The prize as a simple piece of mountaineering equipment, a pick axe roughly a foot long with a sawn off wooden handle and metal pick, nothing obviously special about it apart from a slight, brownish tint to its point. The blood was of Lev Davidovich Bronstein or as he was later known Leon Trotsky.

There was no time to waste; the job had to be completed tonight. There was a myriad of methods of obtaining the item from the case, Phantom tended to opt for the more elaborate or technical just to exercise his mastery of his profession but the window of delivery was becoming increasingly smaller. So he settled on his method of entry, scoring the glass around the lock and smashing it through with a compact chisel. Not the most subtle or skilled but the low tech nature and execution of this current heist had the opportunity take the limelight away from himself and onto one of his less accomplished brethren.

Minus the lock the large glass fronted cabinet swung open revealing the glorious bounty within. His gloved hands gripped around the handle and though he would never admit it a slight thrill surged through his body, it was quickly quashed. He slipped the pickaxe into a harness inside his jacket lining and silently left the room.

The prize wasn’t his usual faire for he tended to favour accolades that carried historical military merit but the though of acquiring one of the most famous murder weapons of modern history, he had to admit, did prick his interest.

After Leon Trotsky was deported from the Soviet Union in Feb 1929, for openly objecting to Stalin’s running of the Communist Party, he spent the next 16 years drifting from one country to another (Turkey, France, Norway to name a few), were attempts were made on his life. Before finally settle in Mexico in 1937, were he met his end on the 20th August 1940 at the hands and pickaxe of an undercover NKVD agent Ramon Mercader.

Phantom’s exit was no grand feat he simply walked out of room, removing he device and keys from the locks, meandered through the galleries, back down the flight of stairs. Bypassing the guard post to leave a small padded envelope containing a thank you note and a small tip of gratitude, it was always advisable to keep hired help sweet in case a future ventures required there assistance or lack of it.

He casually relocked the basement door as he descended the stairs, there was no point making his entry to obvious, the detectives need to work for there salary too. He spent around a minute to disconnect his bypass circuit from the fuse panel before effortlessly sliding himself back through the window.

He stood up in the shadows of the alley and dusted himself off. He took a cigarette from his pocket, positioned it between his bandages, the smoke filled his lungs with the smell of a successful heist. With his hand in his pockets and his spirits on high he melted into the darkness to find his buyer.

The basement was pitch black but Phantom’s night vision was acclimatising quickly, allowing him to manoeuvre relatively unhindered around the general clutter and box’s that littered the space. Within seconds he found what he was searching for, the building’s fuse box.

Gently scraping the insulation away, he exposed two of the live cables (one supplying the box and one leaving it) and carefully attached a piece of wire between them, forming a bridge. Now this was in place he could afford to remove the breaker which fed the main security system, without trigging its back up (or ‘black out’) supplies. He then removed the breaker that fed the CCTV system, no point leaving any evidence.

Now was the moment were he found out if the guard had lived up to his end of the bribe, conveniently going for an extended coffee break. The seconds ticked by, nothing, he was safe.

He cautiously made his way up the stairs to the ground floor and slid a mirror between the door and the floor, an empty security post and a disserted hallway, perfect. Phantom made light work of the doors feeble locking mechanism and prowled his way through the ground floor, always alert for any noises that were out of the ordinary.

Not trusting the lift, for its confined space and possible added security features, he settled for the stairs, senses at there highest state, testing each step before putting his full weight to it.

He wound his way through the maze of corridors and gallery’s each lined with portraits of the long since dead. Until he came to a grand set of heavy wooden doors and here came his first real challenge. The doors themselves had simple enough locks to them but they were synchronised, positioned on either side of the double doors, a design for two people.

Now it would have been easier to simply bring a partner in on the caper but Phantom mistrusted everyone else’s competences and knew of the temptation of greed to the weak minded, to allow anyone to tag along on ‘his’ heist.

The solution to this problem was found in an outside contractor, a watchmaker to be precise. Who, under phantoms designs, created a curious device, no larger then a matchbox with a slit running through its centre.

