They say their order was created when an Akkadian named Ammaletu witnessed the legendary Gilgamesh come back to life. The supposed first case of an Immortal being discovered by those who where not "blessed". Right then and there he laid the foundations to what would eventually be known as the Watchers. Their mission was to chronicle the lives of these beings, for they knew history that was either lost or forgotten. Not that they were allowed to interact, or interfere in the "Game" as they called it. Not to say they weren't discovered from time to time. No there were slips up, momentary lapses of judgment that lead them to being accidently discovered. Incidents like that could be forgiven, because every one made mistakes. Then you had someone like Dawson who practically gave the organization away on a silver platter.
Most were content in those duties, living their normal lives while they watched in secrecy. Then there were the others, a sect within the sect. The ones who recognized what these "Immortals" really were, abominations. Beings who laughed in the face of the Lord and what he created. They who were cursed to forever walk this Earth. They who saw it as their mission to lift this curse from them by the only means possible. And this wasn't the first group to think so. Going through the archives one could found instances of Watchers who thought this way and they acted. The Watchers stopped them of course when they discovered their actions and it would die down, but it would always come back. The last time was by a man named Horton. He was dead now but the "Hunters" lived on.
Trevor Rader remembered when he first discovered the truth about the Immortals. He was a teenager and stumbled into onto one of their little sword fights. His distraction was enough for one of the Immortals to look in his direction, concern etching his face. He remembered almost pissing himself as he watched the other one use that distraction to take the other's head, and the after effect. He soon came to realize that what he saw wasn't two humans in combat. A fact confirmed when he was recruited to become a Watcher himself. He gladly accepted, pledging his allegiance to them. But after awhile he slowly began to realize what he had to do. Knowing the history of the order he knew to be quiet about his belief, but he soon discovered others who thought the way he did. Being careful he acted disturbed by what they were implying just in case it was a test of some sort, but it wasn't. Slowly their little sect grew in number, but always careful about whom they let in. Once or twice they caught a spy trying to join them. Over the years he had been apart of this group he had learned to call most of these men friend.
Which made this night all the harder despite the necessity of it all.
He and a few of the others were waiting by an old wood shed located on some abandoned farmland. A perfect location for what they were about to do. Occasionally he would look at his watch, catching others doing the same. Running a hand through his fading hairline he watched as a station wagon pulled up. The driver and the ones riding in the passenger and back seat got out and they nodded to each other. Without a word they went to the back of the wagon and pulled their other "passenger" out. He plopped on the ground still struggling. Bound at the wrist and ankles they removed the bag off of his head and took the tape off of mouth. He looked at them in fear as they closed around him. As the leader of this group he walked foreword and calmly said, "Good evening Peter."
"Trevor," he asked in a shaky voice, "what's going on? What are you doing?"
"You know why we're here Peter," he said, trying not to betray the sadness that threatened to overtake him. "We all know why we're here." Peter knew it was over but he still refused to admit it.
"There's some kind of mistake Trevor," he said quickly, almost tripping over the words. "I know it. You know me Trevor, ever since you joined the Watchers."
"I knew the man," he stressed the word man, "who believed in the same goal I did. That man died last week Peter. A simple robbery gone horribly wrong according to the police reports. You were pronounced dead at the scene, another statistics. Then your body disappeared from the morgue."
"It was a mistake, why can't you believe that," he pleaded, as he started to cry. "It was just a man with the same name as me," he said talking quickly. "I've been out of town for the past week, a family emergency. That what caused all the confusion."
"I do want to believe you Peter," he almost called him old friend but caught himself. There would be no way he would dishonor the man he knew by calling this… thing that. "I really do. But you see your wife even said it was you after she was called in to identify you."
"She was hysterical," he said trying to grab his leg. Trevor stepped back letting the disdain show. "It was a sudden trip out of town. I didn't have time to tell anybody. I'm telling you the truth, Trevor you have to believe me."
"Perhaps I will," Trevor said. Then he took a revolver out of his overcoat and promptly shot Peter in the head. Watching the blood pour out oh his head he said, "After a simple test of course."
