A/N: They say that one should write from experience and in doing so, the settings in my stories have been in and around the Washington, D.C. Metropolitan area. So, a lot of things will occur in real places near my home.
Disclaimer: I own the psycho chick and not Dante/Tony… and Capcom owns us all. Oh... Lest I forget, I don't own the smells and fragrances (you'll understand once you read).
With that said… on to our feature presentation.
Pretender
Chapter One: Invitation
Snow fell upon this place, swirling and drifting carelessly on the wind. One flake managed to drift farther than his brethren just into a subway station. Sustained by only the chill in the air, it floated even farther before it landed on the hooded head of a beggar boy.
He sat Indian-styled on the station's cold earthen-tiled floor expertly playing his brown and black acoustic guitar. He appeared to be no older than seventeen. He was dressed in dark blue jeans, a fitted black tee shirt, and an unzipped black cotton, hooded sweat jacket lined in ruby red. His tan suede boots lay tucked under his knees, half laced.
His wares were obviously insufficient for braving the elements. Surely he would catch his death of cold dressed this way.
His pale fingers gingerly played a myriad of Holiday songs and even some rock versions of those songs. He sang his favorites. Many a passersby gathered to sing along to his accompaniment or toss some change in his open guitar case. Occasionally, he would lift his head to face his gracious donors with a smile and a "thank you" from behind his dark sunglasses.
There was no doubt that he was good at his craft.
Once he finished his rendition of John Lennon's "Happy Xmas" he asked, "Has anyone got the time?"
"8:29," a male audience member called out.
"Looks like I have to get going," the boy said. There were collective groans from the people who flocked around to see him play.
"You never know, I maybe back tomorrow," he said to calm the crowd. He stood and gave a slight bow and said, "Thanks again, y'all have been great." And with that, they dispersed.
The boy crouched and groped around to gather his things. He packed up his guitar and obscenely large duffel bag, unfurled his white, black, and red collapsible billy-cane and made his way down the train platform. Click, clack went the rhythmic tapping of his cane on the tiles, guiding him to the other end of the platform. He stopped and there he waited patiently for his train.
The crowds had already left and for awhile, he was alone.
Or so he thought.
He could sense others around him. There were about five men in total. An assortment of deodorants and colognes gave away their positions. The one that smelled of Axe led the pack at about ten feet away near a pillar. The others covered in Right Guard, Tag, Old Spice and another the teenager couldn't quite place, trailed at about twenty feet next to a set of escalators.
The boy pretended to ignore them as they silently closed in.
He placed his guitar case and bag on the floor next to his feet. He then crouched down and feigned tying his shoe. The Axe scented man was now directly behind the boy.
He placed a massive hand on the teen's right shoulder. The others flanked him with guns trained on his head. The boy shrugged and said, "I shoulda known you'd try to sneak up from behind."
"I see that you are as witty as ever. Isn't that right Tony? Or should I call you... Dante," the Axe man said.
"Don't know what you are talking about."
"The hell you don't," the man said snatching the hood off the youngster's head, revealing a shaggy mop of snow-white.
"I guess you caught me," Dante grinned pulling off the shades, tucking them away into a pocket.
Dante slowly rose to his feet with the cane still in hand. Let's not give them any reason to pump me full of lead, he thought.
"At any rate, your presence is requested," the Axe man continued, feigning cordiality, "by the President of the United States."
"How many times do I have tell you guys...? NO!"
"It is NOT an option."
Out of the corner of his hazel-blue eye, he saw an unsteady hand grasping a government issue Beretta. He had clutched the handle so hard that his knuckles began to turn white.
Either he was very afraid of Dante or this was his first time in the field. Dante suspected the former. He knew that it wouldn't take much for this man to lose what little composure he had and start firing his gun wildly. It had been a slow night and a little excitement would do him some good.
The very idea etched a grin on Dante's face. His smile made the man tremble even more, if that was at all possible.
With a swift tug, Dante made the cane fold up on itself. The shaky man fired a round at Dante's head. He didn't even attempt at a dodge. Although he knew that he was in for a world of pain, Dante allowed the bullet to hit him.
He head snapped forward and to the right and he fell in the same direction. He face-planted the floor, hard and he was pretty sure the tiles had imprinted themselves on his cheek. It hurt, but he was shooting for realistic.
"You IDIOT! You just shot a blind kid," shouted the man drenched in Old Spice.
Oh... If they only knew.
"I – I – I –" The shaky man reeking of cheap cologne could scarcely speak.
By this time the other men had lowered their weapons and clamored around the boy.
As for Dante, getting shot in the head was never deadly, but it was always a crap shoot. There was the chance that he'd pass out, become amnesic, go deaf or even blind. Of course the effects were temporary.
He once got shot during a mission by a trigger happy mercenary. He went blind and forgot his name for awhile (not so good for a demon slayer). Dante kept the cane from back then, just in case.
So far he was very much aware of his surroundings, he remembered what just happened and his name and he could hear the men pacing back and forth... So far, so good. He would have to test the blindness thing out later.
Dante kept his eyes shut and paid close attention to the sounds the men made. He could sense someone approaching to check his pulse. Cortaid or radial? No matter. He smiled internally.
