*I don't know what you're looking for
You haven't found any favors, that's for sure
You ripped me up, you spread me all around
In the dust of the deed and time (?)
And this is not a case of lust, you see
It's not a matter of you versus me
It's fine, the way you watch me on your own
But in the end, it's always me alone
And I'm losing my favorite game
You're losing your mind again
I'm losing my baby,
Losing my favorite game*
*The Cardigans - My Favorite Game*
Jerry's Bar was a small, respectable place on a street corner downtown. It was supposed to be a sports bar, but there was only one TV in the whole place. Bryan grimaced as he stepped out of the taxi. It was almost TOO clean for his liking. Hell, the doormat had a smiley face and said HAVE A NICE DAY! on it. He wiped some mud on the mat before entering.
The lighting was considerably dimmer inside, and it took Bryan's eyes a moment to adjust. A few pool tables, some booths in the back corners, and a scattering of tables throughout. Bottles of nearly every alcoholic beverage imaginable neatly lined the shelves behind the bar. The tables and barstools were mostly empty, but there was a heated game of pool in one corner, with some heavy betting going on.
Bryan sat down at one of the empty tables, to order a beer and watch the game while waiting for Angel. He attracted more than a few stares, and he returned each and every one of them until the antagonists looked away. More time passed than he realized, and he was on his fourth beer and second football game when he felt the tap on his shoulder.
"Excuse me, sir, but this is my private table."
Bryan turned in his seat to find an incredibly attractive woman staring at him. A brown-eyed blonde, with a martini in one hand and a pocketbook in the other. She was wearing long slacks and a conservative blouse, and he guessed that she'd just gotten off work or something. He decided to play it difficult, his usual tactic when he saw a hot chick. "I don't see your name on it."
She looked suddenly uncomfortable. "This is my private table, sir. I'm asking you to leave."
"I know what you're asking, sweetheart, and I'm saying that I don't see your name on this table."
"You don't even know my name."
"Then why don't you tell me, and I'll look for it."
She hesitated. "Cassandra."
"Cassandra, huh? Fine, I'll look... nope, don't see it. Maybe you'd like to share it with me instead."
What a jackass. She frowned, then turned towards the bar. "Hey, Angel? Could you give me a hand, here?"
Angel was here already? Damn, he hadn't seen her come in. He followed Cassandra's gaze to the figure seated at the far end of the bar. Angel's head popped up, and looked over. She'd been doing homework or something; there were schoolbooks in front of her. Angel sighed, and put her pencil down. She crossed her arms over her chest as she approached Cassandra's table. "Hey, buddy, this is this lady's private table. She asked you nicely. Now I'm telling you to move."
Bryan decided to keep being difficult. He wanted to see what she'd do. "Or else what? What are you gonna do if I don't, superkid?"
"I think I'll start with cramming that beer bottle down your throat. How's that?"
"How cute. The kid's gonna beat me up."
"Listen, freakshow, if you don't move your ass right now, I will move it for you. And it won't be pleasant."
Bryan stood up, and towered over her. "Try me."
"Fine." Faster than the eye could follow, Angel's hands whipped out and wrapped around Bryan's throat. She grunted slightly, and Bryan was shocked to find himself being lifted into the air. Then she made a slow 180-degree turn, and set Bryan on his feet. On the other side of her was Cassandra, who smirked before sitting down at her table. Angel had picked him up and moved him. Just like that. She was STRONG!
They faced each other, and then he saw Angel's eyes widen a bit. Like she'd been startled or something. She stared fixedly at him, as though trying to place him. He waited. Did she suspect something?
Angel's mind raced. This guy looked familiar. She let her mind wander a bit, and it focused on the long, wicked-looking scar on his face. That scar... she'd seen it before, somewhere. If only she could remember her past, she'd surely know who he was. "You... look familiar. I know you, don't I?" It was more of a statement than a question.
