"Frozen" by Madonna and Patrick Leonard, part of the album Ray of Light. Lyrics and music copyright 1998 Maverick Recording Company.
Anime events and dialogue were rendered with necessary dramatic license.
Virtua Fighter is copyright of Sega and others.
JO
Beginning
Part 1 / Frozen
by GoddessBelili
You only see what your eyes want to see
How can life be what you want it to be
You're frozen
When your heart's not open
Cold.
The water was cold as it poured down on me, sharp and stinging like a thousand tiny nettle whips. My hands fumbled for the shower knobs, my senses seeking to remember how the bathroom wall looked and felt. If I did not have warm water, the ice in my spirit might very well break through my skin.
In the accursed darkness where I had slipped into, nothing was impossible. I could die there, or feel the greatest pain that had surmounted death itself.
I did not feel like opening my eyes.
Not yet.
No.
It should not be like this.
My fingers froze on the tiles. I tilted my head forward, and the wall was even colder through the skin on my face.
Scarred.
Damn.
I felt numb and powerless.
Was this the man I had turned into, a shell so empty that only ice and pain could bear to live in his heart?
Ore wa...
I did not know.
I did not know anything anymore.
What was right. What I needed. Who I was.
What I lived for.
What I have left to live and fight for.
There was Hagakure, so sedate and untouched that whenever I step into its woods I cheat myself into thinking that I might someday find my own peace, like the people in that seemingly timeless sanctuary had through the purity in their hearts.
So here I walk this other world of stone mazes, of rising chrome and steel as sharp and majestic as the finest blade. A world of cruel beauty that drew me into its embrace, in my need for Hagakure's salvation.
But damn.
For me.
For me there was nothing.
I live in the cloak of ten generations of greatness and power, fulfilling an elusive destiny under the mask of shadows. A warrior burdened with secrets that most would kill for.
Sometimes I wish they would.
If they could.
In the shadows, after all, they could not see.
In the shadows, I wait for the pain and cold and forever listen to the endless taunt of its mysteries.
In the shadows, I lived.
You're so consumed with how much you get
You waste your time with hate and regret
You're broken
When your heart's not open
The rocks had a slight sting against his feet, as he defied gravity and seduced the laws of nature. He had the strength to resist reality itself.
He took no pride in the knowledge, as he leapt from butte to hill to jutting, jagged giant rocks scattered throughout the land. Wind howled through the treetops, slammed its concealed fury against mountain walls.
The landscape was familiar in its serenity, a silent, rather uncaring witness to greed and darkness.
The heat of the late-afternoon sun seeped through the blue-black cloth that rested comfortably against his flesh. The ninja garb almost felt like a second skin, and he rarely went out without wearing it. More so the mask, with its blazing character on the forehead and the black felt that hid the lower half of his face.
And his scar.
She was waiting for him on top of the tiny hill, smiling without mirth, as icy as her own soul. Her suit looked unruffled by the breeze and untainted by dust.
Cold.
He landed before her.
Her eyes took in the kanji on his mask. She nodded with what looked like satisfaction.
He nodded in return. He did not like speaking. He did not need to speak to convey that he had come in acceptance of her offer.
She tilted her head to one side, and opened her artificially-red lips.
"Kage-Maru. I have a mission for you."
If I could melt your heart
We'd never be apart
Give yourself to me
You hold the key
The price was high. And she could afford it.
There was no other who could do thorough work of the task she had in mind. One man was less conspicuous.
I was that man.
The subject had companions, she had said. Three, to be certain. She had given me files and photographs of all four of them.
They were all young, bursting with life and energy even through their stolen images forever captured in one stance.
The subject had an older brother. Blond like her. He looked cocky and confident, defiant of the world and all the challenges it could possibly pose to him. He was dressed in a racing uniform, standing beside a colorfully-decorated car, grinning. The file said he was adept in Jeet Kune Do.
There were two others. Most certainly not related to her.
The young woman was Oriental, petite, with long black pigtails. Ensei-ken technique and slippery. It was ridiculous that with so many Koenkan chasing after her, they still had not succeeded in capturing her. She was rather popular in the underground circles, this girl.
Koenkan were fools. Techniques do not make the fighter, as they falsely believed it to be.
Flash did not mean substance.
One of the Hagakure philosophies taught to all its children.
The young man was Japanese, brown-haired and with a stupid smile. Hakkyoku-ken. It was a rare form, one I have not yet encountered. The profile said he used to be popular in tournaments in his native land. His photograph was taken during one of his victories in Tokyo. Why was he here?
Why were all four of them traveling together?
And the subject.
God.
An angel descended to earth, with eyes as blue as a cloudless sky. Through the photograph, she smiled straight at me, golden hair framing her gentle features like a halo.
She was innocence and life.
She was beautiful.
Now there's no point in placing the blame
And you should know I suffer the same
If I lose you
My heart will be broken
The four of them caused quite a stir when they entered the casino ballroom where the party was being held. From where he had been standing for the greater part of the past hour, he saw the two boys enter ahead, dressed in tuxedos.