Prior to this heist, phantom had spent a lot of effort in blackmailing the curator, who had a taste for large bets on slow horses, and acquired a set of the door keys. He placed one of these said keys into the device then slid the key into the lock. Turning the device three times, it began to emanate a quiet ticking sound. Phantom strolled over to the second lock, inserted his key, and upon the count of three turned the lock.

Both locks opened simultaneously and the two doors opened, revealing the main gallery hidden behind.

The gallery was akin to most, easy clean floors, benches for the weary patrons, life size portraits of the great military leaders and row after row of glass cabinets. Phantom would of like to have spent some time perusing the various artefacts of war but his paid window was running out. The job was still at hand. And there it sat, pride of place, in the centre of the exhibits. The Prize.

The light breeze displaced the closeness of the summer night’s air which was oddly cooling as it licked the folds of his bandages. On the whole Phantom hated summer, the nights were too short, the days too bright and even in the dead of night it was hot.

He was leaning against a graffiti plastered wall at the corner of a blind alley, the stench of rotting garbage filling his nostrils which he tried to combat with cigarette smoke, the garbage was winning.

He had been stood at this corner for around an hour, the dog ends littering his feet were evidence of this. That was when the sign he had been waiting for revealed itself. A light from the building opposite was extinguished, phantom stirred, crushing the cigarette he was currently entertaining under the sole of his hand made Armani shoes and slowly strolled over to the building in question. And walked straight passed it, cautiously glancing up as he passed by, an innocent gesture from the point of view of anyone watching.

He rounded the corner and down a darken alley to the rear of the building, he was sure to pay a group of youth thugs to smash all the street lamps in the alley, to give him the cover of darkness. The stage was set, now for the play itself.

Lowering himself to street level he found what he was looking for. A small window barely four foot across by a foot and a half tall, the window to the basement. This was his entry point. Phantom pulled a curious looking blade from his jacket pocket and gently scored along the edges of the glass. Then, after taping a criss-cross pattern across the pane in thick masking tape, he gave the window a sharp blow with his elbow, a spider’s web of cracks etched itself along the glass, a touch thuggish for Phantoms usual methods but the goal was met none-the-less. He silently removed the pane and placed it to his side as he slithered his way into the tiny hole.

Grabbing a ceiling beam as he crawled, he pulled his body weight up until his feet were clear and the dropped gingerly onto the balls of his feet, sending a cloud of dust into the air. He was in.

The night out side was bitter cold, the wind beating against the windows, threatening to break in and reap vengeance on those inside for daring to be warm. The common room was strangely busy for an evening.

Sarah Nade was curled into a puffy armchair, headphones blaring out some heavy bass line while here foot twitch in time with it. Patty Larceny was lounging out stretched on the floor her fingers racing over the key pad of her mobile phone at a tremendous speed as she updated and re-updated her facebook. Vic was lazily playing solitaire at the planning table with a deck of cards with a suspiciously large amount of aces in it. Various other people sat around doing whatever they could to fight the boredom of waiting for a job, not that Phantom really cared what the others were doing but he watched anyway.

Phantom was sat bolt upright in his armchair, the only corner in the whole room that had it’s lamps extinguished, and the bulbs removed just to make sure, bathing it in a the warm embrace of darkness. His jammer sat idly on the small table, turned off due to the sheer amount of complaints he’d received from the other patrons of the common room. He wasn’t even smoking due to torrents of abuse that was cast his was, why were villains so health conscious these days, how times changed he supposed, it was there choice of coarse but why were they so preachy about it. So denied his few pleasures that were ‘socially impolite’ he simply sat there, gloved fingers interlocked, eyes half closed behind there blue tinted surrounds, he watched, waiting.

Phantom finally stood up from his chair, a slight groan emanated from his chair, a few face around the room flicked towards his direction and just as quick to flit back once there eyes met with Phantom’s. He slid his suit jacket off the back of his chair and eased himself comfortably into it, which was when he noticed it.

A scarlet envelope peeking out of one of the pockets, the seal of his employer stamped across it. Curiosity blew through the room like an unwanted draft; eyes returned to his corner as he sliced open the letter and quickly studied his assignment. A minute had crept by as a plan began to form itself. The room alight with hushed tones awaiting Phantom to proclaim his task, they were sorely disappointed when phantom merely grunted.