Bryan started. Angel felt his mind race. He knows exactly who I am, she thought. He knows me. That's why he's here. He knows me. She waited for a response.
Bryan finally opened his mouth to respond. "Yeah, I know all about you. I've been looking for you." Angel's heart nearly stopped, but she waited for more. "Let's step outside, where we can talk."
Hurriedly Angel gathered her things, and joined Bryan outside. He was dressed in a skin-tight black T-shirt, a gray jacket, dress shoes, and... good lord. Snakeskin pants? This guy was wearing snakeskin pants. Fake snakeskin, by the look of it, but still... His features were tight and hawklike. The long, wicked scar traveled down the left side of his face from above the eye to just above the lips, and she could see it start up again at his collarbone. He had some weird black tattoo on both sides of his neck. His hair was a weird silver-white color, almost like hers. His skin was a chalky color, really pasty, like somebody who stayed indoors all the time. Creepy color, she thought. Like death.
His most distinguishing characteristic were the eyes. They were an unblinking steel-blue, and he had the look of someone who was perpetually angry. Those eyes. They seemed to burn holes in her as she studied him. Again, she had the weirdest feeling of deja vu.
In turn, he studied her. Long metallic silver hair, down to the shoulderblades. A pale, almost snowy-white color to her skin. She wore a light gray shirt, and blue jeans. Sneakers, too. Over it all was a long black trenchcoat. Her eyes were a lavendar color. They were just as intense as his, and were fixed on him.
He decided to speak first, and set an easy pace as they walked down the street. "Like I said before, I've been looking for you. The name's Fury. Bryan Fury."
"Angel Leah." He noticed the way she pronouced it. Lee. She continued. "It seems like I know you from somewhere, but I can't remember. I can't remember anything about my past. How much do you know about me?"
"More than you want to."
She shot him a funny look. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Just that there's a lot of history, and not all of it is pretty. In fact, most of it is downright ugly."
"I think I figured that out already. I mean, why else would I have all these scars on me?" Bryan looked sharply at her, but she was looking down and talking to herself. She noticed him looking at her, and wordlessly pulled her hands out of her pockets and thrust them toward him for inspection. They stopped beneath a street light, and then Bryan's look turned to shock. Her snowy-white hands were criss-crossed with dozens of tiny cuts and scratches. He knew what they were instantly. Knife cuts. From when they were training her to use knives. Not everybody would be perfect starting out, but this...
She continued. "I can't remember a damn thing about my past. The only things I can remember start just a bit under two years ago. My goddamn foster father knows more than he's telling me, but I can't get him to say a thing about it. GOD DAMN IT!" She turned suddenly and smashed her fist against a large Post Office mailbox. She grunted, and cradled her injured hand in the other, and started stomping away. Bryan was shocked to see a huge dent in the mailbox. He stared for a moment, then caught up to her.
"What the hell did you do that for?"
"Because it pisses me off that I don't know anything about myself." She looked at him. "And I suppose you have all the answers?"
"No, I don't. I don't remember anything about my past either." That was a lie; he knew damn well about his past. His childhood was a bit foggy, but other than that, he had perfect recall.
She looked at him. "You're lying."
"How do you-"
"Because I can always tell when someone is lying to me. And you're lying."
He studied an ever-changing spot on the ground about six feet in front of him as they continued their stroll. "Fine. I do remember. I just wish I didn't."
They were silent for a moment. Experimentally Angel popped the knuckles on her injured hand, winced, then stuffed both hands back into the trenchcoat pockets. "So, then. Why are you here?"
"Not quite sure. I've been looking for you, true, because I have something to tell you. Not sure how to say it, though-"
Suddenly she whirled and grabbed him by the lapels. "Stop beating around the goddamn bush! Spit it out, dammit! Who the hell are you?" Her face was livid, and her eyes seemed to throw sparks. He was about to answer, when there were footsteps behind her.
