It was low, raspy, and muffled. It spread through the alley like an ominous shadow.

     Ben opened his eyes, still breathing heavily, "Who's there?"

     There was no response from the shadow-ridden darkness of the alley. Ben pushed himself into a standing position, keeping a tight grip on the suitcase. There was nothing but a still silence, with the only noise being his own breathing. It echoed off of the walls, but within a couple of moments he heard the raspy noise of another. Its breathing overtook the sound of Ben's, and it sounded hollow; inhuman.

     "Show yourself!" Ben shouted, pulling a gun from the lab coat he was wearing.

     Several feet in front of him, while his eyes adjusted to the dim light, a silhouette could be made out. He was tall, and thick muscles rippled underneath a thick, Kevlar-based, vest. His face was obscured, but the outline of a thick object seemed to imply a mask.

     "Who are you?" asked Ben, into the darkness.

     The figure tilted his head, non-responsive to Ben's demands.

     Fear crept into Ben's heart, something didn't seem right, "I asked you a question!"

     Again, the figure was unresponsive.

     "Tell me who you are!" Ben screamed, while he held up his gun and cocked it.

     The figure stepped forward, and the dim light illuminated the head. Ben took a step back as, not a face, but an old-fashioned gas mask came into view. Two, round, eerie eyes gazed at Ben from underneath the tattered leather material. The figure wore a suit consisting of thick gloves, a belt with canisters, and several wires running around the Kevlar vest.

     Ben began to back away because the situation was turning stale. The breathing from the figure in front of him was deafening when compared to silence. When Ben backed away, the figure took a step forward. Immediately, Ben fired a warning shot at the wall to indicate that he meant business. The figure stopped, and he held up a gloved hand.

     "Now, now," the figure finally spoke, with a tone of pity. "We wouldn't want to turn this place into a war zone..."

     The gas mask's voice sounded muffled and mechanical. None of it seemed natural, and that scared Ben.

     "You're here for the stone," Ben whispered, "aren't you?"

     The figure tilted his head back, "I'm afraid so."

     "Are you going to kill me?" pried Ben.

     "Oh, no," the figure consoled. "But, like everything else, the plan can change..."

     "What plan?" asked Ben. "Who sent you!?"

     "That is of no importance," the figure dismissed. "All I need now is for your compliance."

     There was a standoff between the two. Ben stared into the two, gaping circles that were his adversary's eyes. He must've tracked Ben to know that he would be at that location at that time. It was all part of a plan, and it was a plan that Ben had easily played into.

     "Tell me who you are," demanded Ben again.

     "Oh," the figure chuckled, starting to walk toward Ben, "I'm fairly certain you already know who I am."

     Ben knew what was coming next: he had to defend the stone. The figure lunged at Ben as he fired several shots. All of the bullets vanished into the vest, and the man grabbed him by the neck. He hoisted him upward, blocking all the air from his lungs. The strength the man in the mask wielded was extraordinary.

     "This is not the time for fear," the figure taunted. "I pity your...arrogance."

     He threw Ben against the wall, and he slid down gasping. Pain rippled like a wave through his upper back,and the wind had been violently jarred from his lungs.

     "No!" Ben yelled, as the figure picked up the fallen suitcase.

     He turned, his voice coming out in its muffled, robotic way, "Mr. Cain, it would truly pain me if I did have to kill you. I see so much potential in your craft."

     "Come back!" Ben pushed himself up and threw himself at the man.

     He swung his arm out and punched Ben square in the chest. Then, he kicked upward and Ben was sent to the ground coughing. The man in the mask set the suitcase down and punched Ben in the face, which sent him rolling back several feet. He tried to stand up and fight, but his opposer had already grabbed him by the shirt and thrown him against the wall. Ben fell to his knees, the man grabbing him and hoisting him upwards once more.

     "Do not try my patience Mr. Cain," the figure whispered. "You will find that it is a virtue I have yet to master."

     He punched Ben in the face, and his head snapped back. Pain exploded and stars flooded Ben's field of vision as he was punched again. His body went numb, and his consciousness somewhat detached from reality. The man dropped Ben's limp body to the ground, picking up the suitcase again. His job had been completed: he had extracted the Stone of Ascension from Benedict Cain.

     Ben, on the verge of unconsciousness, began to crawl towards the man in the mask, anger and resentment building inside of him.

      "Damn you to hell," Ben spat, blood dripping down his chin.

     "I wouldn't come any closer, I'd rather we didn't make any more of a mess than we already have," the man taunted.

     Ben looked up.

     "I'd prefer you not see the fate of some of my...other victims," the man turned away and walked off into the night. "They knew not the element of gold."

     That was when Ben knew. Something inside of him automatically knew; something deep.

     The figure was the Silver Assassin.

     He walked away, disappearing out of the alley. Ben lay, grunting under the extreme measures of the pain. His body screamed for him to not move, but Ben had to move. He remembered Diana, and he remembered his daughter. Through all the pain, and all of the red-hot physical turmoil he was experiencing, Ben could see...his family.

     "No!" Ben screamed, getting up.

     His vision was blurred by his injuries, but he saw the dark silhouette of a man stop and turn.

     "Impossible," a muffled, robotic voice whispered.

     Ben reached into his pocket and pulled out both guns. He briskly walked toward the Silver Assassin at the end of the alley, holding up the weapons. The pain seemed to fade as the air exploded around him with the clap of firing ammunition. Each bullet disappeared into the Kevlar vest, but the force pushed him back a couple steps.

     "Stop!" the Silver Assassin moaned, dropping the suitcase. "Out of my way!"

     One of the bullets hit a canister clipped to the assassin's belt. It punctured, and out sprayed a silvery spray that immediately stained the surrounding area. The silver reaction spread across the ground, looking like freezing ice as it did. While he backed down, Ben swooped in and snatched the metal briefcase.

     From then on, everything was a blur.

     Ben was running back to his hotel. He was sprinting through the streets, ignoring the agonizing pain that each step brought. Ben was entering the motel and collapsing into the bathroom. He was looking into the mirror, but all he could see was a bloodied mess.

     Then, there was nothing.