Stiles rolled his shoulders slightly as he crouched on a thick branch of a tree that had managed to survive the years of neglect since the rail yard had been abandoned, growing up tall at the back of the main building. The branches held solid beneath Stiles' weight, but Stiles didn't plan on lingering long on his perch. He knew he was too exposed where he was standing…any moment a member of the League could walk around the corner and see him. He had some coverage, thanks to the leaves and branches of the tree, but Stiles still didn't want to push his luck.

Gritting his teeth, Stiles jumped forwards, almost flying through the air, before he landed in a crouched position, wincing at the noise, however soft, his feet made as they landed on the roof of the building. Realistically, he was pretty sure nobody would have heard the noise, and he hoped that, if they had, they had assumed it was the branch only a few feet from Stiles which was banging against the roof as the tree swayed in the gently breeze. He'd tried to time his jump in time with the tree's swaying, so that he made impact at the same time as the branch, and he was reasonably sure that he had succeeded in his plan.

Still, he needed to keep moving. He moved across the roof, trying to spot the screws holding the sheets of metal in place and using that to judge where the supports holding the roof up were. He didn't particular want to fall through an unsupported patch of roofing.

Moving along, Stiles eventually stopped, laying down on the roof with his head and upper body hanging over the edge, looking over the eaves of the building at the wall below, and rather, the upper story window that had been broken at some point, possibly by an irate werewolf, and never repaired.

Stiles smiled grimly as he remembered hanging off Scott's roof the night he'd convinced Scott to go out into the woods searching for the unfound half of a body…the night where he'd unknowingly destroyed the lives of not only Scott, but many others, setting in motion events that nobody could ever have predicted.

Losing track of time as he got lost in the moment, Stiles blinked when he spotted the light of a flashlight rounding the corner of the building. He quickly pulled himself back onto the roof trusting the cover of darkness to conceal him. He peered over the edge of the roof cautiously, watching as a back clad figure slowly walked along the rear of the building, the beam of his flashlight searching the grounds, the side of the building…everywhere. Stiles as forced to quickly duck out of sight on three separate occasions as the figure passed below him. He forced himself to wait until the figure had rounded the far corner of the building, knowing that the league trained people on sentry duty to look behind him. Stiles could help but smirk as he watched the guard turn around and scan behind him, as well as doubling back a few minutes after he rounded the corner. Apparently satisfied, the figure had then, however, moved on, and Stiles was free to put his plan into the next phase, although he pointedly avoided looking at his watch, not sure of how much he'd been delayed by the patrol.

Moving back into his position, Stiles reached out and gripped the window frame of the broken window, before he shifted his weight forward and used gravity and his own momentum to smoothly flip off the roof and through the window, landing in the darkened room beyond in a crouch, his eyes scanning his surroundings, his heart pounding loudly in his ears.

The room was deserted, obviously an office of some kind, judging from the faded and aged map still pinned to the wall, and the desk in the centre of the room.

Cautiously Stiles rose to his feet, getting his bow ready and notching an arrow to his bowstring, and holding it in a ready position as he crept through the office, pausing just to the side of the doorway and pressing his ear to the wall. He could hear distant voices, but they didn't sound as though they were getting any closer.

Stiles stepped through the doorway, relieved that someone (Stiles was going to bet Erica, Boyd or Isaac, although it possibly could have been Derek) had ripped the door clean off the hinges, leaving claw marks in the paintwork, wood and plaster of the doorframe and wall. Judging from the spider webs and dust clinging to the slashes, it had happened before Stiles had gotten on the Queen's Gambit, and wasn't an sign that the room had been used to hold a werewolf (although with a missing window pane the office would have been a useless prison cell, especially for the werewolves, who could have jumped to the ground from the second story window without fear of injury

Bow held ready, although he didn't pull it back the full way, Stiles stepped cautiously out into the corridor, scanning both ways for signs of movement. He was towards the end of a corridor, which opened up at the far end so that there was only a railing between the corridor and the main area of the building below.

Treading carefully, testing his weight on each floorboard he moved his weight to, Stiles moved towards the railing, keeping his ears focused on the voices he could hear that were getting louder with every step he took.

"You've underestimated the little worm, Argent," a gruff voice Stiles didn't recognize was saying, "the ferrets gone and scampered under a rock. Selfish little shit he is. He betrayed us, and then he betrays his supposed family."

"Oh, he's still coming. He's not one to back down from a fight, especially when it involves his beloved puppies."

Stiles blinked as he recognized that taunting voice of Kate Argent. He'd only met Allison's aunt on a couple of occasions, but Stiles had instantly not trusted her in the slightest, and for very good reason it turned out. Of course, Stiles knew that Kate Argent was supposed to have died before he got on the Queen's Gambit, but Peter had come back…Stiles himself had come back from the dead (from a certain point of view)…hell, the league had the means to do it themselves using the Lazarus Pit. Obviously Kate had somehow managed to return to the living, and now she was back chasing after the werewolf pack of Beacon Hills.

Didn't she ever get tired of that, Stiles found himself wondering, before he pushed the thought to the back of mind, inching closer to the railing as the voices continued.

