Will and Fate
By Jeremy

Chapter 8

June 15, 1997

In the military, one wit had once noted, there are two types of soldiers: those did a job because they were paid to and those that did it because they belived in what they were doing. If anyone had asked an acquaintance of James Wolfman's which type the man was, he would have been told he was of the latter with a "but of course!" expression. Had that person asked Wolfman himself that question, all he would have gotten in answer would have been a very level and very polite "Please don't waste my time." Short and to the point, but that was how he was.

In his early fifties, the british didn't look it one bit. His short, deep brown hair showed only the barest traces of grey, his face lacked most of the wrinkles a man of fifty should have. Added to that was the good six feet of exerciced body - Wolfman didn't believe being behind a desk meant one would never get to see action again - and a confident and highly energetic gait and bearing, he looked closer to thirty-five than fifty, the image of someone still well inside his prime time.

It was the eyes and the gaze that went with it that told of his real age and experience. The eyes were those of a man who had done, seen and survived more events in the service of Her Majesty than many a veteran his age could even boast of, much less prove. But althought his gaze did show the scars of these terrible and formidable events, it also showed a piercing cunning, sharp intelligence, all mixed with a quiet demand for proper respect. And throughout England's military - and even outside it - it was readiliy given. This was, after all, the leader of the MI6, and had the reputation and strength that went with the position.

Wolfman cared for none of these sensibilities right now. He had a scheduled meeting with some of Interpol's agents and every fibre of his Bristol-born being absolutely refused to be late for a meeting. Especially not a meeting that involved Shadowlaw.

Not for the first time, he wished William Brisby, his old friend and comrade, was with him today. He also knew that it was impossible: with all the problems Shadowlaw and other terrorist groups were creating these days, Brisby had his hands full coordinating and keeping track of SCD operations around Europe and even the rest of the world. The man certainly didn't have time for a meeting with interpol agents - and neither did Wolfman, for that matter. Still, he had to clarify some things and doing so face-to-face would greatly help matters.

He walked through the corridors of the Interpol base with haste, barely pausing to return the crisp salutes from various guards and soldiers, and arrived at the room where the agents were with three minutes to spare. His need for being punctual sated, he went through identity procedures, thanked the guard and entered.

He was doubly relieved when he heard that the discussion was still on strong. He saw the three people he needed to see today: they were seriously conversing on subjects that were undoubtedly top-secret.. It had to be, for the large, high-tech operations room was nearly deserted except for Wolman and the three. He knew none of the names of the three persons, so he studied them for a while. One was seated. A higher-up, more important than the other two, seeing that the man seemed less personally involved in the proceeding and that the other two seemed to be filling him in. He seemed competent, but rather ordinary Another man, standing this time, seemed more impressive, if lower-ranking. He was a tall, bearded middle-aged man that held himself with confidence and spoke clearly and decisively, not saying more than seemed necessary. Exactly the type of person Wolfman liked. The third person - a slim, beautiful young woman - was who caught his attention the most. It wasn't her exceptional beauty that captivated him - although even he couldn't help but feel something at seeing her, especially in that rather eccentric - personally, he rather thought it slightly indecent - oriental outfit she wore seemed to fit her so well. Yes she was beautiful, only a fool wouldn't see that. But that wasn't it.

It was the whole demeanor she showed, the expression she wore: something predatorial, determined to win, who never accepted failure and was ready to push beyond the limits to succeed in a set goal. A look he had seen in some other people in his life, including some of Brisby's increasingly famous - and in the case of terrorists, feared SCDs:`the look of a Street Fighter. It figured to Wolfman, somehow. It also gave him a sort of relief. This might just make things easier. He listened to the conversation more attentively for a moment. The woman was speaking in a cold, clinical tone that still managed to leak disgust over the people she was presently describing.

"From Spain, we have Vega." she said, with an image of the spanish assassin on the screen behind her. "He's savage, ruthless, and a card-carrying psychopath."

The bearded man picked on, his own voice masking any of the feelings he might have had. "Bison has recruited these three mercenaries to be special soldiers for Shadowlaw. They're all extremely dangerous." Wolfman picked up and agreed with the man's inflecting 'extremely', for if the other two were whom he think they were, they indeed were all dangers to society. And deadly to anyone facing them.

The higher-up seemed to consider that. Obviously this info, which was so commonplace to Wolfman and the two others, was new to him. The english soldier shook his head. Lord, don't let me become like that, he prayed silently, a paperpusher that's out of touch with basic things.

