Will and Fate
By Jeremy

Chapter 9

July 2, 1997

It was a nice, quiet summer day in Larissa. At least as quiet as a town of over one hundred thousand citizens could be. Ancient, if not as much as the cities of Athens and Sparta, it held historical momentos of the long, rich legacy of Ancient Greece. Few of the citizens themselves noticed, although they were foreigners aplenty to gawk and scurry about the various monuments and time-battered relics of the city's past. To the Greek citizens, this was only a nice day, and they were out just for the fun of it, strolling about, talking, laughing, holding hands, all over passing the day as they saw fit.

Among these local people, a woman was striding, her posture and gait that of mystery and elegance. She was a remarquably beautiful woman: buxom yet slender, graceful yet strong,, with magnificient - if rather queer - lavender hair and a delicate face that seemed worthy of song she radiated her personal attributes without even thinking about it, and turned every male heads she encountered, and more than a few admiring and envious femal ones. She seemed not to notice the stares given her, and she went her way without heeding any.

One might, at this point, wondered why no one came to talk or flirt with this stunning beauty. The reason was simple: she radiated beauty but also mystery. And it seemed like a mystery that no one wanted to learn about, for her eyes - ageless and opaque - seemed to carry with them a deep sorrow and a wisdom that was beyond the years she showed.

All of this the person tailing the woman had figured out very long ago, and it had little effect nowadays. Following her down the streets, moving throught crowds, there yet unseen, the stalker kept her at the edge of his vision, never losing track of her but not letting her see him. Soon they came to a small shop that seemed to vibrate presence, yet to be inconspicous. On its window the words "Rose's Palace" were painted in greek and english. The figure smiled, then hasted to follow as she entered the shop. He came to the door and reached for the handle.

The door opened and the woman was there, her sad eyes showing a hint of amusement at her impromptu visitor's sudden discomfiture. Dang. So close.

"Not that close, my friend." she said in her sweet yet srange voice, as if reading his thoughts - which wasn't beyond her, the person knew. "I've been feeling your presence for a long while."

The figure coughed, embarassed, then half-smiled, the attempt showing its irritation. "And once again, Julia Simmons gets fooled by Rose the Omnipotent." Julia then smiled wickedly. "But I will surprise you, one day.

Rose smiled in her turn, placidely. "Perhaps. Life is full of surprises." she stated

"May I come in?"

"Of course, dear."

Julia Simmons entered the small boutique, wondering as she always did at the tarots and talismans and other - err, interesting - things that lay about. It was a mysterious place, but it was also a place she liked a lot. She had to force herself to remember she was here with a purpose in mind. It may be a waste of her time, but the advice she could find here could mean a lot. To Brisby, to Joan, to Jer and, if it helped, especially to Cammy. And she would do anything to help the SCD, the only family she had ever known.

Julia hailed from northern England, where she had lived a miserable life, going from foster family to foster family and never making any friends. She was a wispy, thin little thing as a child, a black-haired midget that was good at only one thing, really: making herself invisible. When she didn't want to see someone, to deal with a situation, she hid. And good luck to anyone who tried to find her then. Over the years, this natural trait expanded, until it became an incredible skill. One that made her lonely and rejected.

She probably never would have amounted to much, if not for William Brisby, who noted her skill and convinced her to try and join a unit he was forming, the SCD. She was intrigued: it was the first time anyone had showed interest in her. Maybe that was the reason she worked so hard to join the unit.

Being in the SCD changed her life. There she met people, different people like her. Many were military officers or soldiers, but a few were civilians with military training, like her. And all of them had their darkness. This unit was the place for the wounded, the rejected the ignored. But also for something else. The exceptionally gifted. All of the people there possessed a gift that was so great it was abnormal. Some had ways of getting information, some were great talkers, or excellent marsman or superior fighters. All of them usually found each other there, and a part of themselves. She certainly did.

Her skill, the skill not a single person in the SCD could equal when it came to Julia, was stealth. Year of making herself invisible, mixed with training and the experience of dangerous missions, had made her way of moving unseen supreme. No one knew she was there unless she willed it. At least it had been like that until Rose. The first time had been during a mission in Larissa, where she had been asked to stalk a woman reputed to have strange powers. She did so for an entire, gathering information on her comings and goings, until the woman had finally walked up to her, and asked that, if she liked her so much she may as well come with her and have some tea. It had been an embarassing moment, a very frustrating one. And it had been the beginning of the oddest friendship she ever had with someone.