"What if he was telling he truth?", one of them said. Trevor located it as one the newer men in their Sect, a young man named Robert Wong. "I mean it is possible," he backed up a bit as the other stared a whole into him.
"We'll see one way or another won't me," he quipped. "Granted the man I knew wouldn't have been gone that long and not leave his wife of twenty years in the dark. Even if he was having an affair he would have made up something." Deciding to humor the young man he added, "In the slight chance I am wrong and he was telling the truth I'll do the right thing and turn myself in for killing him in cold blood. It is the least I could do for all the years I've known him."
"So how long do we wait?", the driver asked.
"It's hard to say, the strength of their abilities vary from Immortal to Immortal." Looking at his watch one more time he said, "Let's give it to morning. Then we can give him a proper burial in the light like civilized men if we are wrong."
They stood around and wait, almost a half hour later Peter breathed in hard as he came back to life. "Looks like proof to me," one of them joked.
"Oh God Trevor don't do it," he started crying again. "Please I'm begging you. You could use me as a spy. None of the other Watchers know about me. Imaging what kind of advantage this would give us, eliminating them from the inside."
"Did you really think I would ever remotely agree to that?", Trevor asked him. "Even if one of them didn't take your head you would have been tainted the moment you took one of theirs." Walking away the driver and one of the passengers grabbed Peter by the arms while the third went back into the station wagon.
"Please Trevor, don't do this! For the love of God don't do this!", he continued begging as they dragged him toward a tree stump by the woodshed. The other man came back out holding an ax and followed them. "Think of Emma! Think of my family!"
"I am thinking of them. They already think you're dead Peter," he reminded him calmly. "The Lord thinks you're dead as well and is probably wondering where you are." They forced him over the stump and held him there as the ax man took position.
"You son of a bitch!", Peter cursed at him while struggling to get free. "Have some fucking loyalty! Have some fucking compassion!"
"I am being loyal to the memory of the man I knew that died a week ago. And I know he wouldn't want to be an abomination. Porter hold him still if you will." The driver held on as the other man let go just long enough to grab Peter by the hair and kept his neck in place. Saying a quick prayer for the man he used to know and kissing the cross around his neck he announced, "Any time you're ready Marcus."
"No, Please God don't do …" Peter cried as Marcus raised the ax and brought it down on top of his neck with a wet thwack. The first strike silenced Peter forever as the spinal cord was severed. A few of them stepped back to avoid the blood splatter. It took Marcus several more times before his head was completely separated, a precaution on his part just in case Peter could come back from that. As the other man pulled the head away and dropped it to the ground the neck of the body started to glow. Trevor looked on disgusted as this so called Quickening danced around in the air looking for a receptacle before dissipating into the sky.
Waiting until it was totally gone he said, "It makes one wonder how they can do that in one stroke doesn't it."
"They had more practice at it," Marcus joked. The group shared a laughed, all except for Robert. He looked sick. "What's the matter junior, never took out one of these freaks before?"
"I knew him," he said staring at the body. "He brought me into the Watchers, understood when I mention I had problems with the very idea of immortality."
"And that man died in that robbery Robert," Trevor said. "We just sent him to God, where he was supposed to go afterwards. Honor that man Robert, not this thing we put out of its misery. Never forget that." The young man kept staring at the body. Trying to break the hold it had on him Trevor asked "So who are you assigned to watch?"
That work as he looked at him and tried to remember, "Ah… Harris, Scott Harris."
"Heh," Trevor smirked, "I was assigned to him once, years ago. I never thought I see that much of the world that quickly."
"It has been a bit of an experience," Robert admitted.
"Do you want us to take care of him?", Marcus offered.
"No," Robert quickly stated. Then he said, "Some of the others are on to me I think. If Harris suddenly died outside of the game they might suspect me right away."