"It's almost midnight, we've waited long enough." A third, more nasally voice commented, "Get one of the prisoners out, let's have some fun."

"Fine," Kate replied.

Stiles froze as he heard a rattling noise, before metal ground on metal. He hurried the last few steps, before he dropped to the ground, pressing himself against the wall that the railing was attached to, before he carefully peered around the edge of the wall, between the rusted rails of the railing.

He was looking down on the main room of the building, brightly lit by temporary lighting that had been set up. At the far end of the room was a metal cage with thick bars. The door was slid open, and Stiles guessed that the door sliding open was the grinding noise he'd heard. It reminded him of a less well-oiled and greased version of Derek's loft door.

The pack were trapped in the cage. The werewolves, Kira and Parrish were all handcuffed to the ceiling, and even from the distance he was at Stiles could see the wiring around the handcuffs, and snaking beneath bandages to know that they were being continuously electrocuted, just like Erica and Boyd had been when Gerard had captured them the night of the lacrosse final.

Stiles' dad and Chris Argent were both handcuffed to the cage as well, and Stiles noticed that Chris looked a little bloodied up, although he was reasonably sure that the older hunter was still conscious. Lydia, however, was obviously out of it, slumped and hanging limply by her wrists, a thick gag in her mouth, obviously to prevent her from using her skills as a Banshee.

Stiles' heart leapt into his chest, however, as he watched the League assassin who had opened the cage open Melissa's bindings and hauled her roughly from the cage, slamming the cage door shut as he went. He dragged Melissa away from the pack, towards Stiles, as another assassin reattached the thick chain that was holding the door shut, locking it in place with a large padlock

Within the cage, Stiles could see Scott and his father struggling, Scott's eyes flashing red as he tried to break free, while Stiles' dad yelled out, his voice hoarse.

"No…No, Don't take her! Melissa! Melissa…Melissa!"

The Assassin dragged Melissa over to where Kate was standing, almost in the centre of the room, along with a small group of six other members of the league. Scattered around the rest of the room where another eleven assassins, all looking well-armed and alert.

"Ah…Mrs Stilinski, so nice of you to join us," Kate smirked, her eyes glinting dangerously. Obviously her resurrection had done little to heal her psychotic tendencies, Stiles found himself thinking as he tensed, his grip on his bowstring tightening.

"What do you think, boys, how are we going to have some fun?" The Assassin who was holding Melissa, his voice identifying him as the gruff voiced one Stiles had heard speaking earlier, gave her a rough shake, before he backhanded her across her cheek. Stiles surged to his feet and stepped out of his hiding place, the arrow he had been holding knocked flying through the air before he really had a chance to think about what he was doing. The Assassin who had struck Melissa screamed and let go of his captive, who dropped quickly to the ground, instead clutching at the hand he had used to hit her…now pierced the whole way through with Stiles' arrow.

"How about you start by never touching her again?" Stiles offered

"Stiles?" Melissa gasped, whipping around and looking up at Stiles with wide eyes. Stiles met her gaze and gave her a weak smile before he focused back on the members of the league assembled around Kate, along with keeping a careful watch on the rest of the league standing around the room. Every eye in the building was fixed on him, and Stiles felt perspiration trickle down his neck.

"Ah…the young fox decides to at last grace us with his presence," Kate simpered with a wicked smile on her face.

"I mean it, Kate, the next one to touch any of my pack are going to get an arrow in the eyeball…and it won't be pretty."

"You were beginning to worry me, you know, Stiles. I wondered if you were just going to run back to your little canary friend and let her go crying to her girlfriend…It wouldn't the first time you've hid behind their skirts.

"I'd watch who you're talking about, Kate. Nyssa is still Ra's' daughter…and you're surrounded by his best supporters," Stiles smirked, trying to ignore the numerous guns being aimed in his direction.

"We'll do whatever the hell we want," the man Stiles had shot in the hand growled, reaching down with his uninjured hand and gripping it around Melissa's throat, dragging her back upright. Stiles didn't hesitate, letting go of his second arrow, not allowing himself to flinch as the arrow impacted, right where Stiles had threatened to shoot it.

The man keeled over obviously dead, the arrow embedded deep in his head, having pierced his eye and entered his brain. Melissa dropped to the ground again, although she quickly scampered away from the group of assassins, pressing herself against the wall of the building. None of the league reacted to her retreat, all eyes fixed on the felled member of the league, or on Stiles.

"I did warn him," Stiles casually pointed out, defending his actions not only to the league, but to the pack. He was studiously avoiding looking towards the cage the pack were trapped, knowing that the looks of shock and horror on their faces as they realised the person he had become…one willing to take a life if it meant protecting someone he cared about.

Kate looked from her fallen associate and back up at Stiles, who notched another arrow to his bow. He watched as Kate's eyes narrowed angrily.

"You dare use that weapon…the weapon that Allison used. You're the one who killed her"

"I don't think that Allison would have wanted Melissa to get killed," Stiles replied, trying to ignore the sting of Kate's words, "I don't think she would have wanted you to try and get revenge using her friends. Your fight is with me, let the pack go."

