Disclaimers: The characters Methos, Duncan MacLeod and Joe Dawson, along with the watchers and the concept of immortality are registered trademarks of Gaumont Television, Rysher Entertainment, and Davis/Panzer Productions. Some events relate to the Highlander episodes Finale, Part I and Finale, Part II of the second season. My idea of the Prize is based on the one Connor MacLeod receives in Highlander: The Movie, which is a registered trademark of Davis/Panzer Productions.

Daniel is based on my name, and Francais is based on my dad’s (nothing personal, dad). Watcher Jason Henderson was named after the author Jason Henderson of Highlander: The Element of Fire.

I came up with the hover car after watching the Back to the Future Movies, which are registered trademarks of ______. But unlike the movie’s futuristic cars, these hover cars look like regular twentieth century vehicles, except they don’t have wheels. I also made up the cars’ controls.

I apologize to any Highlander fans I may offend in this story.

As Methos entered New York’s City Limits, he landed his hover car next to a tall, brick building. Brick buildings were scarce nowadays, and this one served as the offices of Earth Edition, an international newspaper he owned. On one page, Methos would write daily about a part of history he experienced first hand in his long life. Millions of people, aliens or not, wanted to hear from him. It wasn’t made of paper, like newspapers once were. It was posted on the Internet. He’d owned the paper for the last five hundred years, and today was its anniversary.

And his birthday. He couldn’t remember the exact date, so instead he had decided to celebrate his birthday at the turn of the millenium a few years back. It was a day late for that, but yesterday was New Years vacation, and everyone on the continent had plans to be somewhere else, perhaps even a different planet.

He hoped he wasn’t getting a surprise party. He was getting tired of them. He especially hoped the Algorian reporters for his newspaper wouldn’t try to celebrate it their way. The last time that happened, Methos ended up dying at least five times. It was a good thing he was the only human at the party. It happened when he turned five thousand five hundred. To Algorians, he was almost as old as their leader, Nin-yah Koro. He was six thousand at the time. Now he was six thousand five hundred. And because of his age, they tried to give Methos one of the best parties on the Algoria. Unfortunately, their idea of dancing was fist-fights and breaking bones, and that’s exactly what happened to Methos several times that night. His body took a week to heal after that.

His staff had more humans on it than anything else at present. There were a few Hemerns, but they weren’t as aggressive as the Algorians. But you must proceed at your own risk if Hemerns get drunk. They were as dangerous as a battleship when it’s taken over by drunken space pirates during the New Years Eve firecrackers ceremony.

Methos got out of his hover car and walked over to the door. He put his hand up to the screen on the left and waited a second while the computer recognized his handprint. When the door automatically went up, he entered to find that the building was very dark. Here it comes, he thought. Three, two, one…

"SURPRISE!!" many people shouted, standing up from their hiding places. Someone cried out "lights!" and they immediately came on. Before Methos was all fifty members of his staff, and the walls were decorated with lettering that read ‘Happy Birthday, Methos!’ On the screen against the far wall, the same message flashed over and over. Methos put on his best fake smile as Clara Hatties, a human member of his staff, approached Methos, followed by everyone else. Before her on a cart was a birthday cake Methos knew she’d baked herself, which happened rarely nowadays. It had two layers like a wedding cake, both with vanilla icing, which Methos had announced was his favorite a few weeks ago. Everyone sang the old "Happy Birthday" song and Methos blew out the candles. There were only six candles on the cake, but Methos knew it would have been impossible to put six thousand on it, even for a machine.

Everyone was about to return to their duties after they all ate some cake, but Methos gave them the day off, and everyone stayed for the party. It continued for most of the day. At lunch, someone went over to the building’s lounge and ordered the kitchen’s machine to make at least thirty pizzas. While everyone settled down to eat, Bryan Goodberry, another of Methos’ staff, cried out from the other end of the room, "Tell us a story, Methos!"

A chorus of agreements followed Bryan. Methos smiled. They sounded like a bunch of kids wanting a bedtime story. But he decided to give them a break at least this once. He swallowed the last bit of pepperoni pizza he was eating and thought for a moment. Then he smiled even wider as the memory came to him. He cleared his throat and began. "I know just the story. It’s about how the world found out about immortals. You’ve probably heard this one, I’m sure, but not all of it. The version I know began two hundred years before, in Louisiana, right after the United States ended its Civil War…"

Francais Thibodeaux had lived in Louisiana for many years. He owned a sugar plantation near the town of Duson, but he’d long since freed his slaves even before the war started. During the war, he was an abolitionist who used his plantation as a stop on the Underground Railroad. Now that the war was over, he was very, very glad. He still owned the plantation, but now he was paying colored people to work for him instead of owning them.

He’d always hated enslaving anyone. It was wrong to take anyone from their homeland, to stuff them into crowded ships and go someplace they’ve never been before, a place they weren’t welcome. That was exactly what happened to him, so many years ago, when the (Spanish?) took control of Acadia, forcing the Acadians from their homes, himself included, taking them on ships to several different places including Canada and France, then finally, America. A similar thing happened to the colored people when men still went to Africa, capturing the tribes they found and selling them into slavery. That was before it became illegal. But just because it was illegal to enslave anymore Africans, it didn’t mean slavery stopped. No. The civil war was fought. Francais himself would have joined if he didn’t work on the Underground Railroad. But he would have fought for the Yankees, not the Rebs.

And now, the war was over. Louisiana had taken its toll during the war. Destruction was everywhere. Francais had fought very hard for his plantation to be spared during the war, but even it needed repairing. Right now, many former slaves were fixing his house, and much to their open-mouth disbelief, he was, too. Francais didn’t blame them. He doubted if any of their former "masters" would do as much. But he didn’t care. He needed something to do to pass the time. So he helped. At the moment, he was lifting a board from the shoulder of a young black man who was obviously struggling under the weight.

"S’okay, sir. You don’ hafta do that." The young protested, glancing down at his feet. As a slave, niggers weren’t supposed to look up at the eyes of their masters. They were sometimes whipped if they did.

But they weren’t slaves anymore. Francais used his free hand to pick the boy’s chin up. "You don’t have to look at the ground. You won’t get a floggin’ for it."

The boy looked up at him, and Francais could see the fear that still nested there. "Yes, sir." He said finally, running off to do some other chore. Frank shook his head and carried the board over to the house.

He set it down on top of a pile that had formed on the side of the house that was worse off. When he stood up again, he looked around at the men working on the house.

Some had stopped their work to look at him, but when he glanced at them, they quickly returned to work. He sighed. It would be a long time before they would trust him, he knew. Especially because this was Louisiana, and the south was known as the home of the cruelest slave owners in the country. Before the war, that is. Francais was glad he was never one of them. But before he could say anything to the workers about this, the sound of stomping hooves on the dirt road brought him to the front of the house. As the wagon approached, Francais could sense the immortal sitting in the front seat, guiding the horses with the reigns. When the wagon came closer, Francais recognized the driver immediately.

"Dr. Adams," Francais said, smiling. It had been a while since he’d last seen his teacher. What was it, forty years, perhaps forty-five? "I hadn’t realized you were in Louisiana. The last I heard, you were in Texas. Were the rumors true?"

"Yes, quite." Dr. Benjamin Adams, or Methos, said. "But I am here because a friend had written me asking for my help."

