Jibril was still struggling to decide which of the twin Azrael’s was the impostor, as the new arrival kept his weapon trained on his counterpart. “It’s over, Samara,” he informed them. “Surrender now, and I’ll promise to make it quick.”

In the blink of an eye, the other Azrael closed the gap between himself and the Clan leader. “It’s a ruse,” he warned Jibril, pulling him towards the exit.

“I’m afraid you overestimate the Princeps’ value,” the second assassin informed him, firing a shot that grazed Jibril’s shoulder. The Clan leader yelped, flinching from the wound, while the man holding him stood fast.

“Who are you going to believe, the one trying to kill you, or the one trying to save you?” the first man asked, as Jibril decided at last.

“Get me out of here!” he shouted, as his guardian pulled him into the next room, as another round impacted the wall. The pair slammed into a door to the adjoining room as the other Azrael fired yet again, just missing both men as the bodyguard yanked his charge aside at the last second.

“Keep moving!” the first Protean ordered as they burst into the corridor, a split second ahead of their pursuer. A pair of Aggaaddub guards rounded the corner and thundered towards them, as Azrael spun on his heel and kicked the nearest lizard in the throat. Its partner was still reacting to this sudden turn of events when the Protean assassin ripped the weapon free of the gasping alien before turning it on its previous owners, gunning them both down in a hail of coherent light.

The door behind them flew open as the second Azrael rushed into the hallway, only to be driven back as his look-alike opened fire once more, shredding the doorway and much of the wall on either side. An alarm began warbling throughout the building as he grabbed Jibril by the arm and dragged him away from the carnage.

“But why?” the Princeps wailed, “Why are they coming after us!”

“At a guess?” Azrael remarked, sending a few more shots behind them as they raced for the exits, discouraging any pursuit. “I’d say the Aggaaddub cut a deal with Samara and made you excess cargo.”

“Why would they do that?” Jibril demanded. “I’ve done everything they asked! They wouldn’t betray me like this!”

“They might, if Samara gave them what they’ve been searching for,” he pointed out, yanking him into a side corridor an instant before another Security team stepped into their path, blocking their exit. Azrael covered the Princeps’ mouth while they moved to evade this new threat, removing his hand only when he was certain they were clear.

“That’s insane!” Jibril hissed as they changed direction once more.

“Is it?” he replied, peering around the corner to see if the coast was clear. “You know what they’re after. Do you think they’d hesitate for a second to make that deal if it gave them the advantage? After their attack on Freya, do you think they’d stop at anything to get what they want, even if it meant betraying the Tu’udh’hizh’ak and the Eleexx?”

Jibril suddenly grew more thoughtful as he considered that, while Azrael pulled him towards another set of hallways. “We have to keep moving,” he informed his charge, as they changed directions once again. “We can’t let them box us in.”

Another squad of guards appeared just as the words left his mouth, opening fire once more, only to have him tackle Jibril and throw him to the floor as an answering fusillade ripped through the surrounding walls, shredding them like so much tissue. The Princeps screamed as another bolt of energy found its mark, while Azrael popped up just long enough to lay down a base of fire, as answering cries of pain announced at least some of his blasts had found their mark.

“Come on!” Azrael shouted, grabbing Jibril’s arm and hoisting him up during a brief lull in the fire. The Clan leader hobbled, struggling to keep pace with his much more athletic bodyguard. He was supporting much of his weight now, all but carrying the other man as they turned into another corridor, only to come face to face with the other Azrael.

“I’m afraid that’s as far as you go,” he informed them, as another Aggaaddub security team took up flanking positions. “You’re good, Samara, but sadly, not good enough.”

“He’s the impostor!” Jibril shouted, pointing at the other man. “The real Azrael would have never attacked me!”

The object of his ire sighed. “You always were a fool, Jibril,” he said. “Didn’t you wonder why you were here so long?”

The Princeps blinked, the question catching him by surprise. “For negotiations,” he said finally, but it was obvious the query had thrown him.

