Chapter 1
"Feathers from the Past"
It was cold and windy: the beginnings of a long and hard storm. Rain whipped across my face as I ran through the forest, the dirt pathway nearly becoming mud as my cabin came into view. The various trees that surrounded my cabin rustled violently, with small twigs and branches splashing into the puddles below. I scurried for my keys upon reaching the cabin to unlock the door. But clumsy me, the set of keys slipped from my hands and onto the ground.
"Fuck! Great job," I told myself. The process would have been a lot easier if I hadn't had all these groceries with me. I bent down and was able to retrieve the keys somewhat effortlessly, without having to put any of the paper bags down. Luckily for me, boxing and martial arts gave me some balancing skills. Finding the right key, I jammed it into the lock, but then again, clumsy me, the key scraped in the inner edgings of the doorknob.
"Cody, you're an idiot. What's wrong with you?" Needless to say, I was frustrated. This wasn't particularly a good time for all this shit to be happening. I once again jammed my key into the locking mechanism. It slipped through smoothly and with a swift turn, I unlocked it.
The door almost broke off its hinges as I stormed in. The cabin remained the same as I had left it – somewhat messy, because I've been too busy to clean up. I sped to the kitchen, dropping my groceries onto the kitchen table. Stray oranges and cans rolled out, but I didn't care. I took off my jogging shirt, revealing the white tank top I was wearing underneath. Luckily I decided to wear my jogging suit today, as it kept me dry for the most part. I quickly sped to one of the kitchen drawers and began searching frantically. I knew it was hiding somewhere inside one of them.
"There you are," pulling out a black, leather strap. "I didn't think I'd be using you so soon," petting it as if it was a cat. I sat down and unbuttoned the leg sleeve to my right leg and speedily holstered on my leather strap, supporting my trusty hunting knife securely in place – a perfect reach incase I need it. I buttoned my leg sleeve once more and walked behind the partition next to my front door.
I shuttered a bit, as my nearly bare back leaned against the cold, cream-colored wall. Their color tone certainly appeared a lot cheerier than outside. My heart was pounding, my nerves on edge, my chest heaving. I could hear the footsteps outside, splashing on the rain puddles. He was still on my trail – the stranger who had been stalking me all day.
I first saw him reading a newspaper in a somewhat expensive-looking car at a forest preserve parking lot. At the time, I didn't pay much attention to it. I just continued on my morning jog to town. I started becoming suspicious as I was leaving Chuck's house, a young kid who I'd been giving some self-defense lessons, because of bullies at his school. As I was leaving his house, I saw the guy once again in the same car, waiting not too far from the house.
I had to run several errands today, and at the conclusion of each one, he was there, waiting for me . . . watching me. I was beginning to get worried; he was obviously interested in what I was doing for some reason. The fact that I'm wanted in Metro City for a crime that I didn't commit, did not ease my suspicion, nor the fact that guy looked like someone from the FBI. I started losing my cool when he followed me into the general store. I avoided him as best I could and decided to split for home after that.
"He couldn't be from the FBI," I thought. "I'm in the middle of nowhere. Then again, strangers really don't visit Pickle Crow, especially the kind that wear suits and drive expensive Rolls-Royce's." I awoke from my train of thought; the footsteps were only a few feet away from my doorstep now. Whatever this guy wants, it can't be good, especially if he's here for me. There's no way in hell I'm going down without a fight and my position from behind the partitioned wall gave me a clear view.
I grew tense as the doorknob turned slowly. I took a deep breath. There was no turning back now. It's either him or me -- and I don't plan on going back to Metro City Prison anytime soon. The door opened slowly, creaking as the hinges rubbed against each together. The footsteps were clear and resonant; he was wearing shoes with wooden soles.
I finally caught a glimpse of him from my concealed spot. He was black and rather tall, your stereotypical African-American I suppose. He seemed to have a good build, but I couldn't really tell from the large, black trench coat he was wearing, dripping water on my floor.
"Hmm," I thought, "how rude." I needed to teach him a lesson for barging in here unwelcome. This was it, it's now or never.
I moved in for a clean attack to his neck. The force would easily knock him out, so I could tie him up and interrogate. I swung the side of my hand quickly in a downward motion and met with something bony, but it wasn't his neck – it was his forearm. He parried it! To my surprise, he speedily forced his elbow back into my side, making a clean hit. Needless to say, it stung badly. Not wasting any time, I quickly lifted my right leg, avoiding a quick ankle kick, while swiping my fist out to my side to connect with his face. The agent simply caught it with his bare hand.