"And have you seen this friend?"

"Yes, I have." Dr. Adams said as he stepped down from the carriage. He moved closer to Francais so the former slaves that had gathered near the wagon by now could not here and whispered, "In fact, I’ve brought him with me." Dr. Adams motioned his head towards the back of the wagon. "I’ve had to hide him from some untrustworthy friends."

Francais looked at the back. For the first time he noticed a thick blanket covering a large object that was in the shape of a body. He glanced in the wagon and he could see a red substance appearing from underneath. He could smell it very well, and the stench proved it to be blood. He looked back at his teacher, whispering, "Immortal?"

Dr. Adams nodded. "If it wasn’t any trouble, I was hoping that I could lodge here for a few days."

"Of course." Francais looked around at the others. "Return to your work. There’s nothing to see." They did just that.

"Come, help me with my things," Dr. Adams said loudly. Francais nodded, and Dr. Adams led his horse to the right side of the house. Most of the workers were on the left side, so this was convenient. Francais and Dr. Adams then went to the back of the wagon and picked the body up, carrying it through the side door. The room they entered was one of the bedrooms. Francais directed Dr. Adams to the bed, which was what they lay the body on. Sitting down on the two chairs near the empty fireplace, the two men began to talk.

"Well, Methos, you have yet to explain your connections to the fellow over there." Francais said.

Dr. Adams, or Methos, looked behind him at the bed. "His name is Daniel Harrington. He’s wanted as a war spy for the North."

"If he’s an ex-Yankee spy, what is he doing in Duson?"

"He didn’t say." Methos said. "But we’d only just said hello when we were chased this afternoon. Our pursuers were a few ex-slave owners and one had a rifle. I managed to get away without harm, but Daniel didn’t."

"And you decide to come to your former student for help," Francais said with a smile. "I would think it to be the other way around."

"Not this time." Methos said, returning the smile. He glanced out the window. It was almost dark, and soon the worker would retire to the cabins for the night. He looked back at Francais. "Want to spare early tomorrow morning?"

"Sure."

The fight was very much in the teacher/student way. Methos would compliment his former student after Francais did a trick correctly, or speak his disapproval and show him what he did wrong. But Methos wasn’t the only teacher Francais ever had in the last two hundred years. The old immortal came back to the house with as many bruises as Francais.

When they returned from the exercise, Daniel Harrington’s wounds were halfway finished healing.

"He isn’t very old, is he?" Francais asked.

Methos shook his head. "No, he isn’t. I found him a few years after he first died. I took on the role of teacher, and since then we’ve kept in touch."

"Do you think he’ll survive the Game?"

"He has the will, and he’s getting better every day." Methos said. He smiled at his former student. "He’s quicker than you, actually."

Francais ignored the remark and changed the subject. "You may have been able to keep in touch with Daniel, but not me. How was Texas?"

"It was all right." Then he told Francais about the open country. "It was becoming hard for my secret to stay secret. Everyone was starting to notice that I didn’t age. So, after twenty years, I had to leave."

Francais paused before he asked the next question. "Methos, do you ever wonder what it would be like if the world ever found out about us?"

"Yes, I have. Half of all the mortals on earth probably know about us already, with all the lovers are kind has had." There’s the watchers, too. He left this part unsaid. He didn’t know what Francais’ reaction would be if he told him. "But if everyone found out, the world may go crazy. Not many people believe in witches anymore, but they may change their minds if we start showing up. They may even start burning mortals again…"

They talked for a few more hours until Daniel awoke. With his wounds completely healed, Francais was able to make out his features a little better. Daniel Harrington looked to be in his mid-twenties, and had dark brown hair that was about the same length as Methos’.

Not long after he had a bath to wash off the blood, he and Methos got ready to leave. Francais sent with them some of Martha’s, his cook’s, homemade pie.

"Hope I see you soon, Frank." Methos said, grabbing the reigns and settling in the seat next to Daniel, who was disguised as a woman so the locals wouldn’t recognize him. During the chase earlier, their pursuers never did get a good view of Methos, so the old immortal was safe.

"I hope so, too, doctor." Francais said. He stepped back from the wagon and looked at Daniel. "Bye, Daniel. Don’t let his teacher mood get to you."

Daniel smiled. "I won’t. Bye, Mr. Thibodeaux."

Methos snapped the reigns and they were off.

He watched them go until their presence faded from his mind. Then he turned back towards the house and the construction.

Francais was grief-stricken. His immortal wife, Margaret, had died only a few weeks ago. He’d buried her earlier that afternoon. He couldn’t cry anymore even if he wanted to. He had cried enough already. All he could do now was kneel beside her freshly made grave. But, he must get back to their apartment and move out as soon as possible. He didn’t want to have to sleep in it another night. It brought back too many memories. So he said his good-byes and stood.

As he turned to the path that led to the gate, something moved in the corner of his eye. When he looked in that direction, nothing was there. On other days, other times, he would have ignored it, thinking it to be an illusion. But not today. Francais had been even more alert ever since Maggie died. He knew who was responsible. It was a group of mortals with weird blue tattoos on their wrists, and a member of their strange group may have been spying on him during the funeral. Francais walked to the gate, pretending he hadn’t noticed.

A man stood behind a tree only a few feet away. He held a recording device to his mouth and said, "March eighth, year two thousand fifteen, four forty-five p.m. Thibodeaux is leaving the cemetery. I’m getting ready to follow." He put the recording device and waited until Francais had turned left at the gate and disappeared behind the front of a building along the sidewalk. Then he came out of his hiding place and followed.

Francais turned left again when he reached the end of the first block. Jason followed him onto the empty street. When he turned the corner, he ran straight into Francais.

Jason looked up at the large man, who was staring down at him with a hint of amusement because of the fear in Jason’s eyes.

"Hello, there. Following someone?" Francais grabbed Jason’s left wrist and pulled up the sleeve. There was Jason’s watcher tattoo, right below his wrist. Amusement was replaced with anger when Francais saw it. He pulled out his sword and held it against Jason’s neck. Jason struggled to breathe as the blade dug deeper into his skin, drawing blood.

"You murdered my wife!" Francais cried, digging the blade deeper.

"N-no." Jason croaked. "Please. I’m not one of them-"

"No! You killed her!"

Jason tried to swallow, but failed. "No. We only watch! We never interfere!"

"If you’re so intent upon watching, then why is my wife dead?"

"Th-they were renegades. They thought immortals were evil and didn’t deserve to live. They-"

"You know about immortals!?"

Jason nodded.

"You said you watched something. Do you watch immortals?"

Jason nodded again as best he could, because the blade was still lodged in his throat.

"I should have known there was always someone watching me. Always following me around, never giving me any privacy."

"No, it’s not like that. It’s-"

"Quiet!" Francais cried. The blade again dug into Jason’s neck. At another time, Francais would have listened. But he was too shaken up because of Maggie’s death to listen to reason. "Where can I find your boss?"

Jason said nothing as he struggled to breathe. He didn’t want Thibodeaux to know no matter if he died instead. Blood poured from his mouth.

"Where?!?"

"Joe’s…Joe’s bar." Jason muttered as he died. He hadn’t even realized he’d said anything before the world around him grew dark.

