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We have a total of 23 episodes, and they're all available if you follow the HFS link.



The Fallen

Part 3

Scene 2 0

Brigitte Dumas hummed quietly to the tune on the radio, a pretty, mindless little tune about love and sex, such as is played on a million sets to a billion bored students and workers. Bubblegum for the mind, she flicked through a glossy magazine which told her in simple language what she wanted to wear, listen to and feel. Like most of it's readership, she dreamed the dreams they wove but realised it had nothing to do with the world. So she flicked idly and dreamed of a tall dark stranger.

"Excuse me, have you seen Maria?" the voice was deep and husky, she looked up into two deep brown eyes framed with flowing black hair. The man rubbed his neat chin beard reflectively.

She smiled winsomely, in what she believed was an entrancing fashion, "No M'seur, I'm sorry, she hasn't been here today," she seized blindly at fate hoping to prolong the encounter, "She is lucky to have such a handsome stud chasing her."

The tall man turned to go, and then paused at the glass doors. "Would you like to leave a message, M'seur?" she offered tentatively, desperate to engage the charismatic stranger. He turned and walked around the desk. Uncertain, suddenly fearful she backed away, "M'seur, a message?"

He raised a gloved hand to her face and smiled his slow lazy smile, "Yes a message..." she felt a dull blow in her midriff. She clutched at the man, fighting to retch while a slow burning pain filled her belly. Her vision swum as she slid to her knees, blood on her lips, clutching at her blood soaked dress. As her eyes clouded with death she saw nothing but indifference in her killer's eyes. "What better message than fear?" he asked the dying woman.

Scene 2 1

Maria, found her vision slowly returning, as the old church came into focus, she heard voices.

"Who is she?"

"I don't know? There are a few people I haven't met yet you know, MacLeod"

"Probably why not everybody's trying to kill you!"

"Ha Ha Funny man."

Slowly she focused on two pairs of deep brown eyes. She was aware of strong hands holding her gently. The man holding her had an aquiline face and a hawk nose, his hair was dark, short and tousled. He spoke, "I think she's in shock, she should come out of it, can you hear me?" His eyes searched anxiously for a sign of recognition. She wanted desperately to reply but somehow couldn't frame a single word.

She turned her attention to the second man, taller and broadly built, he had short dark hair that appeared to be wet, heavy brows and smiling eyes, a faint 5 o'clock shadow covered his chin. She was vaguely aware of someone else in the room. "Don't worry, my child you are safe here." Neither of the men had spoken yet she heard the words, softly accented, calming.

She spoke, "Who, who are you?"

"Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod," the taller man spoke, "And this is Adam Pearson."

"And you are?" the man called Adam smiled encouragingly.

"Maria Sanchez, from Andalusia, but I don't know why I am alive." She was scared witless, all the fight had gone out of her, all she wanted was to understand.

"Because you are an Immortal, like us," Duncan spoke grimly, "You will never grow old, and like us, you cannot be killed unless your head is severed from your body"

"Then he really is dead," a tear welled in her eye at the thought of him as he stared death in the face for her life, "Via con dios, Martin."

"Then you've met others?" Methos was excited, he did not believe in coincidence, if something had gone down Kokabiel had to be involved.

"My lover, Martin, I think..." she struggled with her emotions, Methos lay his hand on her cheek to wipe away a tear, "That bastard cut off his head and all hell broke loose, there was fire and lightning and thunder in the whole building."

"Where?" there was no mistaking the urgency in MacLeod's voice

"I ... I don't know, I don't even know where I am" she paused and took in a deep breath, "There was a ritual of sorts but I was dead already, and they tried to kill me again, he said I was his child, the daughter of God or some such. But he was just an evil bastard."

Nobody was arguing with that.

"Yes, he is, I am looking for him, do you think you can retrace your steps," Methos was deadly serious and there was steel in his voice, the burning anger and hatred had evaporated to be replaced by a calm almost psychopathic state. "It is important, we can defeat him and destroy him, but we need your help to find him."

