Story Notes:
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
Prologue-The Last Mission
A swift ruffle of feathers and a thud on the marble flooring marked the sound of the guard hitting the ground unconscious. For a moment all was calm before the clacking of sharp talons echoed through the small balcony. The massive bird, bluish-black feathered wings, white feathered chest and large crest of feathers forming what was often passed for a hat, the Honchcrow quietly examined the entrance for any other threats. When it was certain it was alone the Honchcrow's feathers quivered strangely, fibrous barbs closing like little umbrella's as feathers turned to thick, grey fur.
Now in the slender form of a Zoroark he slowly entered the building. The first hallway was completely deserted, moving cautiously he quickly peered around the corner, nothing. Focusing his thoughts he tried to sense any others in the area, a few stray thoughts hit him like pings on a radar. With practiced haste the Zoroark imagined large stalactites rising shooting out of the marble and intertwining to restrict their arms and legs.
A series of grunts and cries for help echoed down the otherwise bare corridor and he was off. At full sprint the Zoroark cleared the distance in a few strides and rushed through the doorway. As he got to the door he was joined by a Shedinja who followed him into the room.
Just he imagined the guards were all trapped by spires of stone and completely immobilized. They were pure illusions of course but they felt real and that's what mattered. Before going any further he looked at the Shedinja one last time, it nodded at him and without a second thought his claws started to glow red. With each guard they passed the only relief they offered was a swift execution, their binds fading and the bodies landing in heaps on the floor. When they were done the room was littered with four corpses and the grey marble tile stained red with blood.
Trying to detect any others Zoroark found only one, rushing mind. Clearly panicked that heir security had been breached so easily, and by simple Pokemon. Unfortunately they were far from ordinary. In unison they changed again, zoroarks fur slowly receding to reveal pale bare skin leaving black hair on his head, green eyes remained unchanged as they surveyed the mess. The Shedinja actually grew in size, pincers stretching and shifting from the pale shell material into flesh, the crescent that hovered over the dome merged with the crown of it's head as sandy-blonde hair sprouted. The head warped drastically as the eyes shrunk and started to sink into it's skull.
Avon rubbed his wrists as his transformation finished, the process always left him with a pins-and-needles feeling. The only clothing they wore was a pair of shorts that only covered the extremities. Their bodies were marked with various scars from countless previous missions, difficult missions, compared to those this was child's play. The only other defining mars were the three branched letter 'T' between their shoulders. Brands worn only by members of Tribe.
"Where are our clothes?" Avon asked, holding back a shiver. The predawn air was rather frigid without fur or feathers to insulate.
"In the hall." Carson replied with a cringe, his fingers still growing to full length.
Walking out of the room Avon found a duffel bag, inside he found a set of worn clothes, every article was jet black. Being little more than a a tee and a pair of jeans, they new from the briefing this would be a pushover job. Pulling out his last item, a glossy black nine-millimeter pistol, the barrel extended by a cylindrical silencer.
Just as Avon turned away Carson started to dress. Avon crossed the room, wide strides, swift and silent he avoided the bodies and made way for the door on the other side. The door glided open on oiled hinges On the otherwise a man was peering over the top of a desk, absolute terror on his face. "How did you get past the guards, their supposed to be the best."
Avon almost smiled, the mans voice was quivering, sweat ran from his brow, he was visibly shaking. He was apparently scared out of his mind. "The best aren't for hire." He said leveling his weapon at the mans head.
"No please, I have a family." The man pleaded.
Avon froze, it was the same plea he'd heard countless time before. It didn't show for the longest time but after all he'd been through the question became more prominent. How many families had he had an effect on? How many of his victims loved ones would be getting a call or getting a visit to learn that a member of their family had been killed.
Avon didn't have a family himself, save for Carson, his brother. They weren't technically even brothers, just genetic copies whose recombinant DNA caused the transformational differences between them. They had no mother or father or any other familial affiliations. The were created by Tribe, an organization that controlled almost every aspect of the modern world, whether their methods be direct or not. More often than not they operated in the shadows, give or taking power to whoever serves their purposes best.
Avon was an assassin created by Tribe, he was little more than a puppet to the organization, a deliverer of judgement, the final verdict, the angel of death. He couldn't even remember all the faces of men he'd killed, how many souls that were snuffed out behind a muzzle flare.
Avon hesitated for a moment, thumbing back the hammer with an audible click. Just as he was about to shoot a subtle Pip. As the man slumped over Avon was surprised to find Carson beside him with weapon leveled at the mans head. Before he spoke he heard the clinking of the expended shell clattering on the floor. "You hesitated." He stated simply.
