"Junior burn the house down..."

[Gaston Marceau]

Downtown Seacouver
Washington State
Very Late at Night

The various bars, night clubs, and other late night establishments had closed a short time ago, those within only the owners, cleanup staff, and a few close personal friends. The only ambient noise on this section of street coming from vehicles whizzing across the interstate overpass. Basically, this part of town is pretty much deserted.

The relative calm of the night was soon disturbed by the roaring echo of overcharged engines, the screech of swerving tires...and bursts of automatic gunfire.

Light flashed across the deserted block as a jet black racing motorcycle crashed through the overpass guardrail, jumping down to the city street below. Engine revving loudly, the bike quickly regained traction, tearing past a red neon sign... 'Joe's' at a decidedly reckless speed. Up on the interstate, a Plymouth Superbird, painted sky blue, bearing the number 43 about as careworn as a stunt car in the Dukes of Hazzard thundered down the highway just above two hundred miles per hour. The driver comes around a bend in the road just in time to catch the motorcycles jump, and the driver throws the vehicle off the road at the perfect angle to tear down onto the embankment and screech off onto the street. Tires spun, throwing up a cloud of smoke as the Superbird tears off in pursuit.

The Superbird roars past Joe's only a few seconds behind the motorcycle...the occupants of both vehicles setting off a powerful buzz throughout the area as they fly by. Reaching the end of the block, the motorcycle whips around, the riders knee leaning far enough to almost rub on the asphalt. The rider thumbs thumbs a switch on one of the grips, sending a long burst of chaingun fire towards the approaching Superbird. Bullets ricochet all about, throwing sparks off the fairly well armored vehicle. The Superbird skids sideways, the driver using the vehicle to block the road.

As a cloud of burned rubber fills the air around the car, the Superbird's driver does not hesitate, leaping out of the vehicle, drawing a good bead on the rapidly approaching motorcycle...before tossing a grenade. THe projectile lands just short of the bike's lead tire, the explosion quickly lighting off the bike's fuel tanks and turning it into a speeding ball of fire that rolls down the road, hops a curb, where it then careens into a nearby alley and smashes into a dumpster.

The rider had seen this coming, however, leaping into the air, turning a somersault, and rolling across the road to use up momentum. The rider quickly leaps to his feet, pulling a pair of Desert Eagle pistols and opening fire. The Superbird's driver whips out what at first looks like huge pistol, but the explosive report soon reveals this weapon to be a sawed off shotgun. Both men dodge and roll to avoid the other's fire, and both take a number of painful hits as they tack and roll and quickly close to melee range.

The motorcyclist draws a positively lethal looking old Egyptian khopesh that crackles with some type of electric charge. The other man, however, draws a massive broadsword nearly as long as he is tall. As many jokes as the man in question has made regarding wielding a captured sword nearly as large as he is himself, Gaston Marceau would likely be recognized quite easily.

Mirroring the rage evident in both combatants, a low stormline rumbles in, ominous thunder echoing repeatedly as the first clashes of steel on steel are made. Powerful strikes resound loudly, sparks flying as the two Immortals bang away at one another with all of their strength.

This is going to be a nasty fight.  

[Immortal Methos]

The noise of tires, bullets and explosions brought the three occupants of Joe's to the windows, peering out at the fighting Immortals from the bar's darkened interior.

"Well, so much for discrete dark alleyways," Methos muttered to Joe and MacLeod. "Sometimes I miss the good old days. We tried to keep the world from knowing about us. Remember that? Less medical experiments and burning at the stake."

Beside him Mac glowered as he watched the fight.  

[Gaston Marceau]

Secrecy is all well and good, but everyone has a day now and again where they just don't care anymore. This would seem to be one of those days. At the moment, neither Gaston nor the Immortal he's facing off against have eyes for anyone except their opponent...all their concentration, strength, and downright rage is focused on the other.

Besides, there's more room to swing in the open street.

Powerful sword strikes continue, their sheer power forcing the combatants to zigzag across the road, spinning and pivoting about each other, slowly walking them back towards the overpass. Just as the two are about even with Joe's, a brief lapse in Gaston's defenses allows the other man to drag the flat of his khopesh against his sword arm. There's an audible crackle, Gaston's arm spasming wildly as the sword falls away. The cajun jumps back, trying to regain the use of his arm, as his opponent charges in to attempt a more lethal stroke. Gaston's survival instincts kick in as he grabs his opponents wrist and bends it over his knee, causing both bones in the forearm to snap painfully. As the other man cries out in rage and pain, the khopesh falls to the ground with a sizzle of electrics.

