A/N: Hello everyone, so here it is the final story in my trilogy. If you haven't read Merces Leitfer, or Revelation yet I recommend you do to get the full experience. To all my returning readers, welcome back and hope you enjoy. This story has got a slightly different feel and is probably going to be my darkest one yet, I will try and keep it Teen rated, but if it suddenly disappears it's because I changed it to Mature.

So as always, read, review and enjoy! :)

Prologue

I tightened my grip on the fibre wire in my hands as my target struggled to break free. The sound of choking gradually faded as the oxygen supply to his brain finally cut out. I felt him relax against me and I unceremoniously dumped him on the floor. Methodically I wound my fibre wire up and placed it back in my jacket pocket.

"Excellent work 47. Don't forget the files." I responded to Diana's voice by casually picking up a manila folder on the target's desk and stowing it away in the briefcase I had brought. I extracted a thick length of rope from it before snapping it shut and deftly tied it in a noose, placing it around the deceased target's neck. The dingy PI office was small and cluttered, but there was a conveniently placed industrial steel girder across the ceiling. Part of the minimal, modern design of the building I assumed. Standing on the desk I hoisted the corpse up into the air and secured it to the girder.

"Perfectly staged as ever. I need to talk to you about something, are you free tonight?" I jumped down off of the desk and kicked the office chair onto the floor beneath the now hanging man.

"Always. The mansion?"

"No. I'll come to you. Things are…complicated here." She sounded tired. My eyes landed on a half emptied glass of whisky on the desk as I retrieved my briefcase.

"Fine. I assume you know where to go?" My brain was starting to get that uncomfortable itch that proceeded an impending period of inactivity, and the sight of the alcohol was aggravating it.

"Yes." The line went dead with her abrupt response, and I grabbed hungrily at the glass of brown liqueur. Downing it I revelled in the comforting numb feeling that spread through me. Immediately my brain cried out for more, so I swiftly locked the door of the ex-PI's office and exited through the window into the Chicago night rain.

…

Five years didn't sound like a long time, but a lot had changed and I had felt every agonising second of it. The only thing that made it bearable was the drink, and the killing of course. If I wasn't killing I was drinking, and if I wasn't drinking I was killing. I dreaded the periods where I was doing neither, because that was when she usually visited me.

The first time I had seen her it had been a month after the Asylum in Satu Mare. The ICA had been in disarray and I had been given a leave of absence. I had returned to my safe house in Sicily, I wasn't entirely sure why, it had just felt right to go back there. The numbness hadn't left me since I had watched that building go up in flames, taking Perry with it. I was struggling to sleep when she had appeared in my bedroom as clear as day.

I had seen ghosts before, my impressive kill list made it inevitable, but they were usually just memories. Indistinct figures in my mind with no emotion attached to them, nothing like the apparition I was seeing now. At first I thought she had survived and found a way back to the house I had nursed her in all that time ago, but then I remembered the impossibility of that. I had searched and searched the grounds and found no trace of anyone escaping it. She had died there, in that hell and would remain trapped in its ruins forever. The next thought I had was that I was mad, that my body was punishing me for succumbing to my feelings towards her before abandoning her to her doom. I rubbed my eyes vigorously but Peregrine refused to disappear. She looked so real I was almost tempted to reach out and touch her, then the pain had come. I had never felt anything like it, a hot knife stabbing me in my chest. It felt like someone was ripping my heart out with a blunt instrument.

That first time was when I had discovered the whisky helped. I had lasted an hour before in a tortured state I had stumbled to my kitchen and reached for the bottle. The burning sensation in my throat was quickly followed by a flood of numbness that had washed away the ripping, tearing pain inside of me. I hadn't slept at all that night, and I had emptied the bottle. I became afraid that something was broken inside of me, the next time she appeared she talked to me. It didn't help the pain.

After a about a year, I learnt to balance my alcohol consumption with my contracts. The agency had reformed into a shadow of its former self, but still alive, still present. Diana was now the Director, and she also resumed the role of my handler. The familiarity of it was welcome, but despite myself I couldn't help wishing she sounded a little less…formal, that strange lilting voice banished only to my nightmares. I was as professional as ever, never drinking before a contract, however I never let myself stop or think for too long. Attacking my targets with a heighten ferocity that Diana took as enthusiasm at resuming my normal life. It wasn't, it just drowned out the background noise. The world had changed around us, and I was finding it harder and harder to adapt.

I was in my grotty motel room now, a flashing neon sign advertising 'Girls' illuminated my room in a gaudy, pink glow periodically. I was sat in a chair staring out at the pouring rain, my jacket and tie slung on the end of the bed, a whisky glass clasped in one hand. I had seen enough pop culture to know I looked like a classic film noir character, sometimes I hated what she had made me become, but then I remembered what I was like when we had been together.