Removing his silver cigarette case from his inside jacket pocket he placed a cigarette between the bandages to his teeth behind. The curious looks became looks of disapproval as he lit it, a curl of smoke mirrored in the glass that covered eyes. An ember splintered from the glowing cherry, floating on an air current in the room. Phantom swatted it with the envelope, with the flare of a magician it burst into flames. Without a word to anyone he flicked his collar up and left the room, a trail of smoke marking his movements and a cloud of ash hanging in the air around his chair.

Phantom could waste no time, his present location had been compromised. The plan was already crudely forming in his mind, pack his things together, disinfect the apartment, burn down the building, form a new identity and leave Berlin. It was a little basic but he'd have time to work something out once he had several hundred miles distance from here. Then a second thought hit him, what about the job here, all that planning, everything was in place, ready for the taking. No the kid was a rookie but still dangerous, vanishing was the only option.

He would just have to send his apologises to the client, outline his predicament and dodge any bullets that came his way. He moved into the bedroom and started to pack. Opening a hidden drawer in the dresser, he removed a inch thick pile of deutsch marks, funds were started to run thin, he really hated working free lance. But most of the major families seemed to be more interested in the drugs trade or people trafficking, more money to be made in a shorter time frame. Times had changed and real skills had become outdated, he'd been replaced with technology, why break into a bank when a computer could empty an account in seconds. Maybe it was time he retired from the business.

Throwing the suit case by the door, he walked over to the chairs to collect the jammer, the man in the painting looking down from the fire place with almost pity in his eyes. A piece of paper caught Phantom's eye, "damn rookie," he said to himself, it was Janus's contact number, only then did the LED elluminate something on the paper, something not written but an imprint from the layer above. A single word. A word that to most was a myth, a secret society, an underground folk lore. For the second time tonight Phantom was intrigued by the rookie.

He took the scrap of paper and stared at the faint imprint, four letters that could change his future, thoughts of retirement evaporating from his mind by the second. His purpose was clear to him, he had to find her, he had to hunt down V.I.L.E.

“Do you really think that you have anything to offer, that will remotely interest me,” Phantom replied coolly.

The stranger shifted his weight in the armchair and changed the subject slightly, “First of all, it occurs to me that I have not introduced myself officially, I am Janus Denton,” his tone formal, almost like a sales pitch.

Phantom raised an eyebrow, “No official rate or rank, no department of office, no government title. Are you a small part of the mankind destroying system or just one of my ‘fans’ hoping to hear a tale from the old days?”

This dissection of such a simple statement as his name caught Janus slightly off guard but he kept his calm and almost instinctively replied “That’s classified but if you question my word and have the right contacts I come under the codename ‘Rook’,”

Phantom was almost amused by the robotic answer he received but he was already getting bored and this man was just a mindless pawn, there was nothing special about him, the intrigue vanished. He was simply one of the many brainwashed, government clones phantom had dealt with in the past.

Having not received any response, be it bodily or verbal Janus continued with his mission. “My employer wants your,” he paused “‘skills’ for a very specific mission, a mission that could inevitably change the world for the better.”

Phantoms answer was short and sharp “No.”

“But you have a chance to make a difference, to save lives, to actually do some good for the whole of humanity. A selfless act that will allow so many people to live free of corruption and fear”

The hearts and minds speech wears a little thin the more times you hear it. Phantom had been given it on numerous occasions and had yet to make any real difference the only thing he’d really changed was the bank balance of a few select individuals. Janus was about to press the matter but was cut off abruptly.

“If that’s all you have to say, kindly leave while you still have the legs to walk on!” His anger was back, the hatred he had for the world’s governments, the military, the various agencies… The system as a whole all came bubbling back to the surface, his gloved hands tight in fists.

Janus read Phantom like a book and his muscles tensed, not in an aggressive manner but in waiting for an attack that could come at any moment. He had been told, during his briefing that appealing to Phantoms morality, his sense of right, probably wouldn’t work but that was only his faint, and the game was still on.