Rose quickly replaced the sign on her window, which said 'open', with one that said 'closed'. Julia just shook her head. So typical of Rose, to know what she was just about to ask.

Okay, fun's over, girl. Quite reminescing and get on with your job. she thought

"Thank you, Rose." she said genuinely, in her thick, raspy english. "I really hate to drop in on you like this, but..."

"But something has come up?" interjected the lavender-haired woman smoothly. "Anyone, looking at you, would guess that. Have you come for advice or help?"

Julia bit her lip, considering. "Both. I come here for help and advice on the part of a friend - to help someone."

A slender eyebrow lifted. "Truly? What kind of help, if I may ask?"

"I can tell you that with two simple words: Bison and mind-control."

And then there was something spectacular, at least to Julia. For the three full years she had visited and talked to Rose, she had never seen her looking anything but calm. Never had she seen anything but pleasantness and faint, constant melancholia from the wise woman. Today there was a change. Anger and fear at Bison's name, anger and understanding at hearing of mind control. It was a fleeting impression, soon the pleasantness was back. But it lasted long enough for Julia to feel queasy.

God help Bison if those two meet, she thought, not fully understanding why, only knowing it seemed true.

"That is...a delicate matter." hesitation in her voice, another first-timer! This day was full of surprises indeed. "Let's go sit down, I'll make us some tea. You may want to tell me your story, so that I may advise you as best I can.

Rose fwalked to the backdoor of her shop, followed by an intrigued and stupefied Julia, who decided now was as good a time as any to start her story.

"Well, " she began slowly, "Remember Jeremy Storm, the guy who's as strong as good old Giorgio? A few weeks ago, Giorgio and he went on a mission to prevent an assassination. The assassin was actually an old MI6 agent of ours, named Cammy White..."

* * * * * * * * * *

At the same time...

Giorgio Castillo punched in the number that would link him directly to the SCD headquarters in London, wondering why the hell he should call back to tell the people there he was alright, especially when he was so close to his prey. But he knew he had to, knew that if he didn't that they'd come after him, to chew him out like mother hens and, most dreadfully probably, to stop him. And he didn't want that. Wanted nothing in his way. Especially not friends.

The last thing he wanted was to have to hurt friends to kill Vega.

The phone rang on the other end, and he looked around at the passerbies that were passing him, going about in their daily lives with most of them having troubles no more challenging than how to pay this our that bill, what would a boyfriend like for his birthday, or how come a wife had grown cold these days. Basic and trival thoughts of normal people.

How he envied them.

On the other side, someone finally picked. "Culhen here." said a high-pitched, scotish voice. Giorgio let go of a breath he had no idea he was holding all that time. Mark. Not Cindy. Good. Excellent. Mark, he could talk with presently : underneath the joviality was a practical man, a man who understood. Cindy...well, it would have been a scene with Cindy, and he might have let loose of his temper. And she would be hurt, she was like that. And he'd feel guilty, damn her.

"Mark, its..."

"Giorgio! Where the hell are you? Jeremy said you skipped out on him and Joan when they were about to help Cammy!"

Giorgio grimaced. He was going to feel guilty anyway, it seemed. "Si, si, that's true. Tell them I'm sorry for me, si? I'll tell them myself when I get back."

"Back? Where are you?" asked Mark anxiously. Evidently he knew damned well where, he was probably just hoping it wasn't true.

"New York. And before you ask, yes, it's where Chun-Li was attacked."

Silence. Then, a cough. "Don't do that, Giorgio. First I don't think you can find him..."

"Oh, but I already have, amigo." he cut in. "Chun-Li busted him up good and he didn't run far after that. He's still alive, but incredibly weak. I probably won't even break a sweat taking care of this perro bastardo."

"Don't do it. It won't change what he did one bit. Your brother and his family will still be dead, and you..."

"And I'll have avenged them." he spat, his anger building. "Its too late for pretty words, amigo. And its too late for forgiveness - if it was even POSSIBLE to forgive. Don't try my patience. Jer, Cindy and Julia, they may not have killed before. But you and me and Brisby and Wolfman, we all did. This is no different!"

"It is different, damn you!!" snapped Mark, his own patience obviously wearing thin. "We killed when we had no choice, or when we were ordered to. But this...this is..."

"A vendetta? Bravo! That's exactly what it is. It was my condition for joining SCD. Brisby allowed it, so deal with it."

A sigh. Morose. Regretful. Reluctant. Accepting.

