Read my previous disclaimers...

Thanks to all my reviwers, new and old. They really mean alot to me, hope you guys will continue to review. ;) To kakashi-fan, I have to agree with you that Mitsui rocks.

This is the story of a boy who—

The boy walked along the edges of the city slums. He did not care of course, or rather, the faint air of desolation of the buildings around him; the increase in graffiti on the walls did not register in him. He did not notice the increasingly dodgy looks of the passers-by either. They just did not exist to him.

The boy cut a sad figure with his strange ungainly gait, and the unwashed aura about him. His blue-black hair was falling across his face, but he didn't push them away. They hung limp and lifeless on his head. He hadn't shaved for the last couple of days, and it showed up on his chin as a rash of uneven stubble.

The late afternoon was turning into a chilly evening. The sun was casting the last of its dark orange rays across the city, but looking at him, you would think that he does not feel the chill through his black sleeveless top. His blue Levi's was artfully ripped at all the right places; but here, it made him look more pathetic.

Upon closer observation, you would realize that the boy favoured his left leg; his ungainly gait was due to a slight limp. His left leg seemed unusually stiff, and it dragged a little against the pavement as he moved. The boy seemed to be trying to hide this fact by taking smaller steps, but the result was the slight peculiar sway of his body from side-to-side while he walked.

If you were curious enough to take an even closer look at him, you would realize that the most striking feature of the boy was his eyes. It wasn't that his eyes were of a beautiful blue-black colour. It was their lifelessness that would pierce you to your heart. Should the boy venture to lift his head up, his eyes would look through you, as if you were invisible. They were dull, and dead...or were they?

Every so often, there were some flashes of pain that would appear in his eyes. Deep down in his heart, the boy hurts. It was the type of pain that numbs you right to your soul...

It was all the boy could do to keep the pain at bay, but at times when he could feel it, it showed in his eyes. And than he would clench his fists and plow on, walking to wherever his feet wandered, and tried to squash back the pain from where it came from. Walking was good...he had nothing else that he wanted to do now. He had to keep moving. Once he stopped, there will be so much time for him to think. And the last thing he wanted to do was think.

Near to where the boy was walking, there were some muffled noises coming from a corner. The noises were a mix of people talking, music blaring, and something which went 'bam, bam, bam' against the ground.

With each 'bam', the sound seemed to penetrate into the boy's mind. As he walked closer, the harder the sound cut into his consciousness, until his head throbbed with each 'bam'. It sounded horribly familiar.

Suddenly, the sounds got softer and disappeared altogether. The source of the sounds rolled out onto the pavement and stopped in front of the boy, almost tripping him. He stopped walking and looked down at the round object at his feet. A pair of hands appeared out of the corner of his eyes...they were just about to touch the black basketball he was looking at.

'Cuse me man, that's my ball... some sort of explanation was given by the owner of that pair of hands, but to the boy, his whole focus was on that basketball and the back of his brain barely registered the existence of the other person.

The boy's left leg shot out and kicked the ball hard, and it was flung into the air, away from the grasp of hands. 'Bam, bam, bam' across the road went the ball. Some weird sense of satisfaction crept into the boy.

His sense of euphoria was somewhat diminished by a hard shove to his back.

"Hey, watcha do that for?"

The boy stared at the person who shoved him with his glassy eyes. Being 1.84m tall, the boy had no problem staring down at most people he meets. The denizens of this area, however, were made of tougher stuff, and were not easily discouraged. As it is, the boy's act had attracted some of their attention. He was soon surrounded.

If the boy was in his normal state of mind, danger lights would be flashing in his mind, and he would probably exert enough caution to know it's time to beat it. However, as it is, his black frame of mind plus the recent rush of euphoria was a potent combination.

"That thing was blocking my way."

There were audible hisses coming from the crowd. Most were shorter than him, but there were several of them, and only one of him. Who was this arrogant bastard to taunt them? Some were sporting tattoos, some were coloured blue by the ring of smoke surrounding them, and some had ugly scars. All were sporting the same mean, ugly attitude. And none gave the boy any choice.