He stood up and slowly reacted into his pocket, he could feel Phantom’s eyes following his hand and saw his feet shift there balance into a more sturdy base, a fighters stance, a cobra ready to strike and removed a small, crumpled piece of paper.

“If you change your mind, you can reach me on this number, it’s a secure line.”

He placed the number on the table and slowly made his way to the door, never turning his back on the masked man. “We’re not the bad guys, we are only out to make things right,” on that note he left, walking out into the morning glow of Berlin.

Phantom was starting to believe this man was not to be underestimated. Firstly he had tracked him to that god-forsaken bar (not overly taxing a relatively skilled tail could of accomplished that), to chase him through the flea-bitten back streets of Berlin (not really a merit of great aclaim as long as you are in good shape and have a head for thinking on your feet) but to appear in his home, that was a feat in itself both in finding it (ahead of Phantom's arrival) and gaining access. It is true that Phantom could not bring himself to install motion sensor equipment or thermal registration software or any of the new-fangled gizmo's his colleges tended to rely on but there was a fair amount of 'old school' security measure, it was evident this stranger knew his craft.


"I really wish you'd stop all this nonsense."


Phantom, now over the shock of someone daring to violate his inner sanctum, was instantly enraged by such a patronising statement delivered by a man who by all accounts had only just started shaving. "What's stopping me from killing you, right now," Phantoms words dripped with malice and muscle memory had his revolver already in his hand and trained on his target before the sentence had finished echoing around the dimly lit room.


"Absolutely nothing but then you won't find out why I was sent."


"What makes you think that I care," Phantom strolled over to a small table, sat between two height backed leather armchairs and removed a silencer from a concealed drawer in it. He circled around the second of the chairs, why he had two chairs was a mystery as this stranger was the first to set foot in it apart from himself, and slowly screwed the suppressor to the barrel of the revolver. He looked up from the pistol to the stranger, looking into his eyes, for once Phantom didn't have his spectacles on, so both men stared eye to eye.


There was nothing in the man's eyes. A persons eyes are the windows to their soul and this man had nothing. So young yet there was no passion, no fear, no... nothing. Phantom had known many killers in his time, men who had performed hannis crimes against nature, violations against human rights but very few were completely dead inside, this devoid of life. So much potential wasted on a government sap, with training and time, this man could become great.


Phantom was now suddenly oddly intrigued. The reason for the strangers visit aside, the man himself was the intriguing part. Phantom slowly lowered his weapon. A tense minute passed, second by aching second, a minute that spanned a century and Phantom eventual broke the deadlock and motioned to one of the chairs. Slightly perplexed by Phantoms motives, he man tentatively accepted.


"You will remain here," an order more than anything else and with that Phantom left the room via a side door. With the light from this side door and the artificial glow from the fire place the features of the room could be seen, for what it was worth. Apart from the two armchairs and the small table there was very little else to furnish the room. A hat stand by the door, a writing bureau position itself in a corner and that was it. The only decoration was a rather large painting hung over the fireplace. The painting was nothing special and by an unknown artist, it's subject was of some handsome military type, not overly decorated but what caught the mans attention was the pride and honour in the subjects face.


Phantom came back into the room a few minutes later, he had changed his clothes (a smart dark grey suit, similar to his drunks disguise but a more expensive material and slightly better fit), Phantom had neatened up his bandages and he now had a pair of wrap around spectacles that concealed his eyes. He removed a curious silver contraption out of his jacket pocket and placed it delicately on the table next to an ornate crystal ashtray. With that he sat down in the adjacent armchair, placed a thin cigarette between his bandages and began to smoke.


The time slowly clicked by and the stranger started almost twitching with the need to engage Phantom with what he had to say, this man, for all his skill was new and eager but his training in negotiations and intelligence gathering was controlling him enough to allow Phantom to start the proceedings, of coarse Phantom knew this and revelled in watching the silence choke his 'guest' into a near fit.


Phantom finished his cigarette and with an exhalation of smoke, he spoke in a harsh tone, "No more tricks, no more running, you say your piece and leave, do you understand?"


"I understand but once you hear what I have to say you may want to leave with me."