Angel whirled to see a group of street thugs. She recognized this particular group. They were the Breakers, or something like that. She'd kicked their asses several times already, but they didn't seem to get the message. Angel counted six thugs.
"Hey, cutie pie! You wanna have a good time?" The leader's voice was thick, and well laced with alcohol.
Angel took a step backward and batted the air between them. "What did you have for dinner? A skunk? Man, your breath is rank!"
The drunk frowned. "Hey, no need to be a smartass. We just wanna show you a good time, don't we, guys?" The thugs snickered.
Bryan stepped in front of Angel, and the thug started to back away. "Hey, dumbass. Why don't you leave my little sister alone before I rip you a new one?" He turned his head slightly to guage Angel's reaction.
Angel stared at him, her jaw slack, a genuinely shocked and dumbfounded expression plastered on her otherwise stony face. Her eyes bored holes into his skull, and he could almost feel her mind searching his. He concentrated all his thoughts on him being her brother, and she bought it. She gave him a quick nod, and moved to stand beside him.
"Later," she muttered. Then she took up a fighting stance. "Well, boys, what'll it be? You want a good time; I'll SHOW you a good time. It involves me and my... brother... double-teaming your asses."
Bryan took up his own stance, and waited. These guys were drunk, and cared nothing about them. "Let's get 'em, dudes! Dibs on the chick!" came the slurred battlecry from the thug leader, then they attacked.
Big mistake. The leader charged straight for Angel, and was met by a swift uppercut to the jaw, followed by a spinning kick to the ribs. He went down quickly, and in his place popped another thug, this one with a knife. She grabbed his free hand, kicked him TWICE in the head with the same foot, and sent him spinning away in pain. A third was given swift chops to the throat, followed by a hard gut punch. He fell with a clearly audible grunt.
In the back of his mind, Bryan realized that he'd seen this particular fighting style before, but where... he'd think about it later. Right now, he was busy giving a Muay Thai kick to some poor boy's arm. The arm shattered, as well as a few ribs. One lucky kid charged from the side and managed to give Bryan a swift knife-slash to the arm. Bryan wrapped his other hand around the boy's throat and lifted him into the air while he examined his sleeve. Then his eyes snapped up to meet the kid's. "Motherfuck, you ruined my coat!" The boy's eyes widened as Bryan's fist hammered down into the kid's unprotected skull. The kid fell to the ground in a wimpering heap, and it was then that Bryan realized something: Not only had the kid ruined his jacket, but he'd also pissed himself, and dribbled on Bryan's shoes. Bryan frowned mightily before grabbing the sixth thug by the arm and kneeing him in the crotch. The kid shrieked and joined his friends laying on the ground in pain. The air was suddenly quiet.
"Hmm," was Angel's comment. "Six morons in almost as many seconds. That's gotta be a new record or something."
Bryan only grunted and examined his shoes. "Damn kid pissed on me." Angel gave an amused snort, then began walking back the way they'd come.
They traveled in silence for a while, then Angel spoke up. "So, you're my long-lost brother or something, huh?"
"Yeah."
"So, where'd you come from?" Bryan shrugged. "Then how'd you find me?" Another shrug. "Okay, then how about-"
"Fuck, is it always gonna be Twenty Questions with you or something?" Bryan was getting annoyed.
"Sorry. I just wanted to know something about the person who seems to be my only living relative in the entire world." Her tone instantly made him feel like a jackass. "Just one question, then?" Bryan nodded. Angel grinned briefly, then asked "Where the hell did you find those pants?"
The question surprised him, and he glanced down at his fake-snakeskin pants. "What do you want? I like these pants."
"Oh yes, very pimp."
"And what about that coat of yours, little miss Psycho?"
She glared at him. "It was on sale and I liked it. Besides, nobody messes with a chick in a trenchcoat." Bryan raised a disbelieving eyebrow and hooked a thumb over his shoulder at the now-distant pile of bodies. "Okay, almost nobody. I've run into them several times before, and they don't seem to remember that I kick their asses every time." She flexed her muscles. "I'm a one-woman gang!" Bryan smirked.
