Chasing people around Greece (Gar)

Silence reigned on that night, bleak and moonless with only the dim fluorescence of the street lamps to illuminate the city. Couples walked and talked, each a study in the uniqueness of human relationships. Not a one was visibly afraid of pickpockets or cutthroats, dastardly rogues that patrolled the nights of any large metropolitan area such as this. Then again, as long as you stayed on the main streets and avoided any seeming 'shortcuts' through the maze like alleys and side streets, you didn't truly have much to worry about. Unfortunately, the hero of our piece had decided that such a dark and unmonitored area was the best avenue of approach to his target. A simple pawn shop on the dark outskirts of the city. He had the entire thing planned out. He would approach from the side streets to avoid being spotted on any of the city's traffic cameras or various big brother security measures that were all the rage in Europe these days. While it meant he would likely have to deal with some less than savory interference on the way there, he hoped that after the third or fourth drunk and disorderly fellow attempted to rob him only to meet his death at the hands of something in the range of eight thousand gigawatts, they rest would give up.
Then again, people were stupid.
Even upon considering the classic axiom 'even animals learn not to stick their noses where it hurts', he still came to the conclusion that any vagrant he didn't shock was just as likely as the previous one to come at him. More so even, given that unlike animals, humans had an idiotic tendency to try and one up each other at great personal risk. Such a shame that. Isaac didn't particularly enjoy employing lethal force but several years in the military tended to instill the attitude of killing the other guy before he could kill you. Such was the way of the world, dog eat dog and man kill man. Isaac shrugged, perhaps he was over thinking things again.

Despite his well plotted out plan of entrance to the shop, he had yet to step into the dark alleyways his plan entailed. Instead, he was simply standing there in the street, leaning against a lamp post with a bored look on his face. Now was not the time to get lost in his own thoughts. That opened up the way for the likes of Nolan or Azrael to worm their way in. The two were oddly silent tonight, as though a sort of mutual understanding had been reached, a rare consensus among the council of insanity that seemed to govern Isaac's every act. Then again, it was possible that they'd been raging the entire time and he was simply so caught up in his own plans that he didn't hear them. On some level, it unnerved him. He wasn't used to silence. Then again, Nash had voiced all his protestations of the act several hours prior and was likely sulking. Isaac had taken a flight out from Atlanta to be here and the entire flight had been spent having an internal argument with Nash about the moral ramifications of stealing when he could quite likely just purchase the item instead. In a rare event, Nolan had defended Isaac, though he was sure the psychotic prankster only did it to spite Nash. Regardless, Isaac didn't like buying things unnecessarily. His bank account consisted entirely of hacked in electronic funds and luxury purchases would just draw attention to it. Especially a purchase numbering in the hundreds of thousands of dollars. So here he was, having flown out to Greece to find a handgun that may or may not have belonged to his deceased father. Supposedly it had belonged to Isaac's grandfather before that, but it honestly didn't matter.
Here was a rare act of sentimentality from the man.
He had no hate for his father, but he'd made peace with the fact that they were both dead and gone. Still, he'd invested a lot of time in tracking down this heirloom and now was the time to execute his plan. Gliding into the darkness of the alleys, he moved as silent as a mouse, preemptively disabling anyone he encountered. He could feel silent waves of disapproval coursing through his head, echos of silent protest from Nash over his use of lethal force on those hadn't actually done anything. Yet. It was a small addendum but it changed a lot. By the time he reached the end of the maze, several men lay dead behind him. It wasn't pleasant, it wasn't nice, but it was a far cleaner death than they were likely to have if they continued to live the way they were when he came upon them. Still, he couldn't call it a mercy killing, that would have been a shallow justification. He half attempted to before thinking better of it. He could lie to himself, but the others could see through any deceit.

Kneeling down, he dawned his gas mask and withdrew the phosphorus pistol from its holster on his waist. A mental countdown began as he surveyed the scene. No one around, not a single light on in the place.

3.

2.

1.

Two trigger squeezes and two shots fired, the first aimed slightly lower than the second. Each one found their mark. The first smacked into the street, causing a swell of white smoke to emerge. The entire place was shrouded in the gas. The second shot through the window of the pawn shop, filling the building with toxic smoke. He was glad nobody was inside, it was a horrible way to die. Slow, painful and unfortunately gruesome. Such a fate could of course be avoided if one were to immediately get out of the smoke, but to remain in it was an example of suicidal decision making. Especially given that Isaac's plan ended in setting the smoke ablaze. Blame an electrical fire and some volatile chemicals on some of the antiques likely filling the store. Rushing forwards into the smoke, his vision was clear as day thanks to his mask. Leaping through the cracked window, he saw a silhouette, female and easy on the eyes even through the blur of the smoke.

"What the hell are you doing here?!" He said in a voice that was none too calm. His voice came through the mask in a slightly muffled manner, a sort of reverberation added to it by the mask's microphone. His concern was genuine, if slightly hasty. He knew nothing about the woman in question. Well, that wasn't true, he knew one thing. She needed to get out of the smoke. Fast.

Anya jumped and landed on the floor, her hand splayed and her eyes fixed on the person. She stood, not breathing in the air as she walked to a window and kicked it out. Gas seeped out of it in waves, making the air much more breathable. The lights flashed on and the alarms started wailing, Anya dashed out and climbed up the side of the building. Her long legs carried her quickly.
Back in the shop the lights illuminated the empty cases, were the medallion and the gun had been was illuminated. The card for each read what the items were and prices. The young woman had looked about nineteen, but in reality the girl was much older than that a thousand years old and much more skilled than the average nineteen year old.
Anya slid down the side of a house and walked through a path in the park just as several cop cars came speeding by. The gas man would have been able to make his escape if he was fast. The girl pulled the gun out of her waist band, loaded it, and then put it back, safety clicked on. Then she pealed of her gloves, stuffed them into her jeans pocket, and she lowered the hood. Her hair was long and dark, slightly wavy. Her eyes, bright blue grey in her pale face. She was short, about five feet five inches, but it only made her more dangerous, mortals always seemed to underestimate the short people.
Anya looked at the medallion in her hand, the metal warmed under her skin. The lettering glowed faintly under the unicorn's touch. She dropped it under her shirt and started walking down the path, hands in jeans pockets.