Ch. 1: The Lady in Red
"Alright, let's do it," the young redhead mumbled. She punched a short sequence of numbers into her armband, and stepped into the light. She was svelte yet muscular, wrapped in a tight red tank top and pants, and black leather boot up to her knees. She tightened her black leather gloves in a menacing motion, and stared down the men sharing the hallway with her with piercing blue eyes. Her shoulder length, wild red hair almost seemed to glow against darkened hallway.
"We've thirty seconds b'fore me bomb goes off. Do ye really wanna risk it?" she said in a slight Scottish drawl. The men, all clad in black jumpsuits with glowing green eyes, advanced. "Always the hard way. Aright then, have at thee. I'm unarmed."
The man closest to her pulled a gun, aimed true to her heart. The woman grinned, and in a motion uncannily fast, batted it away, and delivered a fast spinning kick to the man's jaw. He staggered, hit his head on the near wall, and fell to the ground. The red-haired woman turned her attention to the next man, who had pulled a knife. She swerved and dodged his clumsy attacks, then leapt into the air and wrapped her legs around his throat. In a single motion she twisted her body, throwing her foe into the man behind him. She smiled at her handiwork as they climbed to their feet.
Suddenly, a concerned sense of realization came over her face. "Shiite, she thought, "I've only ten seconds!"
"Well lads, it's been fun, but I've really got to go." She made several backflips before turning around fully, and leaping through a nearby window. Her arms shielded her from the shattered glass as the wind rushed against her face. On Hundred stories up, this would be suicide for any normal person.
But Rahne Wallace is not a normal person.
A rush of energy enveloped her body as fur sprouted from her body, her limbs tightened and stretched, and a thin, leathery membrane grew in between her fingers. Whence the transition from woman to Zoanthrope was completed, all it took was a flap of her bat-like wings to escape from the danger of falling. A satisfied smile crept along her lips as her explosives detonated, ravaging the 96th floor of the building but leaving the rest intact. Her mission completed, she began the flight home.
It had been 53 years since the last stand of the Old Tylon Corporation, and only 15 since the rise of the new Tylon Corporation. Stefano and Roman Tylon, twin sons of the old Tylon CEO, resurrected the company and perused enough government contracts to make it a multi-national conglomerate. With its position firmly rooted, it resumed right where it left off, with Zoanthrope experimentation. But Rahne didn't really care about that. A freelance mercenary can't get entangled in one fight, lest she lose her own reputation.
She landed at her loft, atop a non-descript yet expensive apartment building near the coast. She'd lived there a good many years, its convenience a boon. She could fly in under the cover of night, and no one ever asked questions. She lift her wrist band close to her face, and punched another series of buttons. A small screen flickered, displaying the image of a young man with long, black hair. "Mission accomplished. Tylon's gonna take a while te recover from its accounting division bein wiped out."
"Very good, Miss Wallace. You'll find that the agreed to sum has been directly wired into your account," he said in a sight British accent.
"Good. If ye need me again, ye have me frequency. Rahne out."
She removed the band and set it next to her home computer. She took of her gloves and set them on her desk, and walked away. As she strolled towards the bathroom, she removed her shirt and flung it onto a nearby papasan. She entered, and removed her last article of clothing, then brushed aside the shower curtain. Her hands deftly glided over the marble tile, turning the shower knob to just the right position, then pulling it from the wall. A hot stream of water shot forth from the showerhead, covering her naked body. It was a simple pleasure, a long hot shower after a mission, but one she cherished nonetheless. She took a small, red sponge, filled it with her favorite body soap, and rubbed it along her body. She then took a bottle filled with a red fluid and poored it over her hair. She worked it into a thick lather, and washed it away. A soft linen towel hugged her nude torso, wrapping her in its warmth and comfort.
She walked out to her living room, and a shiver ran down her spine. A young, brown-haired man lounged in her favorite chair, a sinister grin glaring her in the face. He was thin and slender, yet very tall. A long white trench coat with silver studs hung from his black-clothed body. Leather pants hugged his legs to his leather highboots and a black cotton shirt his body.His eyes were a blue so cold that they seemed to be able to freeze her to the bone. "Hello Rahne," he said in a voice so devoid of any humanity that made her blood run cold.
"Harada Busuzima. What d'ye want?" Harada, that name stuck in her mind like a knife. One of the most influential people in the world, Harada Busuzima was the head of the Neo-ZLF, a terrorist organization dedicated to Tylon Corporation's destruction and the subjugation of normal humans. Although every bit as corrupt at the Tylons, Harada was every bit as dedicated to Tylon's downfall as the various Zoanthrope Rights Movements. So many sides in this conflict, Tylon, Neo-ZLF, and Shina Gado's own Winterguard, the government's own response to Tylon. In order to preserve righteousness, she reasoned, sometimes you have to deal with the devil.