The bearded man continued after a moment, his voice showing determination this time. "Each year the crimes they commit grow bigger and more brazen. Shadowlaw must be crushed once and for all."

"We are going to plan a joint investigation with the American military forces." stated the young woman.

There. This was at least one of the points he wanted to clarify. "I am uncertain if teaming up with William Guile is such a good idea." he stated. All three turned to stare at him for a moment. He saw that the woman seemed unsurprised to see him standing there, while the two men were visibly caught off-balance. A very observant kid. His opinion of her was raised a few notches. "But I forget my manners." he continued pleasantly. "Colonel Wolfman, MI6, at your service."

"Ah, yes. Colonel Wolfman. England's military attachés told me you would come today." exclaimed the officer. He made quick presentations, and so Wolman learned the asian woman was named Chun-Li. He filed the name for further reference.

Chun-Li, it seems, was a blunt, if tactful, person. "I am curious, sir. Why would Captain Guile be such a bad choice in assisting me."

"I'm saying he may not be a good choice. Not an outright bad one. If it had been a few years ago, I would have applauded the choice. But that was before Charlie Nash's disappearance and apparent murder. Have you ever met Charlie Nash?"

Chun-Li shook her head. "No. I did read that he and Captain Guile were comrades."

"'Brothers' suits the relationship better. In all of the American Special Forces, there were no closer team, and no team could do a job better than the two." Wolfman saw that he wasn't really driving the point home, so he chose another tack. "Nash was reported killed by Bison himself. So Guile may try to go out on his own to settle things. Now, I know him, worked with him. He's a very good man, an excellent soldier. But he has an understandable grudge against Shadowlaw and may act recklessly on your case. Just so you know."

Her answer surprised him. She only nodded and gave a grim smile. There was understanding in her eyes, and something else: sympathy. Guile, it seemed, wasn't the only one to hold a grudge against that organization. Ha, big surprise!

He cleared his throat uneasily. "You of course will have access to all of MI6's ressources, if you ever need them. My superiors are uncertain, but Brisby and especially Castillo vouch for you. And if they do, then that's good enough for me.

She inclined her head a fraction in acknowledgement. "Thank you, sir."

"Castillo works under your orders, does he not?" asked the bearded man.

"I wish, sir. No, Brisby of the Shadowcrusher Division has that luck. Which brings me to a third, and somewhat delicate, matter."

"Which is?" asked the officer.

As an answer, Wolfman pointed to a screen that showed Cammy White struggling to free herself from the grasp of no less than five meaty and - if Castillo and Storm's report was even barely accurate - incompetent bodyguards.

"Her." he said simply.

"Cammy White? She is at Base B, colonel. Being interrogated by some psychologists." said Chun-Li.

"I know. Any luck getting information?"

"Well, actually..." she hesitated, her face betraying disappointment. Seeing that, Wolfman raised a calming hand.

"Don't worry. I only wanted to say that England and MI6 in particular wish to have a part in her interrogation. After all, she is legally under MI6's jurisdiction."

"Of course." said the bearded man, nodding. "I understand that you would want..." he was cut off politely.

"My apologies, but I wasn't finished. I especially want two people to talk to her. The first is Joan Claudius, from the SCD. She has a way with people, and is reputed in being one of the best military psychologist in Europe. If someone can help you, she can."

The three nodded. They needed all the help they could get, and weren't about to refuse it.

"The second person is also in SCD. Jeremy Storm. A field agent - young, but already making his mark. On him, or so my guts tell me, rest our real hopes of reaching out and helping my former agent." he said this so confidently that he knew it made the three others damn curious.

"He has no psychological training?" asked the officer.

"Only the basics of his training, not much more."

The woman named Chun-Li raised her eyebrows. "Then how can you feel he might help?" she inquired.

Wolman smiled at her, a nice smile that he used when he had a good but spectacular declaration to make. "Because, my dear, for a moment - just a moment, mind you - he was able to speak with the real Cammy White." his smiled got wider as he took in her shocked expression. "I don't know, but it looks to me like it might just be worth a shot, no?"

* * * * * * * * * *

Two days later...

"Look, Joan, this is ridiculous. What am I gonna say to her? 'Hi, I'm the guy who slammed into you and knocked you to the ground'? This is such b...so foolish, I mean."