“There was never anything to negotiate,” Azrael replied, “for the simple reason you had nothing they wanted. No, you were here for one reason only... as bait. For her,” he continued, giving his counterpart a gracious nod.

Despite the situation, regardless of the danger he now faced, Azrael’s answer flicked him into the raw. “How dare you!” he snapped. “I am your Clan leader!”

“You are a puppet, Jibril,” the assassin said with contempt. “The only power you wield is what the Troika allows you to hold, and nothing more.” The Princeps rocked back, stunned by the indictment, while Azrael turned his attention to his doppelganger. “As for you, Samara, despite whatever face you wear, surely you realize there is no place to run to. It’s over.” The squad raised their weapons. “Surrender now, or else we will finish things right here.”

Jibril turned to the Azrael still at his side, his eyes wide in terror. “Get ready,” he whispered, reaching into his jacket and pulling out an electronic device. The Clan leader blanched as he realized what it must be, shutting his eyes and covering his head as Azrael pressed the button.

A massive explosion rocked the building as the wall behind the security team crumbled, bridging down with it much of the upper structure. Massive stone blocks and debris crashed down all around them as the Aggaaddub and their human assassin scattered, though many weren’t nimble enough to escape their fate. It smashed bodies to paste as Azrael grabbed the Princeps and hauled him to his feet, racing for the massive breach in the exterior wall. Smoke and flames licked the building as klaxons screamed, the building disgorging dozens of natives as they scrambled to safety.

A blue and red striped air car appeared from within the smoke, landing at the base of the steps as the other vehicles automatically moved out of its way. Jibril staggered through the wreckage, streaked with dust and blood as his bodyguard dragged him to the vehicle. A door slid open just before Azrael shoved his charge inside, pausing only long enough to fire off a burst at his counterpart who’d appeared at the top of the steps.

Azrael wasted no time resting on his laurels. Jibril found himself thrown to the vehicle’s floor as the assassin leapt inside, sealing the hatch and taking the controls. A moment later they were airborne, trekking west as the Clan leader staggered back to his feet.

“...what…who?” he struggled to get out, even as Azrael grabbed him once more.

“Get ready,” he advised, as the door slid open once more. Cold air rushed into the small space while Jibril stared in horror at the sudden drop. He started to protest, but Azrael blithely ignored him as he wrapped him up in a bear hug, leaping clear of the speeding craft.

The sudden silence as they fell was deafening, punctuated by Jibril’s screams a heartbeat later as the vehicle itself maintained course and speed and disappeared into the distance. His cries of terror were cut off a split-second later as they slammed onto a rooftop, rolling over and over until finally coming to a rest scant meters away from the building’s edge.

“Are you crazy?” Jibril screeched, stumbling to his feet. “You could have killed us!”

Azrael rose as well, brushing off his clothing. “It was necessary,” he told him. “They were tracking that ambulance the moment we lifted off. If we’d landed, they’d have known exactly where we were.” He gripped the other man’s upper arm, guiding him towards a doorway on the far side of the roof. “Come on, we’re not out of this yet.”

“Where are you taking me?” the Princeps demanded.

“Somewhere safe,” he informed him. “That’s all for now. Anything you don’t know, you can’t reveal.” He wrenched open the door and started leading the Clan leader down a flight of stairs when Jibril dug in his heels and came to a halt.

“...stop. Just stop,” he snapped, pulling away from his rescuer. “I’m not going anywhere until I get some answers.”

Azrael sighed. “We don’t have time for debate. We need to keep moving.”

“Then make the time,” Jibril snarled. “Starting with how do I know you’re really you, and not Samara? And why was she wearing your face?”

“For precisely this reason,” Azrael said patiently. “To muddy the waters and confuse the situation. I suspect getting rid of you was part of the deal she made with the Aggaaddub, so she adopted my appearance to get close. Why would you have reason to distrust the very person who has been guarding you all this time?” He paused, checking his chronometer. “Now, if I’ve satisfied your curiosity, I must insist we get moving. Time is not on our side.”

Jibril folded his arms. “And if I refuse?”

