"The name's Bond... James Bond."

Mac examined the newcomer. The newcomer was dressed in a midnight blue dinner jacket, matching pants, white shirt, and an askew bowtie. The newcomer had ginger hair, and a spanish accent.

"Ezio Auditore, at your service." Mac bowed with a flourish.

"Cards?"

Mac shrugged and followed the newcomer to an empty table. A stack of cards sat in the middle of the green felt-topped table. The chairs were, luckily, leather office chairs, obviously out of place, but oh-so-welcome.

A third joined them, a tall figure figure with a basket, white shirt, blue-polka dotted dress, and blond pigtails. "Who deals?"

Mac shrugged again.

Bond slapped a coin on the table. "Call, Dorothy."

"Heads."

Bond flicked the coin in the the air. It twirled and turned, landing with a muffled thunk. "Deck's yours." conceded Bond.

"So..."

"James..."

"Yes?" Bond prompted, raising an eyebrow.

The sound of cards expertly shuffled was unmistakable.

"... what do you do?"

"Mutual fund management. Why do you ask?"

Mac shrugged again.

"Are we playing poker or twenty questions?" Dorothy cut in.

Mac waved his hand toward the deck. Bond nodded, producing a small case full of tokens. Mac matched, sorting out his own stack of chips.

"Raise."

Mac narrowed his eyes. Four cards already on the table. The pot seemed to dwarf the player piles.

"Four hundred."

Mac bit his lip.

"Call."

Dorothy finished the betting round. The fifth card - the river - was flopped. A 10 of hearts.

Mac swallowed. "Raise, five hundred."

Bond smirked. "Raise, six hundred."

Both eyed Dorothy, who seemed to be physically weighing her cards. "Fold."

Now Dorothy and Bond were eyeing Mac.

Mac flipped a card over. Jack, clubs. He flipped the second over. Queen - hearts.

Bond flipped both, simultaneously. Queen, spades. Jack, diamonds.

Mac let out a sigh of relief. "That was close... a little too close for comfort."

Bond assented.

Dorothy gathered her remaining chips, a spent look on her face. "I'm out - see you around."

Bond turned to Mac.

"I think a break would be good. I'll walk, too."

Then, there was Mac, alone, surrounded by a his chips. He counted the chips silently, his case getting more and more full. "Hmm, not a bad profit." Mac noted, standing up from the table.

There were two other tables in the room, and they looked full.

A bald-headed man in a suit caught Mac's eye. Red tie, black gloves... like an Agent. When the man looked up, Mac started to walk out of the room. A man in black sunglasses and a trenchcoat passed him.

"James, what."

"Is this how you pass your time? Going around in a costume, playing childish games, leaving your friends to hang?"

"How do you think we're going to get back? Tickets don't pay for themselves."

"This is hardly earning money."

"You're right. That's why we have a job tonight."

Mac turned the hallway. The red carpet, white walls, all seemed too clinical, bare of life. An elevator loomed at the end of the hall, past a dozen hotel room doors. The doors opened as Mac approached it.

"What kind of job?"

"We'll find out."

The doors closed. Mac pushed a button. The elevator started to descend.

"Mac?"

"Yeah."

"I'm worried. You don't seem to be yourself."

Mac shook his head slowly.

"High five!"

Mac raised a hand towards a figure in blue power armor. The figure's face was hidden behind a yellow visor, masking expression. The figure slowly raised a hand-

- and Mac struck, landing a palm above the figure's heart.

"Point."

Mac ducked into the milling crowd, weaving through the lobby. Even though the lobby was huge, it was packed. People in costume filled the place, making it look like a popular online crossover server.

It was loud, too. Gloriously loud.

Mac made his way to the main doors.

More people were coming. Some were leaving, like him. Mac continued to the street. More people were walking around - as far as eye could see. It stretched blocks.

In his Assassin outfit, he was right at home.

Teletubbies and care bears swirled past as he made his way down the street. He was a man on a mission - get in, get out, go somewhere else, wait. The get in part was simple, in theory.

Mac walked into the lobby of another hotel.

The get out part, that would be tricky.

But first - the package.

