Turncoat

Prologue - First Operation

Fire. Gunshots. Run.

In the streets of late 17th Century London, an assassination has taken place. The target: Captain Eyword of England. The perpetrators: Patrick Mills (Assassin) and Andrew Pier (Decoy). The method: Distraction with fire then assassinate with gun during the chaos. The result: Assassination successful, yet discovered. The reason: Eyword is a traitor who sold crucial plans to France.

"Pier!" screamed a frustrated Mills. "Run, you fool! Do you want to be shot?!" Pier caught up to Mills, who ducked into a nearby building. "They would never be able to shoot me," said a cocky young man. "I meant that I would be the one to have you shot!" "You would never be able to shoot me either." Pier fired a shot near the foot of a shocked Andrew. "Don't be so sure. We may work together, but by no means do I like you. You're a cocky, incapable youth of an operative! Your first mission would have been a failure if it was not for me! The fire was supposed to be in the adjacent building!" "Which building was that?" "The bloody barracks, you buffoon!" "Watch who you call a buffoon, Mills." "I am your superior and I will call you whatever bloody thing I want!" "Overusing the word 'bloody' a bit, aren't we?" The mocking tone in Andrew's voice infuriated Mills to the point of storming out, leaving Pier behind. Mills sprinted to the window and stealthily leapt out the building. Eyword's cohorts continued to patrol the area searching for the assassin and his decoy, but all passed the building. Another, more dangerous, individual, however, had found the young Pier. "Well, well, well. Andrew Pier, my old friend, how are we today?" Pier immediately recognised the voice and hastily stood up and aimed his pistol at the silhouette approaching him. "Friend?! You are no friend! You're a filthy, rotten piece of sewer scum!" "Still hung up on that maiden?" Andrew fires several shots at the silhouette in rage, but none hit their mark. The shadowy figure is too agile and dexterous. Andrew fires several more shots, screaming and crying while, with lack of focus or proper aim, continuing to fire at the foe. Soon he runs out of ammunition and gunpowder. The miserable broken heart drops to his knees. The smoke has cleared. His foe has disappeared...