Both swordless now, the two Immortals concentrate on beating each other senseless. Gaston's nose is soon broken, blood pouring from both nostrils. He counters with a heavy kick to the side of the head, leaving a nasty scrape down the full length of his opponent's face. In turn, Gaston takes a series of heavy punches to the torso, each leaving a broken rib in it's wake. As Gaston starts to wobble on his feet, the other man comes in close, hands wrapped around Gaston's throat in an attempt to throttle him into unconsciousness. Gaston will have none of it however. As he gasps and slowly reddens from lack of oxygen, he works his hands between his opponents arms, squeezing and twisting viciously on the quickly healing, but still very badly hurt forearm. Once he has enough leeway to break the hold, Gaston drives the other man's arms out wide, then slams his head forward in a brutal headbutt that breaks his opponents nose, and looks as if it snaps one of his cheekbones as well.

The motorcycle driver is sent flying back several feet and collapses to all fours. Gaston advances predatorially, intending to finish the enemy once and for all. The other Immortal still has some fight in him, however, producing another Desert Eagle and firing two fifty caliber rounds before Gaston is within hand to hand range again. One bullet flays open Gaston's left shoulder, and the other tears into his lower abdomen. Reeling from the painful wounds, Gaston lurches into the other man, but has the presence of mind to grab the man by the collar of his riding jacket and yank him low...

..onto the razor sharp point of an old style Japanese tanto. The dagger sinks in up to the hilt, Gaston almost applying enough pressure to force the guard through and his hand into the other man's body. By the way the impaled immortal coughs and spews blood from his mouth, it becomes apparent that one of his lungs has been reduced to a tattered ruin. When Gaston twists the blade savagely and yanks it out, the other Immortal's strength fails him, and he collapses to the street.

Gaston uses the heel of his heavy boot to crush the fingers of his opponent's gun hand, then throws the abandoned Desert Eagle back down the street towards the Superbird. Murder in his eyes, Gaston stumbles in that direction, pausing only to kick the fallen khopesh far away. Finally, Gaston's blood slicked fingers close on the hilt of his sword.  

[Immortal Methos]

Methos held his breath as Gaston lost his sword and almost lost his head, but stayed rigidly by Duncan's side as his student recovered and the fight continued more hand-to-hand.

Then his opponent was down, Gaston's fingers closing on the hilt of his sword. In the distance sirens wailed.  

[Gaston Marceau]

The approaching sires might seem like a problem, but things haven't even gotten complicated yet. Gaston has barely taken hold of his sword when a high pitched shriek sounds from beyond the overpass, followed quickly by a jet black and blood red colored attack helictopter. Clearing the overpass with just inches to spare, the aircraft opens fire with six 40 millimeter canon, tearing up asphalt in a direct line towards Gaston and the Superbird.

Barely managing to avoid being shredded alive, the Cajun Immortal throws himself over the Superbird to land with a thud behind the battered musclecar. Meanwhile, the helicopter moves in low, hovering approximately two feet off the ground while two men in black cloaks haul the other Immortal aboard. The low drone of the rotor blades increases in speed as the helicopter powers up again and cruises off down the street.

Not to be outdone, Gaston forces the trunk of the Superbird open and produces an M60 machine gun, spraying approximately a third of the belt's ammuniton before the helicopter's turbo thrusters ignite and send it rocketing well out of range. The exhausted Cajun collapses in a heap, still holding the machine gun at his side.

If the situation weren't curious enough, three black Hummvees come speeding down the Interstate exit ramp and screech to a stop near Gaston. The doors fly open and about a dozen men and women pile out and start working furiously over the scene of the fight, clearing up debris, putting out small fires, and trying to salvage equipment from the destoroyed motorcycle.

The driver of the lead Hummvee, a very striking, and very powerful looking female, approaches Gaston and looks down at him, arms crossed sternly. The two engage in conversation, some of the snippets that might be overheard along the lines of "Lucky we caught up to you...Drake would have had your reckless a**...we'd have a tracker on them if you'd waited for other operatives to show up...revenge on your own time." To which a tired Gaston fires back things like. "Opportunity was there...took him by surprise...THIS close to killing the b*****d...not going to stand by while Sandra's killer goes free...reprimands make my head hurt...need a drink."

