Rowena Logan had a bad feeling about the deal from the beginning, but Simmons had insisted she meet with them anyway. The Syndicate didn’t operate in North America very much, but they were out of her father’s sphere of influence and rumored to be some of the best information brokers outside of the infamous Banshee.net. The few Syndicate agents who did do business in the States were twitchy and tended to hire low-rent freelancers with a chip on their shoulder and too little to lose.

Much like the two thugs standing before her.

Simmons’ lessons had been tough but she learned every one of them thoroughly. Therefore, she’d already noted the strange pile cleverly hidden behind the trash cans, about fifty feet to her right, and the other two men doing their best to blend with it.

"Good evening, gents. Care to do business?" She flashed the patented Logan smile, and though she was no where near as good at it as her father, it still had a way of disarming people when she had the time and occasion to use it.

This was not the time nor the occasion. The two thugs maintained their stoic dispositions so she shifted her stance slightly, smoothed her armored trenchcoat and came to a halt about twenty feet from the pair.

The taller of the two, a bald brute with gold in his smile, grinned. "Calm down, girly. No need to go all Kill Bill on us."

"That’s good to know. Now: where is the disk?"

"It’s...around. Where’s Simmons?"

"He’s...around." Obviously the brains of the operation. She pulled out a wad of cash. "We gonna do this or what?"

The shorter man, a greasy, pig-nosed goon cackled. "I’m thinking ‘or what’. Fellas?" The trash cans tipped over, revealing an M-60 machinegun on a tripod.

Rowena sighed. "Idiots."

"Why don’t you be a good girl and hand over the money?"

"Why don’t you make an attempt at playing it smart before I hand you your ass?"

"Tough talk for someone who’s surrounded. You’re in the big leagues now, girly. Time to quit playing at the Game - this ain’t no hobby."

"Kicking ass isn’t just a hobby for me - I’m a professional," Rowena snarled, and she charged. The flash-bang hidden in the false wad of cash arced gracefully and landed in the middle of the machinegun nest, detonating in a violent explosion of light and sound.

While the newcomers were yelling in surprise and confusion, Ro had crossed the distance between herself and the original pair, thrown back the fold of her coat, drew her katana and cut the bald thug on the run. His guts were dripping onto the grime of the ally by the time his brain registered that she was standing next to him.

The shorter thug yelped in surprise, scrambled for his gun and let of a wild shot that shattered the window above and behind her. She paused long enough to give him another smile then stabbed him through the heart. The machinegun thundered to life just then, so she abandoned the blade and went into motion.

"A still fighter is a dead fighter. A still fighter is a dead fighter," she whispered to herself. It was a mantra, the first thing Simmons had ever taught her, and the only thing keeping her alive. The air just behind her exploded with every step, punctuated by the whine of supersonic rounds spattering against the brick. "You stop, you die. Gotta keep moving."

The goons continued pouring automatic fire in her direction but Rowena’s acrobatics kept her out of harm’s way and unscathed. The door next to them burst open and two more came flooding out, each armed with some kind of submachine gun that blazed more bullets at an astonishing rate.

She grunted as a slug slammed into her armored side. "Dammit! You guys are starting to really piss me off." Her arms flung out to the sides and two pistols appeared in her hands, like magic. She flipped onto a barrel, let off a shot, then cartwheeled to the ground and let off two more. The machine-gun sputtered into an angry silence and two bodies dropped to the ground behind it. The newcomers paused only for a moment, but that was long enough for her to launch into a diving roll that ended with her sandwiched between them. Her FN Five-seveN’s came to rest between their eyes.

"Morons," she spat. "I was trying to spare you." With that, she pulled both triggers, and two more bodies littered the alleyway.

"Some people just can’t appreciate a favor, kid," Marcus Aaron Simmons said in her ear. The sub-cochlear implant was working well. "Still, you done good."

"Thanks, old man. So do I pass?"

"You took a little too long in dropping those last chumps, but yeah, you passed."

"I have to say that I’m impressed. I heard Equinox’s brats were playing the Game but I just had to see for myself," a voice above her said. She looked up at a man in a nondescript coat. "You didn’t completely suck."

Rowena returned the guns to their holsters and went to retrieve her sword. "And who might you be?"

"They call me Paradox."

"Need help with this one?" Simmons asked. Rowena mumbled a faint ‘no’.

"What do you want?"

"I’m looking for allies. There’s a storm brewing on the horizon, and I need talent."

"Sorry, not interested."

"Excuse me?"

"I said I’m not interested. I was here for a reason, and that reason is over." She searched the bald thug for a moment before finally finding a compact disk.

Paradox jumped off the roof made an Olympics-worthy landing. "I can’t just leave it at that."

"Seems to me you have a problem, then."

"I take back what I said. I’m not impressed, I’m disappointed. Your father was much more receptive. He had manners; perhaps I need to teach you some."

"I am not my father."

"No. You, most assuredly, are not." He looked down, unbuttoning and loosening his coat.

"I am my father’s child, however."

His eyes cut back to Rowena, noted the steely glint in her eye, then flicked down to the remote detonator in her hand. Rowena pushed the glowing red button on top.

The alley exploded into brilliant flames.