Joe Dawson was in his office at the bar, working on the chronicles as usual. He’d asked Methos to come over. When he heard the door chime, he assumed it was him and kept working. But when the door to his office turned and he looked up, Methos’ face wasn’t staring back him. Instead, it was someone else. Joe recognized him as Francais Thibodeaux, a Cajun from Louisiana. He’d heard that his wife had died and he’d come to Paris, her home city, for the funeral. But what was he doing here, in his bar?

Joe stood up and shut down the chronicles on the computer. "May I help you, sir?"

"Yes, you can." Francais said, stepping inside. "I’m looking for a Joe Dawson. Are you him?"

Joe nodded. "Yes, I am. What can I do for you?"

"Nothing I can think of." Francais pulled out his gun and turned the safety off. He pointed it at Dawson, and at that moment the very familiar buzz rang through his head. He whipped around toward the door. Joe took this opportunity to grab the gun he kept in his desk drawer. But he wasn’t quick enough. Before he had the gun out and raised, a bullet entered his chest, and he fell to the floor.

Methos was walking up to the bar when he felt the immortal’s presence. He walked up to the door cautiously, and pulled out his sword. While he was turning the handle, he heard a gunshot, and ran inside in the direction of the sound, Joe’s office. The door hung open, the presence was fading. But Methos didn’t chase after the immortal. He had to check on Joe. He entered the office as the presence faded completely. The wall behind Joe’s desk was covered with blood. He rushed over to the desk and froze in shock. There was Joe, lying on the floor, blood pouring for his chest. He knelt beside him and put his hands on the wound, trying to stop the bleeding.

"It’s no good, Methos." Joe coughed, and blood fell from his mouth. "I can’t cheat death this time."

"No." Methos said. He grabbed the phone and dialed 9-1-1. He gave the address to the woman who answered, and then hung up. He sat down again next to Joe. Tears began to fill his eyes. "Who did this to you?"

"Francais Thibodeaux." Joe muttered before he lost consciousness.

When the medics arrived, Methos had to leave to give them room. He rode in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. Once there, Joe was rushed into OR. Methos called Duncan and Amanda at the barge, and then all three immortals stayed up that night in the emergency room, none of them able to get any sleep.

The next morning, the doctor who had been performing the operation came out and gave them the news they’d feared the most. Joe had been right. He wouldn’t be coming back from this one. Joe Dawson was dead.

Methos parked his car along the Seine. After all these years, Duncan MacLeod still owned his barge. He’ tried to convince him time and time again not to keep it. The old thing belonged in a museum instead of on water, old-fashioned as it was. Because of modern technology, it was now possible not only for your car to float above water, but so could your house. It really gave a new meaning to houseboats.

But, Mac wouldn’t give up his barge for anything. Perhaps in another twenty years he’ll change his mind, but Methos doubted it. The Highlander was as stubborn as he always was.

But Methos didn’t come to argue over that old topic. No. It had been a while since they’d last spoken, at least a couple of years. They’d slowly grown apart after Joe died, and in distance as well as friendship. Methos had left, not wanting to show how Joe’s death really affected him. But now he was back. The reason he was in Paris was an important one, and he hoped the Highlander would listen.

Methos stepped out of the hover jeep and began walking over to where the barge was tethered on the dock. As he’d hoped, the presence of another immortal filled his mind. He let out the breath he was holding, glad that MacLeod was home. He walked up the plank and down the stairs. After he knocked, the door opened wide, revealing a large man with long hair in a ponytail, holding a katana in his left hand.

When Duncan MacLeod saw Methos, he relaxed. That was a good sign. He asked, "Methos? What are you doing here?"

"I came to see how my favorite Highlander is doing."

"Sure. Like that’s the real reason." MacLeod said.

Methos smiled and stepped inside. He knew Mac wouldn’t listen to pleasantries, especially since they never applied when Methos was concerned. He headed over to the fridge. Opening it, he found Scots Whiskey and a few wine bottles. He grabbed the whiskey and poured some of it until a glass, then went over to the couch and sat down. Mac sat on a chair, waiting for an answer.

Methos took a swig of the beer, then let out a loud burp. He paused before he asked, "Did you know that there are only two immortals left besides us?"

"So you’re here for the Gathering?"

"Well, not exactly." Methos said. He still didn’t want to speak of the real reason.

"Methos…"

Methos looked up at MacLeod, giving in. "Okay. I’m here on watcher business."

"Watcher business?" MacLeod raised an eyebrow. "You’re become a watcher again?"

"Yep."

Mac gave Methos a look that asked ‘Are you insane?’ "Isn’t that a little dangerous, with the Gathering so near?"

"It wasn’t so near when I rejoined a few years ago."

Duncan continued to stare at him. "I hope you didn’t use your old alias."

Duncan meant his old fake name, Adam Peirson. He stopped using that name after the watchers discovered who he was, but Mac didn’t know that. "No. It’s Aaron Samson now."

"Really." Duncan crossed his arms and sat down on the arm of the couch. "So. Care to tell me what this watcher business is?"

Methos gulped down some more of the whiskey then set it down in his lap. He thought for a moment, not sure how to begin. "Remember how Donald’s wife almost revealed watchers and immortals to the world?"

Duncan nodded. He remembered it well. The poor woman was upset because Kalas had killed her husband, so upset she was willing to reveal everything her mortal husband had known as a watcher. Donald had been working on the Methos Chronicles, and Methos was who Kalas was hunting at the time. Kalas got ahold of a disk Christine had with the files on it, and he threatened to do the same thing as Christine.

Duncan looked at the older immortal. "Don’t tell me it’s happened again?"

Methos nodded. "Yes. It has."

"Who is it this time?"

Methos fidgeted on the couch, suddenly very uncomfortable.

"Methos?"

Methos looked away from Duncan. After a long time, he spoke. "My wife."

Mac stared at him. "What?"

Methos stared at the floor. "I told her about immortals and watchers a few months before we got married. Our marriage has been fine all these years." Tears began to form in his eyes, but he blinked them away before Duncan could discover them. "I think she was getting tired of it. Tired of all the killing, of all the risks she took as my wife."

"I can’t believe Jen would do such a thing. Are you sure it’s her?"

Methos nodded sadly. "There was a note left on the table in the hall that said she was going to tell the world about immortals. It was in her handwriting. She hasn’t so far, but I know she will. Every watcher in Europe is looking for her, but they haven’t succeeded. I think she may have gone to the states. Every watcher there is looking for her too, but I’m going to Washington tonight to look myself. She knows a publisher of a news program in Washington D. C so I think that’s where she went."

"The watchers are letting you go?"

Methos knew what he meant. It was Methos’ wife that was threatening to do this. Why should they let him? "It took a lot of convincing to let me go, but they finally gave up." He looked up at Duncan, and Duncan could see pleading in Methos’ eyes. "My flight leaves in an hour. I got two tickets. I was hoping that you’d help me out."

Duncan thought about this for a moment. All of this was a lot to take in. He’d met Jennifer Samson a few times. She never seemed like the kind of person who would do such a thing. But people tended to change a lot. He should know that, after four hundred years. Duncan stood up from the chair and walked over to the bed. "Let me get some clothes packed."

At that very moment, Jennifer Samson was, as Methos suspected, in Washington, D.C. But that wasn’t all. At that very moment, she was talking to the producer of WNKP News, who was a close friend of hers.