Joan Claudius rolled her eyes as Jeremy, who was walking beside her, complained for the twelfth time since entering the base. Giorgio was walking a step ahead of them both, and had smirked, chuckled or otherwise showed his amusement each time the kid complained. She could understand a bit. Usually, Jeremy wasn't a whiner, and took things in stride. This time was however different. This time he fidgeted, fretted, complained, acted like the image of a exasperated teenager and complete whiner. No wonder Castillo had such fun. But Joan was going to get stuck with the repercussions of the possible misteps the inexperienced young man would surely made, and so she wasn't so inclined to guffaw the situation away.

"Oh, for pity's sake, Jer! Can't you just calm down and stop hopping around like a five year old?!? Just think of it as a job and do what I tell you to do and everything will be just fine!" she huffed, glaring at her companion.

Giorgio chuckled again - damn him anyway! - and turned his head sideways. "Yes, nino, please behave yourself. Otherwise I'll start thinking you got a crush on her."

"Oh, thank you for your relaxing and helpful remarks." she muttered. Next to her, Jeremy sputtered a few protests, but finally decided to let it be and resumed in just looking nervous. "Where is the room, anyway.?" she finally asked. The corridors and doors of Interpol Base B seemed to be exactly the same all over and over.

"Paciencia, Joan, we'll be there in a minute." said the spanish, moving his tall frame quicker.

Joan cursed herself for her lapse in temper. Usually she wasn't like this. But her work in SCD had been taxing these last few days, and the last-minute order to come and question-examine a brainwashed former MI6 agent, although exciting, wasn't something that helped her deal with the mounting stress.

At last they arrived at the right room, at the same time that a very tired asian woman was coming out, looking completely defeated. At her sight, Castillo, spread his arms wide and gave a cry.

"Ah, Chun-Li, mi amore, seeing you makes me forget my troubles!" And with that he gave her a friendly hug. Thought she smiled and accepted the hug, she remained tired and aloof. The spanish noticed that easily. "What's wrong? You have the look of someone who has given up, and that's not a look I've seen with you yet."

The woman named Chun-Li only gave a weak smile, then sighed. "For the past hour, I've used every trick I know to get something out of the 'friend' you're about to see. No luck. She just says 'I don't remember' and nothing else."

"Thats not surprising, especially if our theory is right and that the main psyche reacts only to some kind of outside agent." piped up Joan calmly. She extended her hand. "Joan Claudius."

"Chun-Li." said the asian, shaking the offered hand firmly. She then flashed a look at Jeremy. "And I presume you're Jeremy Storm." It was a fact, not a question. The young man nodded his head, looking slightly nervous still. She held his gaze a moment, then turned to look with tired eyes at the psychologist. "They say you're one of the best. I hope so, for you got your work cut out with her." she jerked a slim finger at the closed door. "I wish you luck. Good-bye." With a friendly smile at Castillo, she walked away.

"Remember, amore, that I'm still ready for that date!" said Giorgio cheerfully. All he received was a wave, and he grinned.

"Are you and she...err...you know..." asked a confused Jeremy.

"No, no. We've known each other for a while, crossed paths a lot, and this has become our little private joke. We're just friends, is all."

"Jokes aside, we have to go inside and do our job, Jer."

"Right." he didn't appear to find the prospect of that 'job' thrilling.

Giorgio slapped him in the back. "Come on, nino. It won't be that bad! I'll be waiting outside in case you need me."

Joan nodded. "Right. Lets get this show on the road." and with that, she entered the room. It wasn'y going to be easy. But she would try her best and see what happens.

After all, one never knew.

* * * * * * * * * *
That evening...

Where had he seen this girl before? And why did he feel so squeamish when it came to her?

These were questions that Jeremy Storm as he lay in bed in the room he had been given for this last, seemingly fruitless trip. He hadn't bothered to changer and lay fully clothed, staring up at the small cracks in the ceiling. He wasn't tired. He was confused. For the first time in months he felt unsure of what he should feel, do or think. And that frustrated him to no ends.

That first day with that girl - Cammy White, he had learned she was called - had been a complete loss, he had seen that clearly. Joan had tried many angles, trick questions, force ful questions, insinuations, double-tracks, a whole bag of things that Jeremy had absolutely no knowledge and yet nothing. The blonde, braided woman had just sat there, looking at them both with dead eyes, repeating 'I don't know' or 'I don't remember' like a drone the whole time they were there. And all he had been able to do was stare at that poor ghost-of-a-woman, and look like a clueless fool. A clueless fool that felt he should know this girl, from somewhere, somehow. He felt it deep within himself: the answer lay there, just out of reach.