"Damn, he blocked it again!" I said to myself. The agent spun around, grabbing me in a choke hold. Being in this situation several times before, I gave him a double-elbow swipe to his stomach. In the corner of my eye, I could see him groan a bit, as he let go of his grip around my neck. In his open state, I delivered an open palm thrust into his upper neck area, forcing him to scramble back a bit.
"A prime opportunity," I thought and I moved in for an all-out offensive.
I wasn't about to go easy on him. I wanted to make him feel that he picked the wrong person to follow into Canada. I darted in with several, quick punch combinations: quick jabs and hooks and finishing with an uppercut. He fell ungracefully onto my hardwood floor, but helicopter kicked back up, knocking me down in the process.
My head smacked onto the hardwood floor as I fell. I clutched it in pain, with my eyes tightly and my brain throbbing. I could hear the intruder walking toward me, as his shoes still echoed throughout the house. As soon as I opened my eyes, my opponent leaped into the air, with the intention of landing the wooden soles of his shoes on my face.
"Whoa!" I turned my body to the side and immediately as he landed, grabbed the intruder's knee with my hands. I twisted my body to bring him down on his back – a nice rolling suplex, if I must say so myself. He also hit the back of his head, but I guess not as hard as I had. We both hastily swiped our fists out to our side, attempting to hit the other. Instead, our wrists met together in a lock.
Surprised, we both spun up back onto our feet and reversed into a reverse front kick, but having studied in kickboxing, I was able to deflect his kick with my own. The black menace stumbled back a bit, losing his balance – another open opportunity. I started out with a side kick, my foot connecting cleanly to his chin and then forged my right leg into a one-eighty degree roundhouse.
Unfortunately, my opponent was able to duck under the roundhouse and came in with a front snap kick, nearly splitting my chest in half. I clutched it a bit, but was able to parry a quick forward punch from him. Not thinking, I wasn't able to see a spinning elbow punch coming the other way.
I lost view for a moment, as my head snapped quickly to my right side. As I turned my head over to the agent, a speeding hook was aimed right for my temple. I ducked quickly, which surprised my intruder and delivered a reverse kick to the agent's midsection. The force of my kick bounced him off the floor a bit and I came back the other way with a left hook of my own.
His face went downward with the momentum of my punch. I grabbed the back of his head and shoved it down toward my knee, stuttering him and finishing off with a hook kick to the back of his head.
"Ooof!" As the agent was about to fall, he let a spinning back kick spurt out, catching me in the chest. I flew through the air and landed hard on something wet. I found myself outside, in the center of a big mud puddle. My white tank top was drenched in mud as I got onto all fours, breathing heavily, as my opponent walked outside into the rain.
It seemed that no matter what I did, he just kept coming back. He's probably trained to take a beating, I thought. That or they feed him really well. The few strikes of lightning lit up the sky, covering us in tones of blue. Rain water dripped down from my hair and onto my eyes.
I forced myself up, getting into my stance. I didn't want to use it, but I guess I have no choice. I reached for my hunting knife, strapped to my leg and wield it out, but it appeared that I've been beat to the punch.
"No more games Mr. Travers," stated the agent. He stood their, holding a small hand-pistol at me, ready to take a shot at me anytime now. "I am not here to arrest you, nor am I here to take you back to Metro City."
"Then who the heck are you? What's your name?" I yelled out, the knife still clenched him my fist.
"I am purely a messenger, but if you must know my name, it's Roscio. It appeared that you underestimated who I was," he laughed.
"Whatever," I thought, "Had you not brought out that gun, you would've been dead." The agent, or whoever he really was, stood like a statue. The lightning reflected off the pistol, pointed directly at my chest.
"So then what's the message and who's it from?" I rudely asked, crossing my arms.
"Everything you need to know is in this pouch." The black agent slowly walked over and handed me what appeared to be a black file folder. I looked what I could of it somewhat suspiciously as I saw the agent slowly put his gun away.
"And with that, I bid you adieu." He slowly got into the driver seat of his Rolls-Royce and sped toward the town limits, leaving me outside in the rain with the document at hand.
I walked out of my bathroom, wearing nothing but a pair of blue boxer shorts and towel around my neck. I needed a good bath. I stepped over to my chair and hung the wet towel over it. The black file folder that Roscio gave me still lay on my bed – I had yet to open and read its contents.
I grabbed my mug from the nightstand and walked over to the coffee pot on my dresser. I had let the coffee brew while I took a shower. The strong scent woke me up as I poured myself a cup. Taking a sip, I casually walked back to my bed and placed the mug onto the nightstand. Taking a seat on my bed, I grabbed the mysterious, black folder.
