Born of Fire

With a quick turn, he headed into an alley on his right. It was time he put a stop to this crap and got some serious sleep time.

Taking cover in a small, shadowy alcove, he tried to ignore the foul stench of the decaying garbage that lined the alleyway behind him. He’d grown up in filthy alleys like this one, with the stench of the street lulling him to sleep at night. He clenched is teeth in rage, the smell and memories doing nothing to improve his foul mood.

He may have been conceived in the gutter. He refused to die in one.

The steps drew closer. He tightened his grip in anticipation.

“Should we go in after him, or wait till he comes back out?”

He rolled his eyes at that puss of a comment. The speaker had been male with a slight Trioson lilt to his voice. Heat simmered in Syn’s blood as he prepared himself for the coming fight.

“You go in and see if it dead ends. He might’ve already escaped us.”

“Me?” the voice cracked.

“Just do it!”

A grimy, middle-aged human male stumbled into the alley like someone had shoved him. Unlike his own eyes, which saw better at night than in the day, Syn knew the short, fat man would have to wait a few minutes before his eyes adjusted to the pitch darkness.

A smile curved his lips. How would the fat, little rodent react when he learned only three feet separated them?

“Looks good for your funeral, huh?” Syn taunted.

The man jerked around, trying to focus his eyes at the darkened alcove shielding Syn.

As the man reached for his blaster, Syn caught his arm. He jerked the weapon from the man’s hip and tossed it across the alley into a Dumpster where it landed with an echoing clatter.

“Durrin!” the man shouted, his voice shaking.

Syn shoved the man away from him and turned to face a dark, Partini male who led the four other humans toward him.

An ugly, orange-fleshed humanoid, Durrin towered several feet over him. The snarl that twisted his thin, yellow lips would have sent most men to their knees in quaking fear. But Syn recognized scare tactics when he saw them, and there wasn’t much left in life that frightened him.

Still, it wasn’t often someone dwarfed Syn’s height and he found that fact a bit disturbing.

“C.I. Syn,” the Partini rasped in a deep accent. “You’re being remanded into Gourish custody . . . dead.”

Cause let’s face it, dead was just easier.

Or so they thought.

Syn barely had time to dodge the large knife aimed for his throat. Partinie had an aversion for blasters, but then, their dagger and knife abilities were such that it didn’t put them at any disadvantage.

What the idiot didn’t know was that Syn had grown up in prison where you either learned to handle a knife . . .

Or you died.

Syn tsked as the alien pulled back for another strike.

“You missed with me so close? What? You failed your assassin training classes?” He shook his head. “Did you even bother to show up? Or are you just that incompetent?” He added a little distance between himself and the assassin’s black, poison-coated knife. One scratch from that and he would die. Quickly.

And most painfully.

He scoffed at the Partini. “I feel I should warn you, I’m in a really bad mood.”

The short man returned to the side of the others while they stood back with the stupid assumption that Syn was going down under the Partini’s blade.

They’d learn.

“You’ll be in a worse mood when we haul you in dead!”

Syn grimaced in pain at a comment so stupid it didn’t even rate a snotty comeback.

What drugs were they taking? He hadn’t survived this long on the street to have these dumbasses kill him now.

The Partini lunged.

Syn easily sidestepped him and kicked him into the wall so hard that he recoiled off it and slammed into the Dumpster. The alien landed in a heap on the ground.

“Next?”

The others rushed forward to attack. Syn stomped the heel of his boot against the ground, releasing the blade in the toe and whirled to catch the first one who reached him in the neck. His attacker dropped to the street, screaming from the wound.

The next one tried to shoot him. Syn dodged the blast and the laser cut into another member of their group who died so fast, he didn’t even make a sound. Catching the guy who’d fired at him by the wrist, Syn used the blaster to shoot another assassin before he chopped him in the throat and knocked him to the ground.

There were only two left. The Partini and the fat human weasel who’d entered the alley first. The human whipped out his blaster to aim at his head.

Bored with them, Syn pulled out his own blaster and shot the human in the hand that was holding his blaster. His weapon forgotten as it clattered to the ground, the coward dropped to the filthy street, whining like a babe.

Syn turned around to face the Partini who’d now regained his footing. Double-checking the condition of the others, Syn saw that three humans were still alive, but out of commission.

The other two were still dead.