"The end is coming."

Mac spoke matter-of-factly, coolly perched on a rock above the waterfall. Or surrounded by the waterfall. Fifty feet below, the water was churning, spraying white foam in all directions. Behind him, the water continued rushing.

"Death. It's funny. Here I am, a dead man already. Surrounded by the dead, struggling with the dead."

"Quit talking like that, Mac."

Even thousands of miles away, sealed in a data card, James was still a pain. At this point, Mac wasn't sure if it was in his head, or if James really was talking with him. He no longer cared.

"Look. Blue Rose is after us, and I can't stay underground for long. There's only one way out. We're going ghost."

"Mac..."

"I know. We'll pay a visit to the saint. It's the least we can do."

"... I don't think we're on the same page here." James sounded worried, cautious. Warning.

"I don't think we're on the same continent."

"... Mac. Listen."

Mac stood up, reaching into a pocket. "Oh, look, a new message. Let's see what it is, shall we?"

Mac fiddled with the old transer, typing into the on-screen keyboard.

"You're not weak. Neither is Juan. You've left him in a bad spot - you dropped the stuff and ran. Who do you think Blue Rose will target? You have to stick together..."

"Bullhockey. It's impossible to be everywhere at the same time."

"... Mac."

"Yeah, I know. We're going back. We have unfinished business... Oh, and another run to make."

Pickup.

"A dozen black tulips, a dozen white tulips." Mac mumbled, staring at the entrance to the floral shop. Snowflakes danced around him, a reminder of nature's fickleness. A well-beaten, almost ancient Lada interrupted his vision.

"... whatever."

Mac crossed the street. Why was he running errands? He was a courier, not a shopping assistant. He didn't care for the answer now. Answers wouldn't pay the bills.

Besides, The Enterprise didn't like questions.

Mac opened the door, stepping inside.

The floral shop was quite bare. There were no flowers, no floral arrangements. Just a desk, and a bell. The clock on the wall had dust on it. The desk's counter looked like something from the 80s - the 1980s.

Apart from that, the place seemed well kept.

Mac rang the bell.

A door opened, and a white-haired man stepped into the room. Mac noted the black turtleneck sweater and a yellow scarf.

"Доброе утро" the man said.

Mac returned the greeting.

"I need a specific arrangement - a dozen black tulips, and a dozen white."

The man raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Simply retreated into the back room.

"... creepy." Mac muttered.

The man returned with a black briefcase, locked. Mac looked at it for a moment - and then shrugged.

"Ah, ah." said the man, producing a pair of handcuffs. "Don't lose it."

Mac eyed the man, and then extended a wrist. Clack. Clack. Whether this security theatre was truly warranted, Mac didn't know. With the briefcase chained to and occupying his right hand, his mobility was now rather limited.

"Time is of the essence." the man said, pointing to the door

"Mac..."

"Yeah, I know. This is insane."

"No. Company."

Mac glanced at the side mirror of the bike. Indeed, he had company. With one hand tied to the steering, his quick-ditch options were limited. He'd have to win this by sheer skill alone.

Four bikes, eight riders. Somebody'd sent in the cavalry.

Just what was so valuable about this?

Mac should have guessed when he accepted the assignment. Nobody offers high pay for a simple delivery. But he really needed that money...

... it could pay for a flight both ways, and still cover some bills.

Evidently they needed that briefcase, because they were driving like bats out of hell.

Up ahead, traffic was getting tighter.

The speedometer read 110km/hr, and was rapidly increasing.

Mac threaded around a slow car, and looked for his options ahead.

There was a semi hauling portable toilets, heading the opposite direction.

"... Mac..."

"Yeah, don't damage the bike. I know."

Mac started veering to the left, getting as close to the Semi's lane as possible. He reached his left hand out, extending it. "James, now."

His sword appeared in his hand.

The whole line of portable toilets fell behind him as he passed, wreaking havoc on traffic. With luck, he'd have bought a few seconds - maybe even ten.

The sword disappeared as he looked in the rear view. Yup, it was going to be a good old disgusting mess alright.

Mac took a turn to the left.

There was a city bus ahead he could use as cover if he could get in front of it. By now, his speedometer was reading 160(km), and the wind was freezing his exposed neck. The helmet at least, was shielding him from the worst of things.

The parking lot of the library was empty.

Mac cut across, turning right.

Dead end; the road stopped, leading into a steep hill. There was a river ahead.

Mac kept going.

Brush up ahead. A walking path skirted the river's edge. Mac turned hard, right, onto the path.

A bridge loomed ahead, above the path.

"Thirty minutes." James said.

"Made it."

Mac started unwrapping his arm from the handlebar, eyes on the open-doored church ahead. Petals littered the stairs, covering the red carpet with white. He finally pulled himself free, leaping off the bike - he hoped the lawn would be okay - and into the church.

A man in a black robe pulled him aside into the coatroom.

"Get it off."

The man produced two keys, removing the handcuffs from the briefcase, and unlocking the briefcase itself.

"This off." Mac said, tapping his wrist.

The man shrugged, and removed the handcuff. "Go now, for you are not wanted here."

Mac shrugged, and produced the red Hunter from his other pocket. "Sign."

The man scribbled. Mac took back the Hunter, and nodded.

He was out of here.

"... so. Confirmed?"

"Yes." Mac replied, lifting the motorbike into a standing position. "Cana assignment complete."