"This is all crazy, Jen," Thomas Gregor said. At the moment, he stood behind his desk right in front of the volumes Jennifer had brought with her. "People living forever, fighting with swords. You’re even accusing Aaron as one." He’d met Methos a few times before and after their wedding, and he’d seemed like a nice guy. Just thinking of him as a five thousand years old man was just impossible.

"It isn’t what you may think." Jennifer said. She stood next to him, in front of his computer. She had logged on to the Internet, and was presently typing in a password to get onto a private page.

Tom looked up and saw what she was doing. "Woah, Jen. I don’t want to get in trouble because I broke into some classified government project or something."

"It isn’t a government project." The password was invalid, so she tried again. She’d watched Aaron fast hands typing the password before, and after looking at them type the password many times, she’d been able to make out what he typed. But apparently, the password had changed. She tried again anyway. "Yes!" Jen cried, when she was allowed to pass. "Look at this, Tom."

Both of them watched as the Watcher Symbol appeared on the screen. Then came the files. Jen showed all of them to Tom, starting with similarity in the pictures, and soon she had Tom believing.

"Wow." He said, staring at the screen, dumbfounded. "It’s true. It’s all true."

Jen nodded, smiling. "Yes, it is."

Reluctantly, Tom pealed his eyes away from the screen. He went to his office door and called to someone on the other side, "Harriet! Come here! We have the story of the century in our hands!"

Methos and Duncan finally arrived at Washington, D. C. a few hours later. When they walked out into the airport, they immediately started making plans.

"Okay. Let’s start at the closest news place near here and work our way outward." MacLeod suggested.

"Okay." Methos said. He took out two maps, and a list of news offices in the city. Before they’d left, he’d gone on the Internet and found all of them. The Internet was getting better every day. Now, downloads came even faster than a second, and screens were touch screens. He handed one map to Duncan. "I’ll go one way, and you’ll go another."

They walked out into the streets. But before they could go in separate directions, Duncan saw something out of the corner of his eye. His eyes bulged. "Methos, look." He managed to say, pointing at what had caught his attention.

Methos looked past MacLeod’s arm. His jaw dropped. Right there, on a tv screen in a shop window, was the Watcher Symbol. "What?" he said, walking towards it. Mac followed him. They stopped in front of the window and watched.

Jennifer, Methos’ wife, appeared on the screen besides a man, who appeared to be the host of a talk show. At the moment she was talking to him. She stopped after a moment, and both turned to a screen behind them, where Watcher Files were presently being shown.

Methos and MacLeod stared dumbfoundedly at the screen. "No." Methos said, finding his voice.

After a moment, Mac spoke. "We have to do something. Millions of people may be watching this." Millions of people.

"What are we going to do, Mac? What are we going to do?" Methos was panicking, something he didn’t do very often. "Either most people will think she’s nuts, or they’re going to believe her."

Mac was looking at the tv again. Lightning appeared across the screen, and a woman with a sword stood next to a severed head, her arms outstretched, receiving the Quickening. "I don’t think they’ll take this lightly."

Methos looked at the screen as well. His eyes grew wider. "Oh, man." He was shaking. "If only I’d kept quiet. If only!"

"Look, Methos," Mac said. "It isn’t your fault. You shouldn’t blame yourself."

"Yes, I should, Highlander." Methos said. "I shouldn’t have told Jen. It’s because of me that the world now knows about us. It’s because of me we’ll be hunted down, feared wherever we go. What do we do now, Highlander? Hide? They’ll still track us down, and kill us."

"You don’t know that’s going to happen." Mac said, even though he wasn’t so sure himself. "And not many of us are left. Hiding just might work."

"What are we going to do, MacLeod?" The old immortal sat on a nearby bench.

"I don’t know." Mac sat down next to him. They sat in silence for awhile. He looked to his right at a newsstand only a few feet away. It seemed to be pretty crowded. No one seemed to have noticed their reactions to the news report. When one customer walked past the two immortals, Mac glanced at the headline. It read: ‘Immortals: Hoax of Real?’ The man holding the newspaper shook his head, muttering, "Just some scheme to get people to pay more money."

Mac stood, an idea dawning. Methos did as well. "Where are you going?" Methos asked as Mac began walking down the sidewalk.

"I’m going to see the producers of WNKP. Hand me that sheet with addresses on it, will you?" Methos did. MacLeod announced, "34 Main St. I think it’s that way." He turned around, heading in the direction they’d just come from.

"And what are you planning to do when you get there, MacLeod?"

"Reduce the hysteria."

Methos’ eyes grew wide. "Don’t tell me you’re planning on revealing yourself?"

He nodded. "That’s exactly what I had in mind. Either that, or try to convince them it was a hoax."

"I’m coming with you." The two walked down the streets toward Main. When they found it, it was easy to spot the sign for the building. They walked across the street and in through the front door. Many people were gathered at a double door at the other end of the lobby, and some were standing in a corner where a television was holstered. The two immortals walked over to the crowded door.

Because of his height, Mac was able to see over most of the crowd’s heads. Beyond the door was a room filled with people seated in rows of chairs or standing in the other doorways, and in front of them was a stage, where two people sat, a woman and a man. Mac realized the woman was Jennifer, Methos’ wife. The man must be the show host he and Methos had seen on the tv set. He was going to tell Methos this, but Methos was no longer there. Looking above the crowd’s heads again, he watched as Methos walked down the side aisle towards the stage. Jennifer saw him, and announced, "Here comes my husband, Methos."

All eyes turned to him. Methos kept on until he reached the stage. Most members of the audience were silent, others snickering, while a group seated on the other side were cheering and praising him, holding up signs that said, "Long live immortals!" Methos could hear them screaming that he was a messenger of god or something.

The talk show host was the first to speak of the two on the stage. "Mr. Samson, your wife seems to think that you’re the oldest of a race of immortal beings. Is this true?"

"No, it isn’t." Methos said, now standing on the stage. "It’s all a big hoax to get back at me." Jennifer glared at him. He hated lying in front of her, but he had to.

"Can you prove that, Me-I mean, Mr. Samson?" the host was trying to suppress a grin. He didn’t believe any of it, and was apparently having a good time.

Before Methos could say anything, the familiar buzz of an immortal’s presence rang through his ears. He looked at the side aisle where MacLeod was now standing in. He was looking wildly about, so it wasn’t him Methos was sensing.

"Why don’t you tell them, Methos?" A young voice spoke. Methos whirled around to see Daniel Harrington entering the stage through the right wing, his sword in hand. Methos had heard Daniel had become a headhunter after he had finished training him. Now he was one of the only headhunters left.

"Hello, Daniel," Still trying to play the part, he continued. "Why do you have a sword? Don’t tell me you believe all of this nonsense."

"Come now, old man," Daniel walked into the light so the audience could see him. The people seated near the stage started panicking at the sight of the sword. "They know about us. You don’t need to hide it anymore." He continued to walk forward, edging closer and closer to Methos. "They might as well know about us. We may all be gone tomorrow. Did you know that there are only four of us left? The gathering is near, old man. Mortals might as well know about us, because by tomorrow we’ll be extinct. Erased from existence. All but one of us." Daniel stopped only a few feet away from Methos and raised his sword. "I challenge you, Methos. And I assure you, you won’t walk away from this one."