“By all means, go back to the Guesthouse if you wish,” Azrael shrugged, “though don’t be surprised by the welcome you receive. You recall what my opposite number was saying before we escaped, don’t you? That you were nothing but a puppet? Just how long do you think you’ll survive if you return to them?” He cocked his head, waiting for a response.

The Princeps winced and looked away. “And the explosion? The ambulance?” he mumbled. “How did you arrange those?”

“One doesn’t perform an extraction on the fly,” Azrael explained, “it requires careful planning and preparation. I would have preferred something less noticeable, but unfortunately, time constraints and the sheer physical presence of the Aggaaddub security apparatus forced my hand. Now, if you don’t mind?” he said impatiently.

The defiance had drained out of the Clan leader as the assassin explained how he had arranged his escape. With a weary nod, he asked, “Where do we go now?”

“I have another vehicle stashed near here, which will take us to the spaceport,” Azrael informed him. “I’m afraid I will need to sedate you to get past customs, but the hidden compartment will easily accommodate you, and you have my word I will revive you the instant it is safe to do so.”

“Is that necessary?” he grimaced.

“Only if you want to get off this world,” Azrael told him. “As of ten minutes ago, every law enforcement official on the planet was given your photo and told to bring you in.” He shrugged once again. “Were I in your position, I would wonder how that document was worded, and whether it included the phrase, ‘Dead or Alive’.”

Jibril blanched. “They wouldn’t dare,” he hissed.

“Against a human?” Azrael managed a weary half-smile. “Since when have the Troika concerned themselves with how we might react? Now, if you don’t mind,” he said pointedly, gesturing towards the stairs.

“I just... don’t know how our Clan will survive this,” Jibril said in defeat, as they began descending the stairs. “Even if we get off-world, what then?”

“Then we do as we have always done, play one faction off against another,” Azrael reminded him. “I have already contacted the Eleexx. We’ll pass everything we know on to them, including how they’re being double-crossed by the Aggaaddub. That should be enough to buy our safety.”

“Until they betray us,” Jibril said bitterly.

“We needed every advantage we could lay our hands on,” Azrael replied, as they reached the bottom of the stairs and headed for the street. They could still hear warbling alarms off in the distance, as he checked to see if they were clear before motioning Jibril forward. “We knew from the beginning we were making a deal with the Devil.”

“There was no other way,” the Princeps admitted reluctantly, as they crossed the street, ducking into another building as Azrael unlocked the door, “And it worked,” he continued, “just look at everything we’ve accomplished!”

The assassin said nothing in return, instead focusing on navigating his way through the disused structure, arriving at last at a large garage where a delivery vehicle sat waiting. “Our chariot,” Azrael nodded, opening up the main compartment before revealing a hidden space beneath the floorboards. “It’s time, I’m afraid,” he told the Clan leader.

Jibril wanted to protest, but the unyielding expression on the other man’s face told him it was a waste of time. With a heavy sigh he crawled into the vehicle and folded himself into the cramped space, with Azrael there to assist. Finally, he looked up at the other man. “Now what?”

Azrael produced an injector from his pocket. “Time to take your nap,” he said without apology. Jibril protested, his courage fading, but he'd expected this. Before he could say a word, Azrael pressed the injector against his neck.

One barely audible hiss later, everything went black.

Jibril awoke sometime later, confused and disoriented by the drugs. He was on a ship’s bunk, the engine humming away as it swept through space. He could hear the steady pulse of life support, so rising to his feet he stumbled his way to the head and splashed some water on his face.

That done, he made his way forward to the bridge. He needed to know where they were headed in case the worst happened to Azrael. He could pilot the ship if he had to, even if it had been a while, and…

His eyes went wide at the sight of Samara sitting in the control seat. She looked over at him and chuckled.

“Well, I guess this is one of those ‘Good News/Bad News’ situations,” she grinned. “The good news is we’re clear of the planet, and so far, no one seems to have realized we’re gone. The bad news is…”

She raised her weapon, pointing it at the former Clan leader. “...I have a few friends who are just dying to meet you.”