"Okay. Do it if you want. No paint off my wall. But just be careful, okay?"

"As always. By the by, how did they do with Cammy?"

"They succeeded somehow, althought Jeremy assured us it wasn't him that did it, but rather she herself. He just helped. Well, she's on her own power, but let's say she's running on default mode."

"What do you mean by that?" the spanish inquired, intrigued by the phrasing.

"That she's showing just slightly more emotions then a turtle, if you catch my drift. But at least she talks normally - althought Jer and Joan are the only ones who get more than one or two sentences at a time."

Giorgio frowned. That didn't sound like the Cammy he had met years ago. But then, who knew what she had been through back at Shadowlaw. The implications were indeed frightening. It was time to drop this discussion and go back to the hunt, however.

"Well, amigo, I'm sure she'll come around eventually. Its too bad I haven't seen to this up 'till now, but I should be back soon. Probably in two or three days, sooner if all goes well."

"I know." said Mark bleakly. "I'd wish you luck, but I can't in this case. Just...just remember that if you walk down that road, it'll damned hard to come back.

"I know. Only too well. Ciao, amigo." and with that, he hung up.

Yes, he knew only too well how dark his road was. He felt the blood of his family shy away from the prospect. He knew his brother probably never would have done it, so kind was he. But he wasn't Manuel. He wasn't a nice guy when it came to these things. He did what he had set himself to do for six years.

Tonight, if all went well, it would end. No more vendetta. Only death.

And his conscience.

* * * * * * * * * *

One hour later...

Rose, a woman who had seen and suffered much in her surprisingly - to others - long life, leaned back on the delicate wooden chair that and closed her eyes. She did not sigh - she had long ago suppressed her feelings of despair and hesitation - but she did feel a new weight on her shoulders.

Mind-control. From Bison, she'd seen it before, and heard of it in dark rumors. It didn't surprise her that the man was still intent on this artless and savage way to provoque total obedience. And why not? He'd done far worse in his life, she knew. Had used his immense psychic gifts - which he grandly and proudly dubbed his 'Psycho Power' - to kill and to hurt, long before he founded his Shadowlaw and became a worldwide threat. Those he controlled, often never broke out of it. Only a very few ever did.

She opened her eyes and looked at the woman in front of her with calm, sad eyes. Her own psychic powers, althought not as strong as Bison's did allow her to peer into the minds of others - something she rarely did, and then, with great reluctance - and read what was there, but it was unnecessary here. The young woman - so young! Had she ever been that young - had the eyes of someone who had seen and felt a lot. The scarred look of extreme loniliness, and the glint of the determination that had allowed her to survive it and thrive. That, more than anything, was why Rose trusted her so much.

"A terrible story. How sad it is when these things happen. And how is this Cammy White doing?"

Julia sighed. "There's good and bad. She is free of Bison's control, or so it seems like. But she's well...still zombie-like. She shows no emotion, cares for nothing but training, and talks to few people, and even those don't get much out of her. To be truthful, its bloody creepy."

"Yes, I would imagine it would be. I must however tell you that I am not surprised. I have seen this before."

Her young friend looked at her with frank interest. Her eyes were intent as she took in everything Rose said. "Are you saying that others broke Bison's mind-control before?" was the pointed question.

Rose nodded. "Yes, there were others. But it was mostly when Bison was younger - perhaps about your age - and that his powers were still raw and himself still undisciplined. And they had been under his control only a few days, two weeks at most. Althought they did show signs of withdrawal, they managed to emerge rapidly from the self-imposed emotional exile after a short while. But your Cammy White, you are telling me it has been YEARS. I can't imagine what could have happened to her in all that time." Or rather, she did, and didn't care to use her imagination on it.

The soldier in front of her hesitated, and once again Rose did not need her powers to know what was going throught her mind. How long has she known Bison? How old is he, anyway? among other things, were what was undoubtedly racing through her. Rose understood the hesitation, the questionning. And hoped this young woman never learned the true answers.

The question she gave was more open. "So, are you saying that there's nothing we can do?"

"I am saying, "she retorted mildly "That it is normal that this Cammy shows no emotions, and probably will not for quite some time. The true length of that time depends on many factors."

"Such as?"

Rose considered. "Willpower comes foremost to my mind. If her spirit is strong, she will recover that much quicker. If her emotions are naturally strong, that will also help. Ah, there is also outside influence. Never dismiss that as nothing."