Methos still did not move an inch from where he stood in center stage. "No. I don’t except."

Daniel ignored him and swung the sword down from above his head. Faster than the eye could see, Methos’ broadsword was out and blocking the blow. The fight continued while the audience both screamed and ran in panic or stayed to watch in fascination. The group in the corner were proclaiming this as a sacred, religious battle between good and evil or something. Methos wasn’t really paying attention, not when he was in the middle of a fight. On the side of the stage, Duncan stood with his Katana in hand, ready to fight Daniel if he won. He hoped not. He feared for his friend. Methos had a powerful Quickening. If he lost, Daniel would be two times stronger than he already was. Duncan knew he’d loose if that happened. He’d gathered a lot of Quickenings, but not as many as either Daniel or Methos, he was sure.

The fight continued for a long time, but neither won. The crowd continued to run in panic, but most of the people were out of the building by now. Many uniformed policemen pushed through the crowd and into the talk show room. When they saw the sword fight on the stage, some froze in shock. But the yquickly got out of it and took out their guns, aiming at Methos and Daniel. "Freeze!" one yelled, and MacLeod turned and saw them for the first time. So did the other two immortals. Methos stopped, but Daniel didn’t. He swung his sword, but Methos was ready for him and blocked. But before Daniel could stike again, though, six bullets entered his body, and he fell to the floor. Methos took the opportunity to run. He turned around and ran through the right wing. Mac followed through the left wing. They met in the back, not stopping until they’d reached Methos’ jeep. The older immortal started the car quickly and sped off, quickly changing to the speed limit so he’d blend in.

"I don’t think they’re following us," MacLeod said after glancing behind them. He looked at Methos. "Well, if anyone had any doubt before now, they certainly won’t after watching that show."

"Yeah. Instead of getting rid of the problem, I’ve only made it worse." Methos sighed.

"Don’t say that." MacLeod said, trying to be helpful. "Blame Daniel instead."

The old immortal smiled, but it didn’t help much. He still blamed himself. If only he’d kept silent about all of this near Jen! He sighed again. He thought he could trust her. After five thousand years, he should have known better. The watchers now knew his identity, again. But so did the entire world. There was no hiding his identity now.

A car suddenly beeped its car horn, keeping Methos from blaming himself further. Mac looked back and saw a black car directly behind them. Another black car appeared in the lane to the left. Two men sat in the front, dressed in black suits. The man in the passenger side rolled down the window and yelled, "The president wishes to see you. We’re to escort you right away."

Methos and MacLeod exchanged looks. Methos shrugged and looked back at the dark-suited man. "Sure. Lead on."

The immortals were lead to the White House. Another black car appeared in front of the jeep after they’d passed an intersection. When they reached the gate, the man in the passenger seat of the car in front provided the clearance to get in.

"I remember when this place wasn’t even finished," Mac said, gazing at the mansion that loomed before them.

"Me, too." Methos looked at Mac. "Maybe that’s why we’re here."

"You believe the president was watching that talk show?"

He shrugged. "Could be. If Robert’s still president, I’m sure of it."

"You know Robert Wilfred?"

Methos nodded. "I’ve known him for a couple of years. I bet he was surprised to see me on the air, especially after I died in a car accident."

"Great. Just great." MacLeod banged his head on the seat. "What do you plan on telling him?"

The old immortal shrugged. "I don’t know."

When they entered the building, they stood before metal detectors. Both immortals paused. Then they walked through. The detectors immediately went off.

One of the men that had escorted them there stepped forward. "We’re going to ask you to remove any weapon you may have."

Methos and MacLeod looked at each other. They stood there for a long time before both gave in and removed their swords from their coats, sheaths and all. A couple of bystanders gasped and moved back a few paces, but the men in the suits didn’t flinch. Reluctantly, the immortals handed their weapons to the secret service men-what else could they be?- and two of the men took them, and almost fell to the ground because of the unexpected weight. But both managed to hold them steadily after a few moments, and they followed behind the rest as Methos and MacLeod were escorted to the elevator.

"Where are we going?" MacLeod asked, not at all pleased at how his treasured katana was being handled.

"The oval office," one of the men answered.

When they reached the floor the oval office was on, they were immediately ushered into the room. A few of the secret service men stayed with them. Mac and Methos sat down on one of the two couches and waited. After a few minutes, the door opened, and there stood President Robert Wilfred. Everyone in the room stood up as he came in. Following him in were a few other people, some in suits and others in military uniforms.

"Hello, Rob," Methos said.

"Hello, Aaron." Robert stood a few feet away from the two immortals. "So you aren’t dead."

"Guess not." Methos said. "Mr. President, this is Duncan MacLeod."

"Pleased to meet you." Duncan said, extending a hand. Rob shook it.

"Duncan MacLeod. Yes. Mrs. Samson talked about you during her interview at the talk show. She said you were four hundred and fifty years old. Is that right?"

Methos and Mac looked at each other. Methos shrugged. Mac almost became annoyed at the older immortal for the little help, but instead stayed calm. It wouldn’t be any help to the present situation. "Yes, sir. It is." Mac said, turning again to the President.

Rob seemed unconvinced. "You’re meaning to tell me this is all real, that it isn’t some big hoax?"

"No, sir. It isn’t a hoax. It’s real." Methos said. "Everything my wife said is true. Immortals, Watchers, all of it."

"Ah-huh." Rob said. "I know you, Aaron. You like practical jokes. Now, please tell me this some kind of joke."

"It isn’t, sir." Duncan said. "We can prove it to you."

"How is that?"

Methos thought for a moment. "Do you have any hieroglyphics around here?"

"What?"

"Hieroglyphics."

"Why do you want to study an ancient artifact at a time like this?" A man in a tan suit asked. Everyone turned to him.

"I don’t. I want to read it."

Rob studied him for a minute. Then he went over to the desk and picked up a book. He handed it to Methos. On the cover, it read, A look into the Past: The Ancient Egyptians.

Methos looked up at Rob. "You just had this lying around, right?"

Rob shrugged. "It was something I got for my daughter. She wants to be an archeologist."

Methos opened the book, flipping through it until he came across a page with Ancient Egyptian writing on it. He began to read out loud, reading the symbols easily, without pausing. He continued while everyone watched. When he finished, he closed the book and handed it back to Robert.

"So you took the time to learn Hieroglyphics." The same man in the tan suit said.

"I did thousands of years ago, yes." Methos said.

"Just how old are you, then?" Another man asked, dressed in a navy uniform, who obviously still had doubts just like the rest.

"Five thousand and fifty years."

The man in the tan suit smirked. "Yeah, right. Like he’s that old. His name’s Aaron Samson, for crying out loud. They didn’t have names like that back then."

"They sure didn’t. My real name’s Methos."

"Ah-huh. What about you?" the tan suit man gestured to MacLeod. "Is your name really Caesar?"

"No, it isn’t." Mac said, getting tired of trying to explain. "It’s Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod. I was born in 1592 in the Highlands of Scotland."

"Really? You don’t sound Scottish."

"Accents wear off after four hundred and fifty years."

"Oh, really-"

"That’s enough, Mr. Hampshire." Rob said. He turned to Methos and MacLeod once more. "Okay, Aaron. We’ll play your game. Prove it."