"Kill him." Kate growled, "Bring me back his pathetic broken body."

Stiles ducked back behind the wall mere moments before bullets started flying through the air towards him, missing him by scant inches. He retreated a little, although from where he was crouched he could see Assassins running towards the stairs leading up to where Stiles was positioned. Stiles quickly slung his bow over his shoulder and dropped the arrow he had drawn back into his quiver, ready to face the assailants that were racing up the stairs towards him.

Rising to his full height, Stiles rested his hand on the handle of one of his knives, hoping that he wouldn't need to use it. He could hear the pack yelling his name…his father, Scott and Derek being the loudest voices Stiles could hear. A fleeting smile crossed Stiles' face at the sound of familiar, friendly voices, before it slipped away as the first assassin charged towards him, wielding a scimitar above his head. Stiles dived sideways to avoid the man's first attack, before he leapt to his feet again and pulling his thickest, strongest knife from its sheath.

When the scimitar came swinging down again, Stiles blocked it's path using the knife, before he swung and punched the assassin wielding the curved sword in the face. Pain coursed through Stiles' hand, and he reflexively tested his fingers, clenching his fist and relaxing it to check that he hadn't broken anything in his hand. The pain eased and Stiles let himself relax and watch as the man he'd punched stumbled into the thick concrete wall and fell to the ground, obviously dazed.

Stiles couldn't relax for long, however…the members of the league continuing to come charging towards him. He dodged out of the way of another bullet, before he began fighting the next member of the league to come close enough.

It felt like he was training…that this was no different from the hours upon hours he'd spent sparring and practising against other members of the league during his years at Nanda Parbat. It was a familiar rhythm of blocking strikes, before retaliating with blows and strikes of his own, until his opponent fell, and the next one approached.

With the exception of the assassin who had been manhandling Melissa, Stiles had been careful not to kill the attackers, although they seemed to have no such restraint about killing him. He winced as a bullet narrowly missed his head, ducking behind the woman he was currently fighting, blocking the man responsible from shooting him, although Stiles jumped in surprise when he felt a bullet graze his shoulder, having passed through the chest of woman he was hand to hand fighting against. He looked up at the woman's face…at the look of shock on her face beneath the mask she wore, as a trickle of blood ran from the corner of her mouth and she slumped to the ground. Stiles looked sharply at the assassin who had fired the shot, looking even more shocked than his unintended victim, looking with fear glazed eyes at his trembling hand.

Stiles spared a moment to feel sorry for the man…who honestly looked younger than Stiles did, before he took advantage of the man's hesitation, striding forward towards the assassin before he gripped the top rail of the railing and cleanly vaulted over it, dropping down onto the roof of one of the train carriages that were haphazardly scattered around the edge of the bottom level of the building, before he rolled off it backwards, landing in a crouch.

Stiles glanced around, finding himself in an alleyway between two train carriages, about six feet wide, or perhaps a little more, and although he could hear running feet, there was nobody visible nearby. He took a moment to take a steadying breath, having a quick glance at the bullet graze on his arm. It was bleeding, but not badly enough to really worry Stiles. He'd had far worse injuries over the years.

Stiles drew his short sword from his sheath, gripping it's hilt tightly as he ventured forward, waiting for the next attacker to come forward, his eyes filled with resolve beneath his mask as a man charged towards Stiles, spinning his double ended sword in front of him, sending sparks flying into the air where his weapons connected with the train carriages they were between. Stiles immediately thought of Darth Maul from episode one of Star Wars.

Yelling wildly, the man charged towards Stiles, who immediately went on the defensive, using his sword, as well as his knife, to deflect the two blades, using the small space to his advantage as much as he could. Eventually, however, he saw his opening and brought his short sword down on his opponents head, striking with the flat edge of his sword. The assassin dropped to the ground, unconscious, his weapon falling from his limp fingers.

Stiles kicked the weapon beneath one of the railway carriages, not wanting the other man, or another member of the league, to be able to find it and pick it up to use against Stiles at a later point in the fight.

Flexing his fingers, and ignoring the pain in his shoulder from the bullet graze, Stiles continued on, his eyes searching his surroundings for whichever member of the league would attack him next.

He wasn't completely unprepared when he heard footsteps running at him from behind. Stiles turned, ducking the first blow, although he wasn't prepared for the solid, thick arms wrapping around him from behind, trapping his arms to his sides as he was attacked by a second man. Stiles kicked his foot up as high as it would go, connecting with the first attackers chin, snapping his jaw back and propelling his head into the side of one of the railway carriages.

The man slumped to the ground, dazed from the impact, and nursing what Stiles suspected was a broken jaw and a nasty concussion. Still, Stiles was still trapped, and as the man holding him struggled forward, trying to force Stiles to move, Stiles leaned back against his attacker, putting his feet against the side of the same railway carriage he'd kicked the other man into, before he pushed back hard, forcing the man holding him to stagger back, hitting his head hard against the second railway carriage. Stiles dropped to the ground as the man let him go, turning and felling the man with a single punch to the head.

Picking up his sword, which he'd dropped during the tussle, Stiles crept the full length of the railway carriage, peering around the corner cautiously.