"You're a one-woman something, that's for sure."
She threw another glance at him. "And what exactly is that supposed to mean, Snake Eye?"
Bryan stopped dead in his tracks. "What did you just call me?"
Angel stopped, too. "Snake Eye. Why?"
He swallowed. "That used to be my nickname, back when I was on the force."
"Force? You're a cop?"
"Ex-cop."
"Ex, huh? What happened?"
"THIS happened." Annoyed, Bryan pulled up his shirt to reveal--dear God. Four bullet-hole scars dotted his abdomen, and the knife scar twisted its way from his collarbone all the way down to his waist. He was white as a sheet all over.
Angel swallowed and looked away. "Sorry I asked." Bryan merely grunted and started walking again. Angel looked after him for a moment, then caught up with him.
They walked the rest of the way in silence. When they finally reached Jerry's Bar, Angel led Bryan to the tiny gray Honda on the back row of the parking lot. She pulled out a keyring, unlocked the door, and climbed in. Then she looked at her brother. "Are you coming, or what?"
They stared at each other for the longest time, then Bryan seated himself next to Angel in the car.
The ride was quiet, with neither one of them saying a single word. Bryan stared out the window, and thought. He'd resigned himself to his new fate. Here he was, playing brother-sister to a genetically-designed assassin. She tough as nails, and mean as hell. Not only was there that, but Abel's last words to him. I should be dead in a few months, thought Bryan. Then he corrected himself. I'll be dead AGAIN in a few months. This just keeps getting better and better.
Angel listened to him think. She couldn't hear his exact thoughts; that would require more concentration than she was presently willing to give. She was driving, after all. She could feel her brother's pain. He had known a lot of suffering in the past. He still suffered. He was lost, and searching for himself. Searching for his place in the world.
Angel vowed to help him find it.
You haven't found any favors, that's for sure
You ripped me up, you spread me all around
In the dust of the deed and time (?)
And this is not a case of lust, you see
It's not a matter of you versus me
It's fine, the way you watch me on your own
But in the end, it's always me alone
And I'm losing my favorite game
You're losing your mind again
I'm losing my baby,
Losing my favorite game*
*The Cardigans - My Favorite Game*
Jerry's Bar was a small, respectable place on a street corner downtown. It was supposed to be a sports bar, but there was only one TV in the whole place. Bryan grimaced as he stepped out of the taxi. It was almost TOO clean for his liking. Hell, the doormat had a smiley face and said HAVE A NICE DAY! on it. He wiped some mud on the mat before entering.
The lighting was considerably dimmer inside, and it took Bryan's eyes a moment to adjust. A few pool tables, some booths in the back corners, and a scattering of tables throughout. Bottles of nearly every alcoholic beverage imaginable neatly lined the shelves behind the bar. The tables and barstools were mostly empty, but there was a heated game of pool in one corner, with some heavy betting going on.
Bryan sat down at one of the empty tables, to order a beer and watch the game while waiting for Angel. He attracted more than a few stares, and he returned each and every one of them until the antagonists looked away. More time passed than he realized, and he was on his fourth beer and second football game when he felt the tap on his shoulder.
"Excuse me, sir, but this is my private table."
Bryan turned in his seat to find an incredibly attractive woman staring at him. A brown-eyed blonde, with a martini in one hand and a pocketbook in the other. She was wearing long slacks and a conservative blouse, and he guessed that she'd just gotten off work or something. He decided to play it difficult, his usual tactic when he saw a hot chick. "I don't see your name on it."
She looked suddenly uncomfortable. "This is my private table, sir. I'm asking you to leave."
"I know what you're asking, sweetheart, and I'm saying that I don't see your name on this table."
"You don't even know my name."
"Then why don't you tell me, and I'll look for it."