Once in trapdoor was securely fastened, Phantom dodged and weaved himself through the maze of barrels and boxes that littered the poorly lit basement, with some considerable skill given he was running at some considerable pace.

He burst through the back door of the cellar and onto a filth ridden alley way, most of the street lights had either been smashed by yobs or had blown and no-one bothered to replace, perfect for Phantom. He darted down the alley, removing the face prosthetics as he did, through lit windows, a strobe effect eliminated his pale skin and distorted features that was his true face. A fresh bandage appeared swiftly from a pocket and was hastily rapped around his face and head, given it was night time he didn’t bother with the spectacles (his eyes worked better at night anyway).

He crisscrossed down the labyrinth of alleyways, the smells of rotting garbage and the stench of the sewer met his nostril’s, that was when a figure stepped out from a doorway just ahead of him, it was the stranger, thoughts rushed through Phantoms head, the most prominent was how had he pre-empted his escape route given it would appear to be random. Plan B, Phantom spun on his heels, sweeping his back leg around to collide with some nearby trash can, it hurtled towards the stranger with an almighty crash, many of the darken windows above suddenly erupted with light and a hail of angry German cascaded into the echoing alley.

But Phantom didn’t stick around to see if his temporary barricade had hindered his pursuer, he had already scaled a nearby fire escape and was lifting himself onto the rickety rooftops, tile slipped from under his feet as he ran fighting to maintain his balance. He leaped across the tops of streets, from one building to another, snagging on television aerials and vaulting chimney stacks. He glanced cautiously at a sound to his left and there he was again.

This madman was chasing him across the roof; Phantom had to acknowledge the dedication this man had. The stranger was now running parallel with Phantom one street over waiting for the building to veer closer to one another, to make a safe(ish) jump. But before he could, Phantom suddenly changed coarse as if to make the suicidal vault to engage this assailant. But that wasn’t his intention. Phantom made the smallest of hurdles over the guttering of his building and with a cocky wink at the stranger, spun 180 degrees to slide effortlessly down a drainpipe. The stranger stopped and watched his decent through narrowed eyes.

Phantom was now on street level and used the time he had gained to his advantage. He continued to run for quite a while, doubling back on himself every once in while and using the shadows to make sure he had finally lost his tail. Eventually, as the sun crept lazily over the horizon, Phantom was happy to return to his safe house.

The safe house was just off of the beaten track, not to isolated as to set himself up for an ambush but also not busy enough to have salesmen trying to flog there wares. He removed two keys from his trouser pocket and slid them into the locks, counting to three in his head he turned them both simultaneously, there was a soft click and the door opened a fraction, his hand flashed through the crack and grabbed a thin piece of thread, no thicker then a human hair, the thread was attached to a fragmentation grenade. He quickly disarmed the grenade and placed is delicately on a wooded table just inside the door.

Strolling wearily into his living room, the place in complete darkness but he knew the layout well enough not to knock into the furniture, he knelt down to ignite the small gas fire. The warm glow flew through the room.

“What took you so long?” came a voice from the high backed leather armchair.

[Disclaimer] I do not speak German, so spelling and grammer my be flawed. If a german speaker wishs to correct any mistakes please message me and correction will be made.

The night was bad, the worst that year had seen. The rain beat heavily on the grimy windows, threatening to break in. When an occasional customer entered the bar the smoke filled air was instantly replaced by a bitter chill that ran through each patron as it made it's was to the back of the room.

The bar was like any of the rat infested cesspits that littered the back streets of Berlin, though most didn't have such a colourful reputation as this hole.

And slumped at the corner of the bar, slightly apart from the other regulars and furthest from the door, was a man in his mid forties, balding, with a bulbous bright red nose, a good three of four days worth of stubble and a rather pungent odour of sweat and stale beer. This man was a down and out of the tallest order but was a carbon copy of the other eight or nine people that frequented the bar regularly.

No one knew his name or anything much about him. He didn't speak to anyone, apart from the barmen but I was surmised that he'd probably lost his job, his wife has probably left him or one of the other sob stories that filled the smoke laced air of the bar during the working day.

