The streets of Trottingham were no place for any self-respecting person to be in the middle of the night, but as Cobalt quietly slid out of a hidden side door in what appeared to be an abandoned warehouse, his sense of self-respect was the last thing on his mind. Tightly grasping an attaché case in his left hand, the business suited man walked briskly down the deserted sidewalk.

As he passed the window of a closed barber's, Cobalt ran a hand through his navy blue hair and increased his pace. His breath came out in clouds, each puff of condensation tinted orange in the streetlamps.

Cobalt glanced back over his shoulder, scanning the street for any sign of life. When he found none, he slowed down and brought out a packet of cigarettes from an inside pocket, setting down the case to strike a match and light one. Smoking had always calmed Cobalt down and as the sweet, faintly cinnamon taste of the tobacco rolled over his tongue, Cobalt allowed himself to breathe, to collect himself.

There was really no reason to be so nervous, he mused. It wasn't as though he was in trouble with the boss, or that his task was particularly dangerous. Far from it. So why the devil was he sweating like a pig in summer and glancing over his shoulder every few seconds like there was someone out to get him?

Taking a long drag of his cigarette, Cobalt looked down at the case, sitting innocently next to his leg. It was fairly small, the size of a large laptop case with silver clasps and a sturdy looking combination lock. Its simple appearance, he knew, was a front for its contents: intelligence that could potentially give him and his organization a major edge over their competition.

Finishing his smoke, Cobalt once again took up the case and resumed walking, this time a little more leisurely than before. All he had to do was walk two blocks, get in his car, and then he would be home free-

"Hey! Hey, mister!"

Jumping, Cobalt's head swiveled around as he tried to locate the person calling out. It didn't take long; just ten feet ahead and leaning against a phone box was a young man with offensively purple hair, dressed in a worn looking pair of jeans and a black sweatshirt. He was holding a small packet in one hand and waving with the other.

"Hey mister! Got a light?"

Common sense told Cobalt to just ignore him. He's just a punk. You have places to be. You need to get home as soon as possible.

Only trouble was, this punk was directly on his path to his car, and there didn't really seem like there was any reason to say no…

Sighing, Cobalt dug out his box of matches and approached the young man, who grinned even wider as he held out a cigarette to light.

"Bit late to be taking a walk, old man," the youth remarked, exhaling smoke. "You seeing a mistress or something?" he laughed at his own joke, dropping ash over his sweatshirt.

Cobalt was nowhere near as amused. "Actually, I had a business meeting. What about you? Someone stand you up on a date?"

The young man gave Cobalt a wry smile. "Not bad, mister. 'S matter of fact though, I'm waiting for someone."

"Is that so?" inquired Cobalt distractedly.

There it was again. The uneasy feeling. His mother had often told him that he'd had a knack for smelling trouble, and this kid was reeking of it.

"I really must be going. Best of luck waiting for whoever it is you're waiting for." Gripping the case, the blue haired man suddenly felt a hand fall heavily on his shoulder.

"Hold up." The kid spun Cobalt around effortlessly and gave him a rather less jovial smile. The streetlight shone at them from his back, reflecting in the kid's eyes.

"Y-yes?" stammered the older man as he clutched the attaché case in front of himself like a shield.

For a moment, the youth simply eyed Cobalt as though he were in a butcher's and he was selecting a piece of choice meat.

Then he laughed and drawled, "Thanks for the light, mister." and walked off ahead into an alley with a hand raised in farewell.

It was only then that Cobalt realized that his knees were shaking and that he'd been holding his breath. He let it out, almost wishing that he had another cigarette between his lips but that soon passed. No, the sooner he was in his car, the better.

Gathering up the case and his courage, Cobalt resumed his walk to the parking lot around the corner. He reached into his pocket and readied his keys, gaining a crumb of confidence when his hands closed around the cool, familiar ring. He would make it. Get in, shut the door, start engine, drive home to a soothing cup of tea.