A bulky man in green blocked his way as he went in. Mac scanned for an opening - there was none. He'd have to go- straight through. He gritted his teeth, ducked. Started forward. The man turned. Mac was pinned, in a way. Trapped between here and there.

Mac lifted his shoulder into the man's groin. Instant reaction.

And like that, he was off, and into the crowd.

Destination? The roof. Waypoint? The "Glass Tube" elevator.

The elevator was coming down, and it looked packed. Like a can of sardines, but all individually dressed before getting crammed in.

By the time he'd made it there, the elevator had already started upwards. Two options now, wait, or head for the hallways.

He opted to stay on the move.

The hallways had black carpeting and tangerine walls. Mac counted eight hallways going from the lobby - two in each direction. Traffic thinned out at the edges, allowing him to slip into a hallway in relative peace.

"So, up we go."

Mac raced toward the end of the hallway, making for the elevator like a bat out of hell.

"403... 403..."

Room 403.

Somebody had set up a full billiards table in there. The only other furniture were two barstools, weathered and beaten. What happened to the beds, the chairs? Nobody seemed to know, or care.

A figure in a black robe waved.

"Nothing is true, everything is permitted." Mac said.
The figure replied. "Stay your blade from the flesh of an innocent."
"Hide in plain sight."
"Never compromise The Brotherhood."

The figure extended a hand, a key inside. "Locker 21, exercise room C."

Mac took the key.

"Lightning god, huh?"

Mac sat at the poker table, chips mounting in a pile. Across him, a figure in a gray, curved jumpsuit - with shoulder-length white hair - and beside him, a man in tattered remains of a white suit.

"And you're..." Mac asked the dirty-looking man.

"Trinity."

"Trinity?"

"Uh huh. Right hand of the devil."

Dorothy took a seat at the table, filling it out to four.

"You know the rules. Hold'em, No Limits." white-hair said. "We'll let Trinity deal."

Trinity took his time shufffling. It started innocently. He cut the decks in half, folded them into each other, but it went from there. Then he started tossing the deck, slinky-style, between his hands. He swirled them across the table like dominos. He cleaned them up, split the decks, folded them in again.

Trinity dealt the cards, a bored expression on his face.

Mac checked his cards. 7 of spades, Queen of hearts. Not bad.

But not all that great. Mac called, place a chip worth 10. Raiden folded. Dorothy raised - 20. Trinity called.

The flop came.

7 hearts. 7 diamond. Queen spades.

Mac called, nudging forward another two chips. Dorothy called. Trinity raised - to forty.

Turn time. King of diamonds.

Mac called. Dorothy called. Trinity called.

River.

Five of clubs.

Mac raised - three hundred. Dorothy folded. Trinity called.

Mac flipped his cards.

Trinity slowly turned his over. 10 hearts, King spades.

Mac collected the pot.

Trinity shrugged, with a careless grin on his face.

Trinity gathered the cards, shuffled, and handed the deck to Mac.

Mac dealt the cards, checking his last. Queen spade, Jack diamond.

Raiden raised to fifty. Dorothy called. Trinity called. Mac called.

The flop came. Queen hearts, 3 spades, Jack clubs.

Raiden raised again - to eighty. Dorothy folded. Trinity called. Mac called.

The turn. Jack, hearts.

Mac slowly stared at each and every player. Trinity. Raiden. Trinity. Dorothy. Raiden. Somebody here would win - the question is, would it be the raiser or the silent?

Raiden raised to one hundred. Trinity called. Mac called.

The river. King, spades.

Raiden raised to one fifty. Trinity folded. Mac called.

Raiden flipped his cards. Ace heart, Jack spade.

Mac flipped his. Queen spade, Jack heart. A full house, Jacks full of Queens.

Mac raked in the pot, and then stood up.

Napoleon crossed the room. Mac narrowed his eyes. Was this his assassin, or was this the package recipient?

"Ave caeser. Te mortuni salutant."
"This is sparta" countered Mac
"From a single zero, two."

Mac conceded the package, and extended a hand. Napoleon took it.

"To future affairs." Napoleon said, releasing.