Even as the exchange is completed, the requisite number of police and fire department vehicles arrive on the scene. The officer in charge is quickly approached by the tall female, who after talking the officer into using a less enraged tone of voice, introduces herself as Special Agent Hawk of the United States Secret Service. Credientials are displayed and examined, and a conversation ensues regarding pursuit of wanted terrorists in posession of valuamble intelligence that is critical to national security and so forth. After a few minutes of explanation, the officer in charge sets his men to work under Hawk's direction, cordoning off the scene and assisting with cleanup.

MacLeod and Dawson likely won't know any better, but Methos would likely guess that Hawk's story is so much bullshit, considering Gaston told him he works for a company called Balance Incorporated.

What the hell has really been going on here?  

[Immortal Methos]

Joe had been filming the whole encounter from the time Gaston and the other Immortal started brawling with their fists, since it was the fastest he could produce the small cam-corder. As he continued to film from behind one of his booths through the front window his jaw remained open in surprised.

"Who th' hell are these guys?" he growled, not talking about the Immortals.

MacLeod, for once and to Methos' everlasting relief, was not rushing out to get into the middle of this melee, so the elder was able to put his concentration on the load of bull Hawk was dishing up.

"And I used to think my friends were trouble," Mac muttered.  

[Gaston Marceau]

The cleanup doesn't take too terribly long. Much of it is sweeping up debris, a ton of spent shell casings, bits of tire, plastic, glass, you get the idea. As the police and fire crews pull away, Hawk and one or two other Balance agents walk the street, leaving notices in mailboxes regarding where to send repair estimates for any property damage that may have occoured for proper reimbursement. There might be a few bullet holes and cracked windows here and there, but the majority of the damage was to the street iitself, where the asphalt had been gouged up by the helictopter's cannon fire...a department of transportation crew will have to be dispatched in the morning for that one.

Finally, the Balance crews load up into their Humvees and leave, although Hawk remains to lambast Gaston a little more for jumping the gun and not waiting for backup to be in place, etc etc. That completed, Gaston climbs back into the Superbird and paks it by a meter along the side of the street.

Opening the trunk again, he opens a suitcase that has a small change of clothes. He peels off a layer of upper body armor that's been pretty well pulverized beyond recognition, along with the shreeded shirt underneath. After toweling off much of the remaining blood, he tugs on a t shirt bearing the logo from the old THundercats cartoon and shuts the trunk. His jeans have one or two holes in the knee, and so forth, but that adds to the impromptu grungy look he has going aat the moment. After putting on a leather jacket, he shuts the trunk and examines the car for damage. It's going to need a day or two in the shop, but it's at least functional.

Now that the rush from thre fight and the distraction of the cleanup are over, Gaston realizes he's been feeling other Immortal buzzes since he arrived. A second's thought leads him to believe that since he recognized the low beating undertone of a particularly aged Immortal, he wasn't being threated at the moment.

He snickers slightly, imagining the look on Methos face as he looks back towards Joe's. At least he knows how to put on a good show. He grins and waves.  

[Immortal Methos]

Mac and Methos gave feeble waves back before the old man cautiously poked his head out of the door to the bar. He looked up and down the street at the last bits of clean-up before fixing fathomless eyes on Gaston. His expression was unreadable.

Joe took the time to pop the dvd disk out of the recorder and into a jewel case, then hid the recorder back in its compartment in the booth. He levered himself to his feet with a loud grunt.  

[Gaston Marceau]

Gaston gave himself a good stretch, wincing as several bones pop back into place. Hobbling slightly, not quite healed from the beating of moments before, Gaston moves up to the sidewalk in front of Joe's to face MacLeod and Methos.

"Eh...would it be too late for me to believably introduce myself as an Amway Salesman?"  

[Immortal Methos]

Two sets of strong hands grabbed the front of Gaston's jacket simultaniously and hauled him unceremoniously inside the dark interior of Joe's. "We've met already," MacLeod reminded him evenly, dark eyes glaring.

"Are you f**king nuts?" Methos croaked. His arm circled in the air, flailing as he fought for words. At a loss, he released Gaston and began to pace, muttering to himself.  