Methos and MacLeod looked at each other once more and sighed. They’d tried the history lesson. The medical science part came next. "We will if you want blood on the carpet, Rob."

"What?" Rob asked, confused. Before anyone could do anything about it, Methos had gone to the desk and picked up a letter opener, then cut his hand open.

"Aaron! Are you insane?" Rob cried.

Methos quickly handed the knife to Duncan, and he cut his hand open too. Blood came from the slits the blade had made. The others in the room tried to approach; some even took out their guns. But both immortals stepped back, keeping them out of reach. They held their hands out and Methos cried, "Watch!"

Everyone in the room watched as both cuts healed in a matter of seconds. Soon, there was only blood left. Methos and Mac got some tissues from a box on the desk and wiped the blood off their hands.

"Woah." Someone said under their breath.

The immortals threw the tissues away and Methos turned back to face Rob and said, "Now do you believe me?"

A few hours later, Methos and MacLeod were in the pressroom, standing on the podium in front of the blue curtain and White House picture. Methos went first, explaining immortality and everything from Quickenings to the Prize. He told the press a little bit of his five thousand years of life, and then it was Mac’s turn. He told them a little of his life, too.

Then the president spoke.

"Mr. President!" the reporters called after he finished his speech. A woman in the center row was picked. "Do you believe this is a hoax? Or, like millions, do you believe this story?"

The President tried his best to answer all the questions. He was in the middle of answering one when Mac and Methos felt it. The buzz. The presence was strong, which only meant two immortals were near. They looked madly about, trying to spot them. Mac saw one of them first. It was Daniel, and he was holding a gun to one female reporter. She screamed, and everyone turned to look. The secret service men began to push the president out of the room.

"Methos! MacLeod!" Daniel cried, still clutching onto the woman.

"Daniel!" MacLeod cried, stepping towards him. Daniel pressed the gun harder against the reporter’s skull. "Don’t think about, MacLeod. If you come any closer, she’s dead."

"Don’t you dare, Harrington!" MacLeod cried, his anger showing.

"So you have a soft spot for mortals, MacLeod?" He turned the gun’s safety off. "Will it really make a difference whether this one dies today or tomorrow? They all die sometime."

"It doesn’t have to be now!"

Daniel smiled. "You’re right, MacLeod. It doesn’t have to be now. He let go of the reporter and ran through the door behind him. Mac followed him.

While this was going on, Methos had spotted the other immortal. He was standing in a doorway near the stage. "Good to see you again, Methos."

"Francais!" Methos said, eyes wide. "I thought you were dead!"

"How could I be here if I was?" He stepped forward, and light reflected off something at his side. Methos realized it was his sword as Francais raised it. "I challenge you, Methos."

Methos raised his eyebrow. "Why would you want to challenge me, Francais? You were my student. I remember the last time we met we parted as friends."

"I have plenty of reasons, Methos." Francais said. He glanced to the left. The reporters were fleeing every which way. He smiled evilly, but when he returned his attention to Methos it was replaced with anger. "One, you’re a member of the group that killed my wife thirty five years ago. Second, your own wife goes public and tells the world about us. And there’s the other reason, the Game. We are the only immortals left, old man, and I want the Prize."

"What if I don’t want to fight you?"

"Hmm." Francais tapped his chin. "I seem to remember an old man, a Joe Dawson, in 2015. He tried to grab his own gun, but I got him first."

Methos stared wide-eyed at him. "You killed Joe?!"

Francais ran out the door. Methos followed him into the hall and pulled out his sword. Not far from them, MacLeod and Daniel were engaged in battle, and soon they were, too. Reporters and cameramen filled the doorways the four had exited and watched in fascination as both fights continued.

In one fight, Mac was loosing. He had kept on his feet as much as he could, but soon, sooner than he’d hoped, his energy was spent, yet Daniel seemed stronger than ever. Soon, Daniel had the Highlander on his knees, gasping for breath and waiting for numerous wounds all over his broken body to heal. Duncan tried to stand, but he couldn’t feel his legs beyond the pain. His wounds seemed to worsen with every movement, and his blood poured freely onto the red carpet. He could barely feel a blade against his neck. He knew that all he had to do was drop and kick, and then he’d at least have a little time.

Drop and Kick, drop and kick. The words repeated over and over in his mind, but not his body. He couldn’t move any nerves left in his body. He watched helplessly as Daniel began to swing his sword outwards for the final blow. He could barely hear the crowd gasp as the sword swung closer and closer to his neck, and he could barely hear Daniel’s cry, "There can be Only One!" Then, he neither saw nor heard anymore as the blade connected to his neck and passed through…

"This is Janice Heartaway, for GBS News." One reporter, a woman with blond hair and in her twenties, was speaking to the camera perched on her cameraman’s shoulder. "If any of you out there have doubts about immortality, you may want to think twice. Behind me, two sword fights rage on between four immortals in a hallway of the White House. Two are Duncan MacLeod and Methos, who spoke earlier. The other two are unknown. It is yet to be determined whether or not this is all part of a complex hoax. No one knows what the outcome of these two fights will be, and, oh my god!"

Methos and Francais were deep in battle when the Quickening began. After he’d stabbed Francais deeply in the chest, Methos glanced over at the other end of the hall. The crowd scrambled towards the doors as lightning filled the room, screaming, while a few daring cameramen stayed and kept filming. Methos’ eyes swept over to the man whose body now floated a few feet off the ground. In horror, he realized just whose body it was. His gaze went to Daniel as he screamed while a bolt struck him.

Methos began to shake uncontrollably. Every feeling he’d kept locked up, every desire, every bit of his past came flooding back into his brain, enveloping him. He remembered and felt the pleasure of seeing people suffer at Death’s feet. He remembered and felt the happiness and love he’d shared with so may different beautiful women, and the emptiness and sorrow when they died or left him. All of these surfaced again after being buried so long deep in his heart. Now no one was left. Everyone was dead. He’d kept it hidden so long. Now everyone he’d ever cared for was dead. Friends. Lovers. All of them.

A cry came from his lips. It was a cry of a man in such unbelievable agony, the agony he’d had to suffer through for millennia. The cry of a man who was now truly alone. It was so loud, it could be heard above the noise of the Quickening, and the thousands gathered outside would swear after that day that the cry could be heard in all of Washington.

That was Mac’s Quickening going on over there. Mac’s Quickening! Methos turned to Thibodeaux once again and focused all of his anger and rage on his former student, leaving no mercy. Soon, Francais was on his hands and knees, while every bone in his body was broken or breaking, and most of his blood had already left his body. Methos swung, crying out with all of his lungs, "THERE CAN BE ONLY ONE!" Francais’ head rolled onto the blood-stained carpet, and Methos resumed his cry as Francais’ Quickening entered his body.

Daniel was gone when the Quickening was over. Methos didn’t know where he went, but he really didn’t care. They’d meet soon enough.

Methos knelt next to Duncan’s body. Joe was always convinced he’d win. Even Methos was convinced. It surprised him. The Highlander was the strongest person he’d ever met. Methos knew Duncan wouldn’t have gone down without a fight. Judging by the cuts and bruises, he knew that was exactly what happened.