This is crazy, he thought furiously. I know I never saw that face before, but at the same time I know that we have met. Now how could that be?!?

No answer. Swearing outloud, he fought to recall everything about her: her eyes, her mouth, her frame, her eyes, the curves of her body, her mechanical, forced voice. A voice that had been anything but mechanical when, in a desparing voice, she had softly pleaded for help. That was the time when he had really felt a connection, the impression that he knew that woman.

Help me, please! was what she had said. And it had resonated with something - a faded impression of wanting to help...when?

This was simply killing him. Trying to shake off the idea that he could help her, that he should somehow, he stood and decided that now was as good a time as any to go to bed. Why did he have to help her anyway? It wasn't like he owed her anything!

Not true. You owe her a promise. said the inner voice that probably was his own damnable conscience. Irritating but true. He had promised, and to him a promise was a promise was a promise, clean and white as snow. Melissa had always managed to get all sorts of things from him with that obsession over promises.

He stopped cold as he felt a spasm of grief and anger, his toothbrush in his hand. Not gone yet. The pain had lessened from its maddening level to a more tolerable level, but everytime he thought about the...incident...he felt a surge of mixed hatred, sadness and despair. He had shot the memories of the event itself away, refusing to look at them in his mind's eyes. Refusing to make peace with it, with his grief over Melissa's horrible death, his burning hatred for a cousin he had once loved like a brother, and the horror that his ethics didn't stop him from nearly doing the unthinkable.

Because of that, he had had to leave his old life.

No one had taken his departure the same way. Alex, being there with him, had understood. So had Claudia, when Alex had explained how things had been. Nathan had been confused but had sympathized. His grandfather had been grim, stony and had never given an opinion. Even now, Jeremy wouldn't dare ask. Mattew and Samantha, more his parents than close relatives, had taken it the worst. Mattew had been harsh with the teenager he had been, but had given him his fighting gauntlets nonetheless. Mary-Ann, dear little Mary-Ann, had sniffled when he told her he had to leave, the little girl not understanding why everyone was angry or sad - a good thing, all agreed with that. Let her never feel that kind of emptiness.

The worst had been Samantha, who never truly forgave him the fact that he had nearly killed her son. He knew that he hadn't really done anyhthing else than someone else in his place would have gone, but the fact that she became cold towards him, sparing him few words, never talking to him on the phone, never writing any letters, barely acknowledging him the few times he visited, filled him with an undescribable anguish. She had been the one who had taken care of him when he was sick, when he was feeling down, when anything was wrong. To lose her was losing his own mother.

Enough. He had to stop thinking about that. He had a new life now. A challenging, exciting life. New friends too - oh, not like Alex, Nate or Claudia, he wasn't ready yet for that yet - but friends nonetheless. He was fighting for the greater good too, always on mission to dismantle gangs, stop terrorist actions, investigating scenes and finding clue. Yes, it was a very filling existence he had gotten for himself in the SCD.

So why did he so often feel empty in his heart and soul?

And why did he suddenly feel better when he saw that brainwashed girl?

All those questions, all these doubts, he couldn't answer. Going throught the motions of getting to bed, he brushed his teeth, changed, and went to bed. And found it didn't help. His freaking mind was still working, refusing to yield to sleep. Angrily he fought down those thoughts that still plagued him, and finally started to drift off to sleep.

Yeah, tomorrow I'll have eggs for breakfast...

What a magnificient girl that Cammy...

Giorgio should stop making all these jokes, they're bad...

She asked "Help me, please!" And I had to answer...

Smartass. Cold smartass that I've become...

Will Aunt ever look at me like she used to again?...

She asked for help before, in a trance...

His eyes shot open, going as wide as they could go. WHAT was THAT?!? The answer, the answer for why and how he could help that girl, he had it! If only he could remember enough, catch what he had thought. She had asked for help...in...in a trance? What trance? He had entered so many trances, had so many meditation sessions to channel his chi...

His chi...

And that was when he remembered. Years ago, after training, he had indeed entered a trance and had received a brutal, desperate call for help. He still remembered how he had felt - scared and somehow wanting to help the presence, this other person. Could it really be her?