Gathering her thoughts she calmed herself as much as she could, closing her eyes she nodded. Grief and terror would have to wait. If she survived she would have time enough, if not the least she could do was spare herself the anguish. "I will try."

Scene 2 2

Maria had more spirit than Kokabiel would ever have given her credit for, and a better memory. Even in her confusion she had somehow managed to store the direction she had travelled, and she took her new companions with her. They stopped off only once, when MacLeod disappeared into a building, only to return a moment later with something under his coat. These two men were as much killers as the madman who had taken her, but somehow she felt safe with them. To look in their eyes she could see what they were, and yet there was a sense of right about them. It was almost like a crusade and she would follow them where ever they went.

The wave of nausea took her by surprise, and the pain in her head felt as if it would never end. She watched both of her companions and she saw a shift in them that they probably never even noticed. They went from men to warriors, and she shivered slightly despite her own hot desire to destroy Kokabiel. The bastard was going to die.

Scene 2 3

Kieffer smiled to himself in thought as he admired the Katana's edge. Over two hundred years of use and still in beautiful condition. A testament to the craftsman's genius. Wasted on a fool like MacLeod. He nearly had him, next time for certain.

"That's the last of it Mr Strachan." The denim-clad man gestured to the now empty warehouse. All the trappings had gone, blood washed away and the cult departed. All that remained was Kieffer and his "clean-up" team. He preferred mortals around him, they weren't any more reliable, but the methods of betrayal they might use were less likely to prove fatal in the long run.

"Thank you, Jean, take the van to the docks, myself and the others will meet you there in an hour." Stachan realised there was always a chance MacLeod, would come back, maybe Methos too, he wanted to finish the job. He motioned to his men and they faded into the shadows, guns drawn. He smiled his predatory smile and stepped back into the gloom beneath an iron stairwell.

The white-washed wooden doors slowly swung open. A figure moved swiftly into the room. Kieffer felt the presence of another Immortal. MacLeod? "Welcome, Highlander, I have something of yours..." He scanned the building trying to place the Immortal as, he assumed, were his men. He could see them converging on the warehouse door through the shadows.

Suddenly he became aware of a second presence. Footsteps pounded on the Iron grille above and a figure somersaulted down to face him. MacLeod landed catlike, in front of him a basket hilted broadsword in his hand. "Shall we?" he grinned.

Kieffer smiled lazily, "Why not?" he raised MacLeod's Katana with a flourish.

Scene 2 4

The gunman eased forward cautiously, the machine pistol heavy in his hand. He was almost at the door, and still no sign of the intruder. Too late he heard a soft footfall behind him. Something struck his back, piercing agony flared from his kidney as he stared in horror at the wickedly curved blade which erupted from his chest. His vision faded as he fell to the ground. "One down," thought Methos grimly.

Scene 2 5

Kieffer opened with a vicious series of slashes at MacLeod's face. The other man parried furiously. "No gunmen to soften me up this time, Kafir." At last MacLeod's defence tightened and became less strenuous.

Ignoring the use of his former name, the black man drew back from his opponent, re-appraising his strategy, "A mere convenience, pest control if you like."

This time MacLeod was on the offensive, feinting high he made some energetic but tentative openings before dropping to one knee and lunging at Kieffer's abdomen. He was rewarded by the tell-tale resistance as the blade sunk in an inch or so. The other man stumbled back avoiding deeper injury. "You should be careful what you step on Kieffer, some bug's sting." MacLeod grinned as he circled for another attack. A burst of gunfire echoed through the huge building.

Scene 2 6

Methos threw himself to the floor as the bullets tore past his head. Two of the remaining gunmen had set up a crossfire from a gantry. Scooping up the fallen man's weapon he peered around a discarded oil- drum. The men were backlit by a window. Sloppy, he thought as he aimed. A brief squeezes on the trigger sent a short burst into one man's leg. He screamed as the injured limb collapsed beneath him. Another burst was more successful, the 9mm shells slamming the second man into the wall, his chest a bloody mess of torn tissue and shattered bone. Better thought Methos grimly, but knew he had one more burst at best and two more opponents.