Methos could hear footsteps approaching. It might have been the army, because he could hear shouts coming from the men-in-charge. But he didn’t feel like finding out. He wanted to be alone. Where he could do that, he had no idea. But he took off in the direction away from the shouting and running footsteps and somehow found a way out of the White House. He crouched behind a bush and surveyed the situation. Both Quickenings had caused major damage to a part of the house, but nothing too serious. The walls were still standing, but the windows weren’t. And the electricity in the entire building was out. Methos knew he would pay for it all sometime soon. But for now, he wanted to get out of there. He turned his attention to the fence. He knew that there were alarms near it. But if the electricity in the White House wasn’t working, it was possible the alarms weren’t, either. He approached the fence. Nothing happened. He climbed over it and ran across the street to an alley, away from the ever-growing crowd outside the White House fence.

His hover jeep was parked at the White House. He couldn’t go get it now. Daylight was approaching. He put his sunglasses on. If Mac knew he had these, he would have been a nervous wreck. Mac.

Events of the night that were temporarily gone from his mind resurfaced. Somewhere, Daniel Harrington was still alive. Methos wished he hadn’t trained him in the first place. Francais either. What drove Francais insanity like that? Methos wished he knew. Only the watchers knew. But he wasn’t going to them at a time like this. They’d likely have watched the newscasts. Now they knew Aaron Samson was Methos. He knew Samuel Johnston, the European Watchers Division’s Tribunal, wouldn’t like it one bit. He’d want to cut Methos’ head off the minute he saw him. He knew every other watcher on the planet would probably want the same.

Methos continued down the alley until he came to the next street. He paused near a Radio Shack. The news was playing in the window. Currently, men dressed in army uniforms stood right next to the White House. One of them, Methos thought was a lieutenant, was speaking.

"Everyone should be cautious," he said. "There are now two murderers running loose in Washington. Immortal or not, they are not to be trusted." Methos’ and Daniel’s pictures appeared on the screen. "These are what they look like. If anyone sees them, I advise them to stay away from them and call the cops as soon as they could. The first man may answer to the names Aaron Samson or Methos, and the second may answer to Daniel Harrington. Harrington is also wanted for terrorist acts in France a few years back."

The reporter spoke up. "This just in. A tape was delivered mysteriously to police only moments ago. The following was taken from it."

A blank wall filled the screen, and Daniel stood in front of it. Methos felt his hands clench into fists when he saw him. Daniel spoke. "Ladies and Gentlemen, good evening. If you’ve been watching the news programs, you’d probably think I was highly dangerous. Well, It’s not you I wan to kill. Instead, I want Methos to meet me tonight at Central Park in New York City at midnight. You’d better be there, old man."

"You bet I will, Harrington." Methos said to the screen as Daniel’s image disappeared and the reporter again filled the screen. He turned and resumed his walk down the next alley. The street he approached next was empty, and a hover car was parked there. His choices were either steal the car or go back to the White House and get his jeep. He chose stealing. He went up to it and broke the window with his fist. He reached in and unlocked the car, then got in and began to hot-wire it. Hot wiring wasn’t what it used to be. Now, he had to break the security on the car’s built-in computer, then change the ownership. After a few tries, he succeeded. To start the car, all he had to do was put his hand up to a screen along the dashboard. When it finished scanning his hand and recognized his signature, the car would started.

When it did, and a female voice spoke up, "Where to, dear?"

"New York, Central Park." Methos said, and the car immediately rose an inch off the ground and sped away down the streets of Washington D.C. in that direction.

His own jeep didn’t operate that way. It was old fashioned and made in the twenties. It hovered, but it still required a key to start it and gas to fill it. Modern hover cars required trash to fuel it.

He tried to focus on this as the car left Washington. He didn’t want to think about all of the friends and lovers he once had. Not at the moment. He may have won the battle with Francais Thibodeaux in anger, but he knew it was not the best way to fight. He cleared his mind and tried to relax.

The traffic that day was much heavier than usual. When Methos finally arrived in New York at almost eleven o’clock, he found out why. Crowds lined the streets near the park, wanting to see the fight that was going to take place as if it was a sport. Soldiers tried to hold the crowds back as the president’s car hovered by on the street. Methos parked the car a few blocks off and walked forward, trying his best to blend in with the crowd. He had to get in the park if the Gathering was to take place, because Daniel and Methos were the last immortals in existence. He walked past a group that had somehow found all this to be part of another crazy cult people could follow. They all wore black trench coats except for their leader, who wore dark clothes instead and held a sword made of cardboard above him. He was preaching about Doomsday, and how the Gathering was the beginning of this tragic event. Methos shook his head and walked on.

There was only one way he could think of getting into Central Park, and he didn’t feel like wasting time thinking of a better one. He walked up to a one of the men who was shouting orders and said. "Hi, sir."

The sergeant turned to him and immediately shouted for some of his men to grab him. As they did so, Methos said, "I don’t want any trouble. I just want to get into the park and get this over with."

The men didn’t listen, and Methos continued to try. They were leading him to an army truck when a voice spoke of behind them.

"Sergeant, what’s the meaning of this?"

Everyone wheeled around to see the President standing before them, surrounded by secret service men and a few others. Reporters in the crowd where shouting at him for comments.

"We were escorting this prisoner to the navy base, sir." The sergeant shouted, standing attention.

Rob looked at Methos. "Aaron. What are you doing here?"

"I came to fight Harrington, sir," Methos said.

"Let him loose, Sergeant." The sergeant signaled to his men, and they let go of Methos’ arms. Rob motioned over to his limo. "Aaron, come with me."

Aaron followed the President over to the limousine. When they were seated inside surrounded by secret service men, Rob said, "Daniel Harrington may be immortal, but he’s a terrorist, too. And he isn’t alone in the park, Aaron. He has a hostage."

Methos’ eyes widened with surprise. He hadn’t expected that. Did Daniel really think he wouldn’t come? "Who?"

"Jennifer Samson."

Methos eyes grew wider, and he almost stood up in his seat. The bewilderment changed to anger, and Rob watched as Methos through a fit, cursing in many languages he’d never even heard of in all of his diplomatic relations with other countries.

"Calm down, Aaron." Rob said. "She must mean a lot to you, even after she released your most major secret to the world."

Methos nodded. "She does mean a lot to me. I’ve lost her already, I know. But if she dies, then I really won’t have anyone left." He looked up at the President. "I have to go in there, Rob. I have to. We’re the only ones left. It’s the time of the Gathering." He attempted to smile. "But I never thought I’d be fighting my own students."

Now it was Rob’s turn for his eyes to grow wide. "Your students?"

Methos nodded. "I taught Francais and Daniel how to use a sword. I taught them. Can you believe it? I never knew they’d turn out like this. If only I knew, then I would have killed them long ago."

"Just how does an immortal die?" Rob asked, ignoring the fact that Methos had just confessed as being a murderer.

"The only way is if our heads are separated from our bodies." Methos said. "Otherwise, we ‘die’ temporarily and come back to life."

Rob shook his head. "After all that’s happened, I’m still not sure if I should believe it or not. I guess I should just let the public decide for me."

Methos smiled. "Just be careful not to let them start another Civil War."

Rob smiled back. They were friends, after all. Rob looked at his watch. "It’s twenty minutes till twelve."

"May I go now, sir?" Methos asked. "I try to be early for combats."