I untied the strap and took a look at the contents inside. There was nothing more than a piece of paper and a sealed, No. 10 envelope free of any address or markings. I began to read the letter:
Greetings Cody, my old buddy, my old friend. My name isn't relevant, but it's my fault that everyone in Metro City is looking for you – my fault that you're nothing but a hero once remembered – my fault that all the people you thought were your friends have turned on you. Don't go away Cody, not just yet. I have something that may interest you. Say, a young girl of twenty-four, with long blond hair and lips red as the rose. If you don't believe me, take a look at the pictures I've enclosed.
I quickly grabbed the white envelope and tore into shreds. There was a small stack of pictures inside and as I looked at each one, I could see the pain and fear struck on the poor girl's face. She was in tears and bruised badly. It made me angry and sick to my stomach; I wanted to break something. Who was behind this? I dropped the pictures on the bed and grabbed the letter to continue reading.
I have Jessica right here in front of me, tied up, tattered and torn! She misses you Cody. Ha! Aren't those pictures just marvelous? I took them myself. It was beautiful – she worked so well with the camera. It captured everything about her and it's all for you Cody! I've been thinking about you – I had a lot of time to think about you. How much I would pay to have you dead right now. Yet instead of having the crouton, I shall wait to savor the entire Caesar salad! I will get my revenge you bastard, because it's my turn now. Happy Memories!
"JESSICA!" I found myself screaming. I was in shock, both angered and sad. I couldn't believe what I just read and saw. I pounded my bed as hard as I could, but no matter how hard I hit it, I didn't feel any better. I grabbed a small couch pillow and pulled as hard as I could. The threads began to snap and the pillow exploded not long after, releasing countless feathers everywhere, landing on the pictures of Jessica strewn about the bed. I once again grabbed the letter and stared at the strange insignia, forming the letters M and G.
"MG," I thought, "that could only be – no, it's impossible. It couldn't be . . . the Mad Gears? They've returned, but how? Belger is dead. He fell from a hotel ballroom. Who could have resurrected the Mad Gears?" Questions rung throughout my head, but I couldn't sort anything out. No one in Pickle Crow knows about my past and no one in Metro City would know where I am. How did they find me? The phone started to ring. I wiped the tears out of my eyes and picked up the receiver.
"Hello?" I said, trying not to sound like I was balling.
"I take it that you have received my letter Cody . . . good," said a low-pitched voice. "You never expected them to come back and ruin your life again would you?"
My eyes widened and my tone grew angrier.
"Who the hell is this? Damnd? Abigail? Rolento? I swear I'm going to slaughter you, you heartless son of a bitch!" I shouted in anger.
"Call me what you want, but we are back in business my friend. Without Guy and Haggar to help you, the pleasure will be all ours. We hope you can find us! Muwahahahahaha!"
SILENCE
The mysterious caller hung up. I leaned on my bed and started to cry, letting it all out. I couldn't tell if I was angry or sad or perhaps I was both. Jessica is alone with those creeps and I can't do anything about it. I just lay on my bed, crying – crying myself to sleep.
The morning was damp from last night's rain, but the forest never smelled as fresh. Cody had opened his window to let the subtle aroma of pine fill his bedroom. He took a deep breath, as it would probably be awhile before he would return, if ever. He packed a few outfits and some basic toiletries in a large duffel bag. Unfortunately, the constant tossing and turning Cody experienced last night didn't help him much. The images Jessica, the images of her beaten to near death on those photos were nearly engraved in his mind. He was unsure about what he was about to pursue, but he needed to do something – he couldn't just sit on something like this.
"I can't believe I'm going back to it all," Cody thought to himself as he stuffed a pair of shorts into his bag. "Back to fighting on the streets, back to playing detective, back to Metro City – a hero once remembered, but now forgotten. How would things have been if all this shit didn't happen?"
As he walked out his bedroom, he placed the large bag on the floor. He looked around his living room, searching for anything he might need. Cody spotted his hunting knife sitting on the mantelpiece above his fireplace. It wouldn't have been useful to take it with him.
"The airport would just confiscate it," he thought to himself. "I'd be better off securing one once I got to Metro City."
The ex-convict walked outside his cabin, locking the front door. He gazed upon it for awhile, as he spent the last few years of his life here away from Metro City, away from the people who wanted to keep him behind bars and away from his past. No one had bothered him here and he enjoyed the quiet life. With his duffel bag hoisted, he set off for Pickle Crow.
