Arthur scanned the sky for any sign of falling stars. No luck. Damn, the bastard was still alive somewhere. Partner, they called him. More of a bloody nuisance. He would have been done with the job and back at his apartment sipping tea and reading the newspaper if the idiot didn't feel the need to prance around, drawing things out. It was like playing with your food, bad manners to all those involved.

He leaned back against the wall and tried to look down the alleys, still no sign. He pulled out a cigarette from the inside of his trench coat, tucking the end unlit into the corner of his mouth. It was too dangerous to light it, it might alert someone in the building across the street, but even the feel of it in his mouth was comforting. The bastard was probably off flirting somewhere, while he was stuck freezing his ass off in the dark. How did he end up working with such scum, him, a dignified agent of the MI6? No, not any more. He couldn't go back there after what happened. That was why he was stuck in this Hellhole as a lapdog of the shadow-empire the Syndicate. I used to fight for something. But no, ideals won't pay the rent won't they? He sighed heavily and folded his arms around his chest. He was going to get pneumonia at this rate. He had just closed his eyes and settled in for a long wait when a small voice squeaked by his ear.

"Arthur, Francis found him." Arthur jumped and dropped his cigarette into a puddle, cursing, and spun around. A younger boy materialized out of the shadows, becoming more solid as he stepped closer. He stared up timidly from smudged glasses under a mess of limp blond curls.

"Damn it Matthew. Don't sneak up on me like that." Matthew stumbled out an apology and looked as if he was trying to curl up in a ball. "Well, where is he?" Matthew opened his mouth to answer when a hand snaked its way down the back of Arthur's neck. He spun around, a white glow emanating from his skin.

Behind him, a voluptuous blond pouted and batted her thick eyelashes. She ran her bright red nails across the nape of his neck, leaning in close to whisper,

"Anything I can do for you? It's so cold out here. You must be looking for a little heat." She leaned in to pull gently at the lobe of his ear with her teeth, rubbing her thigh against his leg. Arthur snarled and pushed her away roughly.

"Stop fooling around you idiot." A much deeper voice let out a sigh and Arthur could see the flash of a Contract behind him.

"You never let me have any fun, Arthur."

"What have you found, Francis? Is this the place?"

"You doubt me? After all we've been through?" He flicked his blond curls out of his face and tugged at his short cropped beard with long fingers. Even now he had a hand perched haughtily on one hip.

"No, I doubt you because of it," Arthur grumbled. Francis slid an arm around Matthew's shoulders and the boy gave a little squeak.

"Sh, mon petit cheri," he cooed as he ran a finger through the little curl that stuck up on Matthew's head. He flicked his blue eyes up at Arthur. "It's them all right, and they have the Doll with them. There are two human guards and a Contractor. Hotshot bodybuilder type. He'll be no trouble. The Doll's being kept in the second floor apartment, last door on the right." Arthur shoved roughly past him.

"I don't want to know what you had to do to get that information." Francis gave a coy little smile as he was pushed aside. Arthur headed across the street without looking back. Behind him, he heard Francis telling Matthew to stay out of the way, and to go back to the meeting point if they weren't back in an hour. The boy would be no use in there. He pulled out his lock picks and set to work on the door. The lock sprung open in a matter of seconds and Arthur pushed it open with his hip. He reached inside his coat pocket for his pistol and clicked off the safety. He could feel Francis slide in the door behind him. He let Francis lead the way, and looked around himself for possible signs of an exit. It was a dingy apartment complex, with water stains climbing the peeling wallpaper and tottering bannisters. The stairs didn't creak at least. Francis paused at the last door on the right, and motioned with his head. Arthur circled to the other side of the door and waited, trying to control his heartbeat.

"Come on, you bastard, now or never." He leaned backwards and kicked the door, sending it flying off one hinge. Francis darted inside, gun raised, and took careful aim. The room was dark except for a flickering floor lamp in the corner, but Arthur saw one man slump over the table as Francis pulled the trigger, a pool of blood spreading from his downturned face. Arthur turned to the other side of the wall in the same instant, sighting a second man trying to pick up his rifle from the floor. Obviously they had been planning on keeping cooped up here for a while. He pulled the trigger and the man fell backwards, blood spraying the flowered wallpaper. Arthur was just about to reload when a roar shook the floor. A huge man came rushing at him from the shadows beyond the lamplight, illuminated by a white glow. His eyes were pinpricks of red light. He saw a jet of flame erupting from the huge man's hand and ducked just in time, rolling behind a mildewy couch that burst into flame. No problem, Francis said. If we get out of this alive, I'm going to kill him. The huge man came charging through the room, knocking the couch aside. He was on fire now, and Arthur could smell burning flesh. Arthur took aim, but the man turned at the last second, and the bullet sank into his arm instead of his head. He backed away behind the couch again as the Contractor, blinded by the fire, flailed across the room. Arthur looked around and saw a flash as Francis' Contract ignited. Francis leapt forward and, in midair, shifted into a pale wolf.

He lunged at the burning man's arm, grabbing and twisting so they both fell to the floor. He ripped at muscle and tendons as Arthur took aim, this time for the head. The Contractor Shuddered once and fell limp. Finally. What a botch job. Arthur ran a hand over his face. With a crack of bones sliding back into place, Francis straightened up.

"Damn, I've singed my hair," he whined as he leaned over the body of one of the dead men, turning him face up. He leaned down, careful to hold his hair out of the blood, and pressed his lips gently to the dead man's.

"Ugh, what a distasteful Remuneration, Francis. Really." Francis smiled up at him wickedly and wiped away the blood from his face. "And where is the damn Doll? It had better be here after all of that." He waved vaguely at the carnage behind them.

"Over in the closet there." Francis motioned. He smothered the flames with a moth-eaten blanket while Arthur opened the closet. It was barely three feet wide and smothered in shadows.

"Bring the lamp over," Arthur called over his shoulder. But by the time Francis had made his way back across the room, there was no need for a light. With a dull thump, a body fell forwards out of the closet. Arthur watched as the Doll writhed on the floor, fingers twitching like spiders across the linoleum, head rolling from side to side. Bloody red foam dripped from its mouth. It tried to claw at its eyes, raking angry red lines down its face. "Burning," it screeched as it spasmed. "The world is burning. They're all falling." Francis and Arthur stared at each other over the spasming body.

Outside, Matthew stared up at a red gash burning through the night sky.