This time, he didn't relish the feel of it; in fact this was very unlike all the others.

He sensed uneasiness in the calm of these streets and structures in a way hed never experienced before. This town was different and it put Murdock on edge, filling him with a loss of control he didn't like. Murdock was always in control; he flawlessly played the tune of death and every opponent had fallen before him. Many times, it was over so fast that his victims didn't even realize their last few breaths were only a futile struggle to find a weakness in his defenses. Murdock dressed as only a hunter would; in clothes designed to match his surroundings. His night cloak swirled about him, masking his furtive movements, making him one with the shadows. The rest of his garb consisted of loose-fitting clothes such as one might use in the martial arts, providing great range of movement and maximum speed. Not that he needed to hide or be inconspicuous, for none could match him, but out of consideration for the innocent Murdock chose to not be an additional cause of panic, only to deal with the issue at hand.

Before this unsettling night, he had been a steely-eyed machine who regarded every task as nothing more than an annoyance before moving on. He was a repository of strength and steadfastness unmatched by any who had foolishly dared to oppose him. Murdock was not overly large, or overly sensational in any visible respect. He was quite ordinary, the "average Joe", of the everyman variety who would go unnoticed by most people. You know the type; he could fit into any crowd comfortably and no one would take particular note of him. But he was cunning and dangerous, mostly because others tended to underestimate his appearance and his abilities. It wasn't that he was necessarily faster than all the others or carried better weapons. It wasn't even that Murdock had accumulated knowledge of long-forgotten lethal skills, perfected and honed through rigorous practice. Surprisingly, there was no special training he possessed or even a private mentor who had schooled him in the deadly arts. It's just that he had one advantage over all who had ever opposed

him; an inner recognition of how to kill, as if he had been born with a twisted gift for destruction. And to Murdock it wasn't a cold, calculating sense of malice or outright evil which some men seem to have. No, this was just a reckoning, a correction of wrongs, if you will. Murdock was responsible for justice; finding the one human aberration that stuck out from the others, made the most noise, and created the greatest havoc. Then, quite simply, he dealt with that source of evil once and for all.

Murdock glided through the empty places of the night like a spectral mist as streetlights provided mock havens of safety in every place their beams scattered darkness. Where he expected the sound of normal human activities, voices and laughter, vehicles and other common sounds, there was clearly nothing but his own footsteps reverberating among dark homes and dim alleyways. He reminded himself that he wasn't afraid anymore, that he had learned to push the butterflies and nervousness deep inside long ago. That way, when it all started, nothing would hinder his work. There would be no conscience to get in his way, no hesitation to hamper the fluidity of his movements. Mostly, his duties were carried out quietly, but tonight he couldn't decipher the reason for the strange uneasiness he felt as he inched closer to his target. Before the hunt began, there tended to be a nagging sense of wrong which guided him to the person responsible for his unrest. Then it became a dull ache in his bones, building to a roaring crescendo with every step as he calmly narrowed the gap to his intended vitim.

Murdock used to think that someone from a strange faraway land had come to his parents and informed them their child would be different, tell them that he would be the one born in this generation to set things right. After all, since the beginning of recorded time, there had consistently been someone like Murdock. Each time that the earth needed moral repair, there was a "chosen one" in that generation, a champion who stalked trouble to the door of its home, kicked the door in, and

set things back in order by eliminating the source of that wrong, usually changing the course of human events for that period of history. But for his parents there had been no special messenger, no ethereal voice informing them that their son would be that chosen one. Even from the beginning, Murdock had exhibited an aura of danger, exuding terror without noticeable menace. It could even be seen early, in his childhood interactions with playmates and caused everyone to give Murdock a wide berth, like you would with a dangerous animal or deadly infection. He never questioned why he had to be the one to set things right; musings like "why couldn't he just have a normal existence with a wife and family" never entered his mind. It seemed he was truly at peace with things the way they were, and after the deed was done, he moved on to his next target. Yes, he was born for this. He was sculpted granite, virtually immovable and not intimidated by any foe; losing was not a consideration, for Murdock had never even been wounded in the attempt.

This night, the target's name was Achan Cadfael, a young mobster with a big ego on the north side of town. As of late, Achan had created considerable anxiety with his daily terrorizing of the weak and helpless. He extorted the elderly and weak for protection money, stole just for the thrill of the chase, and anyone who got in his way disappeared; he was a pestilence on society and needed to be dealt a lesson. Murdock intended to be the one to show Achan that lesson from which he would never recover. None of them ever did; see, Murdock wasn't a school teacher or someone tasked with instructing fools in proper etiquette and human decency. He was there for one reason tonight; to end it before this little nuisance carried out his foolish plans of conquest. He could feel that infernal worm of a man slithering through the expansive mansion before him. Most men would have to work a lifetime to gain enough money to buy a single room of this home, but Achan had all this and more, acquired purely through greed and cowardice.