She hesitated. "Cassandra."
"Cassandra, huh? Fine, I'll look... nope, don't see it. Maybe you'd like to share it with me instead."
What a jackass. She frowned, then turned towards the bar. "Hey, Angel? Could you give me a hand, here?"
Angel was here already? Damn, he hadn't seen her come in. He followed Cassandra's gaze to the figure seated at the far end of the bar. Angel's head popped up, and looked over. She'd been doing homework or something; there were schoolbooks in front of her. Angel sighed, and put her pencil down. She crossed her arms over her chest as she approached Cassandra's table. "Hey, buddy, this is this lady's private table. She asked you nicely. Now I'm telling you to move."
Bryan decided to keep being difficult. He wanted to see what she'd do. "Or else what? What are you gonna do if I don't, superkid?"
"I think I'll start with cramming that beer bottle down your throat. How's that?"
"How cute. The kid's gonna beat me up."
"Listen, freakshow, if you don't move your ass right now, I will move it for you. And it won't be pleasant."
Bryan stood up, and towered over her. "Try me."
"Fine." Faster than the eye could follow, Angel's hands whipped out and wrapped around Bryan's throat. She grunted slightly, and Bryan was shocked to find himself being lifted into the air. Then she made a slow 180-degree turn, and set Bryan on his feet. On the other side of her was Cassandra, who smirked before sitting down at her table. Angel had picked him up and moved him. Just like that. She was STRONG!
They faced each other, and then he saw Angel's eyes widen a bit. Like she'd been startled or something. She stared fixedly at him, as though trying to place him. He waited. Did she suspect something?
Angel's mind raced. This guy looked familiar. She let her mind wander a bit, and it focused on the long, wicked-looking scar on his face. That scar... she'd seen it before, somewhere. If only she could remember her past, she'd surely know who he was. "You... look familiar. I know you, don't I?" It was more of a statement than a question.
Bryan started. Angel felt his mind race. He knows exactly who I am, she thought. He knows me. That's why he's here. He knows me. She waited for a response.
Bryan finally opened his mouth to respond. "Yeah, I know all about you. I've been looking for you." Angel's heart nearly stopped, but she waited for more. "Let's step outside, where we can talk."
Hurriedly Angel gathered her things, and joined Bryan outside. He was dressed in a skin-tight black T-shirt, a gray jacket, dress shoes, and... good lord. Snakeskin pants? This guy was wearing snakeskin pants. Fake snakeskin, by the look of it, but still... His features were tight and hawklike. The long, wicked scar traveled down the left side of his face from above the eye to just above the lips, and she could see it start up again at his collarbone. He had some weird black tattoo on both sides of his neck. His hair was a weird silver-white color, almost like hers. His skin was a chalky color, really pasty, like somebody who stayed indoors all the time. Creepy color, she thought. Like death.
His most distinguishing characteristic were the eyes. They were an unblinking steel-blue, and he had the look of someone who was perpetually angry. Those eyes. They seemed to burn holes in her as she studied him. Again, she had the weirdest feeling of deja vu.
In turn, he studied her. Long metallic silver hair, down to the shoulderblades. A pale, almost snowy-white color to her skin. She wore a light gray shirt, and blue jeans. Sneakers, too. Over it all was a long black trenchcoat. Her eyes were a lavendar color. They were just as intense as his, and were fixed on him.
He decided to speak first, and set an easy pace as they walked down the street. "Like I said before, I've been looking for you. The name's Fury. Bryan Fury."
"Angel Leah." He noticed the way she pronouced it. Lee. She continued. "It seems like I know you from somewhere, but I can't remember. I can't remember anything about my past. How much do you know about me?"
"More than you want to."
She shot him a funny look. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Just that there's a lot of history, and not all of it is pretty. In fact, most of it is downright ugly."