So focused was he on that happy thought that Cobalt failed to notice a tall, hooded figure leap off a rooftop behind him and land not two steps away from his heels. Nor did he see the silvery glint of a blade as it buried itself in the back of his neck.

Frigid Night straightened up from his strike as the business suited man gasped and fell to his knees, then onto his face. The stab wound was small but deep and Night wasted no time in pulling a rag from inside his hooded coat to staunch the bleeding, pressing with both hands.

At the same time, another figure alighted from the rooftops, a female with a long, off-white coat just like Frigid Night's and an indolent look on her lime green face. Taking the now dead Cobalt's feet in her hands, the two hauled the corpse into a cul-de-sac and into a deserted apartment. The wood paneled floor was stained and uneven, and the walls were cracked and peeling as though they hadn't seen a tenant in years. A rickety old table dominated the center of the room, positioned under the ceiling light.

In other words, perfect for their needs.

"Took your sweet time killing him," grunted Morning Blade, the woman. From her left arm hung the black attaché case, its silver clasps glinting in the dark.

Frigid Night rolled his eyes as they set their cargo down onto the floor. "I'd have gotten him sooner, if that kid hadn't asked him for a smoke. No witnesses, remember?"

"So just take down the kid too. Gang stabbings aren't exactly uncommon here, Night."

Frigid Night frowned and lowered his hood, revealing dark yellow skin and a mop of silver hair. "That's not how we do things, and you know it. Besides, we got the case, didn't we?"

He reached over to the wall and clicked a switch, flooding the room with stark white light. Morning Blade unhooked the case from her wrist while Frigid Night shut and locked the door.

The two eyed the case with no small degree of apprehension and hunger. Wordlessly, Morning Blade flicked her wrist out, eliciting a tiny snick as a short, thin blade eased out from the depths of her sleeve. She dug it into the lock while Frigid Night held the case still.

A dog barked outside. They ignored it and worked on, the silence broken only by the occasional mumbled swear from Morning.

Almost twenty minutes later the lock finally gave, pins and tumblers clattering to the tabletop as Morning's weapon broke through the last bastion of defense that the owner of the case had put up. She retracted her blade and lowered her hood, blowing a lock of sweaty white and green striped hair out of her face.

"Nineteen minutes and forty-three seconds," Frigid Night straightened up and stretched his fingers. "Not bad."

Morning Blade didn't answer, instead flipping the clasps on the case up and laying it open under the naked bulb.

For a moment neither of them spoke as they tried to comprehend what they were seeing.

Inside the case was a thick sheaf of papers, all held together with two heavy duty paperclips and tied up with twine. Laying on the top were four photographs, taken from what looked like a long distance lens and scribbled on with red ink.

The first one showed a building, a school from the looks of it. The front doors were missing, as was a large chunk of the façade. People, presumably students, could be seen in the hole as well as outside, but most notably, and outlined in a red circle, was a blurry orange shape that looked as though it was flying above the ground with wings.

The second photo was of the same building, but during the daytime and with far fewer people in it. The closer camera angle showed two young men, possibly high school boys, struggling with a wheelbarrow full of building debris and a taller girl with fiery yellow and red hair sitting dejectedly next to a partly repaired wall. She was also circled in red, with the word important scrawled next to it.

The third picture was noticeably different. It displayed, from a long way away, a sideways view of a stage, bleachers, and a grassy hill. The venue was packed with people, though the stage was only populated by three figures. A red circle highlighted the grassy hill where a white vehicle of some kind was parked. Seven people were standing around this vehicle, nearly all of them brandishing musical instruments and facing the stage. A familiar girl with red and yellow hair was there, this time dressed in a sleeveless top instead of a leather jacket. Once again, she was tagged with the word important.

The final photo appeared to be a newspaper clipping, as some of the surrounding text was still clinging to the picture. Seven high school girls struck a pose in front of the photographer, grinning from ear to ear and holding up a trophy. Their names were noted in the caption, but only one was underlined.

"Sunset Shimmer," read Frigid Night, his brow creased with confusion. "What in the world is going on here?"