"You wanna leave this place alive tonight, boy? Than you'd better play by our rules."

And so, the boy was hustled into one of the alleys. He tried to break away, but they had him firmly by his black top. The alley was so narrow, where could he have run?

Someone turned on the music again, and discordant rap/metal music filled the air. The boy could feel his blood pump with adrenaline; he was ready to make his escape at any opportunity. What he saw next, however, almost drained his energy.

The alley opened up into some sort of back street. There, against the brick wall, a basketball hoop was crudely erected. Spray paint and graffiti decorated the walls, giving the street court a splash of colour. White spray paint on the floor demarcated the boundaries of the court. Metal dustbins lined the street, serving as impromptu spectator seats. A lingering odour of sweat and smoke hung in the air.

It was a twisted nightmare for the boy.

The black basketball was shoved into his arms. "The only thing between you and our exit route is this basketball. We play street ball, no rules. Win, and we let you go. That simple. Oh, but guys...what do we do to losers?"

There was a round of catcalls and taunting laughter. The guy who originally shoved the boy gave a reply, his eyes glittering in the twilight gloom. "We do to him what he did to our basketball."

There was a fine sheen of sweat on the boy's forehead. He almost could not bear to hold the ball, but yet, a glimmer of hope appeared. He used to be good in basketball, if his leg held up, why, he might just be able to pull through this.

"Who's willing to team up with the boy?" There was no reply.

"Well, looks like it's just you...against the three of us than." The boy looked at his three opponents. All were shorter than him, and sported similar crew cut. One had a streak of green down the middle of his head though, and another had numerous piercings on his left ear. All three had clothes too mismatched and too lack in any fashion sense to be worth mentioning.

The boy entered the court, and tentatively bounced the ball while his opponents took up their positions. The one with the piercings took up guard under the hoop, while one took up a defensive stance in front of the boy. The one with the green streak was moving around the whole court, relaxed, as if he knew the boy wouldn't be much of a challenge.

The boy grew more confident with his dribbling movements. Obviously, these street thugs were not well versed in the skills of basketball. The one guarding him was too lacking in his defensive position. His knees were not bent enough, as was his hips. The boy suddenly changed the rhythm of his dribbling; he quickened his pace and was about to past his opponent on his left when he felt his breath whoosh out, causing him to lose his momentum...and the ball.

The boy now realized why the defense was ridiculously slack. While the player defending him occupied his attention, the guy with the green streak had circled around him. When he was about to pass the defense line, Green streak had sneaked up and elbow him in the stomach. Taking the opportunity of the time while the boy tried to catch his breath, Piercings had stolen his ball. Passing easily to Crew Cut waiting under the net, they had easily scored. No foul was called and the boy realized the problem that has been nagging at him. There was no referee.

His opponents watched as comprehension dawned in the boy's eyes. They weren't planning to let him win. Letting him think that he had an escape route if he won this game when just their way of playing with him just like a cat plays with a mouse.

Sickly yellow light crept in to illuminate the court. There were no street lamps in the back street and the only light barely reached the court from the main street. The boy could feel his left leg beginning to throb slowly. With every throb, his temper rose. His anger came up strong because he refused to give in to the fear that he felt.

"C'mon," he snarled, looking too much like a trapped animal under the ghastly light. "Next ball. Let's get this over with."

There was a peal of amused laughter. A brawny fellow stepped out, and waved aside the boy's three opponents. "Alright, you've got guts. You get in 3 balls before me, and you are free to go. Scout's honour." There was another round of laughter as the boy ignored the throbbing in his leg and tried to gather his concentration. As long as he could move faster than the heavy fellow, he ought to get in 3 balls pretty quickly before the pain gets too overwhelming.

Scout took the ball and prepared to take the offensive. The boy took the defensive and guarded Scout, looking at his face to get a clue of the next move he would be planning. Scout stared back into the boy's eyes, and bounced the ball with his right hand. Than, his face spilt into two as he grinned. In a blur, Scout made his move. He side stepped than turned as if to get pass the boy's right side. In the spilt second that the boy moved back to prevent him from crossing, Scout deftly changed and push the ball pass on the left side. Smooth as a snake, he flowed past the boy and made his shot. Knee throbbing, the boy was a second to late. The ball hit the back wall before going through the hoop.

