Gabriella's condo was bathed in the soft glow of the afternoon sun. Max sat cross-legged on the floor, his eyes closed and brow furrowed in concentration. Across from him, Gabriella mirrored his position, her face a picture of calm serenity. Between them lay a map, their hands joined over it.
From above, several lights began to materialize on the map, casting an ethereal glow. Beads of sweat formed on Max's forehead, trickling down his face. Lesi, the adorable white shih tzu, trotted into the room and licked the side of Max's face. He smiled, opening his eyes and breaking the connection with Gabriella. Her body slumped as she came out of the trance, her eyes falling to the map as the lights dissipated.
"Damn it, Max." Gabriella muttered, frustration evident in her voice.
Max, seemingly unbothered, ruffled Lesi's fur. "A few more seconds and the locations would've held," Gabriella continued, taking a sip from a nearby glass of water as she stood up.
Max shrugged. "So we'll do it again...later."
Gabriella's eyes narrowed. "That's not the point. You broke the link."
Max raised an eyebrow. "Still not seeing why you can't do this on your own."
"I don't have that kind of latent energy," Gabriella replied, exasperation creeping into her tone.
Max chuckled. "Could've fooled me. I've seen what you can do."
Gabriella sighed. "All that flashy stuff comes through years of training. Plus, things like telekinesis and barrier spells are a one-and-done sort of thing. A sustained effort is a hell of a lot harder to keep up."
"So you have to siphon off me," Max concluded.
"If you'd pay better attention to the instructions I've been trying to give you, you'd be able to do this spell on your own," Gabriella retorted.
Max shook his head. "I doubt I can pull off a spell you can't do alone."
Gabriella gave him a wry grin. "Your body's better equipped for it."
Max smirked. "Not like that. We still don't know the truth as to where you and the others come from, but we do know you were created by higher powers. There's a latent reservoir of mystical energy in you..."
"Right, my quickening, but other than that, I'm still just human with an infinite lifespan," Max interjected.
Gabriella paused, searching for the right words. "It's basic physics. All magic really is, is training your mind and body to tap into parts of the brain that no one else uses and harnessing your body's natural energy. You are human, but your chemical makeup is still mystical, so it naturally has more potential than my body does. Especially since you're..."
"Max?" Gabriella's voice trailed off as she noticed Max flat on his back, lightly snoring. She gently kicked him in the ribs, and he smiled.
"Sorry to bore you," she said with a smirk. "Seriously though, you're gifted. Your body has a natural affinity for magic that you're blatantly ignoring. When I first started, my nose bled if I floated a pencil two inches off the ground."
Max opened one eye. "I've already got you, so what's the point of me learning magic?"
"In the long run, it'll be beneficial for you. What if one day you're up against someone you can't swing a sword at and hack to bits, no matter how hard you try? What would you do then?" Gabriella asked.
Max deadpanned, "Swing harder. And we've been at this for two days."
Gabriella sat on her knees in front of him. "Well, it's important. If we can—"
"What's today?" Max interrupted.
"Wednesday, why?" Gabriella replied, puzzled.
"Crap," Max muttered, getting to his feet and heading to the broom closet by the front door.
"What are you doing?" Gabriella asked, confusion evident in her voice.
"Something more important," Max said, putting on his jacket.
Gabriella smiles and raises her cup. She turns her head to the side,
listening to the chorus of the song, and rolls her eyes.
Max turned to face her, a playful glint in his eyes. "When's the last time you went out when you weren't hungry, thirsty, or going to work?"
He paused for a beat, letting the question hang in the air. "There's this concept called fun. That's F-U-N. Heard of it?"
Gabriella crossed her arms, a sarcastic smile creeping onto her lips. "Ha ha. Don't you think it'd be a better idea if you were, oh I don't know, fighting evil?"
Max rolled his eyes, a grin still plastered on his face. "I'm not going to spend my nights looking for hunters. We're not superheroes." He reached for her extremely small purse, tossing it over to her a little too hard.
Gabriella instinctively held her hand out in front of her, and the purse froze in midair for a moment before slowly floating into her other hand.