Murdock would make it quick and painful as he always did. It brought him special glee to see the look of despair on the face of a victim when they realized there was no escape and he watched their sad little lives tick away. It wasn't because Murdock was sadistic in any sense of the word; it was just that his impeccable creed of rightness found delight eliminating yet another of society's ills.

The air had turned unexpectedly crisp and the sound of a rustling oak outside his prey's library window caused Murdock to visibly twitch. This one fact alone should have gotten his attention, made him turn back, but he was so focused, so sure of the ultimate outcome. Had he lost his edge and become weak like those whom he hunted? He quickly dismissed the thought for it was inconceivable that he, figuratively the personification of death, could ever be nervous when he had never been scared before. He didnt flinch when faced with any threat, nor hesitate when presented with any opposition throughout his long career. Most people wondered, how did he know who to seek out when the time came? What makes one man more evil than another? Why this one, and not that one? He had heard the same old questions again and again but couldnt explain the how of it. Murdock possessed an inner sense, an alarm of sorts, to pinpoint his prey, no matter the distance. Sometimes it was the rank odor of mens evil that he followed or a thick writhing darkness sensed more acutely in the victims immediate area. But this time was different; this time there was a roiling hum, a thrumming in his head that he knew would cease abruptly once the deed was done. It vacillated only when he turned away from that window, checking the shadows for others who must not know what was done until it was finished.

Achan, young and brutish was very pleased with himself; he had made quite a commotion lately, actually more of a statement than anything. He had any pleasure available to him a man his age could desire. There were cars, women, money (gobs of money), power, this gigantic home, but none

of them could satiate his endless desire for more. There was something that he just couldnt put his finger on, an indescribable something greater and grander he needed in life. When he figured out exactly what it was, by golly, he would have it. He reminded himself that just like anything else he desired, the one remaining item in his life he lacked, had to be something which could be bought or stolen. Try as he might, Achan had wracked his brain all day and couldnt come up with the answer. He had determined that this was a puzzle best left for tomorrow and was just about to turn in for the evening when something caught his attention outside. Was that a man standing outside his window? He stood there staring into the black void that was Murdocks eyes, and Achan instantly knew what it was he was missing. He knew what was about to happen; his time on earth was over and he was to die this evening. He knew that this man came to his little piece of the world to restore the right, to make things whole again. He had heard of this one; he had scoffed at the tales often and mocked the idea that every so often a person was born with the ability to sense imbalances in the world. No matter what the cause, whether ending a war or reeling in crazed tyrants like Achan, Murdock was the balance. Throughout all recorded time, it was his predecessors who had worked behind the scenes restoring the order of things. Thanklessly and silently they had kept the world from descending into anarchy and madness; and now the assassin for The Order had come for him. Achan was ready for him; in the back of his mind this felt right. Let him come, screamed from every fiber of his being. Something awoke inside of him and suddenly Achan felt invincible. The stories of this one, Murdock, did not deter the fervor and bloodlust he felt this moment.

Murdock stared through the window at another tortured soul. He had been through this scenario and sequence thousands of times. He knew what was going through their minds; some would scream and try to run away, some would actually brandish a weapon like they truly had an opportunity to survive if they resisted. But all of them knew from the moment they looked in his eyes, that tonight

was their final curtain on life. There would be no more lavish living, no joyful holidays, not even a chance to murmur a few final words. But then a curious thing happened to Murdock. The pounding in his ears got noticeably louder; the urge to kill grew much stronger as he gazed at this one. But while Murdock was giving Achan his horrifying, death mask expression, Murdock began to tremble. It started out slow, weakening his resolve and made his desire to eliminate this one, begin to crumble. Ridiculous, he inwardly cried out. This is just a kid, he rationalized. He knew that it was now or never. If he didnt seize this opportunity, Achan would slip through his fingers. And since The Order of the Balance was instituted eons before, this had never happened. No soul had ever faced one such as he and lived to see the next morning.. Murdock vaulted through the window only to be met halfway by an equally vicious Achan. There were sounds of grappling, joints popped out of place, sinews torn asunder and then two resounding thuds as both men hit the floor. It had never been like this before; no one had ever bested one of The Order. But as both men looked down to see their own life slipping away, it became apparent what had gone wrong. Achan laughed wickedly and said, You old fool, I was your replacement. This was to have been your last day. We have made a terrible mistake. I pray this age will forgive us. Through the broken window, Murdock could hear the screams begin, as the world slipped into chaos.