A/N: I'm sorry to inform you all, but I have decided to give up on this story. I've simply lost interest and I have much better things to do than write for the enjoyment of myself and those I respect and love and to be completely honest, I'm kiddin right now…seriously. Ok, who had some raised eyebrows, "this isn't the Byoshin I know!" You're damn right! I'm back like Moses to bring the law…wait a second, Mase never went to no mountain! Please enjoy! Only two chapters left and then I'm planning to begin another, I mean, I can't let Scrooge have all the fun of spreading greatness across the front page. )
Disclaimer - I do not own any of Team Ninja's Characters or anything else related to Dead or Alive. I do however eat at MacD'z as much as I can AND I only remember a few things in Spanish, all this will come into play as you read, )
Bayman leads the winding journey through the dark grassy streets of the large, vegetation enveloped island, rolling and crawling unnecessarily. Christie follows for what seems to be an eternity of foolishness with her hand covering her face, masking the quite annoyed and agitated expression.
"Do you even know where you're going, Vlady?" Christie asks as they reach an intersection in the street, and Bayman drops down to one knee and pulls out a crudely drawn map on the back of a McDonald's bag. He studies it with focused and intense eyes and then flips it over and smiles over his shoulder,
"Me La Encanta, Christie. That means I love you in Spanish." Bayman winks excitedly, as if he discovered the secret to life and Christie groans and regrets ever allowing him to live,
"No it doesn't! That only barely means, 'I'm loving 'it' in Spanish! It's a fast food joint and the sole cause of acne in America's youth!" Christie snatches the greasy bag away from Bayman's disheartened hands and stares.
On the map, there are six lines marked with black marker, which somehow must represent paths, and to the sides of the marked routes are lopsided squares that can only symbolize buildings. There are two stick figures in the pool with the caption 'Bayman and Christie, nude swimming hopefully' and over one of the numerous terribly drawn shapes are the words 'I think it's this one.'
"Woah, you truly are a genius." Christie says sarcastically as she turns towards Bayman and he smirks smugly, brushing his hair with his hands,
"My mother always told me I could draw like DiCapri—" In mid-sentence, Christie shoves the crumbled bag into Bayman's mouth, causing him to erupt in a series of violent choking and coughing.
Finally content with herself and fed up with the journey, Christie spins and begins walking away, but Bayman is able to free himself of the unconventional losange and points excitedly,
"That's the building! Haha! I found it!" Bayman rushes forwards to the largest structure of the island, four levels high with some sort of glowing orb protruding from the zenith. Directly in front, there seems to be some sort of old, no longer functioning Ferris Wheel.
"You couldn't just say you looking for a hotel? It took you two hours to find the building you can see from all over the island?" Christie spins around to continue his deserved scolding, but Bayman is already scurrying up the seats of the stolen carnival ride, moving like some sort of massive, overweight squirrel.
"What are you waiting for, muse, we're so close I can feel it!" Bayman hollers down to her as if he's making some sort of progress, but every seat he leaps into above him, the wheel creaks backwards, sending him back to the height he started.
"Why not just take the elevator?"
"We can't blow our cover! This must be salacious! Like the Navy Berets do it!"
Christie shakes her head and begins up the marble steps, leading to the entrance as Bayman continues to struggle, but finally surrenders to the much more intelligent and cunning opponent. Bayman leaps from the seats and attempts to roll across the grass, but simply lands on his face, taking in quite a bit of shrubbery.
"Christie, I'm hit! They got me! Send…backup…recognizance team! I need…assistance!" Bayman yells from the ground, attempting to crawl towards her, but she doesn't turn around, simply continues into the hotel and out of sight. Bayman groans sadly, but doesn't give up hope as he attempts to remember his survival training from that place he trained at.
"What was that place called, 'Crash Course Commandos' or was it…no, that was that porn flick I saw yesterday…" Bayman continues to reminisce about babes in high heels and army helmets, but his fantasy crashes to a halt as a dark figure looms above him. He squints in the darkness, but since he refuses to eat carrots, for he doesn't want to appear homosexual, he can't see in the dark.
"Not to sound cliché, but are you God? I mean, the Kwanza God cause you definitely isn't White…" Bayman continues to squint and the man shakes his head with a scowl,
"A gray haired woman said there was a racist prowler on the loose, I suppose she was correct." The dark skinned security guard reaches down and grabs Bayman around his collar, well more like the loose skin around his flabby neck because his wetsuit doesn't reach his upper chest.
"Ah, don't fall, nephew, I'm just lounging in, you know, surveying the cubs and stuff." Bayman tries his best to sound 'down' mostly what he heard on that music station, VH1 was it? He's pretty sure that's what they listen to.
"We don't take well to prowlers around Mister Number One Playa, Zack-Attack's guests. Instead of bothering him, I'll take care of you myself."
The guard lifts Bayman over his shoulder easily and Bayman's eyes widen, looking at this brick of a man move him like a sack of potatoes, very sexy and romantic potatoes, but tubers none-the-less.
