*There's another world inside of me
That you may never see
There's secrets in this life that I can't hide
Somewhere in this darkness there's
A light that I can't find
Or maybe it's to far away
Or maybe I'm just blind*
*3 Doors Down - When I'm Gone*
Jerry Lewis had been Angel's only friend for the past two years. Angel had come into his bar one day, two years ago, to order a Diet Coke and watch a football game. Although he was not the slightest bit empathic, like she was, he could still feel her pain. He began talking to her during her visits, and she was soon a regular at the bar.
She was reluctant to talk at first. She was the only foster child to a person whom she made out to be a controlling monster of a person, whom she hated greatly. She was an extreme loner, and said little else than that. After a while, she began to talk back to him, answer his questions and ask him about himself. He was in his late thirties, with a beautiful wife, Karen, and two young children. He wasn't in the best of physical fitness, but he was by no means fat. Brown hair, slicked back, and clean-shaven except for a small goatee. The picturesque bartender.
Jerry didn't think Angel was in any kind of trouble or anything like that, just a kid with a crappy home life and a non-existant social life. Albinos were rare in these parts, but then, bars took all kinds, and he made it a point to make her feel welcome at the bar. In return, Angel became something of a volunteer bouncer, and the heavy drinkers quickly learned to fear the platinum-haired girl, especially when she was in a bad mood.
Few people, however, realized how deep their friendship was. One night, about a month after Angel started coming into the bar, Jerry saw Angel grab a steak knife off one of the tables and walk out of the bar. His instincts told him to follow her, and he did. He found her leaning against the back of his bar, the knife inches from her wrist. They had regarded each other for a moment, then Jerry asked her one thing: "Are you sure it's worth it?" Angel stared at him for the longest time, and Jerry could have sworn that she was searching his very soul. After what seemed like an eternity, Angel silently handed Jerry the knife, and followed him back into the bar. They had been close friends ever since.
There were a lot of gangs in their little town, and Jerry's Bar was right smack on the border of two of the largest, the River Street Tigers and the Green Breakers. Gangfights were frequent, with both gangs fighting over this particular spot. Then after one night, the gangs stopped harassing the customers. Jerry had yet to see either gang fight over his bar after that day. A hunch told him to ask Angel, and she was quick to point out that Jerry's Bar, the parking lot, and all the blocks adjacent to it were now under her control. It was her turf, and she'd proved to both gangs that she was more than capable of taking on several people at once. The Tigers came in for drinks every now and then, but they were always incredibly polite to Angel and Jerry. They were quick to apologize for anything they did wrong, and even helped Angel every now and then to fight the Breakers. The Breakers were less than happy to have 'their bar' taken from then, and it became something of a ritual for them to attack Angel at least once a week. She beat entire groups without getting hurt. They swore revenge every time they were defeated, but they had yet to make good on their threats.
It was now only a few days before her eighteenth birthday. She'd had an under-the-table bouncer-job at the bar for months now, and he planned to make her an official waitress/bartender as soon as she hit eighteen. It was an opportunity for which Angel was forever grateful, as it gave her an opportunity to get out of the hellhole that was her home.
Angel thought about all these things on the drive to Jerry's Bar. She pulled into her customary spot on the front row, the spot that all the customers took careful consideration into leaving open for her. A happy Angel was a nonviolent Angel, most of the time. She opened the door and walked straight to the bar, waving and answering the greetings thrown her way from the various patrons. The bar was mostly empty, just like that one night, two months ago, when her brother had come into her life, then screwed his own life straight down the drain. It was something Angel still hadn't forgiven herself for.
There were a couple of Tigers at the bar, easily distinguished by the yellow bandannas around both biceps. They saw her and quickly raised their hands in peace. She accepted the truce, and ignored them. The moment they caused any trouble, however, they would be out on the street before they could blink, and they knew it. Thus, they were endlessly polite. Jerry noticed her, and gave her a hearty wave. She smiled and returned it, then went back to a chat with a customer.
