Prologue
I was on guard duty. And not the fun part of guard duty. Me and James were sitting around the table outside the only cell in this block of the prison. Charles stood about 5 yards away from us keeping a lookout, not that there was much to lookout for. The only game we could play was chess. James always wins that. We would always play winner-stays-on style. Loser takes next lookout shift. So far, James had not lost a game.
Charles suddenly looked very alert and his eyes were darting around in a panicked fashion.
"Charles, what's wrong?" I asked. He just shushed me and started walking over towards the door, silently. Me and James watched his progress across the room. Then James moved a piece.
"Checkmate!" He exclaimed as if surprised. I turned to see that I had lost another game.
Suddenly, a strange noise, very similar to a cat being choked to death, came from behind me. I gingerly reached for my assault rifle and turned slowly. There, standing in the doorway above Charles' body, stood a man in black shirt, red waistcoat and blue trousers. He also had a fedora on top of his head. In his hands he held two knives, both extremely sharp, unlike anything I had ever seen (even in my 9 years in the special forces.)
"Sorry about the mess fellas, but I'm afraid you're gonna have t'move out the way." He talked with a very wise voice, so wise I hesitated and nearly moved out of the way. But no matter how much I wanted to I have one job, stop people from reaching the prisoner. I started to slowly load my gun. The man just stood there.
"You can get the hell out of here man, we ain't got time for all of your fun and games, we got a job." James seemed to think he didn't mean any harm, clearly couldn't see that this man had killed our friend. I had finally finished loading the gun. I fired. He moved with the speed of light, angled his knives weirdly and seemed to catch the bullets in the air. I stopped firing and stared in amazement. James had finally got his gun ready and was about to fire, but the man, with a flick of his knives sent his gun flying into me, knocking me down. The man then flicked his knives and the bullets went flying towards James twice as fast as I had fired them, he stood no chance.
The man walked over to me, stared down and, with a look of pity in his eyes, kicked me in the neck. My vision went black instantly, but my vision came back soon after, even if it was blurry. The man was standing by the door pointing his knife at the lock and adjusting them slightly. The lock clicked and the door opened.
The prisoner stepped out. He was in his late forties, with jet black hair and pearl white teeth. I would've said he was Mediterranean, but his file said he was Canadian.
"I'm surprised you didn't take another year to get me out," his voice was slow and melodic, and his accent was very strong.
"I'm only here 'cause tigers causing trouble again an' Llama's worried. 'e seems to think we need you to beat her." The other man, speaking much faster and with a not very clear accent.
"Owl, do you really doubt my powers. You know what I did in the war."
"Right, Right, an'way, lets get goin'. More guards probably on their way now."
They flew right over the wall, leaving me lying by the wall waiting, waiting for more guards to arrive. All they would find was two dead bodies and me. Not much use to them.