"I think I figured that out already. I mean, why else would I have all these scars on me?" Bryan looked sharply at her, but she was looking down and talking to herself. She noticed him looking at her, and wordlessly pulled her hands out of her pockets and thrust them toward him for inspection. They stopped beneath a street light, and then Bryan's look turned to shock. Her snowy-white hands were criss-crossed with dozens of tiny cuts and scratches. He knew what they were instantly. Knife cuts. From when they were training her to use knives. Not everybody would be perfect starting out, but this...
She continued. "I can't remember a damn thing about my past. The only things I can remember start just a bit under two years ago. My goddamn foster father knows more than he's telling me, but I can't get him to say a thing about it. GOD DAMN IT!" She turned suddenly and smashed her fist against a large Post Office mailbox. She grunted, and cradled her injured hand in the other, and started stomping away. Bryan was shocked to see a huge dent in the mailbox. He stared for a moment, then caught up to her.
"What the hell did you do that for?"
"Because it pisses me off that I don't know anything about myself." She looked at him. "And I suppose you have all the answers?"
"No, I don't. I don't remember anything about my past either." That was a lie; he knew damn well about his past. His childhood was a bit foggy, but other than that, he had perfect recall.
She looked at him. "You're lying."
"How do you-"
"Because I can always tell when someone is lying to me. And you're lying."
He studied an ever-changing spot on the ground about six feet in front of him as they continued their stroll. "Fine. I do remember. I just wish I didn't."
They were silent for a moment. Experimentally Angel popped the knuckles on her injured hand, winced, then stuffed both hands back into the trenchcoat pockets. "So, then. Why are you here?"
"Not quite sure. I've been looking for you, true, because I have something to tell you. Not sure how to say it, though-"
Suddenly she whirled and grabbed him by the lapels. "Stop beating around the goddamn bush! Spit it out, dammit! Who the hell are you?" Her face was livid, and her eyes seemed to throw sparks. He was about to answer, when there were footsteps behind her.
Angel whirled to see a group of street thugs. She recognized this particular group. They were the Breakers, or something like that. She'd kicked their asses several times already, but they didn't seem to get the message. Angel counted six thugs.
"Hey, cutie pie! You wanna have a good time?" The leader's voice was thick, and well laced with alcohol.
Angel took a step backward and batted the air between them. "What did you have for dinner? A skunk? Man, your breath is rank!"
The drunk frowned. "Hey, no need to be a smartass. We just wanna show you a good time, don't we, guys?" The thugs snickered.
Bryan stepped in front of Angel, and the thug started to back away. "Hey, dumbass. Why don't you leave my little sister alone before I rip you a new one?" He turned his head slightly to guage Angel's reaction.
Angel stared at him, her jaw slack, a genuinely shocked and dumbfounded expression plastered on her otherwise stony face. Her eyes bored holes into his skull, and he could almost feel her mind searching his. He concentrated all his thoughts on him being her brother, and she bought it. She gave him a quick nod, and moved to stand beside him.
"Later," she muttered. Then she took up a fighting stance. "Well, boys, what'll it be? You want a good time; I'll SHOW you a good time. It involves me and my... brother... double-teaming your asses."
Bryan took up his own stance, and waited. These guys were drunk, and cared nothing about them. "Let's get 'em, dudes! Dibs on the chick!" came the slurred battlecry from the thug leader, then they attacked.
Big mistake. The leader charged straight for Angel, and was met by a swift uppercut to the jaw, followed by a spinning kick to the ribs. He went down quickly, and in his place popped another thug, this one with a knife. She grabbed his free hand, kicked him TWICE in the head with the same foot, and sent him spinning away in pain. A third was given swift chops to the throat, followed by a hard gut punch. He fell with a clearly audible grunt.
