The man lay so still he could have been dead and to most of the world that is exactly what he was. Even his employers claimed that he didn’t exist.

The man was very good at what he did, he had prepared for every possible deviation from the scheduled hit. But when his finger curled around the trigger, even his days of painstaking preparation could not prepare him for what occurred. It started to hail. Ice crystals the size of golf balls pummeled his entire body with a ferocity even his very expensive body armor couldn’t protect him from. Not a typical August night on the California coast.

When the onslaught finally let up, the man heard a tinkle of laughter on his left. His gun came up and pointed at voluptuous chest attached to a head of flaming red hair and a pair of twinkling sea-green eyes.

The woman grinned with mischievousness more fitting to Puck than a knockout wearing impractical heels in a muddy forest.

“Hello Mr. Wannabe Assassin. My name is Tempest. We need to talk.”