The glass was annoyingly empty; I had drained the last of my supply waiting for Diana to turn up. I was loathed to go out and get more in case she arrived when I was out and then I would have to endure the awkward pointed looks towards my collection of empty bottles. At the same time I could feel the numbness wearing off, that itchy, prickling feeling beginning to wake up in the back of my mind. I turned on the ancient TV in the room, it took a moment to warm up, the tubes protesting at their sudden activity. A game show appeared, with an irritatingly flamboyant host bouncing around a tacky set as some dead eyed pedestrians tried to win something. I kept it on, hoping to distract myself from the impending hallucination I could feel building.

"Don't tell me you're actually watching this shit." The familiar pain blossomed in my chest at the sound of her voice. It was still unbearable, but the sensation had dulled slightly as I had grown accustomed to it. I could see her sat on the end of the bed, her brown eyes fixed on the sickeningly bright colours flitting across the screen. She was exactly as I remembered her, she always was. Her long, brunette hair pulled back in a ponytail, her jeans and checked shirt the same ones she had been wearing the last time I had seen her. Her eyes flicked to me, the life and intelligence in them so real, so tangible it made the pain flare harshly.

I averted my gaze; I found ignoring her was the best option when she appeared. If I indulged in my torturous fantasy I found it harder to adjust back to the real world, I was sure if I wanted to I could quite easily believe she was really here with me and slip slowly into madness. The game show host was asking one of the one of the walking dead a question, he beamed a bleached white smile at the old woman that didn't reach his eyes.

"Okay Sharon, what is the capital of Canada?" The old woman blinked at the twinkling host, her watery eyes vacant.

"Ummmm…is it Oregon?"

"Ha! Stupid cow, that's a state. It's Ottawa." I glanced at the ghost on my bed, she was grinning broadly at me clearly pleased with her interjection. Despite my better judgement I felt my mouth slowly twitch up into a half smile. "Wow, it's been a long time since I saw you do that." She retorted, I dropped the smile and turned back to the TV, willing Diana to get here already.

"Aww, I'm sorry Sharon. The answer is Ottawa. But don't worry you don't go away empty handed, we'll give you the latest smart phone courtesy of our sponsors Cicada Co." I narrowed my eyes at the screen at the mention of Cicada's new identity. Peregrine had been right about them, they had sold us down the river as soon as we had destroyed the agency's secret project. Taking the blueprint for the microchip she had given them, and rising to power in a matter of months. If I cared more about politics I probably would have found it scary how easy it had been for them, now everything from phones, to cars, to guns had their microchip inserted in them. Their claim that it made property less attractive to steal as the owner could disable anything stolen within seconds, the truth it gave them control of pretty much every electronic device owned by the population. There was even talk of them adapting them so people could access the internet from inside their head, I dreaded to think where that would lead us.

The programme ended and a flashy advert took its place. The logo of Cicada Co appeared as a male voice narrated. "All your electronic needs taken care of with the new Cicada Co range, the latest microchip update available with all purchases." Images of smart phones and cars appeared on screen. "Remember, if it isn't chipped you could get nicked."

I clenched my teeth together and turned the TV off abruptly, even succumbing to my hallucination was better than watching that. "They've really got their claws in haven't they?" I closed my eyes, stubbornly ignoring her. "You know it wasn't your fault." Her voice was quiet and gentle, the pain in my chest responded by punching me harder. "You shouldn't feel so guilty." Her voice was get closer, I could sense she had got up and was moving towards me.

"I don't." I clenched my fists, cursing my weakness.

"Well, I'm your subconscious and I say you do." She was right behind me now. I was digging my nails into my palms, willing her to vanish but at the same time begging her to stay. God, I wished I had more whisky.

"I am not guilty Morgan." My tone was insistent but a little too aggressive to be believable. Suddenly I felt her hands on my chest as she leant down behind me. They left a burning trail where they touched my shirt, her mouth was by my ear and I could have sworn I felt her breath tickling me as she spoke softly with a voice filled with sadness.

"Then why can't you let me go?" The pain peaked inside of me, why did she feel so real? A brisk knock interrupted my nightmare and she was gone as soon as she had appeared. I opened my eyes once more, blinking as I felt a betraying wetness in them. A shaky breath left me as I steadied my nerves, forcing my weakening emotions back behind their flimsy wall. There was another more urgent knock on my motel room door, and I forced myself to move.