Julia shook her head, comprehending deep down but still in need of clarification. "I can see what you roughly mean, but what d'you mean exactly by outside influence."

"To be blunt, I would say showing friendship, preoccupation. Caring, too. Affection, if that was possible." she looked at her young friend's face intently. "Do any of your comrades show anything that could be one of these traits."

The young soldier frowned, considering, analysing what she remembered of those Rose knew she considered family. It was a grueling task: althought a formidable agent, inside the organisation itself she was still self-effaced, and interacted less than some. It was a long time before she spoke again. When she did, it was with the slowness of someone who was struggling to truly grasp what she had seen.

"Well, I only saw the reactions of colonel Wolfman, Joan and Jeremy back there. The colonel seems to care, althought he's rarely present, more preoccupied by arranging Cammy's release from Interpol jurisdiction. Joan cares for her. At first I think it was just a doctor-patient thing, but now she really seems to want to help her." she paused, frowning. "Jer, well, Jer is something else."

Rose lifted an interested brow. "Oh? How so?"

"He's...well...closer. He tries to speak to her more than the others, goes out of his way to see her. He cares a lot about her, that's for sure. Joan told me there's even something akin to affectionm from him, althought I've seen nothing myself to point to that."

"And how is she responding to his...let us say 'intense caring'?" Rose inquired.

Deeper frown. "I don't think she does, really. Maybe she talks a bit more to him than anyone else. Ahh, I can't be sure. There's something I feel I should remember. God knows I don't like criticising my friends. But its good, right? That he cares about her?"

"Very good. Although he'll have to proceed very carefully with her. She might latch on to him without really thinking about it. And if he ever showed vile, violent emotions towards her..." she fell silent, brooding.

Julia, however, didn't want it to be the end. "What will happen?"

"Whatever it is, it might break her. Completely. Never let it happen."

Such pain your victims must endure. Do you know, Bison, how they feel? Or have you stopped caring altogether? Someday you will have to answer for that. Someday soon.

I intend to be there, Bison.

* * * * * * * * * *

Three hours later...

It was the evening in New York. The great city was getting sleepy, as its citizens went back from a hard day's work to enjoy the company of friends, family, or just to relax by themselves. The hussle and bustle of the day was receding already to a calmer humming.

That is, for the respectable citizens. For those who lurked in the shadows, the day was just beginning. Daylight belonged largely to those who respected the law, those who had clean hands and clean consciences. Those who stole and hurt and defiled took to the back alleys, the small streets and the no man' land in the slums, waiting. When night came, however, they stepped out of the shadows, into the night, their uncaring friend who shielded them from that annoying thing called the authorities.

Nights walking alone in New York was precarious at best, deadly at worst. To do that, one had to be either mad, driven, or very strong.

Giogio Castillo was driven and also very strong. As for madness, he wasn't sure. With what he was about to do he was very uncertain.

He stood on top of one of an hospital building, watching another such building intently. In this building, Vega was being treated, he knew. Treated for very grave wounds, from an unknown source. Nor did the doctors really care, as long as he paid them. Ah, the sensibilities of the modern world!

Giorgio knew the source of those wounds. Knew her quite well. He'd visited Chun-Li where she was recovering from the vicious battle between herself and the savage spanish assassin, and had been glad to see her gradually recovering. There he had met another acquaintance, William Guile, whom he'd barely seen since Charlie's mysterious disappearance. The airforce captain and Interpol agents had been in high spirits, and he had been loathe to spoil the moment. Still, he had had to tell of what he was about to do to people that could truly understand. So he had.

They had listened to him carefully, sympathetically. Not judging him, like he knew many others in the SCD were judging him right now. Chun-Li had only warned him not to become a monster like Vega, while Guile had just said that he understood, and both finally promised him they wouldn't divulged this to anyone.

It felt good to be understood sometimes...

He used his infrared binoculars to get a full impression of the place he was about to enter. Vega was on the fourth floor of the building. He couldn't risk being seen climbing the outside wall like a spider, althought that would probably be the best way to do his...deed...without attracting undue attention. But, no, he wasn't about to enter an hospital like a thief. He knew Vega was alone in that room, so all he had to do was dodge guards and nurses, to virtually walk unseen amongst people. Well, he wasn't Julia, but he knew enought stealth and tricks to do it adequately.

