Symmetry

A DarkStalkers Fan-Fiction

Written by: TrueVulcanRaven

Legal Info: All DarkStalkers characters are copyright CapCom, Inc. 1994.All Marvel references are copyright Marvel 2003.

Rated: 'PG-13' for sexual-related discussion and language.

"Discovery"

Jon slammed a few coins on the counter and walked briskly out of the bar to catch up with Castle. Something wasn't right.

"Frank, hold up!"

The Punisher closed the door of the Battle Van, his armory on wheels, and looked over his shoulder.

"I'm guessing you know something about that Claymore punk that I don't."

"Yeah, I do," Frank admitted. "But you're probably not going to like what I have to say."

"The Visit"

The DarkStalker pondered the significance of the information he had just received as he walked a familiar path through the borough of Lambeth. He glanced down at his watch and after examining the time, he quickened his pace.

Sarah…

Unable to stop it, her story played out for what had to have been the hundredth time in his mind. A student at the London Academy for the Blind ever since she was stricken with a rare visual disorder, she had been on a field trip with her classmates at the Interactive Science Museum in Kensington. Somehow she had gotten separated from the group. Twenty minutes later the security detail found her gagged and whimpering in the men's room, the damage already done and the assailant gone. DNA evidence combined with old-fashioned detective work led to an eventual arrest and finally a trial. It was after the obviously-guilty Claymore inexplicably escaped conviction that Jon took matters into his own hands. Knowing what he did now, Talbain didn't regret it.

Here we are.

He stopped in front of her family's three-story residence. Jon nimbly hopped over the six-foot high fence and crept around to the back of the domicile. After pulling out a wooden stick about a half-inch in diameter from his coat pocket, he removed the outer garment and his shirt. With the stick firmly gripped in his teeth, Talbain summoned the legacy of his tainted blood and fought desperately to keep from making any excess noise. When his transformation was complete, the werewolf leaped up to the windowsill that belonged to her room. He checked the lock.

Good girl.

Jon gently slid the window up and let himself in. He dropped on all fours and soundlessly padded over to her bedside. With her angelic face and long brown hair, she looked like a life-size doll in her nightgown. The only aspect of her that argued to the contrary was the slow rise and fall of her chest.

"Sarah…wake up," he whispered hoarsely as he ran the back of his paw delicately across her forehead.

"Mmm," she groaned sleepily, blinking her sightless green eyes. "'S that you, Jon?"

"Certainly is, love," he replied. "Sorry I didn't give you any warning this time. I just wanted you to know that he—I mean, it's been taken care of."

She sat up suddenly, her breath caught in her throat. Her shoulders began to shake as she tried to muffle her sobs. Moved with pity, Jon wanted more than anything to console her. The werewolf acted quickly, grabbing a blanket from a nearby shelf and wrapping it around her. He held her in his arms, rocking her back and forth until she lay still.

"Oh, God, what am I thinking?" she spoke up suddenly. "Jon, what are you going to do? The police, they'll-!"

"They have nothing. I covered my tracks."

"But how-?"

"Experience, love. You aren't the first good soul I've helped," he assured her, giving her a mild squeeze. "There's something else I need to tell you, though. The man who assaulted you was the nephew of the head of one of London's most infamous organized crime syndicates, a Powers Rutherford Claymore. His underlings that work in the judiciary system got the bastard off the hook. Out of principle, I'm tempted to take this vendetta to the next level. I wanted to ask what you thought first."

"Jon, these men you're talking about…they're evil, sick people," she spoke after a moment of thought. "I'm fairly certain what happened to me is only one of the many atrocities they've committed. Someone needs to stand up to them. But I only want it to be you if I know you'll come back in one piece."

"Don't worry about me."

"Oh, Jon…."

He opened his mouth to reassure her, but the face on his watch caught his eye.

"Shite, almost 4 a.m. And you've got school tomorrow," he swore as he rose from the bed.

"Wait!" she held out a hand to beckon him back. "Jon, please…before you go, I want to 'see' you."

The werewolf sighed. "We've been over this before."

"Jon, you won't scare me. I beg you, please?"

Her tone made his chest contract painfully on itself. "All right. But I warned you."

She reached out, her hands making contact with his shoulders: warm fur. "Wha-?" She ran her hands slowly up his neck, guiding her fingers smoothly over his face. "Jon, you're-!"

"A beast."

"No!" She remembered colors vaguely from her early childhood. "What shade are you?"

"Azure where it's rough and white wherever it feels soft."

She continued tracing her hands across his visage, careful to avoid his eyes and teeth. "Beautiful," she whispered, her voice filled with awe. She suddenly latched onto him, hugging him tightly around his neck. "Don't you dare let anyone convince you otherwise!"

He returned her embrace. "Thanks, love."

The Dark One paused when he reached her window. "I'll see you again soon."

"Promise?"

"Of course."

"The Pact"

A few blocks away from the Mayfield residence, Talbain withdrew a cellular phone from his pocket and retrieved a number from its memory. After two ring tones, a haggard voice answered.

"Yeah?"

"You're on."

"Hehe. Just you wait. We're gonna have a ball with this one."