Diana looked as composed and elegant as ever, but to a well trained eye her weariness and age was peaking through the veneer. "47." She greeted me curtly, walking past me to stand in the middle of my dingy motel room. I saw her note the lack of lighting and several discarded liqueur bottles. I had meant to hide them, but my mind had had other ideas. Taking her cue I turned on the light, squinting ever so slightly in the sudden glare.

I was lucky alcohol didn't really affect me the same as other humans, my genetics gave me a heighten resistance to its effects. Still, I had noticed it slowed my ability to adjust and adapt just enough for it to be noticeable to people who knew me well; and by people I meant Diana. She narrowed her eyes at me now, looking me up and down.

"You've been drinking again haven't you." It wasn't a question, it was a statement of fact. I stared blankly at her for a few seconds before moving back to my chair and lowering myself into it. Diana remained standing in the centre of the room, preferring to have the high ground. She sighed infinitesimally and clasped her gloved hands together, getting down to business. "Good work tonight, do you have the files?" I gestured towards the briefcase in the corner of the room with my head, Diana's eyes flicked to it then back to me. Her face suddenly softened, a rare look of concern in her eyes. "47, are you okay?"

I looked down at my hands, the indents of my nails still evident on them. "Yes." I answered abruptly. I heard her shift uneasily at my avoidance; she obviously wasn't about to let this go.

"They've been getting worse? The visions?" I gave in to her probing; letting out an irritated sigh I levelled my gaze at her.

"Yes." She nodded, a sympathetic expression on her face. A slow anger started to build inside me; I was angry at her sympathy, I was angry at the state of our situation, but most of all I was angry with myself for being so weak. Diana continued to look at me waiting for me to elaborate, the last thing I wanted to do was talk about my guilty conscious with her. "I don't let it affect my work."

She nodded, her expression hardening once more. With her personal assessment of me complete, she resumed her formal stance. "I've been given a new contract for you 47." I frowned at her.

"And you felt the need to tell me in person?" She looked away from me, nervous tension evident in her movement.

"The client is…controversial." I raised my eyebrow quizzically at her. She gave me a sideways look, as if she was afraid to tell me who it was.

"Go on." I prompted, growing impatient with this unwanted human interaction. I tolerated Diana a lot more than other people, she was my oldest acquaintance after all, however ever since the Asylum and the events leading up to it I had found social situations even more unbearable than before. She sensed my irritation, taking a deep breath she continued her voice wavering slightly.

"The client is Cicada." Instinctively my jaw tensed and I gripped the arm of the chair a little too tightly. "I know, I reacted the same way when they contacted us."

"What can we offer them that they don't already have?" Cicada had achieved what it set out to do; it had destroyed the ICA. After the death of Mr Nu, Diana had taken over as Director with a unanimous vote from the board. She had cut out any operatives who had been involved in the scandalous cloning programme and tightened security at headquarters. But by then it was already too late, Cicada had begun making microchips and its members embedded in governments around the world had started whispering in the ears of its leaders. They made it the law for all electronic devices to carry their microchips and gradually the list of powerful clients coming to the ICA for our services petered out. Nowadays the agency only dealt with fairly low level targets, there was the occasional mafia boss or corrupt politician, but contracts like my PI tonight had become the norm.

"They've run out of options, and even after all they've put us through you're still the best out there and part of the agency. We're their last hope 47." I stared at her for a moment, unsure what to do. I had never refused a contract, and despite my hatred of Cicada I wasn't going to start now.

"What's the job?" My voice was flat and emotionless, although I was quietly seething underneath.

"They want you to take out a target that has been giving them a spot of bother. Apparently a veritable army of hit men and mercenaries have been sent to do the job, none have returned." Both my eyebrows raised this time, my interest was piqued. Diana gave me a grim smile before she continued. "The clients want you to eliminate this assassin killer and collect something they stole from them. I must warn you 47, a lot of highly skilled professionals have failed this contract already. Whomever this person is, they know what they're doing."

"ID?" Diana shook her head.

"The client has insisted on keeping the identity of the target classified until we are on location. They have however revealed that the property stolen is in fact a child." My brow furrowed at this last piece of intel.

"A changeling?" She shrugged.

"Perhaps. Regardless, the child must not be harmed under any circumstances." I thought for a moment, then nodded once. "I know this isn't ideal 47, but maybe this will be a chance to gain some valuable intel on our adversary. Besides I am sure you're itching for a challenge."

My mouth twitched slightly at her jibe, it was true I had been killing my targets in more elaborate ways to entertain myself. Maybe this killer would be a worthy opponent. Feeling a sense of calm overcome me in the knowledge I would soon be busy once more, I let my mouth stretch up into a rare half smile.

"Where is this target?"