"Come on, man, don't be doing me like this! Wait, that sounded right! Haha!" Bayman attempts to celebrate, but he is held too tightly. The muscular guard tosses open the hotel doors with one hand and enters the quiet and desolate lobby.
"Where's all the fine hoes, brotha? Hey, I'm getting the hang of this!" Bayman asks, looking around, trying to distract the man enough to formulate a plan and the guard scowls,
"The Massive Golden Bar's Guests are probably showering and preparing for bed as we speak, so there is no—"
"Showering! So I'm not too late!" Bayman summons a great strength from his inner desires and jumps away from the man, landing in a crouch with a focused stare,
"Sorry, you Jeffrey McWild lookin jive, mo-fo, turkey ass busta, Wayne Brady dressin, mark ass, sucka, but I got thangs to do." Bayman turns around petulantly, and instantly slips on the smooth as eggs, slick wooden floor. He crashes into the staircase and the furious security official lunges forwards.
"THIS ISN"T OZZZ!" Bayman yells scurrying up the stairs as the black demon chases after him, yelling out every terrible thing he's going to do to Bayman once he catches his Porky Pig, squealing behind. Tears drip from Bayman's eyes as he claws at the wooden steps of the spiral staircase, using every ounce of energy he has left to crawl upwards. He's too young for this!
Sweat and tears flood the stairs as Bayman reaches the first landing of the second story, out of breathe and wheezing, but unfortunately, he feels the hot breathe of the grim reaper…the reaper of his comfortable sitting tool. But luckily, Christie stands at the far end of the hall, just now stepping out of the elevator with a lost look on her face.
"HELP ME, WOMAN!" Bayman squeals as he puts it all on the line and leaps onto the floor, sliding across the surface in his drenched wetsuit. Christie steps to the side, allowing Bayman to slam into the closed metal doors, but any pain is better than 'that one', he's sure… of course he wouldn't know.
"Move aside, mam, I'm about to apprehend the prowler." The guard says, unbuckling his belt and flexing the nasty bulging veins in his oversized neck, which probably can't rotate.
"As if I care, I'm simply looking for the drinkery." Christie begins to step away, but Bayman grabs her ankle, sobbing like a babe, snot coating his upper lip,
"Don't leave me! I have my MacD's Map, I'll help you find the pub! Forget the mission, just don't let him make me his girlfriend!" Bayman hugs her leg desperately and Christie looks from one man to the other.
"Just kill him afterwards so he doesn't ask me to visit him in hospital." Christie yanks her slender leg away, covered in numerous types of liquid and the guard snickers viciously,
"Thank you, mam, I'll escort you back to your room afterwards. It appears you lost your cane, so just wait here." Christie raises an eyebrow,
"Cane?" Bayman seizes his opportunity to turn Christie's rage in the right direction and whispers,
"He thinks you're an elderly old grandma with nothin but ash down there! He thinks your beautiful silver locks are gray! I told him to repent, but he said Meteor Man would protect him!"
Christie closes her eyes and then re-opens them, a black, malevolent glow behind them and the guard freezes in place,
"Don't look Bayman, this will give you nightmares." Bayman laughs victoriously as he infiltrates the elevator and hears only the guard's whimper before the doors shut.
He stretches relieved, traveling upwards to his needed destination, the fourth floor, one floor above the honored guests' living quarters. He rolls out of the elevator at the ding and rushes to the eastern wing, looking down at his soggy map every five seconds, although it's a straight line. Bayman skids to a stop at room number six, and bursts through.
"No puede entre, senor grande! No tenemos comida de alma!" Both Spanish maids holler at Bayman as he rushes through their small room, slashing passed the television, interrupting their Escandalo TV,
"Yo Me La Encanta, yada yada, whatever, kick rocks!" Bayman waves them off, but stops, and turns to check out the owners of the hot voices. He almost gags and spins back around, now knowing that all Spanish women sound hot, even if they not.
The enraged yelling dies out as he shimmies out onto the long balcony that he pinpointed long before the arrival and he shuts the sliding door behind him. Bayman looks down happily and immediately pulls out black cord and the carabiner, tying everything carelessly around the metal railing. He inhales the beautiful air and begins to climb over the rail, but the glass door opens.
"I said, kick—" Bayman interrupts himself at seeing Christie step out onto the balcony, wiping blood from her hands and wearing the unfortunate man's belt around her neck like a chain, the golden buckle hanging like a medallion.
"What the hell are you doing, flub?" Christie asks, studying the hurried spelunking rig and Bayman points to the loose end of cable,
"Hold that end, I'm about to get the shot."
"So this is it, huh? One of the DOA Girls?" Christie asks curiously, wondering which one it could be that Donovan wants put in the ground. She has a haunting suspicion that it might just be Helena again.
"I'm thinking all six of them!" Bayman giggles with a lascivious grin splitting his face in half and Christie looks at him strangely, he just doesn't seem to be the malicious type.
"What do you mean?" Bayman dives into his wetsuit and brings out his best friend, well, his other best friend. A metal casing that glints in the moonlight, a round barrel, just the right size for the job, the only one ever made, custom made by the greatest artists at Samsung and Fuji, the ultimate spy camera!