He had played out the scene quite meticulously in his mind. He would wait for the right moment, when nurses and orderlies were as far away from the room as could be, before entering silently. Then he'd do it. Swiftly. Oh, Vega would put up a fight, no doubt, but from what the medical reports he had taken described, he wasn't in a state to stand up to an ordinary strong man, let alone a trained soldier. He was but a shadow of his former self, a wounded wolf lickings its wounds, awaiting the time when he regained enough strength to rise again.

Giorgio intended that the bastard never rise again, period. Then Manuel and all those other Vega killed could really rest in peace.

"I would like to understand this." boomed a deep voice behind him in halting english.

The spanish veteran had whipped around at the sound of the first syllable, taking on a ready stance by force of habit, and wondering how anyone could have escaped his notice so thoroughly, while his every senses had been on alert. His eyes found very easily who had just spoken. And he faltered, wondering if this wasn't some kind of warrior.

The person in fron of him was a man who stood a towering seven feet tall, with mucles rippling across his large chest, his strong-boned arms and his long - and extremely agile - feet. He was bald, head-shaved - as were many who practiced his style of martial arts. Only two wounds showed on the man. One was a patch on a eye that had been lost - if reports be true - years ago, while the other was far more fantastic. All across his chest, in a long, jagged mesh of brown flesh, was an immense scar that had been carved by the one man that had been able to defeat this fighter.

All this went throught Giorgio's head in a flash, and he found himself struck dumb for a moment.

"Sagat" was the only thing he could say for a moment.

And in the very next moment, he gritted his teeth, assumed a fighting position and brought to his mind every single technique he had ever learned. Giorgio Castillo wasn't one to stay paralysed. He knew that if the giant Muy Thaï champion intended to kill him, that he was a deadman already, and that nothing he could do would change that. However, the thought of dying without a fight, like a coward or an inept fighter, was completely unacceptable. Yes, he would die but, Dios, he was going to go down fighting with all he had!

The champion, however, didn't look as if he wanted to fight. He just stood there, like a great statue, spearing the smaller man with a grave expression from his good eye. Giorgio couldn't fathom what Sagat was thinking, but stuck to the unspoken rules of the street and waited for his opponent to put up his defense. When he didn't, the spanish got curious, then frustrated by the lack of movement.

"What are you waiting for, Sagat! Put up your defense so we can get on with this!" he growled, momentarily forgetting the fear he felt.

The giant man did not budge, did not rise to the bait. Instead he simply asked. "Are you challenging me?"

Giorgio was stunned and barely managed to keep it from showing. What was this guy up to? Didn't he want to fight? This was something he wasn't prepared to: to face one of the three great Shadowlaw warriors and ASKED if HE wanted to fight. Unbelievable.

Still, he had to answer. The answer itself was the only one that came to his mind, the only one he felt he needed. "No. Do you?"

A grave look again. Then, the enormous man shook his head slightly. Relief mingled with confusion washed throught the spanish fighter. He had been prepared to sell his life dearly, but found himself glad he wasn't being asked to sell it just yet.

He relaxed his stance, careful not to let his guard down. Sagat was reputed to be an ethical and honorable man, but was that reputation still up to date? Anyone working for Shadowlaw didn't have a clean slate - well, perhaps except for some of the mind-controlled people.

"Then, if you do not wish to fight me, why?..." he trailed off, thinking he understood. "Vega. You're here to get him back." he said dully, bitterly. Vengeance was escaping him. There was nothing he could do against Sagat, and he knew it.

The champion surprised him again, then, by chuckling mirthlessly. "Hardly," he stated, "I am here in New york to dispatch Vega for failing, and a mind-controlled Agent named Cammy as well."

Upin hearing Cammy's name, the veteran brought his defense up, defiantly. "You can't do that! She's free from your control! If you want to take her, you'll have all the SCD ON TO you, and even you won't win against those odds amigo!"

"She is out of Bison's control?" the giant asked curiously, obviously surprised.

"Yes!" was the snappy retort.

Sagat seemed to consider something. Then to come up with decision.

"Very well, then." he said wearily. "Killing a mindless drone I had no problem with, it only seemed..." he struggled to find the right word. "BENEATH me. But if she has the chance to live outside 'his' influence, then I will let her have that chance." he nodded to himself. "That leaves me only with Vega." he seemed rather relived, Giorgio thought.

"Actually, senor Sagat..." Castillo found himself saying.

"Yes?"

"I actually came here to kill him myself." he said, astonished that he had said that. Why not shout it for the entire world to hear, while he was at it?!? Still, it caught the huge man's attention, and his good eye widened.