Angel made her way to the back rooms of the bar, and quickly slipped an apron over her gray longsleeve shirt and blue jeans. The black duster was hung on a hook on the wall. Filling the apron pockets with the notepad and pen that was standard waitress equipment, she walked back out into the bar, walking the tables and taking orders.
After about an hour, Jerry called Angel back into the storeroom in the back of the bar, where he faced her squarely and placed his hands on her shoulders. "Angel, I'm going out of town for the next few days, with Karen and the kids. I need to ask you a big favor, and close the bar for the next couple of nights, until I get back. Okay?"
Angel nodded smartly, and took the key that Jerry offered her. "Now," he continued, "I've hired another couple of waitresses during the daytime hours, but they know that you're in charge the minute you get here. I know that on a good day, the bar will almost run itself, but there might not be any good days while I'm gone. Understand?"
Angel nodded again, and pocketed the key. "So, where are you going?"
"Just upstate, to visit Karen's mother. She's not doing too well, something about a nasty virus she can't kick. I know that's the last place the kids need to be, but Karen thinks this could turn really ugly, and she wants the kids to visit their grandmother again, in case..." he trailed off uncertainly.
"I completely understand, Jerry," Angel said smoothly. "Don't worry, I'll take good care of your third child." At her friend's baffled look, Angel grinned and patted the wall of the Bar. Jerry understood, and laughed.
"I knew I could count on you, Angel. Oh, that reminds me." He fished around in his deep jeans pockets for a moment, and produced a small envelope. "It pains me to death that I'll miss your birthday, so I want to give you this."
Angel took the envelope, and read the somewhat funny greeting card inside. There was $10, as well as a note: Look in your coat pocket.
A mystified look came over her, and she glanced at her friend uncertainly. He merely grinned and nodded toward the trenchcoat hanging on the wall.
Inside the deepest pocket of her coat was a long, slender box. She withdrew it, and found a leather sheath containing... "Holy shit!" It was a knife, and not just any knife. It was a kunai, a long combat knife, with a wicked curve on the end. It looked like something out of a movie, but Angel knew that it was very, very real. She turned back to Jerry, her face a mask of shock.
His face split into what he called a banana smile, a grin that went from ear to ear. "It's for your collection," he told her gleefully, referring to the knife collection Angel had at home.
"Where the hell did you find this?!"
"I have an old buddy that works at the army surplus store on the other side of town. I told him about you, and he said you'd probably like that. Gave me a discount, too." His eyes twinkled with his inner merriment.
Angel stood, dumbfounded, for a full five seconds before leaping forward and giving her friend a crushing bearhug. He returned it happily. "Glad you like it, Angel. Now get back out there, before the drunks stage a riot." They were both grinning like idiots as they returned to the bar, Angel having stored the knife safely in her coat.
The night passed quickly for all involved, and the Bar was closing before they knew it. Angel wiped a bar towel over the tables, and prodded the few unconscious drunks still napping at the bar. A few refused to leave, and were quickly given the business end of Angel's boot.
After bidding farewell to Jerry, Angel strapped the knife to her thigh, and donned her trenchcoat. Stuffing her hands in her pockets, she walked into the cool night air, patrolling her territory as was her habit. It gave her time to think, before heading home. Thus, she patrolled the outer fringes of her turf, hands in her pockets and her head bowed, deep in thought.
Kenji had acted really weird today. He had yelled something about losing control of her. That was odd. He'd never had control of her, but he could never admit it. The last thing on his mind, before slipping into unconsciousness, was an overwhelming feeling of paranoia and fear of death. From what she could gather, his continued breathing was dependent on his control of her. If he lost that control, someone would kill him. But who? She was sure she knew. She quit thinking about that particular line of thought when her headache came on, full force. She always got a headache when she tried to remember her past.