"You know full well what I want, Rahne Wallace." He stood, revealing himself to be at least a foot taller than Rahne herself. He approached, his eyes never leaving Rahne. He passed her, reaching for a bottle of champagne on ice, and poured a glass. "1995, a good year, was it not?"
"Ah wouldn't know." Rahne said tightly lipped.
"Is that so?" he took a sip of the champagne. "I can see you are clearly not in the mood for conversation, so I will be concise. I have a job for you."
"Well good for ye. But ah'm a busy girl..."
Harada drew close, Rahne's pulse raced and her breathing quickened. His neck nearly pressed against her face. She could smell him, a scent of privilege and prestige, of money and power, and corruption. She felt contempt this man, yet hung onto every word he said.
"You'll meet with this man, Richard Gado. You'll follow his every move, learn his every manurism and if I give the word, end his life."
"An why would ah do that?"
Harada pressed Rahne against himself, and brushed his lips against her ear. She shuddered in half anticipation and half disgust. "Because Rahne, you can't resist."
Rahne pushed herself away, then promptly slapped Harada. "What makes ye think that. Sure yur handsome... and rich... but ye're nuthin ta me!"
Harada chuckled to himself, and Rahne saw red. She clenched her fists, ready to strike Harada down where he stood. "I didn't mean that, Miss Wallace. I mean," he again drew close. "... I know your secret."
Rahne sighed. She knew that Harada knew her secret; she just hoped he wouldn't use that knowledge. It was a foolish hope; Harada Busuzima was every bit as treacherous as his infamous parent, Hajime. The only difference between the two was that while Hajime Busuzima was utterly mad; Harada was cold, calculating, and prideful.
"I expect to hear good news on your latest assignment, Rahne." He smirked walking outside to the balcony. A small helicopter rose behind him, and he grabbed a rope ladder from it. "If not, you'll be hunted and persecuted more than any Zoanthrope."
As he pulled away, Rahne let out a low, feral growl. She hated being powerless to choose her own assignments, and hated the fact that Harada was privy to her deepest, darkest secret. Deep inside her heart, she could feel something welling up deep inside. She could feel the hunger, more a lust actually, accompanied by dull ache in her teeth and scratchiness in her throat. She wanted it, needed it, but couldn't have it. She clenched her chest and held tight to the nearest piece of furniture. For what seemed an eternity she ached inside until the craving finally passed.
"Curse ye Harada Busuzima. Someday, somehow ah will kill ye," she whispered, finally retreating to her loft as the first rays of the sun warmed the city below.
"Alright, let's do it," the young redhead mumbled. She punched a short sequence of numbers into her armband, and stepped into the light. She was svelte yet muscular, wrapped in a tight red tank top and pants, and black leather boot up to her knees. She tightened her black leather gloves in a menacing motion, and stared down the men sharing the hallway with her with piercing blue eyes. Her shoulder length, wild red hair almost seemed to glow against darkened hallway.
"We've thirty seconds b'fore me bomb goes off. Do ye really wanna risk it?" she said in a slight Scottish drawl. The men, all clad in black jumpsuits with glowing green eyes, advanced. "Always the hard way. Aright then, have at thee. I'm unarmed."
The man closest to her pulled a gun, aimed true to her heart. The woman grinned, and in a motion uncannily fast, batted it away, and delivered a fast spinning kick to the man's jaw. He staggered, hit his head on the near wall, and fell to the ground. The red-haired woman turned her attention to the next man, who had pulled a knife. She swerved and dodged his clumsy attacks, then leapt into the air and wrapped her legs around his throat. In a single motion she twisted her body, throwing her foe into the man behind him. She smiled at her handiwork as they climbed to their feet.
Suddenly, a concerned sense of realization came over her face. "Shiite, she thought, "I've only ten seconds!"
"Well lads, it's been fun, but I've really got to go." She made several backflips before turning around fully, and leaping through a nearby window. Her arms shielded her from the shattered glass as the wind rushed against her face. On Hundred stories up, this would be suicide for any normal person.
But Rahne Wallace is not a normal person.
A rush of energy enveloped her body as fur sprouted from her body, her limbs tightened and stretched, and a thin, leathery membrane grew in between her fingers. Whence the transition from woman to Zoanthrope was completed, all it took was a flap of her bat-like wings to escape from the danger of falling. A satisfied smile crept along her lips as her explosives detonated, ravaging the 96th floor of the building but leaving the rest intact. Her mission completed, she began the flight home.
It had been 53 years since the last stand of the Old Tylon Corporation, and only 15 since the rise of the new Tylon Corporation. Stefano and Roman Tylon, twin sons of the old Tylon CEO, resurrected the company and perused enough government contracts to make it a multi-national conglomerate. With its position firmly rooted, it resumed right where it left off, with Zoanthrope experimentation. But Rahne didn't really care about that. A freelance mercenary can't get entangled in one fight, lest she lose her own reputation.