"So THAT is what you came here for." no excalmation, only stating a fact. "I must admit, I wondered for a while if you weren't an ally of his, with your spanish accent." Giorgio bristled and he raised a hand. "Peace, fighter. I see now that I was wrong. You are certainly not an ally of his, not with the compassion you show for Cammy. Vega is quite incapable of it. I was just surprised to learn you were actually here to assassinate him. Why would you do it, I might ask."

"I have my reasons." and good solid ones at that, but he had no intention to share them with a Shadowlaw agent.

The tall, muscular man nodded sagely, as if discussing murders was the most casual thing in the world. "I suppose you do. Vega hardly has made anything but enemies over the years. So you wish to kill him in my place? I can then tell you I was not sure whether to kill him or let him live. After all, being disfigured is far worst than dying to someone as vain as him."

Giorgio let down his guard down completely at the last. "Then let me do it. I obviously want this far more than you do." he hated being down to pleading over commiting murder - everything he stood for rebelled against it - but for now, he had to do it. Just this once.

The large shoulders shrugged. "I don't see why I shouldn't let you. Lord Bison wants him out of the way. Who did it will certainly not matter." he waved a hand slightly, in acceptance.

"Thank you." Giorgio felt ashamed when he heard joy in his voice. Was hatred and vengeance truly making him into what he fought against?

"You should go now, He might try to escape soon."

Reflexively Giorgio looked back at the window where he knew Vega was kept in observation. Only a few moments, but when he turned back, he was astounded to find Sagat gone. Vanished. How did he DO that?!?

Shaking his head, his wits feeling rather scattered, Giorgio turned back to observing the hospital, trying to decide what he had best do. Suddenly he felt so pathetic, trying to kill a man who couldn't defend himself. It just seemed unfair, and he boasted himself a fair man.

Then something Sagat had said hit him.

After all, being disfigured is far worst than dying to someone as vain as him.

As he thought about this sentence, his mouth started to form a smile. It wasn't a pleasant one by any means. Not something he wore, even on his worst days. It was twisted and sick, and seemed alien to his usual jovial and proud face.

Fine, then. He wouldn't kill him after all.

He'd do worse.

* * * * * * * * * *

One hour later...

"What in all the bloody hells?!?"

The sentence was uttered by a crimson-coloured Julia Simmons. It was rather a sight, seeing her so angry. She rarely did get to that kind of work-up. But when she did, people tended to steer clear of her, for she could be dangerous. She indeed looked dangerous right now, enough for her friend Rose to look a bit wary. But she was so angry, she didn't care about her friend right now as she rose from her seat in pure fury.

"You're telling me that that damn bloody spanish fool has gone ON HIS OWN to take on Vega himself?" she howled into the poor cellular phone, and by that into the unfortunate ear of Mark Culhen, who said he had wanted the others of the team to know.

"Look, lass, it's not like Vega's in top shape, anyway..."

"I don't care if the bloody assassin has fifty broken bones or none! Going after Vega means going after the others, and that's suicide. What if he met Sagat or or Balrog? You'd have to be potty to do what he did."

"Potty? Aye." Mark said firmly. "But he's something else right now. He's vengeful, which can be the same thing with someone having his kind of willpower."

"I don't care WHAT it means!" she fumed, refusing to calm down. "Have you talked with the others?"

"Yep. Brisby said it was Giorgio's sole condition for entering the SCD, this free vendetta. Jeremy said he'll try to go get him back - with Joan and, believe it or not, CAMMY! But they're really not sure they'll make it, even though they ARE in the same city. I mean, they don't even know where to look for!"

"Damn!" she cursed aloud, this time giving a silent apologetic look at Rose, who now seemed unfazed, just slightly worried. She couldn't belive this was happening. Couldn't believe someone as easy-going and as solid as Giorgio Castillo could do something this reckless, this insane. It seemed as if a small part of her world had gone out of phase with the rest and it unnerved her. No, scared her.

"Okay! I'm going there myself! Tell the others I'm coming!"

"Lass..."

"JUST TELL THEM, MARK!!!!" she shouted, then shut off her cell-phone without waiting for a reply. She then turned to Rose. "Sorry about that, Rose. I..."

"You are worried. That is nothing to be ashamed of." was the smooth interruption.

"Pissed is what I am. Of all the lame-brained..." she managed to keep herfelf from spouting any more insult, but her ire remained. "I'm sorry Rose. I have an old fool to get back to sanity. I'm afraid the rest of our conversation has to wait."

