"Your left side is open!"
"Ugh!"
THUD!
"That's the third time I've got you there, kid. Don't you ever learn?"
"Let's do it again..."
"Negative. You're already too weak from the training and if we keep going, you won't be able to complete any extra missions. You remember our deal, right? I'll train you in the art of Shéquán and you'll aid me in whatever missions we have that aren't assassinations. If you ask me, you got the better cut of the deal. I've seen how you move, kid. How you fight. You've been trained by assassins before but you choose non-lethal versions of it. I don't know the reason behind it but I've respected our end of the deal. So, when I say it's over, then it's time for you to honor yours. If you don't like that, I can just be on my way."
The boy only grunted, exhaling a reluctant breath. "Alright..."
"Good, now, let's go."
Training on the shore of Thailand, the boy sat in the sand and watched as his mentor, Christie, turned to leave. Christie was tall for a woman with silver eyes and near snow-white hair. Her skin was somewhat pale with short hair that reached just below her ears. Her body was rather voluptuous, enhanced by the rather thin bikini she wore for the training.
The boy's name was Bruce Wayne. He was tall and lean with tan skin from his time in Thailand. He was toned with slicked back black hair and blue eyes that gazed after Christie as she walked away the beach with a sway in her hips. Since there was no one else on the beach, he suspected that she was playfully flirting with him.
"Come on, kid!" She called. "You coming or what?"
Bruce rose up and followed after her back into the village in which they had been staying. The village itself was small and composed of mostlyfishermen and farmers. A family that Christie had let them use their house while they were out traveling. Student and teacher returned there and put on their "job clothes."
Their clothes consisted, for Bruce, a black, long-sleeved shirt and black cargo pants with boots. He had fingerless gloves and face mask covering half of his lower face and, for Christie, she wore a white catsuit with the zipper open, exposing her ample chest and lacy bra, and black heeled boots. On her hands were white gloves.
"Let's go."
The two set out to the village, moving through the alleyways and shadows until they came to the outskirts of the village where ganghouse rested. There were two men sitting on the porch, both skinny and playing poker. The two took notice of Bruce and Christie and instantly stopped what they were doing, regarding them hatefully.
"Who are you?" one of them asked.
"I have business with your boss," said Christie.
"Oh? And you're sure you don't have business with me?" The man looked her up and down, licking his lips.
Christie rolled her eyes, smirking at him. "Sorry, baby, but you're not even strong enough to be my toy."
"What you say to me, bi- AUGH!"
No one even saw Bruce move. The young man stood with his fist imbedding the man's stomach and the man's doubling over said fist. The man coughed and spat several times before falling to the ground, clutching his stomach painfully.
"You little bastard!" The other man yelled, getting up and grabbing his knife. Bruce just maintained his cold glare as the man swiped at him. Bruce shifted his body, grabbed the man's wrist and then launched several quick jab attacks to the man's navel, neck and nose in almost blinding succession. Bleeding and hurt, the man dropped the knife and grabbed his nose as it bled in sharp pain. Bruce didn't give him any time to do anything else as he spun on his heel and hit him with a reverse hook kick, effectively knocking him out.
"Not bad, kid," Christie complimented, "but next time, bend the wrist back more. Adds more power to the strike."
She walked up the steps ahead of him and kicked the door down. Inside were at least seven men, including who seems to be the leader of the place sitting lazily on a seat with two scantily clad women fanning him.
"Huh? The hell are you guys?"
Christie just smirked, cracking her knuckles confidently. "Nothing personal but I've got some business with you."
The man scoffed before motioning his men to stand up. Seven men stood up, carrying various weapons from pipes to machetes. From behind, even more thugs began emerging with a wider assortment of weaponry.
"Kid, this is an order," said Christie seriously, "don't let those men get in her no matter what. Understood?"
"Yeah," said Bruce, turning and shutting the door behind him.
"Die!" The first one charged her with his sharp weapon charged and ready to release on its targeted outlet. Unfortunately for him, he didn't get far and ended up dying before he reached the finish line, falling to the floor and bleeding from the mouth.
"What… the hell?!" the other men exclaimed.
The men took a step back with fright coveting their hearts. Christie smirked darkly, her eyes like a snake as she raised her hand and motioned them forward with her finger.
The men exchanged looks of hesitation briefly.
"What are you idiots doing?!" screamed the boss. "GET HER!"
"Yes, big boys," said Christie, licking her lips sadistically, "come play."
"AAH!" The final few men rushed to finish what the first man began but when they tried to attack, then ended up falling like limp frail animals to the floor. Once they were all incapicated, Christie stood over the men, walking over to the leader slowly and her arm raised for the final kill.
"W-wait!" The man screamed, shaking his hands in front of him. "Don't! Stop! NOO!"
THUD!
Christie turned away from the corpse and walked back to where Bruce stood, stepping past him and stopping.
"Something wrong?" asked she without turning.
Bruce clenched his teeth. "You didn't have to kill them..."
"If you felt so strongly about it, why didn't you stop me?"
"You might have killed me too..."
"Hm. Fair assumption. Let's go, kid." Christie walked out of the slaughterhouse which she so graciously turned the small house into. Bruce looked once again at the dead men lying there, his fist clenched.
"I'm sorry..."
Bruce and Christie trekked back casually to their small cabin house in the village, Christie waving and winking to the locals nonchalantly. Bruce's eyes continued to flash at her in a sense of contempt as well as curiosity.
"Okay, kid," said Christie finally, "you keep looking at me. What the hell is it?"
"Why kill? There are other ways to take out a man."
Christie sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose in exasperation. "Augh… this again? Listen, kid, I know you got this religious rule bull or whatever but look – some men need to die. You don't kill them, they kill you. At the end of the day, we are killable and I like living. It's a cruel world but that's the way it is. Either get used to it or get abused by it."