"Maybe, just maybe, the Templars have some interest in this girl," remarked Morning Blade sarcastically and rifled through the rest of the papers. She cursed under her breath. "It's in code. Might take some time to… wait."

From the bottom of the stack she pulled a single sheet, an unfolded brochure decorated with colorful words and images. Grimacing, she tossed it to Frigid Night.

"Canterlot High School. What are they doing creeping around a high school?"

Morning shrugged and suppressed a yawn. She hated stakeouts, and it was starting to show."Bucked if I know. But if the Templars are there, then we need to be there as well."

Night agreed, although his reaction was a bit more tempered. "I'll call Mentor. Secure the intel and take care of the body."

Ignoring the glare that Morning Blade shot him, Frigid Night whipped out his cell phone and pressed speed dial.

After precisely two rings, the call got through.

"Mentor… yes. We intercepted the target and disposed of him. Working on that now, but we discovered something pretty big here… yeah, bigger than Saddle Arabia. Looks like the Templars have their sights set on Canterlot High School, in Canterl-sorry, Mentor. It's just late and… sorry." Morning smirked. Frigid always did have a habit of putting his foot in his mouth when talking to the Mentor.

"Anyway, we have reason to believe that a girl who goes to school there, called Sunset Shimmer, is being targeted for reasons unknown… four photos, Mentor, each of her and a bunch of encoded documents. I think we need to follow up on this."

Morning Blade watched as her partner fell silent. She had a shrewd reason why; their Mentor was known to order abrupt moments of silence during conversations in order to think. Talking during that moment of silence would earn you a whack on the head, as most of them learned the hard way. She shrugged and tucked the documents into a hidden inner pocket in her coat and got to widening the stab wound in Cobalt's neck so it looked like it had been caused by a random gang attack rather than a skilled Assassin.

Meanwhile, the conversation picked up once more.

"Mentor. Yes. I'm sure. What do you mean- sorry. You're right. It's just that this seems very fishy and would require a lot of blending in- but I can still- "Night's shoulders tensed up and fell in defeat. "Yes, Mentor. I'll tell her immediately."

He hung up, looking rather less chipper than he had before.

"Mentor thinks it's worth following up on, and that we did well."

"So what's the part you're not telling me?" Morning quickly rifled through Cobalt's pockets, unearthing a fat wallet and a set of car keys. She pocketed both.

"We're not going."

"Figures. Not as if we'd fit in anyway."

"That's what Mentor said, but…" he hesitated and chewed his bottom lip.

Morning Blade's mouth stretched in a catlike yawn. "Look, Nighty, I'm already tired from having sat on a chimney in the cold for six hours. Just spit it out and help me hide the body."

Frigid Night blushed at being called 'Nighty' and helped his partner haul the corpse of Cobalt out the door and lower it against a dumpster. As an afterthought, he chose an empty glass bottle from the trash and smashed it over the body's head.

"Nice touch." Morning flicked her hood back up and did a few stretches to combat the stiffness of standing in a room for twenty minutes. "Now tell me who Mentor's sending and we can go home, because I sure won't remember to ask you in the morning."

Frigid Night told her. Morning's face shifted through a barrage of emotions, a frown of confusion, a sidelong glance of doubt, but settled on a shrug of indifference and resignation.

"There's no one else. Besides, it might be a good chance for her to make some friends."

"We're Assassins," said Frigid Night glumly as he pulled his hood up as well and stamped his feet to warm them up a bit. "We don't have friends."

"Excuse me, you might enjoy playing the mysterious loner, Frigid, but some of us do enjoy mingling with the people we're sworn to protect. You should try it sometime."

"And get a shank in the back for my trouble? No thanks," quailing under the stern look that Morning shot him, Frigid Night amended his statement. "Okay, okay. Not everyone is a Templar in disguise, but I'd rather not take the chance. You have the documents?"

Morning patted her coat. "Right here."

"Good. You go take them back to the bureau, and I'll go tell the novice that she's going back to school."

Nodding one last time to each other, the pair parted ways to their respective destinations, leaving the streets silent and empty once more.