Okay, so enough about the mystery people. The real question was: why did she still put up with Kenji? He was an uptight, arrogant asshole. He was a control freak. And God, she hated his voice. He treated her like a slave, and nothing she did was ever good enough for him. Sometimes she wished that Jerry hadn't stopped her from committing suicide. At least then she wouldn't have to listen to Kenji anymore. She would like nothing more than to kill Kenji Takahashi, but she'd already told Bryan why: there was nobody to pin it on but her. The cops knew her. They knew that she was the best damn martial artist in the city, if not the entire county. she'd had several run-ins with the police, and each time, had it not been for eyewitnesses supporting her pleas of self-defense, she'd surely be in a Juvenile Detention Center somewhere. The cops knew her, all right, and they watched her. Eyewitnesses were her only means of freedom nowadays, so she always made sure to kick ass in well-populated areas. It was really annoying to run three or four blocks and THEN turn around to beat the living daylights out of them in front of innocent bystanders.
That night, two months ago, when she first met her brother... it was the first time anyone had ever fought alongside her, instead of against her. It was the first time that anyone had stuck up for her. It was the first time that someone actually gave a flying fuck as to how she felt. Yet something bothered her. She'd felt his mind occasionally as he slept. She never dug into his personal life, and she made extra sure to stay the hell out of his sex memories. However, she couldn't find any memories of a little sister. Anywhere. He had an older brother, but no sisters. So, why did he say he was her brother?
Oh well. She would be eighteen in a few days. In another few months, she would have graduated high school... and then what? College? The military? Who the hell knew? One thing was for sure, and that was that Angel wanted to know who she was, and where she came from, before she made any decisions like that.
Suddenly her mind screamed a warning to her. Her finely-tuned "proximity alert" in her mind told her that there were hostile life-forces nearby. Five of them, and closing fast. She took a look around her, and realized that she'd walked straight into Breaker territory without even realizing it. And there were no eyewitnesses anywhere. She spun on her heel and began walking swiftly back the way she'd come.
Too late. She halted at the sight of a figure leaning under a streetlight. It was Derrick, the Breaker leader, doing his best Dick Tracy imitation as he balanced himself and attempted to look down at her. Attempted, and failed, because she was at least three inches taller than he was. "Angel, old buddy, old pal. Fancy meeting you here, in the middle of our turf, with nobody around. That little victory of yours today made you cocky."
The lamplight threw ominous shadows on his face, like he'd hoped. It also clearly outlined the crooked, swollen mass on his face. "Hey, Derrick. Nice nose job you got there," Angel said smoothly, admiring her handiwork.
Derrick frowned. "Listen, you little bitch. I'm sick and tired of you and your little ninja bullshit. You're gonna regret what you did today. Me and the boys are gonna rape you till you start shitting blood!"
Angel was unimpressed. "Don't you get tired of saying the same things over and over again? That's, what, the fifth time you've used that line? It's gotten pretty old." She crossed her arms and looked bored.
Derrick's face contorted with rage. "You bitch! I'll kill you!" Together with his loyal thugs, five bodies armed with knives came flying at Angel all at once.
Two minutes later, Angel was once again strolling down the street with her head bowed in thought and her hands in her pockets. Behind her lay the mangled heap of Breaker bodes. They were all alive, of course. She'd hurt each one just enough to knock them out of the fight. She'd taken extra care, however, to re-break Derrick's nose. She grinned with the thought of what it'd look like tomorrow. And she hadn't even drawn the knife.
It was with a large grin on her face as she drove home. She kept the windows firmly shut as she sang along at the top of her lungs with her favorite J-pop songs. Hell, she spoke the language fluently. She wasn't that bad of a singer, either, but anyone who happened to hear her would immediately get their fingers broken.
She noticed three things the moment she got home: the TV was off in the living room, the basement door was open, and Kenji's broken mass was gone off the front lawn. There was a rhythmic pounding noise coming from the basement, so she went down there.
The basement was Angel's private dojo. The plaster walls were scattered with mirrors of various shapes and sizes. Worn mats covered the floor. A weightbench and chin-up bar, as well as a few barbells, lay in one corner of the room.