He couldn't know for sure, yet it might be an explanation for the connnection he felt. He did remember the event better, now. It had been a rough try made by an unprepared version of himself. It had scared him to death, too, and had taught him not to rush headlong into what had to do with chi. But he had also never tried to reach out again, for fear of what he might find. Maybe, just maybe...he could try to do it again.

It was a better plan than let the growing emptiness within reach out and cripple him, as he knew would happen if he didn't do anything.

He'd try it. To help her. And, by doing this, he might just save a bit of himself.

* * * * * * * * * *

Six days later...

"You do know what you're asking, right?" asked Wolfman calmly.

"Yes, sir. I'm asking for a chance to help a former agent." was the equally calm answer.

The day was nice. It was autumn here, near the Interpol base, and the trees were alight with mangnificient reds, yellows and orages, with touches of green here and there, with a fresh breeze that made the air stimulating without making it cold. It was a perfect day to be outside, walking and admiring the view of autumn's glory. But althought the four people walking around the grounds of the base, away from prying ears and scrutinizing eyes, were walking leisurely, they weren't enjoying it as they should. And had no intention of enjoying it. This walk was pure business.

For the past hour, the young agent Storm had detailled a plan to help agent White break out of Bison's control. As it involved several uncontrolable variables - many of them outright unknown - it seemed far-fetched, reckless, and prone to fail in a most horrible manner. But, even though he seemed to recognize that, the young man was adamant, wanted to test his theory - just as far-fetched - that he had a connection with agent White and could reach her mind. In fact, if his face hadn't showed such earnest and drive, such seriousness and determination, he probably would have laughed at the youth's face. As it was, he felt more worried than amused.

"I have no intention of putting another of my agents at risk without something more solid than 'perhaps it will work'." He uttered tiredly. It was at least the fifth time he said that.

Storm seemed just as tired. "I can't give guarantees. The only thing I can do is take precautions and prepare. The rest is Terra Incognita."

"And it may just work where standard methods have not." pressed Joan.

"Besides," added Giorgio with smile. "Its better than just sitting and doing nothing. I say let him try, sir. Please. It can't get any worse for Cammy."

"Yes, but it might make things worse for you, mister Storm." the older man snapped.

"I am ready to take the risk, sir." was the firm answer.

Wolfman sighed inwardly, caught between exasperation and respect. How these young people made him feel old and outdated sometimes! They still had some illusions, still had the drive to try anything, face anything, as long as, in the long run, it worked. He could not help but respect that. However, it also made them lose all sense of caution sometimes, and that was exasperating. However, this time his sense of reson probably wouldn't prevail. It appeared that Claudius and Castillo were also convinced that the possibilities were worth the risk, and in their combined fire he knew even his convictions wouldn't last, especially since something within him pushed him to trust the trio.

"This is getting us nowhere." he stated at last, holding up a hand to stall any protest. "I will see if I can get the officer in charge of this case to see eye-to-eye with your folly. Then you may try. Only if the first try shows danger to either White or Storm, it is to be stopped immediately and definitely. Am I being clear on this?"

"Yes, sir!" was the firm reply from the three others. He nodded.

"Now all that remains is convincing Interpol to try it."

"Don't worry, sir. Chun-Li will certainly agree!" exclaimed Castillo, his voice jovial and confident.

Wolfman coughed uneasily, framing his thoughts carefully before replying. "Agent Li is no longer in charge of the case."

That stunned all three of the younger agents. It was a now-confused Castillo that spoke out again.

"But, Dios, why? She's one of their best!"

"Yes. That's absolutely true. But she's also in the hospital, in a coma." he knew this was a harsh way to say things, but he saw no reason to beat around the bush on the subject. As soon as he said hospital, the reaction was astounding. Castillo became colder, more soldier-like, while the other two agaents shot quick, sympathetic looks in the spanish's way. Wolfman could have kicked himself: what had he stumbled into now?

"How, sir?" was Joan Claudius's intrigued, concerned reply.

Wolfman hesitated. As far as he was concerned, there was no reason he should not tell them. However, Castillo's sudden silence had rung several alarm bells in his head. However, the course was set, he had no choice but to plunge ahead and assess the damage later. Once again, he wished Brisby, who knew these young people far better, was there with him.

The hesitation never appeared outwardly, of course. Ouside, he had remained composed and calm through it all.

"She was attacked and nearly killed by the Shadowlaw assassin, Vega." and this time Castillo blanched, then resumed his stone-faced deameanor. However, his eyes showed fear and rage battling inside him.