Bruce stepped in front of her, stopping her casual walk with an intense glare. "No! You're wrong… All life can be saved, all men can be changed. We're not inherently evil… we're just prone to different things. People can change. People DO change. Killing a man to end killing or to protect yourself… is just cowardly!"
Christie smirked at Bruce, amused. Her eyes narrowed and her lips twitched before head tilted back and she bellowed full-blown laughter. "Hahahah! Ah, you've got some nice ideas there, kid." Her laughter stop suddenly and, like a ghost, she bended forward, her face inches from Bruce's. "But you're deluding yourself. Some people can't change. Some people are evil on birth… people like me. I enjoy it. I love killing and seeing a man die at my fingertips… I guess that's why I like you, kid. You're interesting because you're not like that. I wonder what guardians you had in your life to make you so kill-a-man-ophobic. Still, I guess that's why I like you, hm?"
Christie leaned in and kissed a surprised Bruce on the lips, holding his chin there with her fingers. She parted with a trace of saliva fading from their lips, seductively staring into his resistant ocean blue eyes.
"I'll tell you what, kid – when we get to the cabin, we'll have another spar. If you beat me this time, I'll never kill another man again. I swear on my mother's grave."
"Is your mother even dead?"
"No. Let's go."
Bruce and Christie continued on their way to the cabin, passing the low waves of the body water near them, the sky blue color of the water shimmering from the Sun.
Bruce ascended the small steps into their shared cabin, Christie following behind and closing the door. Christie wasted no time in smoothly removing her catsuit and gloves, remaining in only her heels and undergarment.
Bruce, stoic, remove his shirt and took a stance. Christie just flipped her hair, hands on her hips. Bruce stepped forward, aiming a punch to her stomach but she shifted, kicking Bruce in the back on the knee.
"Agh!"
Bruce fell to his knees and was vulnerable to the thrust kick she gave him to the back of his neck. Pinned to the ground, Bruce grinded his teeth as he slammed his fist against the floor but couldn't rise.
"Maybe next time, kid."
Christie crouched down and turned him on his back, straddling Bruce and bending down until her lips were an inch from his.
Bruce growled at her, hissing, "Get off of me..."
"You know what I think about you? You dislike me, sure, but deep down you're attracted to the darkness. I think you're enticed to it and to anyone who's drowning in it… I don't know why but I know you do..." Christie sat up and reached for the strap of her bra. "And it's mutual."
Christie sat on her side, staring at Bruce's back as they laid side-by-side, a blanket over their immodest bodies. She sighed and reached out to him but stopped when she saw a ray of sunlight shine through, hitting his body and enveloping it in such. The light didn't exceed his body and as such, she remained untouched. Christie smiled bitterly before retracting her hand and standing up.
"No room for two, eh?"
Christie put her clothes and walked toward the door, glancing over her shoulder and taking one last look at Bruce. She smiled sincerely at the sight of him.
"Good luck, kid."
She then exited the cabin without a sound.
"Well, well, look at this!"
Christie stood amongst dozens of wild, tattooed young enemies with all types of savage weaponry. The houses that surrounded her were rundown, old, and graffiti-ridden. Smirking, Christie crossed her arms when she saw the large, authority-esque man walk beyond the circle of men that surrounded her.
"It seems that you got our invitation."
"That I did, Bo-Bo."
"You seem to be light one American, though."
"I told you already – you're not getting the kid."
"Well, you see, you killed our men… as recompense, I need a strong fighter and slave to work for me. I had a messenger tell you – if you give him, we won't kill you, too."
"No deal. You're not getting him, end of story."
"Har-har-har! And that's your finally answer, assassin?"
"That's right, tubby."
"Could it be that you, the Queen of the Cold Killers, have developed some warm attachment to the kid?"
"If you want him, you're going to get him over my dead, broken body. Shut up and bring it!"
"As you wish. GET HER!"
Bruce slowly awakened, his eyes catching sight of the orange sky. Groggy and groaning, Bruce sat up and reached for his clothes, instantly taking note of Christie's disappearance.
Now out and about the village, young man began looking about for her.
"Excuse me," said he to a random villager, "have you seen Christie?"
"Christie?" asked he to another. "Do you know where Christie?"
"Has anyone seen her?"
"Can you tell me where she might have gone?"
"Have you seen her?"
It would be several minutes of asking various villagers of her whereabouts before he finally got an answer.
"The South Side," replied a housewife.
Bruce's eyes widened. "That's gang territory!"
Without any waiting, Bruce sped off to the area directed but when he arrived, he stopped cold. His blood shivered at what his eyes saw – a bloody massacre. Bodies decorated the ground like litter and trash, men bleeding out and dying with missing teeth, punctured wounds, and internal bleeding. Bruce slowly walked through this pile of men until he came upon a rather rotund one that had an axe lodged into his forehead. Bruce grimaced before turning away from the sight.
"Did Christie do all of this?"
Bruce stopped short when he saw the limp body of his teacher lying against the trunk of a tree, her chin to her chest and her head bowed to her body.
"Christie!" shouted Bruce, frantically running over to her and kneeling down. He grabbed her shoulders and lifted her head but all that greeted him were lifeless pupils, pale hands, and a silent pulse. Bruce frowned, closed his eyes, and lowered his head. "Christie… damn it…" Bruce tilted his head back to the sky. "DAMN IT!"
Bruce stood over the hole in which Christie now laid. His hands were covered in soil and the chill of the night air wringed around his neck with a mocking tone.
"Killing is wrong… Killing begets killing… It only ends in tragedy… People can change. They have to… or they'll end up in the grave, buried by their own students of war."