"You're a real champion," she said wryly, crossing the room in three long strides to reach him. She looked him straight in the eye, her expression softening. "Should I even bother pointing out that I'm not good in crowds?"
Max opened the front door, the cool evening air rushing in. "You'll blend. If you don't, just cast a spell or something."
Gabriella rolled her eyes, but there was a hint of amusement in her expression. "Fine, whatever. Tomorrow, we're practicing locator spells again."
"That's cool. Gives me tonight to come up with an excuse not to," Max replied, stepping out after her. "And I'll drive."
"Like hell you will," Gabriella shot back, her tone playful yet firm.
Max chuckled, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Hey, it's only fair. You drove my car last week… You still owe me gas money, by the way."
The door shut behind them with a soft click, sealing off the quiet of the condo as they stepped into the bustling world outside.
KARAOKE BAR - NIGHT
The scene shifted to a surprisingly packed bar, the air thick with laughter and the clinking of glasses. A group of long-haired grunge kids on stage were finishing up a horrendous rendition of Metallica's "St. Anger." Max was borderline violently bobbing his head to the song, completely immersed in the chaotic energy of the moment.
Gabriella, on the other hand, looked like she'd rather be anywhere else. Her expression was one of mild horror as she surveyed the crowd of college students, all cheering and whooping for the band's lackluster performance.
As the kids finished, the entire bar erupted in cheers, and Gabriella winced at the uproar. The noise died down, and the jukebox kicked in, playing Bob Dylan's cover of "Ring of Fire." Connor, a friend of Max's, looked over to Gabriella, who was a half-second away from walking out.
"What?" Max asked, noticing her discomfort.
"Why the hell are we here?" Gabriella shot back, her voice tinged with disbelief.
Max pointed to a group of guys at another table, a nostalgic smile creeping onto his face. "I used to hang out here with my frat bros. Every Wednesday, if we didn't have tests coming up, we'd come down, get wasted, and do some bad karaoke."
Gabriella glanced at a nearby group of sweater-vest-wearing preps and raised an eyebrow, her expression shifting as she took in the youthful energy of the place. "Well, that's cool, I guess... or something." She paused, catching up to the moment. "Do you still hang out, or are we talking about a few decades ago?"
Max looked at her as if she had just asked why the sky was blue. "Almost a decade… suckish thing about making regular friends is they don't last long."
Gabriella's expression softened, the weight of his words sinking in. "Oh. Right. Sorry."
"It's cool," Max replied, shrugging it off. "Still though, always had a good time here, and I needed a break."
"Gotcha," Gabriella said, her tone lightening as their server approached, dropping off a fruity-looking martini for her and a tall beer for Max. Without hesitation, Max guzzled half of it in one gulp.
Gabriella raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on her lips. "I can see why Duncan made you a Macleod."
Max burped loudly, earning a grimace from Gabriella. "And I'll forever be honored…" he said, wiping his mouth and speaking in a mock Scottish accent.
"TO THE CLAN MACLEOD!" he declared, raising his cup high.
Gabriella smiled, raising her own cup in response.
She then turned her head to the side, listening to the chorus of the song, and rolled her eyes.
"So, are there ever any good performers?" she asked, her tone laced with skepticism.
Max shrugged, a playful grin on his face. "What? I mean, those last guys sucked, but at least the song was good."
Gabriella raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "You call that good?"
Max looked at her incredulously. "Metallica is great rock music! What's wrong with you?"
"Pft. You want great rock music, I'll get you some Sammy Hagar," she shot back, a teasing smile on her lips.
Max gave her a blank look, his expression a mix of disbelief and mock horror. "What?"
"We can't be friends anymore," he declared dramatically. "Next you're gonna tell me you don't like—" He pointed to the ceiling, emphasizing his point. "—this song."
Gabriella sighed, a hint of amusement in her voice. "Yeah, it's fine... when Johnny Cash does it."
"Only if you can't sleep," Max quipped, chuckling at their banter.
Suddenly, a voice boomed from the stage, cutting through their playful exchange. "Ladies and gentlemen!" Everyone in the bar directed their attention to the stage, where a man about Max's age—minus the immortality—stood holding a shotgun. He was sporting a black gas mask, adding an unsettling air to the scene.