The man sat hunched over staring into space, in a drunken state when something happened, that had never happened before, someone sat next to him. The drunk cocked his head to one side to look at the stranger through hazy eyes. The stranger certainly was no regular he was clean for a start. The man had short dark hair, piercing eyes and wore clothes too functional to be worn by your average person.

The stranger nodded at the drunk. "Gutten Tag,..." the stranger had no particular accent "Ist dieser Sitz genommen ?"

The drunk wearily shock his head "Nein, Nein, Es ist ihm," he slurred, dribbling beer into his stubble.

The stranger coolly slipped into English. "I know who you are." The drunk replied with a look of complete confusion and slurred " Ich bin nicht sprecht englisch."

"Don't play games with me," he drew a pistol from a concealed holster in his thigh pocket and keeping it hidden nudged the drunk in the leg with the barrel, only then did he notice the drunk already had a revolver trained on him from behind his crossed arms, the glassed look in his eyes gone.

"I didn't come here for trouble, I just want a chat," the stranger calmly replaced his pistol back to it's holster, his tone completely natural but his body betrayed him, it was tense and ready for action.

"Zu spreckt," The drunk stated plainly, remaining in German.

Unfazed by the man’s response, the man continued, "You have quite a reputation and the effort I had to apply to simply track you to this location, did that justice." The drunk sipped his beer; flattery would get the man nowhere. "But I'll get to the point, I’ve been tasked...”

This told Phantom everything he needed to know, this man was either military or government and he despised both in equal measures. He tapped his fingers on the bar and the barman brought out a single shot glass and a bottle of whiskey. Upon noticing the bottle was near empty the barmen muttered "eine minuten" and disappeared into a trap door leading to the cellar, leaving a hole behind the bar.

All the while this was happening, the stranger continued to speak "... to track you down and ask you..." The stranger was suddenly cut off mid sentence as Phantom leapt from his stool and over the bar, throwing his jacket over the man in the same motion. His leap was well aimed he flew straight through the hole leading to the cellar. Once he was below the floor of the bar the trapdoor was slammed shut followed by the audible click of a lock.

The room was in almost complete darkness, the blinds drawn, the over-head lightly switched off, the only light emanated from a computer monitor which illuminated the sleeping form of Ken. The only sound was that of a Ken's heavy breathing and the incoherent muttering of his sleep talk, his conspiracy rants didn't just reside to his waking hours. The room was near perfect.

A tall figure clad in a dark grey suit, brown leather gloves, dark blue wrap around spectacles and his head completely encased in white medical bandages, stepped out of the shadows and walked with purpose, yet making no noise, towards the high backed, mahogany armchair positioned in the corner of the room.

He sat down heavily, the chair gave a groan which echoed the aching that raked Phantom's body. "... Don't trust them... all watching..." Ken's sleep talk picked up in volume, shaken by the sudden noise, then returned to its original level.

With a sigh Phantom removed a small silver object from his jacket pocket and upon turning it on, bathed the corner in a flash of its red LED. In the brief light of the jamming device gave, he noticed a reflection cast of an item that wasn't usual in 'his' personal area. Who what be foolish enough to leave something lying around his area, he'd make them pay. After a few seconds and a closer inspection he saw a gold and silver crest embossed on the lid.

The personal emblem of Carmen Sandiego, he carefully lifted the lid to reveal the objects main purpose, it was an ice bucket. Carmen had obviously called ahead of his arrival to make arrangements for him. He took a cube and placed it gingerly to his face, slowly separating the bandages so it could make contact with his pale flesh. He could feel that his face was already starting to swell; the numbing cold of the ice was quite soothing.

As he sat in the comfort of the darkness, his mind pondered over the events of the passed day, trying to figure out how A.C.M.E. and especially Rook had managed to unravel his heist. Phantom allowed his mind to linger over Rook and the events of the 'interview'. Rook was always a 'hot head', sure, but what happened to make him lose the self control and cunning that Phantom gave him so much credit for.

Phantom was soon found himself reminiscing over a stormy night in the middle of winter and a seedy bar, hidden in a depressing alley in the heart of Berlin.