"Yeah, got hung up on a thought." Avon replied equally as vacant. Still thoughts were coursing through his head, he'd spent his whole life ending lives but he'd never had a chance to live. At that moment he came up with a plan, a plan to get away from Tribe. Avon wanted to have a life of his own, he had a plan that would set him free.
Now in the slender form of a Zoroark he slowly entered the building. The first hallway was completely deserted, moving cautiously he quickly peered around the corner, nothing. Focusing his thoughts he tried to sense any others in the area, a few stray thoughts hit him like pings on a radar. With practiced haste the Zoroark imagined large stalactites rising shooting out of the marble and intertwining to restrict their arms and legs.
A series of grunts and cries for help echoed down the otherwise bare corridor and he was off. At full sprint the Zoroark cleared the distance in a few strides and rushed through the doorway. As he got to the door he was joined by a Shedinja who followed him into the room.
Just he imagined the guards were all trapped by spires of stone and completely immobilized. They were pure illusions of course but they felt real and that's what mattered. Before going any further he looked at the Shedinja one last time, it nodded at him and without a second thought his claws started to glow red. With each guard they passed the only relief they offered was a swift execution, their binds fading and the bodies landing in heaps on the floor. When they were done the room was littered with four corpses and the grey marble tile stained red with blood.
Trying to detect any others Zoroark found only one, rushing mind. Clearly panicked that heir security had been breached so easily, and by simple Pokemon. Unfortunately they were far from ordinary. In unison they changed again, zoroarks fur slowly receding to reveal pale bare skin leaving black hair on his head, green eyes remained unchanged as they surveyed the mess. The Shedinja actually grew in size, pincers stretching and shifting from the pale shell material into flesh, the crescent that hovered over the dome merged with the crown of it's head as sandy-blonde hair sprouted. The head warped drastically as the eyes shrunk and started to sink into it's skull.
Avon rubbed his wrists as his transformation finished, the process always left him with a pins-and-needles feeling. The only clothing they wore was a pair of shorts that only covered the extremities. Their bodies were marked with various scars from countless previous missions, difficult missions, compared to those this was child's play. The only other defining mars were the three branched letter 'T' between their shoulders. Brands worn only by members of Tribe.
"Where are our clothes?" Avon asked, holding back a shiver. The predawn air was rather frigid without fur or feathers to insulate.
"In the hall." Carson replied with a cringe, his fingers still growing to full length.
Walking out of the room Avon found a duffel bag, inside he found a set of worn clothes, every article was jet black. Being little more than a a tee and a pair of jeans, they new from the briefing this would be a pushover job. Pulling out his last item, a glossy black nine-millimeter pistol, the barrel extended by a cylindrical silencer.
Just as Avon turned away Carson started to dress. Avon crossed the room, wide strides, swift and silent he avoided the bodies and made way for the door on the other side. The door glided open on oiled hinges On the otherwise a man was peering over the top of a desk, absolute terror on his face. "How did you get past the guards, their supposed to be the best."
Avon almost smiled, the mans voice was quivering, sweat ran from his brow, he was visibly shaking. He was apparently scared out of his mind. "The best aren't for hire." He said leveling his weapon at the mans head.
"No please, I have a family." The man pleaded.
Avon froze, it was the same plea he'd heard countless time before. It didn't show for the longest time but after all he'd been through the question became more prominent. How many families had he had an effect on? How many of his victims loved ones would be getting a call or getting a visit to learn that a member of their family had been killed.
Avon didn't have a family himself, save for Carson, his brother. They weren't technically even brothers, just genetic copies whose recombinant DNA caused the transformational differences between them. They had no mother or father or any other familial affiliations. The were created by Tribe, an organization that controlled almost every aspect of the modern world, whether their methods be direct or not. More often than not they operated in the shadows, give or taking power to whoever serves their purposes best.
Avon was an assassin created by Tribe, he was little more than a puppet to the organization, a deliverer of judgement, the final verdict, the angel of death. He couldn't even remember all the faces of men he'd killed, how many souls that were snuffed out behind a muzzle flare.
Avon hesitated for a moment, thumbing back the hammer with an audible click. Just as he was about to shoot a subtle Pip. As the man slumped over Avon was surprised to find Carson beside him with weapon leveled at the mans head. Before he spoke he heard the clinking of the expended shell clattering on the floor. "You hesitated." He stated simply.
"Yeah, got hung up on a thought." Avon replied equally as vacant. Still thoughts were coursing through his head, he'd spent his whole life ending lives but he'd never had a chance to live. At that moment he came up with a plan, a plan to get away from Tribe. Avon wanted to have a life of his own, he had a plan that would set him free.