The lavender-haired woman gave her a smile. "Quite all right. I said what I had to say about the matter. I wish you all - and especially her - good luck."

And it was that smile that Rose gave her that jogged her fuzzy memory, and gave her that tiny piece of information she had been unable to remember but had known was important to the subject of Cammy's actions.

"There is something, however, that I just remembered, regarding Cammy. " she paused. "I said that even Jeremy's attention wasn't fazing her in the least. I'm not sure that's quite true."

"And why is that?"

"Because, once, when Jer wasn't looking, and that I was idly eavesdropping, I saw her give him a smile. A very short, very uncertain smile, but a smile it was."

* * * * * * * * * *

That evening...

Vega tentatively touched his face, knowing what he would feel but feeling the need to make himself believe. As soon as he touched it, he felt the pain lanced throught him, pain he had never felt from that part of his once-perfect body for as long as he could remember. As it was, the whole left side of his face was a mangled ruin, and it maddened him. The rest of his wounds, his broken bones, his cracked and broken ribs, the numerous bruises on his arms and upper body, they all had no consequence compared to what had happened to his irreplacable, uniquely beautiful face.

All because of that BITCH. I'll kill her. I swear I will! Slowly, Madre de Dios! Very slowly. She will scream under me, and I won't stop, won't stop until she dies. No one ever hit my face. No one! NO ONE! I'll kill her!

It had only been a normal assassination at first. Bison had decided that this Chun-Li was getting a little too much an annoyance, and had dispatched Vega to take care of the problem, and 'to go have some fun with Miss Li.' And he had gone with every attention of having fun with the woman. He had watched beside Bison while the monitor Cyborg had scanned her, and had found the view very appealing. Even Bison had made a few appreciative comments on the view. It had given him ideas. Very good, very entertaining ideas. If all had gone according to his plan, his assignment would have been accomplished. And he would have walked away satisfied, even happy.

But things hadn't gone according to plan. The asian bitch had put up more resistance than he had expected her to. But that had been alright, he had always loved a challenge. And he had been having the upper hand all the while, anyway. He'd cut open deep wounds on her, and had almost knocked her senseless.

Almost. That was when had made his mistake. He taken off his mask and gloated, while he should have finished her off. Had he known, he would have done exactly that. But he did not, and she found the strength to throw a whole damn SOFA at his head, and had subsequently mangled his face with her foot while he was down and dazed. It had completely obliterated his reason for a long moment, and in that time he had made unforgivable mistakes, and she had turned the tables on him, ultimately pummeling him with so many kicks that he finally burst throught the wall of her appartment, landing in a boken heap. He was lucky to have survived, and even more lucky to have managed to limp to this hospital, where doctors had assured him his face would completely recover in time, as would the rest of his body. It was just a question of time.

Fine. He would wait until he recovered completely, than train himself as hard as he could, before going after that bitch to gain his revenge. She'd never suspect before he'd be on her. And then it'd be too late for her.

A sound. Soft, stealthy, ouside the door. Vega stiffened. It wasn't a nurse, that much he could tell. Nurses were efficient, but they didn't mask their presence. That one did. And that made Vega nervous. In the state that he was, he was extremely vulnerable, and for all his bluster, knew it.

The door opened soundlessly, and a masked, black-gerbed figure entered. Stricken with dread, Vega couldn't move. Suppositions roamed throught his frantic mind: had Bison decided he had failed, and sent another assassin? Was this an ally or a foe? What the hell is happening? All these and more ran throught his mind, but no answers were forthcoming. However, he could tell that it was a tall man, athletic, and from the way he held himself, a fighter of discipline and experience.

It was truly an uncertain and frightening situation, and the so-called Spanish Assassin wasn't one who was used to fear.

The figure closed the door, and looked at him for several moment. Then, there was a chuckle. A satisfied and malicious chuckle, uttered with a voice Vega vaguely recognized.

"Honestly, amigo, I never expected to have it so easy with you." said the figure amidst its mirth. And then the stranger removed his mask. And Vega's unease turned to terrible dread.

"Castillo." he sneered, trying to keep the quake out of his voice. "So, you've come to gloat over my state of being, bastardo?"