The center of the room was occupied by a large, worn Muay Thai bag hanging from the ceiling. The pounding noise was coming from it as Bryan's fists beat it unmercifully. He was shirtless, and covered with sweat, and every now and then he would glance at a shelf on the wall that Angel had labeled "What's My Motivation?". On the shelf was a large picture of Kenji with some very nasty words written on it in several different languages. Also on the shelf, an addition made by Bryan, was an unopened bottle of beer. Every time he glanced at the shelf, he growled something to himself and hit the bag even harder.
Angel understood. She'd kicked his ass today, and he blamed the alcohol. She felt a twinge of pity as that defeat played again and again across the forefront of his mind. So here he was, training once again.
Suddenly he stopped punching, and his eyes flew to the corner where Angel stood silently in the shadows. Knowing herself revealed, she stepped into the light. "How long have you been standing there?" he growled, his breathing labored and his fists chambered at his sides.
"Not long," she told him. "That's Muay Thai, right? There's a dojo about an hour's drive from here, but they won't admit me because I'm a girl."
Bryan said nothing. With her watching, he expertly delivered a powerful roundhouse kick to the much-abused bag, which creaked loudly in protest. Angel watched him perform the kick a few more times, then stepped purposefully toward the bag. To Bryan's surprise, she mimicked him perfectly, and the bag swung to and fro from the force of the kick. For an hour straight, he taught her several Muay Thai punches, kicks, and a scant few throws. In return, she taught him a few moves from her vast repitoire (?) of punches, kicks, throws, holds, and blocks. It would be virtually impossible for an onlooker to identify the fighting style she used, he realized, because she used so damn many.
They sparred for a bit, as well, and Bryan watched in amazement as Angel rushed forward for several pulled punches to the ribs before backing up out of range of his long arms. When he was off-balance, she reached in with a punch from an art she called Long Fist, then moved forward in a double chambered punch from Shotokan, a Kenpo sweep, and a flurry of Tae Kwon Do kicks to his head. All of them light as a feather, and all pulled off within the blink of an eye.
He tired quickly, and made an off-color remark to himself about his physical condition. Angel objected. "I think you have the body of a god," she stated without so much as a blink.
Bryan stared at her. "You think so?" he asked seriously, his male ego getting the best of him.
"Yeah... Buddha." A wicked grin was plastered on her lips. They stared at each other for a full five seconds before Angel busted out laughing. She thought it was the best joke she'd ever made.
Bryan could only stare in utter amazement. Then he glanced down at his bare abdominals. Hell, he wasn't THAT bad out of shape. A little bit of working out, and his six-pack should be back in no time. Angel was still howling with laughter, and Bryan allowed himself a thin smile. "Ha ha, there you go again with that funny shit, Angel."
This only set her off again, and she had to lean against the punching bag for support. Bryan shook his head, and began kicking the bag that Angel happened to be leaning on. She backed off, and soon ceased laughing with an embarassing snort.
She watched him for another minute, when she was startled by a loud noise. "What the hell was that?" she demanded. She cocked her head. "It sounded like a..."
"A gunshot!" Ever the ex-cop, Bryan shot up the stairs like a rocket, with Angel following close behind. On the first floor of the house, Takeru was standing outside Kenji's bedroom door and whining. Bryan knocked the door down with a well-placed foot. Then he stopped dead in his tracks. "Sweet mother of..."
Kenji lay on the floor, surrounded by a rapidly-expanding pool of blood. A small handgun was clutched in his right hand. At the sight of Angel, he immediately started screaming something at her in Japanese. Being completely ignorant in that department, Bryan turned to Angel for a translation. She shook her head. "He's out of his mind. He says something about control, and that I killed him." She stared hard at the sad figure on the floor a moment, then spat a Japanese expletive at him and walked out of the room.
Bryan stared at the figure of Kenji for a long time. Long enough for Kenji to die. Angel headed for the living room and curled up in a chair and closed her eyes, with Takeru keeping a close eye on her. Bryan, on the other hand, waited until Kenji was good and dead before heading out into the telephone in the hall. He picked up the reciever, and dialed 911. "Yeah, I'm calling to report a suicide..."