The brown-haired of the two, the one called Akira, had been complaining about the outfit, he was certain of that. He was not comfortable in the shiny black suit himself; he realized he missed the soft cool black-blue fabric that sung silently through the wind as he moved.
But work called upon him to dress up like this, in what some called a monkey suit.
He stood leaning on the wall at the shadowy side of the ballroom, observant since he had entered with a group of noisily-chattering men and women a while ago.
The bunch had fairly pulsed with an anxious, almost nervous, collective energy. They were the PR group of this company, the automobile brand that had accepted Jacky Bryant as its driver for tomorrow's race. There were a lot of speculations on the capability of this cocky young race driver for whom the party was being held. The PR people did not seem to know if it was a good or bad thing for the company image.
Superficial. Everything was superficial.
She and the Koenkan heiress, Pai, arrived next.
She was dressed in a flowing light aqua gown, hair swept up into curls and tendrils falling down to teasingly brush against her angelic face.
After a scuffle between Akira and Pai, the four of them managed to enter the main hall.
Several minutes later, the dancing began.
His eyes did not leave her as she floated across the room like a cherubim on a cloud, and stopped right behind the one named Akira.
They spoke, the brown-haired boy hesitating, she with her eyes pleading sweetly and her rounded pink mouth curling into a cajoling smile.
He felt his chest tighten. The prosthetic skin that he used to cover his scar was beginning to itch against his face.
He was choking. Against what he saw. Against the impossibly tight collar of the suit.
"Sir? Another glass?"
He lowered his gaze to a waiter standing a few feet away. The other man carried a tray laden with empty and full glasses.
More champagne was what he needed.
Although alcohol never affected his senses, the idea of doing something else appealed highly to him at that moment.
Anything to deviate himself from drowning in the sensations that the angel stirred up inside of him.
"Yes," he replied, placing his empty champagne flute on the tray and taking a full one in its stead, "thank you very much."
The waiter nodded in acknowledgment and continued on his way around the room.
Tinkling feminine laughter, clear and lively as silver bells, reached his ears. Raising the glass to his lips, his eyes followed the source of the sound.
She was dancing with the brown-haired boy, smiling at him and gazing into his eyes.
He cursed and drained the glass, then looked for another waiter who had champagne.
Love is a bird, she needs to fly
Let all the hurt inside of you die
You're frozen
When your heart's not open
The music seemed to fade with a life all its own when they stood face to face.
The siblings' parents were at the party as well.
I watched with amusement as most of the onlookers, PR people and social climbers who had fair knowledge of Jacky and Sarah Bryant's background, hushed in their grating chatter and trained their ears at the family of four that was standing in an uncomfortable circle to the center of the ballroom.
The siblings came from a rich background. The file on it was rather extensive, a boring biographical account of how the Bryant Corporation rose to power as one of the most affluent families as well as the most respected names in private industrial investments. Eva Durix had probably deemed it amusing to feed such nonsense to me, to see how far I could tolerate her mirthless humor.
Apparently, the two of them left home a little more than a year ago, the girl fresh out of high school. The boy had decided it was time to get a head start on his dreams to be a Formula-One racer, and she had been supportive all the way.
Much to the chagrin of their parents.
"Someone so beautiful should not go without a piece of jewelry for an accent," the elegant mother said to her daughter, pride in her voice and facial expression. She slid a ring off her fingers and took her daughter's hand.
"Mom, I-"
"There." The older woman cut her off smoothly as she slid the jewelry onto her daughter's left ring finger and patted the ornament into place. "It does look pretty on you, Sarah."
Flustered, all she could do was smile.
The parents turned their attention to the taciturn-looking young man who stood a few feet away.
"Jacky?"
What followed was a rapid fire of angry words between father and son that was drowned out by the excited whispers of the curious onlookers. Hearing was quite a challenge from my side of the room. Seeing the look on their faces was enough for me.
The young man turned and began to stalk off towards the exit. Halfway, he turned and fairly glared at his sister. "Come on, Sarah. Let's go back to the hotel."
Caught between her brother and her parents, she looked from one side to another, a confused look clouding the freshness of her beautiful face.
"Mom, Dad, I'm sorry," she said at last, cutting with a clean swath of quiet sound through the tension.
She shook her golden head sadly, apologetically, and ran in the direction of her brother.
I stared after her, still focused on her path even minutes after she had gone out of sight.
This rich beautiful girl.
She could have anything she wanted.
Yet.
And yet.
I...
I could not believe she chose to follow her brother's foolish dreams.
If I could melt your heart
We'd never be apart
Give yourself to me
You hold the key
The prosthetic skin patch was again on his face, and it felt sticky against the heat of midmorning.
The light brown jumpsuit that served as the uniform of the track cleaning crew did not fit him well. He tried to suppress a smile as he recalled the gangly crew member who had succumbed so weakly to his three-second sleeper hold. The poor man was now in slumber land, cushioned between black garbage bags stowed by one of the racing stadium's many exits.