[Gaston Marceau]

Gaston chuckles darkly at MacLeod's response as he straightens his jacket. "A good point. Still, one has to try."

He watches Methos running around fretting like an old maid, an eyebrow raised. "Oh, calm yourself, old man. As much as people are killing each other over drugs, mutual wives, and just for the fun of it, what happened outside earlier will barely bat an eye for more than two or three days and be totally forgotten once Paris Hilton pushes the medical emergency panic button in her jail cell one more time."

He sighs and sits on a stool at the end of the bar. "All right, I'm sorry. I've been chasing that b*****d for the better part of a day since I caught sight of him in San Fransisco. Where am I, up near Canada? I'm going to be rather put out by the fact that he escaped for a good while yet."

Gaston eyes several of the bottles behind the bar, catching sight of some Captain Morgan Private Stock. "Is it too late for a drink? I'll buy the entire bottle for the inconvenience. Besides, one you you is going to ask me what the hell this was all about, and I'm going to get very very thirsty in the telling."  

[Immortal Methos]

"Escaped?" MacLeod growled, thrusting a beer into Methos' hands to halt the frenzied pacing. "More like he was rescued. Anything you break or buy, you pay him."

He nodded at Joe, who was getting down the bottle of Captain Morgan and setting out glasses as Mac went quickly to the windows and pulled all the shades. "Joe Dawson, this noisy piece is Gaston Marceau."

"Uh-huh," Joe acknowledged. He knew Marceau from the files, but wasn't letting anything show.

"What th' hell, Gaston?" Methos managed after downing half his beer.  

[Gaston Marceau]

Gaston's Watcher file is sure to be an interesting read, to say the least.

At any rate, he shrugs at MacLeod's way. "If anything's brokwn, Mr Dawson here can contact my employers' Risk Management Department. There's probably already a notice posted somewhere."

He thanks Joe for the rum and says. "It's good to meet you, by the way. And for the record, my exploits are usually not this dramatic." He jerks a thumb at Methos. "I just feel duty bound every now and again to make my esteemed teacher here question the wisdom in taking me under his wing back in the day. He was likely a bit of a bad influence."

After taking an introductory sip of the rum, Gaston begins. "This is going to be a long and doubtlessly complicated story, but I'll give it a shot. To summarize, I killed his favorite student a few weeks ago in Siberia." He points to the massive broadsword. "I took that from him after the lummox broke my katana, by the way." Back to the point. "Ardeth Sahib, the b*****d who just flew off, works for an organization who're basically the evil twins of my employers. In a recent confrontation in DC, Sahib killed the first woman I've allowed myself to fall in love with in two hundred years. When I caught sight of him in Frisco earlier, I became rather incensed, as you might imagine."

Gaston eyes the rum darkly before taking another sip. "I WILL kill him soon enough, but I'm half tempted to tear his head off with my bare hands."  

[Immortal Methos]

Joe blinked a little at Gaston's free talking of Immortal business in front of him, a mortal, then he looked at Methos with a scowling glare. The ancient widened his eyes and shook his head. Not me, he mouthed.

Joe decided to play "hard of hearing" and ignored the three Immortals.

MacLeod sipped his rum, Gaston's story only slightly softening his attitude toward him. "I can understand the sentiment," he said, "but our Game is not for the world to see. You endanger us all with specticals like that. Will he not face you in a challenge?"  

[Gaston Marceau]

Joe should keep in mind that Methos asked what was going on. It it weren't safe to discuss such things in front of Dawson, Methos wouldn't have asked. So nyaah.

"It would seem that you and Hawk agree on that." Gaston responds to MacLeod. "Albeit for different reasons. While my employers do operate for the good of the people, they'd prefer to stay out of the public view. Sort of like the CIA...you can know we exist, but we shouldn't broadcast our movements for all to see."

Another sip of rum. "As to the question, I doubt it'll be that simple...Sahib bragged to me once about being one of the few students the Kurgan allowed to 'graduate,' if you catch my meaning. Why kill me when he can turn tormenting me into a hobby? He's likely planning to pop in every once in a while, provoke me, and run off again either until I catch him or until he tires of the whole thing."

See now, he didn't say Immortal, Quickening, Game, or even sword this time. Gaston wisdom tends to return with his calm.