Maine

A Red V. Blue-Fourth Stall Crossover

For Shan'ika, from your Preshi

Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum

After Staples was taken care of, you would think all the trouble would have gone away. Vince and I thought so too. But we were wrong.

Shortly after our last encounter with the crime boss, we caught wind of more trouble brewing. My main informant, Ears, said that some of his followers were plotting to hunt me down. To exact their revenge, they had hired a thug so deadly he had been expelled from not one, not two, but five different schools. Eventually he had been enrolled in some kind of special program that trains military recruits. He was only known as Maine.

Our first reaction was to tighten security. We hired Kitten and Great White to guard us in case of an attack. We knew one was coming. Even though it probably saved us in the end, it still seemed almost pointless based on how dangerous this guy sounded. True, we had taken down Staples, but after something like that, handling another threat this big seemed like an impossible task.

We knew an attack was coming. So we prepared as much as we could before it came. We didn't have very long.

Kitten and I were walking towards my office in the East Wing bathroom when he struck. When I say struck, I mean it literally. He came out of the crowd fist first, almost clocking me in the face.

I dived out of the way, catching a glimpse of the attacker on the way. He was pretty big, but obviously fast as well. He was completely bald (or maybe he had shaved his head), and I could just barely see the corner of a tattoo on the back of his head. His face was similar to Staples' in that they both looked strangely intelligent, in a scary way. Like they could think up a thousand ways to kill you on the spot. One of the most disconcerting parts of the whole picture was his throat. It was covered in scars.

I didn't have time to ponder where these had come from; he was already on the move again. I was almost sure this one was going to hit me, but right before it did, Kitten dived in and blocked it. He punched my assailant's forearm, knocking it aside. Maine's head snapped toward Kitten; the glare he was shooting could have melted diamonds.

They both backed up slightly. Maine let out a low growl, a sound that didn't sound human at all. Kitten jumped straight back into combat, proving once and for all that he was completely insane. Nothing sane would ever get anywhere near Maine.

Kitten sent a side-kick right into Maine's chest. Any normal kid probably would have at least cringed, maybe even crumpled to the ground after a hit like that. Maine didn't even move. Or it didn't seem like he did, but then suddenly his hands were wrapped around the foot that had struck his chest. With one quick motion he twisted his hands, turning the leg and sending Kitten sprawling on the ground.

It took Kitten a second to regain his bearings. As he did so, Maine walked towards him, slowly and purposefully. Just as Maine had almost reached his opponent, Kitten used the opportunity to get in under his guard. With a cry of rage, the smaller combatant sent a right uppercut under his ribs, a left punch to the throat, and another right under the chin. The last punch sent Maine's head back and up, so that it looked as though he were searching the stars for something. An insane grin spread across Kitten's face.

Even as it did, Maine's head snapped back forward, slamming into his target's forehead. There was a loud crack, and Kitten fell back to the ground. This time Maine only had to take a single step; Kitten had taken all the others for him. Maine stooped down and wrapped a hand around the other's neck. I watched in horror and amazement and he lifted him into the air with barely any effort at all. Then he turned and, in the same motion, smashed Kitten into a nearby display case. The glass shattered, shards cutting his back. Still holding on, Maine pulled him out and threw him towards the opposite wall.

And then Kitten did what he does best, what he was born to do: something insane. He took the shard of glass in his hand and held it like a knife. In an instant, he drew back and then let fly, hurling the shank towards his enemy.

The makeshift knife hurled toward Maine, spinning past and cutting a long, clean gash along his cheek. He growled loudly, but kept moving, even as blood leaked down onto his chin.

A cloud of hopelessness passed over Kitten's face. Maine was apparently unstoppable; nothing we could do would cause him to pause for more than a second.

That's when I figured it out. "Kitten, fire alarm!" I saw understanding replace the despair on his face. He turned toward the wall that Maine had tossed him to and pulled the fire alarm.

Instantly the halls were filled with noise. People started moving towards the exits, guided by teachers and staff. Maine looked around him, up towards the ceiling that concealed the sky and the flashing alarm lights. Then he turned his fiery gaze back towards us. With a final, terrifying growl, he disappeared into the crowd. As hard to miss as he was, we couldn't catch sight of him after that.

We followed the crowd outside. Kitten was still trying to catch his breath; he was staggering, and I stayed close to him to make sure he wouldn't fall. Once we were outside, we met up with Vince, my business partner. A frown spread across his face as we described what had happened. "This isn't over. Not by a long shot."

Vince nodded. "You're right. Even though we took down Staples, something tells me we'll never really be rid of him."

I pause for a second. I couldn't help but remember the look in Maine's eyes, the feral growl, and the intense hatred I saw there, beyond anything else I had ever seen. "Not only that… now we have a new problem. Maine won't give up until we're gone."

Kitten spoke up around his quickly swelling jaw. "You know, being in the business of solving problems seems to cause a lot of them."

I looked over at him. "Truer words have never been spoken."