall, she slid a hand into her coat, caressing her gun.

A loud buzzer went off as he stepped through the kitchen door, and Carrion started… then snarled as he spotted the equipment that had been set up to monitor the door. Very expensive equipment, set to detect the Maverick Virus. He jerked around and lunged at her, but it was too late. Without his armor, he was hideously vulnerable, and her first shot shattered his abdomen. The second took out his left arm, where he could have still formed his buster. Carrion collapsed in a bloody heap, coughing and gagging on the blood in his throat.

Lady Death watched her partner, dying, and felt an unaccustomed pang of grief. She felt no regret for what she had done… he had to die… but she would miss him.

"You know, Lady Death… I always wondered." Carrion said, coughing. She tilted her head to one side, expression mildly curious. "Who was best."

"This was hardly a fair test," she felt obliged to point out. "I was ready, and you didn't suspect."

"But I… should have." He breathed, his eyes beginning to glaze over. "Should have known… I couldn't fool you… long."

"Do you know how you caught it?" She asked softly. Lady Death was very curious about that. If she could, she would take vengeance on whoever had inflicted the virus on Carrion.

"I think… that Maverick we killed… last month. Sometimes… casual contact… is enough." Carrion said, his voice slurring. Lady Death nodded, and watched as his fusion generator shut down. She would have knelt beside him, taken his hand, but she knew better. Even dying, Carrion could have hurt her if she'd been close at hand and he had mustered all his strength.

She finally sighed, and dropped her gun. Then she walked over to the phone, remembering the carefully rehearsed act she planned to put on. Carrion would have laughed, as she spoke to the police in a quavering voice and even worked up some crocodile tears. Lady Death was more than a little disgusted at herself. She hated playing the police, but there was no good way to remove the body from the middle of town. Better to play the distressed girl, since the evidence would all be in her favor. The virus would be obvious to any scan, and there were no penalties for terminating Mavericks.

Later, she would mourn her partner in her own way. Then she would go on.