In the back of his mind, Bryan realized that he'd seen this particular fighting style before, but where... he'd think about it later. Right now, he was busy giving a Muay Thai kick to some poor boy's arm. The arm shattered, as well as a few ribs. One lucky kid charged from the side and managed to give Bryan a swift knife-slash to the arm. Bryan wrapped his other hand around the boy's throat and lifted him into the air while he examined his sleeve. Then his eyes snapped up to meet the kid's. "Motherfuck, you ruined my coat!" The boy's eyes widened as Bryan's fist hammered down into the kid's unprotected skull. The kid fell to the ground in a wimpering heap, and it was then that Bryan realized something: Not only had the kid ruined his jacket, but he'd also pissed himself, and dribbled on Bryan's shoes. Bryan frowned mightily before grabbing the sixth thug by the arm and kneeing him in the crotch. The kid shrieked and joined his friends laying on the ground in pain. The air was suddenly quiet.
"Hmm," was Angel's comment. "Six morons in almost as many seconds. That's gotta be a new record or something."
Bryan only grunted and examined his shoes. "Damn kid pissed on me." Angel gave an amused snort, then began walking back the way they'd come.
They traveled in silence for a while, then Angel spoke up. "So, you're my long-lost brother or something, huh?"
"Yeah."
"So, where'd you come from?" Bryan shrugged. "Then how'd you find me?" Another shrug. "Okay, then how about-"
"Fuck, is it always gonna be Twenty Questions with you or something?" Bryan was getting annoyed.
"Sorry. I just wanted to know something about the person who seems to be my only living relative in the entire world." Her tone instantly made him feel like a jackass. "Just one question, then?" Bryan nodded. Angel grinned briefly, then asked "Where the hell did you find those pants?"
The question surprised him, and he glanced down at his fake-snakeskin pants. "What do you want? I like these pants."
"Oh yes, very pimp."
"And what about that coat of yours, little miss Psycho?"
She glared at him. "It was on sale and I liked it. Besides, nobody messes with a chick in a trenchcoat." Bryan raised a disbelieving eyebrow and hooked a thumb over his shoulder at the now-distant pile of bodies. "Okay, almost nobody. I've run into them several times before, and they don't seem to remember that I kick their asses every time." She flexed her muscles. "I'm a one-woman gang!" Bryan smirked.
"You're a one-woman something, that's for sure."
She threw another glance at him. "And what exactly is that supposed to mean, Snake Eye?"
Bryan stopped dead in his tracks. "What did you just call me?"
Angel stopped, too. "Snake Eye. Why?"
He swallowed. "That used to be my nickname, back when I was on the force."
"Force? You're a cop?"
"Ex-cop."
"Ex, huh? What happened?"
"THIS happened." Annoyed, Bryan pulled up his shirt to reveal--dear God. Four bullet-hole scars dotted his abdomen, and the knife scar twisted its way from his collarbone all the way down to his waist. He was white as a sheet all over.
Angel swallowed and looked away. "Sorry I asked." Bryan merely grunted and started walking again. Angel looked after him for a moment, then caught up with him.
They walked the rest of the way in silence. When they finally reached Jerry's Bar, Angel led Bryan to the tiny gray Honda on the back row of the parking lot. She pulled out a keyring, unlocked the door, and climbed in. Then she looked at her brother. "Are you coming, or what?"
They stared at each other for the longest time, then Bryan seated himself next to Angel in the car.
The ride was quiet, with neither one of them saying a single word. Bryan stared out the window, and thought. He'd resigned himself to his new fate. Here he was, playing brother-sister to a genetically-designed assassin. She tough as nails, and mean as hell. Not only was there that, but Abel's last words to him. I should be dead in a few months, thought Bryan. Then he corrected himself. I'll be dead AGAIN in a few months. This just keeps getting better and better.
Angel listened to him think. She couldn't hear his exact thoughts; that would require more concentration than she was presently willing to give. She was driving, after all. She could feel her brother's pain. He had known a lot of suffering in the past. He still suffered. He was lost, and searching for himself. Searching for his place in the world.
Angel vowed to help him find it.