He made his way to the side of the racing track, where the race was now taking heated momentum. He pulled the baseball cap that matched the jumpsuit even lower to shield his eyes. It would have to do. That was the easiest way to get closest to the track and the quarry and not make people suspicious at the same time.
"Go, Jacky!"
"You can do it, Jacky!"
"Jacky! Jacky! He's our man!"
Perfect.
The post of this particular crew member was actually close to the spot where the subject stood with her two companions. The three of them were wildly cheering, waving their arms, practically half-leaning off the stand railings in their united enthusiasm.
He felt a twinge of envy.
To be young. To live life with such energetic abandon.
He had forgotten.
He pushed these musings aside, and concentrated on the task at hand.
Three laps had passed before the two leading cars ran neck to neck. Then the white car swerved to the right, its path within throwing range of his vantage point.
His right hand reached into the jumpsuit's pocket and retrieved a small roundish contraption, barely bigger than a button. He scraped a nail on its ridgy edge, releasing the lock.
The white car sped onwards, wavering from side to side but never losing its speed.
Not for much longer.
Sixty meters.
Fifty.
Forty.
Now.
The small container sailed invisibly through the air and landed flat on the track, spilling its contents.
Crude oil.
A second or so later, the sound of screeching tires screamed shrilly through the air, followed by a resounding crash, then punctuated by screams of the onlookers.
He need not have looked to know what happened.
He lowered his head and took a deep breath.
"Gomen nasai," he whispered into the dank trackside shelter.
He headed for the stairwell that led up to the stands.
You only see what your eyes want to see
How can life be what you want it to be
You're frozen
When your heart's not open
She was there, panicky and half-incoherent, when I reached the spot where their tiny group had been cheering her brother on mere moments ago.
The brown-haired boy she had danced with last night was not there, only the smaller pigtailed girl served as her means of support as she took in the possible effects of her brother's car accident.
She and Pai were clutching onto each other's shoulders, looking around with wild eyes.
"Oh my god, Jacky! What happened to him?" Her voice was ready to break into sobs at any moment.
"Sarah, I don't know," said the pigtailed girl, fear in her face, "let's find out. Why don't we-"
"Miss Sarah Bryant?'
Both of them turned to look in my direction.
"Yes," she replied shakily, eyes searching my face for any trace of denial or confirmation of their suspicions.
"Your brother was seriously hurt, ma'am. We're taking him to the hospital. I need you to come with me."
"Where is he?" she asked.
"He's still alive!" interjected the Oriental girl.
"I'll take you to him," I replied.
"Pai, I'm going," she told her companion.
"You go ahead," replied Pai. "I'm going to find that idiot Akira and we'll catch up with you."
"All right."
With a nod, Pai ran off in the opposite direction.
She turned to face me, blue eyes blazing with both fear and determination. "Let's go."
I turned and picked up speed. She followed closely on my heels.
Inwardly, I smiled.
Everything was going according to plan.
If I could melt your heart
We'd never be apart
Give yourself to me
You hold the key
They had ran a good distance down the passageway that led to a far side of the stadium's carpark before he felt her beginning to lag behind.
"Where are we going?" she asked, breathing heavily. "How much farther do we have to go?"
The area was dark and silent, as he wanted it to be.
He stopped running.
The time for pretense was past.
"Not much," he replied, turning to face her. Slowly.
A spark of confusion crossed her face, followed by a slow dawning of fearful realization.
"What do you mean by that?" she blurted out, taking a tentative step backward.
"We are not going to your brother," he said, taking out the pouch of sleeping dust from the jumpsuit pocket.
"What..." Her voice trailed off, her eyes following the movement of his hands.
For several seconds, they were caught in the slow, deadly dance of predator and prey. He moved towards her, as she struggled to maintain her consciousness despite the dust beginning to permeate the air around her.
"No," she gasped out defiantly, weakly, before falling in an unconscious heap against his chest.
He gathered her close to him with one arm. He smiled.
So easy.
"Yes," he answered.
If I could melt your heart
We'd never be apart
Give yourself to me
You hold the key
I opened my eyes.
The damn water was too cold.
I ignored the stinging pain as thousands, millions, of relentless water droplets pounded down onto my eyelids. Pain did not matter much to me.
Not anymore.
I turned my head away from the spray and found the knob, selecting the nozzle that would release the warm water. I felt like a child, reacting right away when he was the slightest bit uncomfortable.
Had I ever known what it was like to be a child?
Perhaps children were smarter.
I do not know.
I reached up to the sensitive, roughened spot of skin on my face. It had been covered with fake skin for the better part of the past twenty-four hours. The scar was there as always, jutting and indelible.
Like so many times in the past, I had to hide. If not my whole self, then a part of me. If not myself, then who I am.
To the point that everything seemed so deeply embedded into the shadows, concealed beneath so many shrouds and self-deceiving lies.
I no longer even knew where to look.
If I could melt your heart