The boy got the ball and prepared his own attack. Dribbling, he drove the ball towards the hoop. Scout tried to block him with his body, but the boy turned, so his back was to scout's front, almost body to body, neither giving an inch. Suddenly, the boy broke loose, but moved away from the hoop. His speed not losing to Scout, he raised his arms and shot in a three-pointer. Scout, not anticipating that move, was too late to stop the shot.

Ignoring the sharp pain now shooting his left leg, the boy moved to defend against Scout's next ball. Scout changed tactics this time. Instead of attacking directly, he shifted left, than right. Attack, than retreating, forcing the boy to respond to the fast changes. Finally, Scout shuttle stepped and drove towards the hoop. The boy couldn't ignore the pain in his leg now, and missed a step, allowing Scout to pass. However, as Scout prepared to lay the ball, the boy caught up and jumped, hitting the ball with his fingertips. As he landed, his left knee folded under him, so that he almost fell. The ball hit the rim and did not get into the hoop, but Scout caught the ball again, and this time, slam-dunked it in. The street court was alight with cheers.

Gritting his teeth, the boy stood up, knowing this was his last chance. If he did not get this ball in and tie with Scout, his leg might not withstand more strain he was already putting on it. Furthermore, Scout has spotted his weakness. Scout grinned at him. "Two balls to one."

The whole court was a washed with anticipation. They knew their prey was almost caught. The boy tried to get near the hoop, and under the pressure of Scout's defense, haphazardly threw the ball towards the hoop. It rebounded off the front rim, and Scout grabbed the rebound. Scout moved the ball out of the half-court. He moved in again, almost moving in rhythm to the loud music and encouragements of his supporters. Flamboyantly, he drove the ball to the hoop and reverse-dunked. Hanging from the hoop with his hands, he soaked in the praises. "Oh yeah...who's the man!"

Leaving the raucous crowd and slipping in between them, the boy had not wait to see the results. His leg was getting worse now, and he could not possibly have stopped that last ball. So while all of them were riveted by Scout's showmanship, he had made his escape. He could at least try to make it to the main street before his leg gave out totally. He would never have gotten out of the back street alive if he had stupidly stayed to the end. He almost made it.

The fellows quickly caught up to the boy, but by than, he had already almost reached the main street. The first blow was to his back, and the boy fell out onto the main street, flooded with the yellow lights of the street lamps. There was no one around.

He landed on the dirty pavement, and quickly rolled to his right, avoiding the worse of the stamping legs. He did not try to get up again, for he knew his leg had given out on him. The sharp pains of his left leg kept him away from unconsciousness as the punishment started. Most of the blows landed on his head, and he held up his hands to ward them off. The boy kept wriggling, not staying in a spot for long to prevent getting trapped. A kick landed on his left leg and he yelled. He reached up, exerting immensely, and grabbed that offending leg. Yelling, he rolled to his right, pulling the leg with him, and his attacker fell. Along with him, a few more of the attackers were thrown out of balance.

At the back of the boy's mind, he heard, and somewhat felt, some rumblings and noises coming down the street. The attacks on him had also slowed. Hope grew in the battered boy's mind that the police had been alerted.

Several scramblers came down the main street, it's occupants yelling...and carrying heavy metal sticks. The boy stretched out his head and peered around his attackers' legs, for the attack on him had suddenly stopped. His hopes sunk again as the newcomers looked about as mean as his attackers, complete with leather jackets and weapons.

His head whirled and he could not focus on his surroundings anymore. His attackers and the newcomers seemed to be in a heated debate. Tetsuo...get lost...his territory...fight...kill! ...

The boy's head spun even faster and he could not follow the quarrel any longer. He just wanted to sink into blessed oblivion...

The last lucid thought he had was that of his left leg that had let him down... and how he never wanted to touch a basketball in his life again.

This is the story of the boy who stopped playing ball.

A/N: Ooh...pretty obvious eh? Another flashback in the series...