And looking at the alarmed faces of Storm and Claudiua as they looked at their friend and comrade, he knew that he, Wolfman, had made a mistake in telling the man. He only hoped there wouldn't be repercussions.

* * * * * * * * * *

Two days later...

Cammy White had been in her cell for twelve days, sitting and staring at the walls. To a normal being, it would have been impossible to do so without feeling at least some degree of discomfort - she felt none. The Presence within her told her to wait, and wait she did.

Since the mission, the presence had receded to the back of her mind, present but faint. As it should be - her mission was fulfilled, it no longer felt that her skills were needed. And so the days had passed, registered out of habit, with little heed to the passage of time and not a whit of caring for the outside her. She existed to wait as instructed. No more, no less.

Yet something had changed. Each day, the hammering of the other part of herself, that part she knew yet knew not, that part that the presence was adamant in warning her against, grew louder as the presence grew gradually fainter. She didn't care. She was a tool to be used - her mind and soul - to her, those two words were just that, words. She didn't remember a time when she had thought otherwise - that had been locked away with that supposedly 'dangerous' part of herself.

Noises. Someone was coming. Still the Presence told her to wait, and so she simply stared at the door, looking at it while it was unlocked, opened, and that people streamed inside. A few people: guards, one, a woman that had asked her questions some time ago, the person who had stopped her from escaping after the mission. A small part of her mind analysed that she should be angry at him, yet she felt nothing. He had stopped her. It was only a fact. No emotion was allowed by the Presence. Only a fact.

The guards put handcuffs on her wrists and her ankles, linked by chains to prevent movement. She never budged. There was no will behind her - she had no reason to act.

The woman and the man she knew talked with the guards and other people she didn't know for a while. She caught only parts of what they said.

"Might snap her out...not sure we should...what if she...but then again...might get rough, though..." All jibberish she didn't pay attention to.

At last they stopped. The man that had stopped her before pulled up a metal chair, and sat. He flashed her a smile and told her something.

"As promised."

That meant nothing to her. He then closed his eyes. The place grew silent as the face of the man showed signed of intense concentration and the rest of the small crowd looked on expectantly. Cammy, for her part, felt nothing.

At first, at least, that was the case. Then she felt a tug. Something else, something she didn't know, something from outside started to tug at the wall the presence always maintained, all the while the locked part of herself pushed even harder. It was a novel experience, something that had never happened before.

NO! FIGHT, KILL!

The presence's scream went throught her barren mind, taking control. She tried to lunge at the concentrating man in front of her, only to finf herself held back by the guards. That, added to the fact that she was rather shackled, prevented her strike at her newfound enemy. Many of the other people looked at her with wide eyes, while two others - those the man had seemed to know so well - looked at her with expressions that showed what appeared to be sadness. She cared not a bit about that, as the presence pushed her to fight and she savagely struggled against her human and steel bonds with no reasonable limits. Her wrists were soon sore and bloody, and still she wouldn't - couldn't - stop. She screamed, spat, kicked, all to no avail, as the wall that she had always felt around her started to weaken just as the, and bits of that other part of herself flooded into her.

BISONBASTARDDIDTHISTOMEBASTARDGOONATEARYOUAPARTGONNAKILL
YOUHURTSHURTSALWAYSHURTSFORCEDNOCHOICEGONNAKILLYOUKILL
KILLYOU...

NO! BISON IS LORD! BISON IS ALL!

BASTARDBASTARDASSHOLELOCKEDMYMINDAWAYMYFEELINGSTOOKMYLIFE
TOOKEVERYTHINGHEHURSTSTRUGGLEDHURTSCOULDNTHURSTHURTS

NO! ALL COMES TO BISON. WHEN BISON COMMANDS, ONE OBEYS!

Cammy couldn't control her body as it spasmed and shook, two minds and two wills conflicted, attempted to retain control. She suddenly, for the first time since she couldn't remember, felt true feelings, not from the Presence, not through any agent, but simply from herself. It was intense, it was novel, and she couldn't bear it. Anger...despair, sadness...hurt...loneliness. All these and more wafted throught her, leaving their mark. But still the wall, although cracked, held. However, the new mind that was leaking throught the cracks of it would not be denied, and wrestled control of her body. Completely, for but one moment.

But it was enough to make her lift her head and below the name both minds knew, in a hated voice.

"BIISOOON!!!!!!"