One advantage he had as a half-demon was complete control of his body's biofeedback rhythms. When needed, he can slow his breathing and heart rate to a near stop in order to conserve energy.
"Oh God, there's so much blood," the Right Guard man said.
He reached down for a neck pulse and said, "No good. His pulse is very faint... I don't think this kid's gonna make it."
And the award goes to...
The regret in his voice betrayed to Dante that the man had someone at home very close to his own age.
Dante felt some remorse in putting these men though unnecessary stress. And there was indeed stress. He could hear it in their voices, their steps, and even their heartbeats.
Well, all but one. Someone in this group was extremely calm and it unnerved him a bit. He didn't smell fear... only Axe. And it was getting closer.
This has gone on long enough... It's now or never.
Dante gripped his folded cane and windmill-kicked his way to his feet. He shook his blood-soaked hair out of his eyes and stood in a fighting stance.
The men were dumbfounded; their collective thoughts migrated from: It's a miracle to Oh, Shi-!
He slung the cane out like whip, hitting two men in the chest. He then unfolded again with a shake and allowed it to lock in place. Dante made a low, round sweeping motion tripping the others. He began swinging it around like sword, landing blows with a thwack.
He unleashed a series of powerful kicks and punches. Just enough to beat these guys back and not kill them.
When the dust settled, Dante tossed the cane aside, grabbed his duffel bag and case and made a break for the escalator. He was too busy running to notice that there were only four men rolling on the floor, groaning in pain.
He made his way to the Mezzanine before seeing the small projectile hurtling towards him. He quickly dodged it and looked to see Axe man holding what appeared to be a sniper rifle.
He dropped behind a Plexiglass ad frame. Dante felt safe here, at least for now. Axe man couldn't have been using real rounds, because there was no damage to the floor where it hit.
Unless his opponent had a penchant for bb's, the only other type of "non-collateral damage" ammo that came to Dante's mind was tranquilizer darts. Do they really want me that bad?
"You know dude," Dante shouted readying Ebony, "roofies aren't my cup of tea. If you wanted a date, all you had to do was ask!"
Dante poked his head around the corner. Axe fired another round. Dante snatched his head back and saw a dart embed itself in the frame mere centimeters where his face had been.
He now had idea of where the man was standing. Dante was ready to take the shot. He stood, rounded Ebony around the corner and squeezed the trigger.
The bullet spiral out of the chamber and made its way to Axe.
At the same time Dante could feel another presence behind him. Odorless, soundless... but there nonetheless. He had no time to react... the same as Axe. No time to register the pain.
He could see the bullet slam into the man's shoulder, shattering bones. The man was sent to the floor screaming. Pussy, he thought.
His attention was then brought to the knife protruding from his chest with small caramel fingers wrapped around it. It wasn't a knife really, more like a large syringe with a serrated blade instead of a needle; a faster albeit interesting delivery system.
Dante noticed a purple liquid drain out of the syringe and into his body. It burned in his veins like acid with each heartbeat.
His sense dulled and muscles weakened. He could no longer support his own head. It dropped down, chin to chest. From there he spied blood spilling past his soaked shirt and dripping to stain his jeans and boots.
Dante's legs suddenly went numb. He was safely guided to the floor and on his back. Quiet wheezing could be heard from him.
He looked up to see the owner of the light brown hands. Her face was fading in and out of focus.
She had slightly chubby, cherubial features framed by neck-lenghthed mocha colored hair; a beautiful girl in her own right. She had kind cinnamon colored eyes and a surprisingly husky, but soothing voice.
"Shh... It's okay. Don't try and fight it. It will all be over soon," she whispered stroking his hair.
Dante may have had a serene look on his face, but his mind was racing. Where the hell did she come from? How come I didn't sense her earlier? What is this stuff?
"Yes, target acquired," she spoke into a headset, "Its taking longer than expected. He's fighting the serum."
It continued to course through his system. Soon he wasn't sure if he was still holding Ebony or not. Even his face began to numb.
I can't breathe. I'm really going to die here, aren't I? Oh, Well... It was good run while it lasted.
With that final thought, Dante succumbed to unconsciousness.
"Are you sure he'll be alright? That was enough to take out an elephant... You're right; we will do well with someone of his talents," she said glancing back at Dante's unconscious body.
"Chimera, out," She said into the headset.
She bent over and kissed Dante whispering, "Sweet dreams, sweet prince." She then harshly yanked out the syringe.
Seemingly out of nowhere, more men appeared to collect the young slayer. Within moments his body was restrained in heavy, prison "Y" shackles, connecting his wrists and ankles. He was then transferred to a gurney and everyone and all evidence of the event were gone.
Civilians walked through Union Station completely unaware of what had just transpired.
Ooooh... I wonder where they are taking him. Stay tuned and find out.
Before the questions: Yes, the story is named for the Foo Foo Fighters song.
I would like to say that its great to be back... I was gettin' all jealous of the fics everyone was posting. I do plan to update this and others soon since school's out.
Oh! BTW: My research paper on our very own Dante earned me an "A" in my English class. (Wonder if I'm allowed to post it?)
Reviews?