Scene 2 7

Kieffer, was starting to sweat. MacLeod had drawn blood and was proving more intractable than expected. The moor hadn't anticipated resistance, just Bang, Dead! Chop, Deader! Oh well, he thought more than one way to skin a cat. Slipping the small steel cylinder from his pocket he slammed it against the sword.

Gas streamed out as he threw himself back holding his breath. Unfortunately for him MacLeod saw the action coming and sprung up to grab the banister of the gantry. The heavy gas settled harmlessly below.

Scene 2 8

The Ancient Immortal edged around his makeshift barricade, only to be met by a hail of bullets. One tore his ear, and he cursed in pain and withdrew. Two more he thought grimly. One by the door another crouching next to a packing crate. Pulling off his long duster, he hung it on his sword. Raising it above his head he heard another fusillade tear into the cloth. When it stopped he jumped up and threw himself towards the man by the door.

The man desperately tried to reload, but saw it was futile. Dropping the Uzi, he scooped up a baseball bat. Methos smiled, sword in hand, "So you wanna dance, eh?" The man executed a clumsy swing. "Well dance to this!" Swinging the scimitar in a vicious upward stroke he lay open the mans forearm. Clutching at it in pain he fell to his knees the club forgotten before him. Raising his sword, Methos drove the pommel into the back of the man's head, knocking him senseless. "I hope for your sake, I don't regret my clemency," he muttered. He spun to face his last opponent who was patently terrified. "Your choice," grinned the Immortal.

Scene 2 9

Kieffer crept up the Stairwell his sword held before him. MacLeod was somewhere in the gloom ahead. Where?

The answer came all too soon as Kieffer reached the top step. He barely parried the head shot and was rocked back by the force of the blow.

His other hand flashed forward, a tiny Derringer in his hand. The little weapon let out a hollow crack as the .31 bullet burned a path into the muscle of the Highlander's leg.

MacLeod's knee buckled. He fell forward unbalanced.

"At last!" Kieffer rushed forward sword aloft. Reversing his grip on the broadsword MacLeod thrust it deep into the other man's groin. Disabled by the agony of that penetrating thrust, Kieffer stopped dead in his tracks.

Grabbing the man's shirt, Duncan pulled him closer, "You were playing the wrong game, Kieffer, remember?" He pulled the broadsword clear, "There can be," raised it above his head, "Only one!" the blade bit deep, tearing Kieffer's head away and loosing his Quickening. As body and head tumbled backwards down the steps, a fine white mist arose spiralling around the Warehouse.

The head bounced to a halt at the feet of the last gunman, his horrified eyes went from Methos to the head, then back to Methos. And then as he turned to run, all hell broke loose!

Arcs of silver lightning flashed across the building earthing themselves in the ironwork of the Gantry. A terrible wind swept through the hall carrying with it a charnel stench. Death had stalked a Parisian warehouse and now the revels would begin. MacLeod felt the life-force ripping into his body, revitalising and rebuilding. Lifted high on a wave of euphoria he staggered arms and legs akimbo, his swords clashing above his head. The bittersweet taste of the Quickening, images of death and of the life he had taken. Lights exploded overhead showering all with broken glass and sparks. At last the whirlwind died, and at the heart of the dying vortex, the Highlander fell to his knees.

Scene 3 0

The door of the warehouse slams open, rebounding off the brick wall, as the terrified man stumbles into the light. Running to a battered yellow Renault he scrambles for his keys. Bang. They fall from his nerveless fingers as the door slams open a second time. He raises his gun in his shaking hand but the ancient Immortal is already there. The blade flashes down, slicing through the mans shoulder deep into his chest. The gun hits the pavement unfired.

As Methos kneels by the fallen man he feels the sensation of another Immortal washing over him. Looking up he sees a silver Mercedes parked across the road. Looking at him from the open window is Kokabiel, his face suffused with anger. The mirrored glass slides up obscuring the Immortal's features. As Methos charges across the road, the engine guns into life and the Silver vehicle pulls away. Coming to a halt his sword still bloody in his hand, the world's oldest man stares grimly at the departing car. One day, Kokabiel, he thinks, your day will come!

The End

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