That you may never see
There's secrets in this life that I can't hide
Somewhere in this darkness there's
A light that I can't find
Or maybe it's to far away
Or maybe I'm just blind*
*3 Doors Down - When I'm Gone*
Jerry Lewis had been Angel's only friend for the past two years. Angel had come into his bar one day, two years ago, to order a Diet Coke and watch a football game. Although he was not the slightest bit empathic, like she was, he could still feel her pain. He began talking to her during her visits, and she was soon a regular at the bar.
She was reluctant to talk at first. She was the only foster child to a person whom she made out to be a controlling monster of a person, whom she hated greatly. She was an extreme loner, and said little else than that. After a while, she began to talk back to him, answer his questions and ask him about himself. He was in his late thirties, with a beautiful wife, Karen, and two young children. He wasn't in the best of physical fitness, but he was by no means fat. Brown hair, slicked back, and clean-shaven except for a small goatee. The picturesque bartender.
Jerry didn't think Angel was in any kind of trouble or anything like that, just a kid with a crappy home life and a non-existant social life. Albinos were rare in these parts, but then, bars took all kinds, and he made it a point to make her feel welcome at the bar. In return, Angel became something of a volunteer bouncer, and the heavy drinkers quickly learned to fear the platinum-haired girl, especially when she was in a bad mood.
Few people, however, realized how deep their friendship was. One night, about a month after Angel started coming into the bar, Jerry saw Angel grab a steak knife off one of the tables and walk out of the bar. His instincts told him to follow her, and he did. He found her leaning against the back of his bar, the knife inches from her wrist. They had regarded each other for a moment, then Jerry asked her one thing: "Are you sure it's worth it?" Angel stared at him for the longest time, and Jerry could have sworn that she was searching his very soul. After what seemed like an eternity, Angel silently handed Jerry the knife, and followed him back into the bar. They had been close friends ever since.
There were a lot of gangs in their little town, and Jerry's Bar was right smack on the border of two of the largest, the River Street Tigers and the Green Breakers. Gangfights were frequent, with both gangs fighting over this particular spot. Then after one night, the gangs stopped harassing the customers. Jerry had yet to see either gang fight over his bar after that day. A hunch told him to ask Angel, and she was quick to point out that Jerry's Bar, the parking lot, and all the blocks adjacent to it were now under her control. It was her turf, and she'd proved to both gangs that she was more than capable of taking on several people at once. The Tigers came in for drinks every now and then, but they were always incredibly polite to Angel and Jerry. They were quick to apologize for anything they did wrong, and even helped Angel every now and then to fight the Breakers. The Breakers were less than happy to have 'their bar' taken from then, and it became something of a ritual for them to attack Angel at least once a week. She beat entire groups without getting hurt. They swore revenge every time they were defeated, but they had yet to make good on their threats.
It was now only a few days before her eighteenth birthday. She'd had an under-the-table bouncer-job at the bar for months now, and he planned to make her an official waitress/bartender as soon as she hit eighteen. It was an opportunity for which Angel was forever grateful, as it gave her an opportunity to get out of the hellhole that was her home.
Angel thought about all these things on the drive to Jerry's Bar. She pulled into her customary spot on the front row, the spot that all the customers took careful consideration into leaving open for her. A happy Angel was a nonviolent Angel, most of the time. She opened the door and walked straight to the bar, waving and answering the greetings thrown her way from the various patrons. The bar was mostly empty, just like that one night, two months ago, when her brother had come into her life, then screwed his own life straight down the drain. It was something Angel still hadn't forgiven herself for.
There were a couple of Tigers at the bar, easily distinguished by the yellow bandannas around both biceps. They saw her and quickly raised their hands in peace. She accepted the truce, and ignored them. The moment they caused any trouble, however, they would be out on the street before they could blink, and they knew it. Thus, they were endlessly polite. Jerry noticed her, and gave her a hearty wave. She smiled and returned it, then went back to a chat with a customer.