She landed at her loft, atop a non-descript yet expensive apartment building near the coast. She'd lived there a good many years, its convenience a boon. She could fly in under the cover of night, and no one ever asked questions. She lift her wrist band close to her face, and punched another series of buttons. A small screen flickered, displaying the image of a young man with long, black hair. "Mission accomplished. Tylon's gonna take a while te recover from its accounting division bein wiped out."
"Very good, Miss Wallace. You'll find that the agreed to sum has been directly wired into your account," he said in a sight British accent.
"Good. If ye need me again, ye have me frequency. Rahne out."
She removed the band and set it next to her home computer. She took of her gloves and set them on her desk, and walked away. As she strolled towards the bathroom, she removed her shirt and flung it onto a nearby papasan. She entered, and removed her last article of clothing, then brushed aside the shower curtain. Her hands deftly glided over the marble tile, turning the shower knob to just the right position, then pulling it from the wall. A hot stream of water shot forth from the showerhead, covering her naked body. It was a simple pleasure, a long hot shower after a mission, but one she cherished nonetheless. She took a small, red sponge, filled it with her favorite body soap, and rubbed it along her body. She then took a bottle filled with a red fluid and poored it over her hair. She worked it into a thick lather, and washed it away. A soft linen towel hugged her nude torso, wrapping her in its warmth and comfort.
She walked out to her living room, and a shiver ran down her spine. A young, brown-haired man lounged in her favorite chair, a sinister grin glaring her in the face. He was thin and slender, yet very tall. A long white trench coat with silver studs hung from his black-clothed body. Leather pants hugged his legs to his leather highboots and a black cotton shirt his body.His eyes were a blue so cold that they seemed to be able to freeze her to the bone. "Hello Rahne," he said in a voice so devoid of any humanity that made her blood run cold.
"Harada Busuzima. What d'ye want?" Harada, that name stuck in her mind like a knife. One of the most influential people in the world, Harada Busuzima was the head of the Neo-ZLF, a terrorist organization dedicated to Tylon Corporation's destruction and the subjugation of normal humans. Although every bit as corrupt at the Tylons, Harada was every bit as dedicated to Tylon's downfall as the various Zoanthrope Rights Movements. So many sides in this conflict, Tylon, Neo-ZLF, and Shina Gado's own Winterguard, the government's own response to Tylon. In order to preserve righteousness, she reasoned, sometimes you have to deal with the devil.
"You know full well what I want, Rahne Wallace." He stood, revealing himself to be at least a foot taller than Rahne herself. He approached, his eyes never leaving Rahne. He passed her, reaching for a bottle of champagne on ice, and poured a glass. "1995, a good year, was it not?"
"Ah wouldn't know." Rahne said tightly lipped.
"Is that so?" he took a sip of the champagne. "I can see you are clearly not in the mood for conversation, so I will be concise. I have a job for you."
"Well good for ye. But ah'm a busy girl..."
Harada drew close, Rahne's pulse raced and her breathing quickened. His neck nearly pressed against her face. She could smell him, a scent of privilege and prestige, of money and power, and corruption. She felt contempt this man, yet hung onto every word he said.
"You'll meet with this man, Richard Gado. You'll follow his every move, learn his every manurism and if I give the word, end his life."
"An why would ah do that?"
Harada pressed Rahne against himself, and brushed his lips against her ear. She shuddered in half anticipation and half disgust. "Because Rahne, you can't resist."
Rahne pushed herself away, then promptly slapped Harada. "What makes ye think that. Sure yur handsome... and rich... but ye're nuthin ta me!"
Harada chuckled to himself, and Rahne saw red. She clenched her fists, ready to strike Harada down where he stood. "I didn't mean that, Miss Wallace. I mean," he again drew close. "... I know your secret."
Rahne sighed. She knew that Harada knew her secret; she just hoped he wouldn't use that knowledge. It was a foolish hope; Harada Busuzima was every bit as treacherous as his infamous parent, Hajime. The only difference between the two was that while Hajime Busuzima was utterly mad; Harada was cold, calculating, and prideful.
"I expect to hear good news on your latest assignment, Rahne." He smirked walking outside to the balcony. A small helicopter rose behind him, and he grabbed a rope ladder from it. "If not, you'll be hunted and persecuted more than any Zoanthrope."
As he pulled away, Rahne let out a low, feral growl. She hated being powerless to choose her own assignments, and hated the fact that Harada was privy to her deepest, darkest secret. Deep inside her heart, she could feel something welling up deep inside. She could feel the hunger, more a lust actually, accompanied by dull ache in her teeth and scratchiness in her throat. She wanted it, needed it, but couldn't have it. She clenched her chest and held tight to the nearest piece of furniture. For what seemed an eternity she ached inside until the craving finally passed.
"Curse ye Harada Busuzima. Someday, somehow ah will kill ye," she whispered, finally retreating to her loft as the first rays of the sun warmed the city below.