Rob nodded. He signaled the secret service man on Methos’ left to open the door. Methos climbed out of the limo, ignoring the crowd as he walked over to the entrance to Central Park.

When he was deep into the park, he could no longer hear them. He searched the park for the next ten minutes. He was reaching the center when the buzz entered his scull. Methos pulled out his Broadsword and continued walking.

"Hello, old man." A voice said from behind him. Methos whirled around and saw Daniel holding a gun to his wife’s head.

Methos raised his sword. "Let her go, Daniel. This is between you and me."

"Sure, old man. She was just for reassurance anyway." He let go of Jen, and she began running out of the park. Daniel put his gun away and pulled out his sword, raising it.

Both began to circle each other. Daniel attacked first. Methos blocked. This continued for awhile until the real battle started. Daniel was good. He’d grown strong after all of the Quickenings he’d received but so had Methos. Every trick Methos played, Aaron could block. It also was the other way around. The fight went on for a long time, both careful not to give the other an opening. Daniel forced Methos to back up while blocking a series of wild, fast moves. Methos didn’t even realize it until he felt the bark of a tree along his back and got off-balance. Daniel pushed him to his knees and swung, but Methos was already blocking it. He pushed himself up and got away from the tree, waiting. Daniel charged, and Methos parried. But the next move caught Methos off guard as the blade sliced through his mid-section, going halfway through his stomach. He stepped back in pain, but didn’t drop his sword. When Daniel attacked once more, he barely blocked in time. By then, his stomach had healed completely, and he was able to stand up straight once more.

Something loud went overhead. Daniel looked up, but Methos knew it was a helicopter, and looking up was a big mistake. Before Daniel realized it, Methos had dug his sword into the boy’s stomach, so far that it stuck out on the other side. Daniel immediately clutched his stomach, and that gave Methos enough time to pull his sword out and knock Daniel’s sword from his hand. He knocked Daniel onto his knees and put his blade against Daniel’s neck. Then he swung, but Daniel was already rolling away on the cement. As he rolled, Daniel picked up his sword, then stood and blocked just in time for Methos’ charge. Methos charged again, and this time Daniel was off balance, so he ducked behind a statue instead of blocking. The broadsword struck deeply into the metal carving, sparks flying. Methos tried to take it out when Daniel’s sword swung down. He ducked and rolled away, and Daniel’s own sword was now stuck in the pavement. Methos kicked him the face, still rolling, and as he stood Daniel fell flat on his back. When Methos approached, Daniel kicked his shins, causing him to sprawl backwards. This gave Daniel enough time to pull his sword out of the ground. As Methos clutched his most private spot, Daniel’s blade dug deeply into his chest. Daniel pulled it out swung, aiming for Methos’ neck before the older immortal healed. Methos ducked even lower than he already was, putting his head against Daniel’s chest, and heaved his student into the air and over Methos’ back, causing Daniel to do front-flip onto the ground behind Methos. Daniel’s sword flew from his hand, and as he hit the cement, a loud crack could be heard, and when Methos turned to look, his former student still lay there, unconscious, with blood pouring out of the crack in his skull. Methos left him there, and walked over to the statue, the wound in his chest already finished healing. He pulled the Broadsword free from the statue, and retraced his steps until he stood above Daniel.

A gasp came from the unmoving body, and as Daniel opened his eyes, he could see Methos above him, sword raised. Fear showed through his eyes, accompanied with disappointment. Methos looked down at him for a second, considering. There once was a time he would never even stoop to take his students’ lives. Yesterday, though, he did. Now, he was about to take another. Then he would be the only immortal left in the world. He would win the prize, and the only way to do so was to kill his own student. He didn’t want to do it. But this same man had killed MacLeod, and his other student had killed Joe. Still, he relented.

He began to lower his sword, when he saw Daniel’s hand move over to where his sword lay a few feet away. Instinct took over, and just barely before Daniel reached the weapon, Methos’ sword was already cutting through his neck.

Daniel’s head rolled onto the bloody cement, and his body began to levitate off the ground. Methos through back his head and arms as the Quickening began, dropping his sword. The wind picked up, and he, too, was lifted off the ground. A swirling white mass came from Daniel’s body and into Methos, and lightning struck all around him, stiking statues and nearby trees, setting them on fire. It was the most powerful Quickening he’d ever been a part of. Extraordinary power filled his brain, and suddenly he knew what everyone on earth was thinking. He could see through their eyes, could understand their problems and fantasies. Methos screamed on the top of his lungs, and managed to scream higher with every passing second. As the Quickening died down, he dropped onto the pavement, exhausted, not wanting to move, not able to move.

But after what seemed like an eternity, he did move. He got up off the ground, picking up his blood-covered sword. He wiped it off on the grass and walked out of the park towards the crowds.

When he emerged, everyone was silent. It was if the world had stopped rotating, because everything seemed to have come to a dead stop. All of them stared at Methos as he emerged, exhausted as ever. No one tried to approach. He walked forward, and the soldiers stood still, watching him. As Methos looked around at everyone, he knew what everyone was thinking at that very moment. As he continued to walk forward, he knew that some stared at him with amazement and respect, while others stared at him with fear and disbelief, and others stared at him with hatred. So, this was the Prize. It was wonderful. Millions of thoughts alien to his own filled his mind, thoughts coming from billions of people around the world.

But his own thoughts went to the Game. It was over. It was all over. But not quite. Now the world knew who he was, and he couldn’t flee anywhere because everyone would always recognize him. He was the last immortal alive and once was the oldest, and every mortal on earth knew it.

He paused when he realized something. He not only had the power to read men’s minds, but he could erase their memories as well. He could erase everyone’s memories of the last few days, and then it would be like any other ordinary day. Methos shook his head. He just couldn’t do that to these people. He’d just have to wait instead. Sometime, years or milleniums hence, history may have forgotten about immortals. Methos was willing to wait. But until then, he was willing to use his position in the best way possible, not the worse. Until then. Would he really live that long? Nah, it couldn’t happen.

It was a while before Methos had finished his story. When he did, it was time for everyone to get some actual work done. They may have taken the day off, but the paper couldn’t, so everyone ended up getting only half of the day off. As Methos walked over to his office, Clara Hatties stopped him.

"Sir," she began. "Do you want everyone to forget your immortality now?"

Methos looked down at her and smiled. "No, I don’t."

"Sir," this time Bryan Goodberry spoke. "Do you use the power you got from the Prize anymore?" Bryan looked nervous, as if he held some secret he didn’t want anyone else to know.

Methos looked at him, still smiling. "Don’t worry, Bryan. I only use it in if I have to."

Bryan relaxed at that, and Methos resumed the walk to his office. He sat down at his desk and turned on his computer. He still needed to write his column. He sat and thought for awhile, not sure which memory to write about this time. He finally settled on the story he’d just told his staff at the party and began by typing: 1866, Louisiana…

Two hours later, it was finished. He sent it over to his editors’ computer and sat back in his chair. He’d forgiven Jen eventually, and they’d moved to Mac’s island after his funeral. Mac would have wanted it in good hands. Methos smiled as his thoughts drifted to the party that had been his that very day. Six thousand years! He never thought he’d ever live this long. At that moment, Methos wondered if he’d ever live to be ten thousand. Nah, it couldn’t happen.