Angel made her way to the back rooms of the bar, and quickly slipped an apron over her gray longsleeve shirt and blue jeans. The black duster was hung on a hook on the wall. Filling the apron pockets with the notepad and pen that was standard waitress equipment, she walked back out into the bar, walking the tables and taking orders.
After about an hour, Jerry called Angel back into the storeroom in the back of the bar, where he faced her squarely and placed his hands on her shoulders. "Angel, I'm going out of town for the next few days, with Karen and the kids. I need to ask you a big favor, and close the bar for the next couple of nights, until I get back. Okay?"
Angel nodded smartly, and took the key that Jerry offered her. "Now," he continued, "I've hired another couple of waitresses during the daytime hours, but they know that you're in charge the minute you get here. I know that on a good day, the bar will almost run itself, but there might not be any good days while I'm gone. Understand?"
Angel nodded again, and pocketed the key. "So, where are you going?"
"Just upstate, to visit Karen's mother. She's not doing too well, something about a nasty virus she can't kick. I know that's the last place the kids need to be, but Karen thinks this could turn really ugly, and she wants the kids to visit their grandmother again, in case..." he trailed off uncertainly.
"I completely understand, Jerry," Angel said smoothly. "Don't worry, I'll take good care of your third child." At her friend's baffled look, Angel grinned and patted the wall of the Bar. Jerry understood, and laughed.
"I knew I could count on you, Angel. Oh, that reminds me." He fished around in his deep jeans pockets for a moment, and produced a small envelope. "It pains me to death that I'll miss your birthday, so I want to give you this."
Angel took the envelope, and read the somewhat funny greeting card inside. There was $10, as well as a note: Look in your coat pocket.
A mystified look came over her, and she glanced at her friend uncertainly. He merely grinned and nodded toward the trenchcoat hanging on the wall.
Inside the deepest pocket of her coat was a long, slender box. She withdrew it, and found a leather sheath containing... "Holy shit!" It was a knife, and not just any knife. It was a kunai, a long combat knife, with a wicked curve on the end. It looked like something out of a movie, but Angel knew that it was very, very real. She turned back to Jerry, her face a mask of shock.
His face split into what he called a banana smile, a grin that went from ear to ear. "It's for your collection," he told her gleefully, referring to the knife collection Angel had at home.
"Where the hell did you find this?!"
"I have an old buddy that works at the army surplus store on the other side of town. I told him about you, and he said you'd probably like that. Gave me a discount, too." His eyes twinkled with his inner merriment.
Angel stood, dumbfounded, for a full five seconds before leaping forward and giving her friend a crushing bearhug. He returned it happily. "Glad you like it, Angel. Now get back out there, before the drunks stage a riot." They were both grinning like idiots as they returned to the bar, Angel having stored the knife safely in her coat.
The night passed quickly for all involved, and the Bar was closing before they knew it. Angel wiped a bar towel over the tables, and prodded the few unconscious drunks still napping at the bar. A few refused to leave, and were quickly given the business end of Angel's boot.
After bidding farewell to Jerry, Angel strapped the knife to her thigh, and donned her trenchcoat. Stuffing her hands in her pockets, she walked into the cool night air, patrolling her territory as was her habit. It gave her time to think, before heading home. Thus, she patrolled the outer fringes of her turf, hands in her pockets and her head bowed, deep in thought.
Kenji had acted really weird today. He had yelled something about losing control of her. That was odd. He'd never had control of her, but he could never admit it. The last thing on his mind, before slipping into unconsciousness, was an overwhelming feeling of paranoia and fear of death. From what she could gather, his continued breathing was dependent on his control of her. If he lost that control, someone would kill him. But who? She was sure she knew. She quit thinking about that particular line of thought when her headache came on, full force. She always got a headache when she tried to remember her past.
