The waves stained the shore red.

Three hours after midnight, something screamed. A single cry, like the shock of birth.

And as the swirling water leveled off, a hand rose through the foam, fingers clutching.

Then came another hand.

All at once, a face broke the cold surface, the gulping mouth gasping for air.

The hair was black and clung to the scalp. Streaks of blood ran down, framing the face. The face of a dead man.

The pain was too great.

With feeble kicks, the figure rolled over onto his back.

He floated there for a long time as the warmth dissipated and the water cooled around him. Hazel eyes stared up at the cold, thankless sky. It had been many years since those eyes had glimpsed the sky.

For a long time, the man just lay there, naked and alive. When the cold began to sting like life, he rolled over. Testing reborn limbs, he began swimming for shore.

For Sinanju. For home.

Chapter 2

His name was Remo and he could feel a thousand sets of eyes following his every move even though he was alone.

When the sensation first manifested itself all those months ago, he hadn't known what it was. For Remo Williams, the not knowing had been a frightening thing.

Remo was a Master of Sinanju, the most ancient and deadly of all the martial arts. The other, lesser martial arts were but splintered rays. Sinanju was the sun source.

The very hum of life was white noise to most people. Their senses were dead to the world around them. As a Master of Sinanju, Remo was trained to the pinnacle of human perfection. His environment was alive. He was able to see and sense things the rest of the world tuned out.

One of the things Remo was able to detect were the telltale signs that signalled to him he was being watched. As a professional assassin, this honed sense was oftentimes the difference between life and death. The ability was as much a part of him as hands or eyes or breath itself. And so when he'd gotten up that morning almost a year ago and felt an audience crammed into his small bedroom alongside his sleeping mat, he thought his senses were going screwy. There was no one else with him. He was certain of it. No heartbeats, no nothing. He was alone. Yet not alone.