"Tonight's amateur hour has unfortunately been cut short, on account of my needing to make rent tomorrow," the man announced, cocking the shotgun and panning it around the room. The crowd instinctively shrank away from the weapon, except for a lone guy sitting at the frontmost table. He was a scruffy-looking man in his late twenties, with light tannish skin that suggested a mix of African American and Italian heritage.
The masked man's gaze landed on the tough guy. "Tough guy, huh?" he taunted. The man at the table casually pulled up his shirt, revealing a gun of his own.
A gun blast from the exit elicited a collective gasp from everyone in the room. Several more men with firearms appeared, all wearing different masks—ranging from old hockey masks to ski masks. One, for some inexplicable reason, was wearing a street cone, struggling to walk while pointing his gun at no one in particular.
Gabriella leaned closer to Max, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'd like to thank you for this wonderful night out."
Max shrugged nonchalantly. "At least it's not a mass shooter."
"And that's better how?" Gabriella shot back, her eyes darting around the room, assessing the situation.
"They actually want something," Max replied, his tone matter-of-fact. He glanced at her, a hint of concern creeping into his voice. "You packing?"
Gabriella produced mace and a taser from her purse, handing the latter to Max. "Always... But don't just go rushing in. I need time to snatch their toys away."
"Tell me when…" Max said, his heart racing as he prepared for what was to come.
Gabriella's eyes began to glow yellow as she started chanting in Latin, her voice steady and commanding.
One of the men wearing a hockey mask pointed his pistol at Max, his voice dripping with menace. "MONEY, NOW!"
The masked leader on stage hopped down to the table, and the lone guy, still sitting, drew his gun and aimed it dead at him. The cocky man smirked, revealing how heavily armored he was. "Come on, pal." He pounded his chest, a challenge in his tone. "Hit me right here and see how long you'll last."
The man shrugged and dropped his gun, seemingly surrendering, much to the masked man's shock. But as the robber began to laugh, the situation took a sudden turn. The man who had appeared to surrender wasn't surrendering at all; he grabbed the gas mask-wearing man from behind with a firm grip.
The grip was so strong that not only was he lifting the masked man effortlessly, but he was also leaving dents and cracks in the mask, making his opponent scream out in pain. The other robbers turned their guns toward him, their expressions shifting from confidence to alarm.
Unfortunately for the robbers, Gabriella finally finished her chant, forcing their guns to leave their hands and stick to the ceiling.
Just as that happened, the guy who had the gas mask-wearing man tightened his grip and slammed him face-first onto the hardwood floor.
Gabriella and Max exchanged shocked glances, their eyes wide as the chaos unfolded around them.
Max shrugged, a grin breaking through his surprise. "Good enough for me."
With that, he sprang out of his chair and landed a heavy punch on the hockey-masked man, knocking him down to the floor.
7 Minutes Later...
The bar was a scene of carnage—tables overturned, broken glass glinting like jagged stars across the sticky floor, and the lingering smell of spilled beer mixed with adrenaline. The chaos had mostly died down, though remnants of the fight were still etched in the expressions of the shaken patrons. Several police officers moved efficiently through the wreckage, taking statements from customers while others hauled the battered and bruised robbers out to waiting squad cars. The leader, his gas mask cracked and askew, groaned faintly as he was lifted onto a stretcher and rushed to the waiting medics.
Max leaned casually against the bar, sipping from a cold beer and wearing the faintest hint of amusement. Beside him sat Gabriella, her posture stiff and alert as she eyed their companion—a lean, self-assured man who seemed strangely unruffled by the chaos around them.
"So...martial arts, huh?" Gabriella asked, breaking the silence. Her attempt at casual conversation was painful, and Max's sideways glance only highlighted how out of her depth she was.
The man nodded, taking a long sip of his beer. His grip on the glass was steady, his demeanor calm despite the turbulence they'd all just survived.
"Wow, that's pretty cool," Gabriella said, her tone edging toward awkward. "We do a little ourselves. So, uh...come here often?" She cringed inwardly the moment the words left her mouth. Max's smirk deepened, and he let her stew in her discomfort for a beat too long before turning to the man.