Okay, so enough about the mystery people. The real question was: why did she still put up with Kenji? He was an uptight, arrogant asshole. He was a control freak. And God, she hated his voice. He treated her like a slave, and nothing she did was ever good enough for him. Sometimes she wished that Jerry hadn't stopped her from committing suicide. At least then she wouldn't have to listen to Kenji anymore. She would like nothing more than to kill Kenji Takahashi, but she'd already told Bryan why: there was nobody to pin it on but her. The cops knew her. They knew that she was the best damn martial artist in the city, if not the entire county. she'd had several run-ins with the police, and each time, had it not been for eyewitnesses supporting her pleas of self-defense, she'd surely be in a Juvenile Detention Center somewhere. The cops knew her, all right, and they watched her. Eyewitnesses were her only means of freedom nowadays, so she always made sure to kick ass in well-populated areas. It was really annoying to run three or four blocks and THEN turn around to beat the living daylights out of them in front of innocent bystanders.
That night, two months ago, when she first met her brother... it was the first time anyone had ever fought alongside her, instead of against her. It was the first time that anyone had stuck up for her. It was the first time that someone actually gave a flying fuck as to how she felt. Yet something bothered her. She'd felt his mind occasionally as he slept. She never dug into his personal life, and she made extra sure to stay the hell out of his sex memories. However, she couldn't find any memories of a little sister. Anywhere. He had an older brother, but no sisters. So, why did he say he was her brother?
Oh well. She would be eighteen in a few days. In another few months, she would have graduated high school... and then what? College? The military? Who the hell knew? One thing was for sure, and that was that Angel wanted to know who she was, and where she came from, before she made any decisions like that.
Suddenly her mind screamed a warning to her. Her finely-tuned "proximity alert" in her mind told her that there were hostile life-forces nearby. Five of them, and closing fast. She took a look around her, and realized that she'd walked straight into Breaker territory without even realizing it. And there were no eyewitnesses anywhere. She spun on her heel and began walking swiftly back the way she'd come.
Too late. She halted at the sight of a figure leaning under a streetlight. It was Derrick, the Breaker leader, doing his best Dick Tracy imitation as he balanced himself and attempted to look down at her. Attempted, and failed, because she was at least three inches taller than he was. "Angel, old buddy, old pal. Fancy meeting you here, in the middle of our turf, with nobody around. That little victory of yours today made you cocky."
The lamplight threw ominous shadows on his face, like he'd hoped. It also clearly outlined the crooked, swollen mass on his face. "Hey, Derrick. Nice nose job you got there," Angel said smoothly, admiring her handiwork.
Derrick frowned. "Listen, you little bitch. I'm sick and tired of you and your little ninja bullshit. You're gonna regret what you did today. Me and the boys are gonna rape you till you start shitting blood!"
Angel was unimpressed. "Don't you get tired of saying the same things over and over again? That's, what, the fifth time you've used that line? It's gotten pretty old." She crossed her arms and looked bored.
Derrick's face contorted with rage. "You bitch! I'll kill you!" Together with his loyal thugs, five bodies armed with knives came flying at Angel all at once.
Two minutes later, Angel was once again strolling down the street with her head bowed in thought and her hands in her pockets. Behind her lay the mangled heap of Breaker bodes. They were all alive, of course. She'd hurt each one just enough to knock them out of the fight. She'd taken extra care, however, to re-break Derrick's nose. She grinned with the thought of what it'd look like tomorrow. And she hadn't even drawn the knife.
It was with a large grin on her face as she drove home. She kept the windows firmly shut as she sang along at the top of her lungs with her favorite J-pop songs. Hell, she spoke the language fluently. She wasn't that bad of a singer, either, but anyone who happened to hear her would immediately get their fingers broken.
She noticed three things the moment she got home: the TV was off in the living room, the basement door was open, and Kenji's broken mass was gone off the front lawn. There was a rhythmic pounding noise coming from the basement, so she went down there.
The basement was Angel's private dojo. The plaster walls were scattered with mirrors of various shapes and sizes. Worn mats covered the floor. A weightbench and chin-up bar, as well as a few barbells, lay in one corner of the room.