* * * * * * * * * *
At the same moment...

"Bison!"

The voice belonged to Ken Masters, a master of Shotokan Karate and the All-American Martial Arts Champion. It was said angrily, and defiantly. Because Ken was pissed off. Completely, unbelievably pissed off.

Bison had been looking at Ken's friend, Ryu who had been knocked down after trying one last time to put that megalomaniacal tyrant down - and nearly succeeding. The bastard hadn't felt him coming, something he was using to lay into him with all the strength remained in his battered body. As he tried to finally pierce the muscular man's defense, the events that had led him to this replayed themselves in his mind.

It had started right after that night, after he had taken his girlfriend, Eliza, home. On his way back, he had been alternately thinking about how tired he was of waiting for Ryu to finally show up for the fight they had promised to settle long ago, and also thinking of his reckless marriage offer to Eliza, and how good it made him feel to hear her say she's actually consider it. That's when he had come. Bison. Come for him, to make him the 'perfect fighter'. He had refused anything from the whacko, but had been taken by force after a short - and thoroughly fruitless - resistance on his part. The next part was pain - mind numbing pain, and of feeling trapped within oneself, unable to do anything but watch the events unfolding.

So it was that he had watched, helpless, as his own body tore into his old friend Ryu with heartless determination. His friend, whom he knew could have resisted mightily, seemed unable to cause harm to Ken's body, and had thus taken no effort to defend himself, and was getting creamed all the way. Inside, Ken had struggled in anguish as he saw it all. This hadn't been the fight he had wanted. The fight he had wanted was a friendly fight. Oh, sure, he would have gone all out, but not with the intention of killing Ryu. The fight they wanted was one where the winner helped the loser to his feet, at which point both would have praised, commented and criticezed each other's techniques. It wasn't supposed to end with a CORPSE on the floor!! Ken had thus tried to fight, with all the mental strength he could muster, and had finally felt it give a little. He had continued, exerting alll he could and, suddenly, painfully, he was free, looking down at Ryu with grief-stricken eyes.

That's when Bison had gotten him and flung him into the distance. He had survived the brutal crash, however, by using a technique that Sensei Gouken had taught his students. An healing technique, that had allowed him to regain enought power and health to help Ryu, who had been fighting Bison - and losing.

And what a fight it was. Both he and Ryu had given their all againt him, but there seemed no end to his strength and stamina. Even the both of them, together, had trouble keeping up with the bastard. Until Ryu's last series of attacks. It had hurt him. Really hurt him. And it had slowed him down. Ken could feel it as he punched. At the beginning of the fight, Bison would have knocked the attack aside like it was nothing. Now, he was only blocking it. Blocking it well, too. But he also exerted effort. A lot of effort.

He's weakening! He's weakening at last!!! his mind screamed wildly. But he still was gaining no ground. Sooner or later Bison would regain enough energy to fight him off. And then who knew what would happen. He even refused to consider it as he desperately laid in punch after punch.

That was when Ryu, whom Ken - and, it seemed, Bison - thought out for the count, moved, crawling to Bison like a snake and taking hold of one leg firmly, destabilizing the fiend for only a moment or two.

"Ken, do it now!" he shouted in despair.

Ken wasn't one to let an openning slip by him. Without hesitation, he summoned his chi and launched into the air, delivering a devastating Tatsu-Maki-Senpu-Kiaku - or Whirlwind Kick, as he preffered to dub it. Bison reeled under the kicks, hurt and stunned.

"SHORYUKEN!!"

Before the scarlet-clothed tyrant could even move, Ryu had risen from under him, giving him the powerful Shotokan uppercut, catching him below the chin and sending him hurling backwards. It would take only a moment for him to come to his feet, amoment more to mount a defense. He wasn't going to get them.

"Let's finish this!" Ken shouted, and started to gather all the chi and energy that remained within him into the most powerful Hadouken he had ever created. It wouldn't be the fireball he had thrown at Bison in their short fight. He was going to make sure that this one hurt. A lot. Beside him, he felt Ryu do the exact same thing. A part of his mind growled as he felt that Ryu's Hadouken was slightly more powerful than his, but squashed the thought as petty and pointless.

Finally, Bison landed on his feet, turning towards them, still dazed, his guard down, with no defense at all.

"Now!" shouted Ryu. And at the same time, they both unleased their attack.

"HADOUKEN!!!"