"Smart thinking," Trevor reluctantly admitted. "The others are starting to get wiser about our action, ever since word about Horton got out. No, we should be careful about who we eliminate in the future. Make sure none of us are assigned to the target." Looking at his watch one more time he said. "We better get going, Marcus, Porter burn the body and the head. Robert, watch and make sure nobody walks in on them." They agreed, although Robert reluctantly did so. Then one by one they left he farm and headed home.
Pulling into the parking garage across from his apartment he took a second to search for a tinge of regret of what he had done. He was relieved that he found none and went to get a solid night sleep. He was stopped by somebody saying, "For somebody who's supposed to be watching me you are an extremely hard man to locate." Trevor slowly turned around and stared into the deceptively old face of Malcolm McAllister as he leaned against a pillar. There was a reason why he could never judge those who have slipped up in the past harshly, for he had done it himself.
"I was not aware this parking garage was considered holy now," he commented dryly. The immortal said nothing as he walked foreword. "To what do I owe the 'honor' of this visit?"
Trevor watched for any signs of the Claymore he carried with him, McAllister calmly said, "Thanks to a certain English twit I've recently become aware of the fact that I have family that is also immortal. I want to know who he is."
Trevor barked out a laugh, "Don't you already know?"
"And do you know everybody in your particular order?", he challenged. "An immortal can be alive for thousands of years and still not meet all of the others." Standing on the other side his car he continued, "It just a simple request, after all."
"Nothing with you is ever simple," Trevor said bitterly as he reached for his laptop in the passenger seat and saw the handle of his revolver under the seat. He toyed with the idea of grabbing it and shooting McAllister and using the abominations' own sword to take his head. But that might raise question like Robert was afraid of earlier. "So why do you want to know about this other McAllister?"
"More out of curiosity than anything," he answered as Trevor put the laptop on the hood of his car and powered it up. "If anything I want to see how many generations removed he is. The way I figure it he's a clansman more than anything else, like with the MacLeods. The older one was bearable when I meet him but the younger one was a pompous ass at the time."
"I think you're connection is a little closer than that," he said as he pulled up the file. "Owen McAllister, born in the year of my Lord sixteen hundred and fifty eight."
McAllister raised an eyebrow at that, "I do believe the correct terminology is 'in the year of our lord'."
"My Lord could not have created anything like you," Trevor told him. Malcolm seemed to ignore him as he appeared to be deep in thought.
"Sixteen fifty eight," he muttered, "I was still in charge of my clan then. I don't recall any baby being named Owen."
"That's because his Father wasn't in your clan at the time," he said as he turned the laptop around so the immortal could read the file for himself, "thanks to you of course." Trevor took a moment to savor the look of absolute shock on the immortals face. Almost like he had seen a ghost on the computer screen. That look quickly disappeared as he regained his composure.
"So," he said after studying the picture on the file, "this is William's bastard son." Reading the file a bit further he added, "And a half Irish bastard at that. Why didn't you inform me of this earlier?"
"Like I said I assumed you already knew," Trevor replied. "There has been some debate with our historians on which of you became an immortal first. He obviously became one at a much younger age than you did. But nobody is quite sure when you became one, outside of yourself of course.
"Well," he said smiling in way that made Trevor nervous, "I'm sure Michel would be very interested in meeting my nephew."
Trevor felt a chill go down his back, "You're going to set Dijkhuizen on him? Are you mad?"
"He's already looking to take a McAllister's head. I'm sure one that's watered down with Irish blood will do just as well."
"Wait," Trevor almost shouted as Malcolm started to walk away. "Why rely on that maniac when you can use somebody looking for a bit of revenge?"
"Alright, you peaked my interest Trevor," Malcolm said as he came back over. "But Michel will sure be disappointed if he doesn't get the call. Imagine what he would do if he ever learned about the Watchers."
Ignoring the thinly veiled threat he said, "Have you ever heard of an immortal named Heidenreich?"
Yes," Malcolm said slowly, "I meet him shortly after his so called daughter became immortal as well. It still confound me why he would call anybody his daughter after almost three hundred years is beyond me. But what does this have to do with my nephew?"
"Do you want to take a guess on who he thinks killed her?", he said while tapping the top of the screen.