This is a fanfic I wanted to do for a long time. It's a Helena and Bayman pairing. It takes place around Helena's one cut scene in DOA 3. You have to imagine as if DOA 4 never happened and that everything went down in DOA 3. Also, assume Helena knows nothing about Victor Donovan. Reading and reviewing would be greatly appreciated.

Chapter 1: The Truth

Helena stared into the glistening, starry night sky as she stood upon the seaside mansion's balcony, sighing plaintively. The death of her parents, especially of her sweet mother, was taxing greatly on her conscious. Now, she was the head of a company she never wanted; her father, Fame Douglas, was obsessed with keeping his bloodline within DOATEC. Right now, however, Helena was fighting in the third Dead or Alive tournament for her freedom, freedom taken away by a mysterious man—Victor Donovan, the unseen roots of all her problems.

The French vixen sighed again, wiping a single tear from her eyes, wishing she could just grow wings and fly away from it all. As she stood there, in her sleek blue, white, and black leather outfit, her blonde ponytail blowing in the night breeze, tied with a blue ribbon, Helena heard a predator approach, like a snake in high grass—silent. She turned around suddenly, seeing the platinum-haired servant Donovan had hired, watching her with cold eyes.

"Christie? What are you doing here?" Helena asked innocently.

She just laughed, stroking her short hair back, wearing a sleek violet and tan jumpsuit. Christie had gained a liking towards Helena after seeing her for the first time some time ago; however, her employer had finally given the order to eliminate Helena once and for all, and upon this, Christie's heart became icy. Her only goal now was to watch the life escape from Helena's lungs and her soul be torn to ribbons.

"What's so—?"

Christie interjected, "I was sent to be your servant, but I'm really an assassin."

"Assassin?"

"Yes, to eliminate you."

Helena backed away, nervous and unprepared for a fight, especially against someone she believed was her friend. She entered her idle Pi Qua Quan stance, but Christie unexpectedly ran over, stinging her in the abdomen with a powerful strike, her hands in the form of two vipers: the basis for her deadly style—She Quan. Helena fell to her knees in pain, as Christie swiped lowly at her neck with her sharp nails. Helena rolled out of the way, kicking towards Christie's shin. Christie countered, however, pushing Helena onto the ground, leaping forward. Again, Helena slide away just in time to avoid Christie's pointed boot from crushing her face.

Helena stood to her feet, "You." Christie only smiled, reentering her stance, prepared to finish her assignment. "You killed my mother!" she yelled.

Christie only smiled, remembering the failed job at the opera house, how her sniper's bullet pierced the heart of her mother instead of Helena. With new anger in her visage, Helena ran over to Christie sending a powerful palm forward, only to miss her target, the assassin sidestepping behind Helena. Suddenly, the Pi Qua Quan fighter performed a powerful windmill strike, uppercut Christie in the face. Christie was only mildly stunned; however, Helena grabbed her wrist, spun her into the railing and kicked her over it.

Christie winced as the kick struck her abdomen, her spine bending over the railing as she fell, but, with catlike reflexes, the assassin landed to her feet gracefully. Helena, out for revenge, jumped down after her. Christie rolled out of the way just as the opera singer's boots struck the ground, leaving an imprint in the tile floor.

Christie then tugged at one of her gaudy triangle earrings, pulling it out stealthily. Helena ran towards her, but suddenly felt a piercing sting in her left shoulder, looking down, seeing a line of blood and some black liquid mixing in it.

Seeing her opponent distracted, Christie ran towards her and struck her several times in the stomach and back, sending her forward. Helena felt dizzy, holding her head, standing near the railing. Below her was a 100 foot drop into the rocky ocean. Helena wanted to continue, her soul consumed by revenge, but, before her blurred vision could clear, Christie leaped towards her and kicked her in the chest, knocking Helena into the ocean below. She watched as Helena plummeted into the water like a dying bird. A quiet splash followed; Christie walked away with a smile—a job well done. She felt the hole of her earring, her grin insidiously growing. The triangular earring had been laced with a rare poison; if by some miracle, the fall didn't kill Helena, the poison that had entered her bloodstream would.

The masked figure, waiting in the water, watched the woman plummet into the sea. He had planned to protect her that night, but he was too late . . . or was he?