The spanish soldier who had been a nuisance to Veha's schemes for years smiled pleasantly, but the smile did not reach his eyes, which remained fixed and implacable, like those of a fierce predator eyeing a very slippery and dangerous prey. The dread he felt started to mount quickly. He knew Castillo, knew how much the man hated him, even remembered why. Manuel Castillo had once been targetted by Shadowlaw because of his ties with several anti-terrorist contacts. Vega had been wanting to visit his country for a while, and had taken the assignment, although he felt it was a trifle he shouldn't have taken care of. When he saw the family - ah, the wife, such beauty - his perspective had chance, and he had used all of his imagination to kill of the family members one by one. It was a masterpiece of artful slaughter, and he had because of that visited that part of Spain in high spirits. He didn't know he had created a nemesis that day.

"So, you've come to kill me? How boring." that was certainly why he had come, but he wasn't going to show fear to this particular enemy. Never. His pride wouldn't allow it.

"Ohhhhh noooo'" said Castillo, chuckling. "I've not come for that. I wanted to, at first, but then I had a talk with your amigo, Sagat..."

"Sagat? Impossible! How can you have met Sagat and still stand?" he ranted. What was wrong with the world today? And what was Sagat doing near this place. Did Shadowlae intend to silence him. Depressing thought, that.

"And he's told me something interesting: that being disfigured was worse to you than death. So..." his smile grew wider as he drew an army knife from an hidden pocket in his black costume. "...let's make sure you have the kind of face that goes down in history."

Now Vega was afraid. And angry. Something hot and unreasonable and pretentious gave his body new energy as he lurched out of his hospital bed and charged his enemy. No ONE would deface him again, and certainly not a weakling like Castillo! He would show him true spanish strength and will today!

The will was there. Full force, unrelenting, full of anger and hatred. But the energy he felt was an illusion: his body felt stiff and clumsy, and the broken bones within him sapped his strength considerably.

Castillo's eyes showed amusement as he lunged, and Vega realized that he had been goaded to fight in this state. Once again, he had acted recklessly. What would be the price?

His nemesis - still smiling - sidestepped him easily, caught hold of Vega with an iron grip, and before the assassin could even begin to recover, drove his right knee directly into his Vega's back there was an audible, ominous cracking sound, and the crippled man felt pain as he never felt before, pain that started up down in his back and came up to his brain in a great blaze that consumed all other sensation. He would have howled, except he received a sweeping punch in the face before he could, snapping him backward. Right back into the hospital bed.

"To bed now, children!" said Castillo in a mocking tone, mimicking an motherly voice. Vega growled at him, consumed by fury.

"I will kill you for this, Castillo!" he snarled, his face burning with renewed pain.

The other man appeared unperturbed. "No you won't." And with that, he drove his knife - which had nver left his hand - right into Vega's foot. The assassin opened his mouth to scream, but it died in his throat. No pain. Absolutely no pain. No pain, no NOTHING!

Like his legs were.

"NOO!!!" he screamed. His nemesis's face showed distinct pleasure at his outburst, as if the horror he felt from Vega was some sort of sweet wine."

The smiled became a smirk, mocking and cruel. "I see you got the gist of my argument. Your impression is right Vega. I've just shattered the part of your spinal cord that Chun-Li had weakened. You won't walk again." Then he kicked Vega in the ribs, breaking them all over again. Ignoring the assassin's scream, the vengeful bastard continued. "Never again! You're a fucking cripple, but worse, you're a cripple that no one will care about. And you know what? You'll have to live with yourself, Vega. Unloved, without respect, pitied by those around you as you waste away, the shadow of the fighter you were. How does that sound? To be beneath me? To be beneath EVERYONE like me?" Castillo threw back his head and let loose a booming laugh, full of scorn and contempt. Then, he started to walk away, pulling his mask back on, still laughing.

"No, this can't be happening!! I WILL NOT ACCEPT THIS!!!" Vega screamed at his nemesis. The bastard stopped at the door, and looked back for a moment.

"The knife is still there in your leg, Vega. Your useless leg." and with that he was gone, leaving the assassin alone with despair and hatred. Vega looked at the imbedded knife.

Then thought about how people would now see him - an helpless cripple. A man with nothing left. Not where he came from. A doomed man.

What choice was there to make?

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Well, here it goes! I know, it's more static than the other recent chapters, but I had to include it, for it will have repercussions later in the story, as does all else I've written.

Next Chapter: Cammy joins the SCD in her first mission. But is there still hope for her emotions to return to her after her ordeal? See that next time!

See ya soon, guys! Remember, I crave FEEDBACK and IDEAS!!!

Jeremy