It was time, he'd been watching the minutes on his watch tick by for what seemed an eternity, the noisy bar chaotic around him. Surfacing from his thoughts he abruptly stood up, walking over to the doors he noticed an argument, near to the doorway stood a beautiful woman, her long blonde hair and high cheekbones accenting her features, as he drew closer he noticed that she was arguing, quite heatedly, with one of the Club's bartenders. From previous trips to Club 71, by far his favourite place to drink, he thought the bartender's name was Dimitri, though he couldn't bring his second name to mind. He hesitated at the door, wondering if he should see what was the problem, but he as his watch beeped the hour he realised he must be leaving, his employer would not tolerate any delay to schedule.

Grabbing his coat he strode out of the club, putting the girl to the back of his mind. As soon as he stepped from the cover of the bridge, under which was built the Club 71, he was hit by the full ferocity of the wind and rain. Pulling his coat tighter about his lean frame he leaned forward into the wind and stomped out into the night, muttering to himself under his breath. He couldn't wait to get below grounds, thankfull that, for once, his assignment didn't require him to walk across the sprawling city of Paris. Instead he headed across the street, dodging quickly to the side to avoid a car, it's quiet whine making it hard to hear, and visibility during a Parisien storm was little to none.

He quickly made his way down the steps, jumping the last two in his eagerness to be out of the dreadful weather. In the short time he'd been in the rain, what must have been but a few minutes, he had been drenched, though his coat was waterproofed it was still soaked through, and without a hood the water had run down his back, sticking his shirt to his skin. Standing in the warmth for a few minutes he allowed himself to dry. The water running down his sharp, angular face, drips falling from his short black hair onto the floor. Shaking himself he put his coat back on, wet though it was, and set off once more, this time travelling through the subterranean world. He walked on, his thoughts drifting back to his past, he remembered a book he'd once seen, pictures of Paris as it had been. Not a long time ago, only sixty years, maybe less, but in the short time Paris had changed drastically. The pictures showed a city aboveground, with only the Metro being below it, the boundaries were flowing and open. Now, although much of the aboveground city remained unchanged, it was hemmed in by high walls, through which there stood only carefully contolled entrances and exits. With the boundries in place the city had continued to expand, but in a new way, a whole new layer to it had been built underneath it, most of which were commercial centres, above ground remained housing and offices, the most prominant was the towering Avalon office. Posters of the Vice-President, Paul Dellenbach he thought the man's name was, littered the underground tunnel.

Thoughts snapping back to the present he realised he had arrived, a small unmarked door stood in front of him, a small brass plate on the wall beside it proclaimed the owner of the house to be a Mr. Jhon Fiorella. Knocking on the door loudly the man stood to patiently, after a couple of minutes the door was opened by, what is to be presumed, Mr. Fiorella.
"Here on time for once," the heavy-set man grumbled, "that's something at least. Here, take this."
The man thrusted forward a small envelope and vanished inside the door, slamming it shut behind him.
Slipping a piece of paper from out of the envelope he quickly read the instructions, then, slipping the paper back inside the envelope he burned them both, the ash falling gently to the wet concrete path.

Moving quicker now the man jogged along more tunnels, making sudden turns, darting down side alleys, the network of under ground streets like a maze of unimaginable size, yet instinctively familliar to one who was born in the streets below.
Now in a darker, danker part of the city of eternal night, the walls green with mold, concrete cracking and crumbling with the damp. One could be mistaken for thinking that such tunnels are never used. One would be wrong.
Though very few people know, those who do have a very short life span, the tunnels under the ground, the less commercial, are used as a theives highway. Over the years the Mafia have grown in power in those tunnels, extending them and connecting them, until, now, it is possible to travel from one side of the city to the other without seeing another person...and more importantly, without another person seeing you.

For in the city that Paris has become there are very few places you are not being watched. Cameras follow your everymove, always knowing where you are, watching. Since they were installed the cameras in these tunnels have fallen into dis-repair, and have stayed that way...that has been made sure of. So now there exists a means of travel to anyone who wants to stay unseen. With these tunnels under the control of the Mafia they have been extended, they travel far beyond the borders of the blue prints, beyond even the great wall surrounding the city above, smuggling has survived, and even flourished, inside the walls of the city, the carefully guarded walls and gates do nothing to stop the movement of goods, and people, in and out of the city. It is down one of these tunnels that the man travels, on his way to meet his boss. Someone he has never seen, though he meets him regularly. This time is no exception. As he slows to a walk he sees a bright light ahead, in front of which is a chair, he knows that within that chair, in the deep dark shadow, sits his boss, and he also knows that he will never see the face of who sits in that chair. Stopping just in front of the seat, his eyes watering from the bright light, he waits. Before long he is passed another envelope, as plain as the first, but this time it will not contain directions, this time it will have the details, his assignments.

Carefully tearing open the flap of the envelope he pulls out another typed sheet of paper, it's a list of addresses. Beside them are letters. Each meaning something different. Sometimes he only has to warn them off, sometime he has to kill them. Kidnappings and extortion, killings, anything that is needed he will do. It may not be a glamarous life but it does pay well.

Glancing through the list he is thankfull to see that he won't have to kill anyone tonight, although willing it is never a pleasent task, even when everything goes smoothly. Setting off once more, though slower, he walked through the damp tunnel, thinking carefully about his first task, how to accomplish it.
In short time he found himself at another exit up to the topside. His thoughts turned sour as he considered the rain. He'd managed to dry out in the tunnels, his coat only slightly damp, but as he stepped out into the weather he became drenched.
He could feel the icy water running down his back, his coat clenched tight about him he ran across the street and into a doorway. Luckily he didn't have to far to travel, his first destination was only one street over. Quickly he strode down the road, the occasional car or van whispering by, the headlights throwing his shadow into stark relief against the wall.

It takes him half an hour to walk across the city before he finally gets to his next stop. It's a nice looking place, even in this downpour, not far from where his night started, at Club 71. He no longer holds his coat closed, he can't get any more drenched. Idly he wonders if he shouldn't have taken the low road. It would have taken longer though and he is impatient for his bed.
He remembers there was something odd about this place, when he saw it written on the list. He quickly checks it, sheltering the paper from any more rain, and then sees what is odd, it's not one of his normal jobs, instead there is a small note written about it, but the rain has soaked the paper through and it is unreadable.
While he considers his options a noise from across the street brings his head up, slipping his hand inside his coat he loosens his gun in it's holster. There. A Movement catches his eye, someone is in the doorway, is it just coincidence he wonders? The movement came from the door of his next target. Then a passing car lights up the doorway, in that brief moment the scene is illuminated for him, the woman. The beautiful woman from Club 71 is being held by two men. In that moment he knows that that woman was his next target. He doesn't know how he knows but he realises he must do something to help her, to free her from those two men, whoever they are. He dashes across the street pulling his gun from his holster, he screams at the woman to run but it's no use, she's held securely. As he levels his gun to take aim something hits him. He wonders at first what has happened as he staggers forward and falls. Then he realises, he's been shot in the back. He tries to get up but finds he can't move at all. Dimly he hears footsteps splashing through the rain towards him and a foot appears in front of his eyes, but then that too fades and all that is left is the cold, the dark, until that too fades.