"Max MacLeod," he said, extending a hand. "And that's Gabriella Heron."
The man shook his hand firmly. "Ryan Desalvo," he offered simply.
Ryan squinted at Max, his brow furrowing slightly as her name seemed to stir something in his memory. Before he could say more, a police officer approached, clipboard in hand and an air of exhausted authority about him.
"Evening, folks," the officer greeted. "Need your statements. Been hearing some pretty wild tales about Halloween masks, floating guns...one guy even said someone got stabbed."
Max pulled at the hem of his shirt, revealing a neat hole near his abdomen—evidence that might have been damning if not for the supernatural healing that had long erased any signs of damage. "He almost got me, but missed the mark," Max said smoothly, his tone light.
The officer nodded, clearly relieved. "Lucky man…"
Turning to the group, he raised an eyebrow. "So, all three of you took them out?"
Ryan puffed his chest out and grinned. "Yup. You should've seen it—straight up kung fu movie action. This guy took down four with just a taser, and I handled the rest."
Gabriella shrugged nonchalantly. "I got one with mace...and an old lady smashed another one over the head with a bottle."
From the corner of the bar, the aforementioned elderly woman raised her thumb in confirmation, a grin splitting her weathered face.
The officer blinked, his skepticism barely concealed. Ryan, sensing the pause, leaned forward conspiratorially. "And no, we're not on steroids, acid,or anything. We're just that good."
"I used to take testosterone, it was short-lived." Ryan casually admitted.
The officer stared for a moment longer before letting out a resigned sigh. "Right. Well, I'm gonna need you to clear out of here."
Ryan frowned. "I didn't finish my beer."
"Now," the officer repeated firmly, his tone brooking no argument.
With a resigned shrug, Ryan set his half-empty glass on the bar and gestured to Max. "Come on, I've got more at my place."
The trio made their way out into the cool night air, weaving through the cluster of police cars that surrounded the building. Ryan walked ahead, his hands digging through his pockets until he suddenly froze, turning to face Max.
"You wouldn't happen to be related to Duncan MacLeod by any chance, would you?"
Max and Gabriella exchanged a look, her hand tightening around his. "And if I am?" Max asked cautiously.
Ryan's face broke into a wide grin. "Then that'd be awesome. I'm a friend."
He pulled out his wallet, flipping it open to reveal a photo—Duncan MacLeod standing beside a younger man who bore some resemblance to Ryan, his features a seamless blend of Italian and African-American heritage.
Gabriella's eyes narrowed. "Wait, what did you say your name was aga—"
Max interrupted, his tone more relaxed now. "You're Charlie's son?"
Ryan's grin widened. "Yeah, and I'll take it as a yes... You MacLeods sure know how to fight."
Ryan clapped Max on the shoulder. "Seriously, though, I watched you take out four guys in ninety seconds without breaking a sweat."
Max chuckled, the tension in his shoulders easing. "Thanks. It's a family gift."
He gestured toward Gabriella. "She's pretty good too."
Ryan nodded, his approval evident. "Right. Cool."
Gabriella tilted her head. "When's the last time you saw Duncan?"
Ryan paused to think, tucking his wallet back into his jacket. "About five years, I think."
He turned to continue walking, not waiting for a reply. "Just realized, though—my bike's a two-seater. Can't give both of you a lift."
Gabriella waved him off. "That's fine. We drove."
They reached Ryan's motorcycle—a gleaming, midnight-black machine that Gabriella couldn't take her eyes off. Her admiration was practically palpable.
"Got a spare helmet?" she asked, her voice tinged with excitement.
Ryan pulled an extra helmet from his bike and handed it to her. Gabriella fished her keys out of her purse and tossed them to Max, her movements quick and deliberate. He caught them, staring at her in bewilderment.
"Follow behind us," she instructed, already strapping on the helmet and sliding onto the back of the bike.
Max stared down at the keys, utterly dumbfounded as Gabriella wrapped herself around Ryan like a blanket. The bike roared to life, and they took off into the night, leaving Max standing there, still trying to process her sudden shift in attitude.
To Be Continued...