Perchance to Dream]

The heaviness of sleep was shrugged from her body as a great yawn and a still eyes closed stretch temporarily deformed her limbs. Isuelt pushed her back and her head into the sheets of her bed as her arms reached past her pillows. With the exhale came that euphoric sensation of falling back into a soft bed in total relaxation. These were the seconds that Isuelt cherished most, the few elusive moments before the dramas of life set in. In these waning instants, she could indulge in bliss, hope and happiness. The only disadvantage was the severity of the length of these moments; they were painfully near nonexistent.

Heaven usually ended with light stinging her waking eyes. But this morning, as she groggily and sluggishly opened her dark brown eyes, she did not readily recognize her surroundings. These were not the Spartan surroundings of her chamber at the Sanctuary. Isuelt rubbed her eyes almost vigorously and struggled to sit up. She saw the rich burgundy and gold fabric at her fingers, silken bed sheets encircled her body, which was without clothing upon later inspection. Her lips formed question words without sound as pulled the cool fabric closer to her breasts. The deep mahogany wood of the bedposts intertwined with cherry wood and gold accents sparked her memories finally. The light of the dawning morning forced recollection of her whereabouts. She was in a bedroom she knew well, very well.

"I-Maxxx?" The voice jolted her out of reverie, "Hey! You up yet?"

Scorp. She smiled, perhaps this sort of dream was not going to be so bad after all.

The big man came through the arched doorway, a cocky grin on his strong face. "Morning, sleepyhead. Get your sexy ass out of bed, huh?" He reached for a haphazard collection of dark fabrics on the velvet-backed chair next to the door and lofted them at Isuelt. The heap of black leather landed on the corner of the bed closest to her. "Can't have you forget what today is. Get dressed and get downstairs, we're heading out in ten." The Don Mega turned and swaggered out of the room, Isuelt heard his steps moving further away down the carpeted hallway.

The Pack Mansion. The Westside of Metro City.

She could hear voices downstairs as she was suddenly garbed in her black leathers from head to toe and in the hallway. Gonk, Stagmin, Kez, Stassi, Diego, Nikki, Darci. She heard the long forgotten voices of the first crime family of Metro. Isuelt grinned, she was already drunk off nostalgia. She hurried down the hall and cut the corner to round the staircase like she had done a million times before a million years ago. Instead of her boots meeting with downward sloping stairs, her body met with Scorp's.

"Easy, Baby!" His hands were on her shoulders to steady her. "Remember what today is. Can't have you damaging the weapon." The rakish smile highlighted his features, drawing her in. "We got the biggest hit we've ever done waiting for us today, gorgeous. And you...you are money in the f***ing bank!"

"What?" She shook her head, not knowing what she was obviously meant to.

"Today, Baby. You're hitting the Governor. Easy money." He kissed her forehead, "There's my girl. Now, why don't you go grab some breakfast before sharpening those blades of yours." He motioned to the dinning table, a bottle of whiskey and a glass were already set out for her. Along with an array of weapons: her swords, a crossbow and two daggers.

Very clearly, her job today was to murder the highest ranking official of Metro City.

"ILLEA, DAUGHTER OF SCATHACH, YOU WILL BOW TO ME," the voice emanating from the skeletal ram bellowed.

Isuelt nearly scoffed. Although she was unnerved that her true name was known, the request was almost laughable. "Yeah, I don't think so..." her voice was small, dangerous. Her hands, still without their gloves, tightened on the hilts of both blades. Just as Isuelt had never trusted the likes of magic or the supernatural, she was that confident in the philosophy of 'strike first and ask questions later'.

Bhaal's avatar made the first move: gargantuan, muscled arms lifted and reached out for her throat. A foul smell clung to his clawed hands. Her left blade thrust out in defense as she turned her chin and leaned her upper body back to avoid his touch. Isuelt felt her weapon meet with his flesh, it was unyielding and immovable. However, she knew she had struck her target for she could feel the warm blood spilling forth from the wound, slickening her armor further.

Isuelt grunted as the blade buried within this creature of Bhaal was trapped and could not be pulled free. The skeletal ram opened wide its maw, clattered with barbed teeth, and laughed. He laughed at this Daughter of Scathach as she fought for her life, possibly her soul. He laughed with a deep-throated snarl that only pushed the acidic stench further toward her. Isuelt winced against the vapor and lashed at him with her secondary blade. Her slice caught the monster just at the collar bone, and when she had followed through with her strike, his laughter was silenced.

She heaved her stationary blade free from his midsection finally. The Scathachian staggered back two steps, still assessing the danger from this adversary. The ram horns were teetering, his entire head was lolling to the side, slowly, ready to tumble. His maw widened, putting on a sickening display of serrated teeth and disgusting odor. His eyes opened wide, blazing red with rage at this tiny woman who would dare raise a weapon to him. He should have been dead, yet he was still standing. His head had nearly been cleaved from his body, yet he was still leering at her.

In shock, she lurched back two more steps, still brandishing her weapons which now bore the same foul odor as her enemy. "ILLEA, YOUR FATE IS NOT TO DIE, BUT TO LIVE. TO LIVE AND WATCH ALL THOSE AROUND YOU PERISH BECAUSE OF WHAT YOU COULD NOT DO." The maleficent grin widened as he started toward her with a voice that was not a single voice, but a fusion of many, "YOU HAVE NO MIGHT, NO POWER, NO CONTROL."

She let out a cry as she spun in place, being led by a strong leg. Her kick met his midsection and forced him back, back against a brick wall. The massive fiend fell to the ground in a slump, surrounded by refuse and garbage. The smell hit Isuelt's nostrils, she blinked and shook her head, trying to rid herself of the odor. Dark brown eyes sought out the odd surroundings, she was in a dim alleyway, it was night.

That smell... the WestEnd.

A muffled groan claimed her attention. She spun around to where she had previously faced the horned avatar. Instead, she saw a disheveled man, covered in trash from the damaged sanitary bins stacked beside him. Isuelt shook from head to toe as she woke from her dream walk. Quickly looking around, she found that they were alone. She sheathed her blades and stooped to inspect the man for injuries. He thankfully was not run through, as it appeared the trash bins next to him had received the brunt of her blade strikes. But she deduced that she had kicked this man and doubled him over like wet paper. He was nearly unconscious, but he would survive.

As Isuelt fled the alleyway, she made plans to inform the watch that an assailant had injured the man and that she pursued him, but could not catch the aggressor. She further planned to continue her watch tonight, but to find another Scathachian to join. She no longer trusted herself. If dreams were cloaking her sight, she could be sure of nothing.