Both great fireballs sped towards thier target, coming so close that they combined into a thing so huge that Ken couldn't help but gawk at. Bison never had a chance, and was overwhelmed by its sheer power and was hurled back again, this time into his own, forteress-like plane.

Which exploded.

Both men looked at the exploding craft tiredly, in relief. The nightmare was over. Gone in fire and smoke.

"All right, guys!" cheered a voice.

Ken didn't turn. He remembered who that voice belonged to. A Sumo whrestler. He had seemed some sort of friend to Ryu and, as such, Ken knew there was no threat. Indeed, he felt only relief from the guy. Ryu turned toward him and the two exchanged gestures signifying victory, and Ken, finally spent, sat upon the nearest rock he saw. Ryu walked towards him, equally tired.

"Hey, Ryu. Its been awhile." he said with a tired smile. His friend's answer was unsmiling, but filled with friendship.

"Yes it has been, Ken."

Silence for a moment. Then...

"Ryu?"

"Yes?"

"Did you know I may get married soon?" Ken asked unexpectedly, fully knowing that Ryu didn't know. And his friend looked back at him with his usual "what are you talking about?" expression, and he chuckled. Yep, they both had a lot of catching-up to do.

And he was going to love every minute of it.

* * * * * * * * * *

Wolfman cursed as Storm nearly fell from his seat, clutching his head in pain, soon followed by White's convulsions. The worst appeared to be coming true: he was losing both agent to this attempt. What had possessed him to agree with such a plan? He must have been insane at the time!

Joan Claudius immediately went to check her fallen comrade with a medic, as two other went to check on Cammy, whose guard were struggling with to make her hold still. He wished someone like Castillo was there to help, but the spanish had been hard to find ever since he had heard about Vega, and had declined to come with them to see the attempt. Wolfman knew this didn't bode well, but for now there were other priorites to attend to.

"Is he allright?" he asked the psychologist. She looked at him with an expression of relief, and he relaxed just a bit

"Yes, colonel, He's just lost counciousness. He should be okay."

It was at that moment that White lifted her head and howled, her voice pure hatred.

"BIISOOON!!!!!!" and then she went silent once more. It seemed that her eyes, however, still showed signs of conflict. The attempt hadn't been a success, but not altogether a failure, either.

He indicated the now-silent Cammy White with a jerk of the finger. "And what do we do about her? Did any of this simili-exorcism or whatever you wish to call what happened work?"

Joan walked to Cammy, knelt in front of her and observed her for a moment.

"Well, sir," she said at last, carefully. "It seemed to have reached her, at least, which is more than I can honestly say for..."

She was abdruptly cut off as the target of their concerned stiffened for a moment, gasping as if for air. Wolfman didn't like it, and hoped he wasn't going to see a fine representation of a woman in her deaththroas again. Fortunately, as they all looked tensely - minus the uncouncious man and the medic that was taking care of him - the eyes of the agent started to clear. Oh, not completely, all lot of confusion, pain and fear remained, but recognition had settled again in her eyes. Eyes that became frantic when she saw she was bound. The psychologist, fortunately, was there to stop things before they became uncomfortable. She put friendly but firm hands on Cammy's shoulders and looked into her eyes.

"Cammy, Cammy listen to me! We're MI6, like you! We're friends, we won't hurt you! Calm down. Look at me! We.Won't. Hurt. You. Okay? Relax, now."

As she continued on, the former Shadowlaw puppet-assassin calmed down. And finally, a question came. It was a shaky question, to be sure, from someone who hadn't been herself for years, and was scared and confused. But it was, nonetheless, a real question asked by a real person.

"W-w-w-where a-am I?" she stammered softly.

Joan looked at Wolfman, who came to crouch next to her, with a small, relieved smile. The events weren't turning that bad. As weird as things had been, it seemed the attempt had been a success, after all.

He looked at the athletic blond woman, and tapped her slightly on the shoulder. "You're back with the living, Agent White. Welcome back!"

It was a good day after all.

___________________________________________________________

Well, here it is, the first part of the second sub-story of Will and Fate. I hope you'll like it as I enjoyed writing it!

On Chapter 10 of Will and Fate: Cammy recuperates with the help of those who worked to save her. Meanwhile, Giorgio goes out hunting. His prey: Vega! As the two spanish meet, you will see that beyond Giorgio's joviality lies hatred and cold.

See ya soon!

And as always, I crave FEEDBACK!

Jeremy