The center of the room was occupied by a large, worn Muay Thai bag hanging from the ceiling. The pounding noise was coming from it as Bryan's fists beat it unmercifully. He was shirtless, and covered with sweat, and every now and then he would glance at a shelf on the wall that Angel had labeled "What's My Motivation?". On the shelf was a large picture of Kenji with some very nasty words written on it in several different languages. Also on the shelf, an addition made by Bryan, was an unopened bottle of beer. Every time he glanced at the shelf, he growled something to himself and hit the bag even harder.
Angel understood. She'd kicked his ass today, and he blamed the alcohol. She felt a twinge of pity as that defeat played again and again across the forefront of his mind. So here he was, training once again.
Suddenly he stopped punching, and his eyes flew to the corner where Angel stood silently in the shadows. Knowing herself revealed, she stepped into the light. "How long have you been standing there?" he growled, his breathing labored and his fists chambered at his sides.
"Not long," she told him. "That's Muay Thai, right? There's a dojo about an hour's drive from here, but they won't admit me because I'm a girl."
Bryan said nothing. With her watching, he expertly delivered a powerful roundhouse kick to the much-abused bag, which creaked loudly in protest. Angel watched him perform the kick a few more times, then stepped purposefully toward the bag. To Bryan's surprise, she mimicked him perfectly, and the bag swung to and fro from the force of the kick. For an hour straight, he taught her several Muay Thai punches, kicks, and a scant few throws. In return, she taught him a few moves from her vast repitoire (?) of punches, kicks, throws, holds, and blocks. It would be virtually impossible for an onlooker to identify the fighting style she used, he realized, because she used so damn many.
They sparred for a bit, as well, and Bryan watched in amazement as Angel rushed forward for several pulled punches to the ribs before backing up out of range of his long arms. When he was off-balance, she reached in with a punch from an art she called Long Fist, then moved forward in a double chambered punch from Shotokan, a Kenpo sweep, and a flurry of Tae Kwon Do kicks to his head. All of them light as a feather, and all pulled off within the blink of an eye.
He tired quickly, and made an off-color remark to himself about his physical condition. Angel objected. "I think you have the body of a god," she stated without so much as a blink.
Bryan stared at her. "You think so?" he asked seriously, his male ego getting the best of him.
"Yeah... Buddha." A wicked grin was plastered on her lips. They stared at each other for a full five seconds before Angel busted out laughing. She thought it was the best joke she'd ever made.
Bryan could only stare in utter amazement. Then he glanced down at his bare abdominals. Hell, he wasn't THAT bad out of shape. A little bit of working out, and his six-pack should be back in no time. Angel was still howling with laughter, and Bryan allowed himself a thin smile. "Ha ha, there you go again with that funny shit, Angel."
This only set her off again, and she had to lean against the punching bag for support. Bryan shook his head, and began kicking the bag that Angel happened to be leaning on. She backed off, and soon ceased laughing with an embarassing snort.
She watched him for another minute, when she was startled by a loud noise. "What the hell was that?" she demanded. She cocked her head. "It sounded like a..."
"A gunshot!" Ever the ex-cop, Bryan shot up the stairs like a rocket, with Angel following close behind. On the first floor of the house, Takeru was standing outside Kenji's bedroom door and whining. Bryan knocked the door down with a well-placed foot. Then he stopped dead in his tracks. "Sweet mother of..."
Kenji lay on the floor, surrounded by a rapidly-expanding pool of blood. A small handgun was clutched in his right hand. At the sight of Angel, he immediately started screaming something at her in Japanese. Being completely ignorant in that department, Bryan turned to Angel for a translation. She shook her head. "He's out of his mind. He says something about control, and that I killed him." She stared hard at the sad figure on the floor a moment, then spat a Japanese expletive at him and walked out of the room.
Bryan stared at the figure of Kenji for a long time. Long enough for Kenji to die. Angel headed for the living room and curled up in a chair and closed her eyes, with Takeru keeping a close eye on her. Bryan, on the other hand, waited until Kenji was good and dead before heading out into the telephone in the hall. He picked up the reciever, and dialed 911. "Yeah, I'm calling to report a suicide..."