Better the Devil You Know

This fan fiction is the perfect merge of Highlander: the series (a Davis/Panzer Production.)and Forever Knight (Parriott/Sloan Prduction in Canada.) Katrina Macleaod and her co-workers are my creations only.

Warnings: Language. The Game is explained here.

Katrina led Nicholas past the jumping crowd. Green and purple lazar lights shot back and forth on mirrored walls and ceilings through out the fervent darkness. The music was electronic. A metallic-like rhythm spilled over a whispered voice issuing a disturbing monologue about thrill obsession and genocide.

They threaded through the courtiers of lacy princesses, and pirates or cartoon characters and warrior, all writhing to the same beat in a clash of color and theme.

She led Nicholas into a crowded hallway; occasionally, looking back at him to make sure he followed close behind. Katrina's furtive smile, seem to ask what he thought of her strange new world.

Down the hall on the right were doors marked "studio A, B," and "C" and so on for five more doors. They entered "Studio" room "B", the door with a green light button. Once inside, the room smelled of cigarette smoke and stale perfume. It was set up with large p'leather benches, like the beige interior of a 76' Mustang. The inlayed table, in the middle of the small lounge, had smooth carved holes near the edge.

Katrina looked around. To her left, a wide screen TV ran though images of anime characters each with green eyes. Each sequence would end with the "Jade Eye Karaoke" screen saver.

Nicholas was also watching the screen, but remembered himself and announces to Katrina, "I had your sword carbon-dated."

"You didn't!" she thundered.

He sat on the bench nearest to the door. "Not really…" he said with a wry grin. "It's a work of art, I can see that. Is it a samurai's diasho?"

Katrina sneered at his 20th century joke, and caught on to his playful prod at her habit of always carrying a sword. With smooth pride, she informed her old friend about her sword. "My teacher, Yagyu Muneyoshi gave me that katana three hundred years ago- before he was martyred." Nicholas listened with sincere interest. "My katana was a Kami, temple guardian sword, with at least two generations of Bushido before that. It was truly an honor."

Nicholas motioned across the inlayed table for Katrina to join him.

She stood. She wondered if Nicholas understood what she meant by having such a possession.

"I need answers, Katrina." His patience was running out. "And like it or not, there's no one else here who can help you."

"That goes without saying, Nick." Katrina retorted with an impertinent tone. She sat on the bench opposite of the low table with one last remark to justify herself. "I don't like being without it."

"Who were the three people living with you?" The firmness in Nicholas' voice let her know that he was finished humoring her. The investigation had begun.

"They were small time CEOs of computer-gaming software organizations. Garage companies really… Joan Clark, Chuck Neighbors, and Garry Connelly. They had stock in Mercury Tech. Enterprises. We were merging them under our sponsorship, which in turn would expand us into Canada."

Nicholas offered the assumption. "So their deaths were an inconvenience."

"We're an honest company." Katrina scoffed as insult mixed with her scowl. "They were great clients with a lot of potential. This incident could very well damage our good reputation."

"Then tell me," Nicholas brought out a manila envelope from his black trench coat. "Do you know this man?" He showed her a black-and-white mug shot of a strange looking man.

"No." Katrina answered, obvious and to the point.

Nicholas held out another picture. This one showing five men standing with the suspect all posing in black-tie suits.

Katrina studied it and looked back at the mug shot. Her expression lightened with recognition. "He shaved his head, but this is the one who attacked me the other night."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

Nicholas paused for a moment. Katrina knew by the look on his face there was more imposing news. "What about this one?" He asked. The next photo was a close-up of a tattoo in deep black ink across on the inside of a man's wrist, focusing on the design of a curvy-shaped "V" in a circle.

Katrina took the picture from him. Her jade colored eyes flashed with worry. Then she slid the photo back at Nicholas.

"Do you recognize this marking?" Nicholas asked with poignant concern.

Katrina looked left at the glass door microphone cabinet. "Son of a bitch." She snapped.

The sudden foul language made him blink. "That's a yes? Katrina, we found this man's body at a shipping yard last night. His head was separated from his body in one clean stroke. We haven't found the weapon."

"Oh fuck me! - a sword?" She groaned knowing the answer. It annoyed her how Nicholas was hinting at his own verdict.

"If you please, Katrina." He said with a resolutute tone, astonished by her offensive outbursts.

Katrina bent in and simmered in a low voice. "For the past three days, I've either been working or sleeping- I've got alibis for that."

"I know, Katrina." He looked convinced. "Now what's going on?" But Nicholas was also apprehensive.

"First of all Nicola de Brabant," she punctuated his original name to emphasized they're long familiarity together, and disbanding his suspicion of her once and for all. "Me taking my katana to a nameless brute, is liken to any soldier loading his M-16 with diamonds and popping off a field mouse!"

"Secondly…" Katrina released her scolding glare on him. "About that tattoo photo…" She glanced around the lounge to gather her words more carefully. "I've seen that marking before." Her voice: firm again. "They attacked me and my husband at our farm in Quebec just after Lincoln's war. In New England, some time in the war of 1812, another tried to decapitate me while I nursed wounded soldiers. The ones with the mark always knew my origin—my true name, and things about me mortals couldn't possibly comprehend."

Katrina shifted in the bench and glanced around. She woke up to a new conclusion. "They're doing it again."

"I don't understand." Nicholas shook his head. "You're making them sound like they're some kind of vampire hunters."

"Maybe they are—hunters that is." She brushed aside her raven wisps edged with green. She took a breath and thought about the pseudo-Van-Halsing types, decapitators with a common tattoo.

Nicholas broke her cycle of thought with another question. "You never explained to me how your kind came to be."

Katrina didn't miss a beat. "Considering the chaos every time we meet, there was never any time," She muttered. She didn't want to explain what would only spur more questions, but the question was centuries overdue.

"No one knows. We are born, we live, we love, and we age. But if at any point we die, we become immortal and fight each other in an invisible war the crosses all time…That, too, is simple. We only fight one on one--no one interferes. We never fight on holy ground. We fight to survive. For us permanent death is by decapitation. With each fight, the victor gains a power essences from the loser, called the Quickening. This is how it has always been and always will be… until there is only one left. The single ultimate warrior will receive the ultimate reward: The Prize. None of us knows what exactly. Perhaps it's mortality, or oneness with all living things… or the power to rule the human race for the rest of eternity."

Nicholas raised his brow at that last statement. Katrina anticipated it. "Why?" He seemed to sneer.

Katrina grunted in sudden exasperation. "Why! There is no 'why'. We are born. We die. We kill or be killed! It's been this way since… Methuselah." She smoothed her hand down her silver pants, in a final attempt to compose herself. "There was never a reason, just survival."

Nicholas collected the pictures back into the envelope then rose with a brooding stare. His expression clearly stating his dissatisfaction with her explanation.

Katrina spoke insistently as she stood. "How will the Toronto police deal with these tattooed hunters?"

"Let me worry about that."

"Now what?" She grumbled out loud to herself. It was difficult to remember which came first, the hunters attack and vanish, or her plans to move on before or after their attack. She didn't enjoy the thought of police involvement making her life a public affair. Not to mention, she loved this job and still had five years left of this life. To Katrina /this/ was the inconvenience. But how could Karma explain that Nicholas, of all people, was investigating this mess. He alone could sympathize with the real concern of being exposed for what she was- is. He was right. He knew her well enough- or he should anyway.

Katrina sighed, rubbing the nape of her neck with a weak smile. "It's good to see you again." Her half attempt at gratitude.

Nicholas smiled at her appreciating the kindly gesture she had finally awarded him. "Likewise." He said.