Metamorphosis

by

RobertCop3

This is an idea that came to me very suddenly while chatting with fellow KoF fans in Discord: an "origin story" for the character of Malin. Honestly, I surprised myself with how quickly this idea took shape in outlines and just started snowballing. The reason I'm so shocked is because I honestly don't like this character. I never have. I've always viewed Malin as a spiteful little bug with a bag of toys, someone who is little more than a walking gimmick. But bugs remind me of fourth grade biology class, and I've always been a science nerd.

So if I have to guess, I'd say my dislike filled me with an urge to dissect her? Whatever the reason, I'm writing an origin story for a character I don't like. And I've actually enjoyed writing it. As I've shaped her character and her journey in my outlines, I'm a little shocked at how much sympathy I've developed for her. So I am very excited to share this story with you all.

This fic covers a seven-year period, starting when Malin is ten years old and ending in the year 2003 when she's seventeen, the same year she first competes in KoF. I don't yet know how many chapters it will be, but it might wind up being longer than "Vengeful Spirits." We'll just have to wait and see. As with everything I write, feedback is welcome.

All characters are the property of SNK/Playmore. I don't own them, the video games, or the anime. "Nutshell" is written by Layne Staley, Jerry Cantrell, Sean Kinney, and Mike Inez, and is copyright Columbia Records. I'm posting this fic for free, and make no money off of it.


We... chase misprinted lies
We... face the path of time
And yet I fight
And yet I fight
This battle all alone
No one to cry to
No place to call home

My... gift of self is raped
My... privacy is raked
And yet I find
And yet I find
Repeating in my head
If I can't be my own
I'd feel better dead

-Alice in Chains

Chapter One: The Girl Named Melanie

South Town, USA – August 2004

"Malin..."

TRUST YOU?! Why the fuck should I trust you?

"Malin..."

Sorry, but... I'm probably gonna make a mess now...

"Malin..."

No! No more of your bullshit! Just tell me... WHO AM I?

"Malin..." Kasumi Todoh gently nudged the blonde girl who had been writhing and thrashing on the twin bed for the last few minutes, but she still got no response. The girl who called herself Malin groaned through clenched teeth, her furrowed brow dripping with sweat, her eyelids open just wide enough for Kasumi to see the white orbs underneath flicking rapidly in whatever direction they could.

Finally, Kasumi realized that being gentle would accomplish nothing. "Malin!" She shouted, giving her teammate a more forceful nudge. As if someone had lit a fire beneath her, Malin sat bolt upright with a yell, left hand reaching out to grip the fabric of Kasumi's blue and white yukata, while her right hand, which had been tucked under her pillow, came up just as quickly, wrapped around the handle of a rather wicked-looking knife. She made it halfway to Kasumi's neck with the blade before she seemed to realize where she was, then she blew out a sharp breath as she lowered her weapon.

"Oh, it's you," she muttered, releasing her grip on her teammate. "You shouldn't startle me like that. I might do something we'd both regret." Malin ran a hand through her shoulder-length blonde hair, her dark brown eyes flicking around the hotel room she shared with her teammate. She was at another King of Fighters tournament, this time on a team with Kasumi Todoh and the ninja Eiji Kisaragi. Malin had no idea where he was right now. When she and Kasumi had purchased this room, Eiji had declined to go in on it (just as well, since the staff might have raised some eyebrows if a guy in a mask went in on a room with two teenage girls), but he also didn't get his own room, so damned if they knew what he was up to. Malin was honestly starting to wonder if he even slept. In the weeks leading up to the tournament, when the three had practiced together, she'd certainly never seen him blink.

Kasumi, a little put off by the silence, sat down on the edge of her own twin bed, hands resting on her knees. "Forgive me, but... I was trying to sleep, and you... looked like you were having a nightmare."

Malin shook her head, took a moment to smooth out the oversized brown T-shirt she wore as part of her sleepwear, pulling it down to cover as much as of her legs as she could. "Nah... just old ghosts coming out to play. They do that some nights. Bugs the hell out of me." She rose from her bed and moved over to the bathroom, flicking the light on as she entered. Through the open doorway, Kasumi could see her running the tap at the sink, throwing cold water on her face. After a minute, she turned the tap off, dabbed herself dry with a hand towel, and came back to her bed. "Of course," she added as she picked up her knife and tucked it back under her pillow. "You do know that we wouldn't be having this problem if you'd let me swipe that bottle of wine earlier. If I fall asleep with a drink or two inside me, the ghosts leave me alone."

"I know, Malin-san," Kasumi said. "But you promised not to do anything illegal while we're competing. The team would be disqualified if you got caught."

"I wouldn't get caught."

"Well, it's still not good to rely on something like alcohol to help you sleep peacefully. It's not... healthy."

Malin snorted. "Wow, mom, I had no idea!"

Kasumi rolled her eyes in frustration. She and Malin had some common ground (hence the reason for their teaming up), but she still knew so little about the blonde girl, even though Kasumi liked to think they'd gelled nicely as a team in the last several weeks. Malin always refused to talk about herself, and when asked questions, would quickly steer the conversation in other directions.

"Look... Kasumi..." There was a serious edge to Malin's voice that brought the aikido warrior's gaze back to her again. Malin sat pretzel-legged in the center of her mattress, eying Kasumi with something that almost looked like concern. "I... think that you and I are... well, lemme start over. I... sort of like..." She gave a growl of frustration, then blurted out: "Listen, Kasumi, I don't hate you, okay? But there's... things about me you should never know."

The dark-haired girl's brow furrowed with confusion. "Why shouldn't I know them?"

"It's just... safer for you to not know this stuff."

Now Kasumi was just a little suspicious. Even though they worked well together, she knew enough about Malin to know the girl was definitely self-centered. Or so she thought. "You know I can take care of myself. Why do you suddenly care for my safety?"

Malin rolled her eyes. "Because I don't hate you! Weren't you listening? You're making this so difficult right now, you know that?"

Kasumi laughed a little at that, rolling her own eyes. "My apologies, Malin-san."

Malin also gave a small chuckle, in spite of herself. "Lucky for you, I'm in a good mood, so I'll let it slide," she said with a hint of sarcasm in her voice.

Kasumi smiled over at the blonde. "And also... I don't hate you, either."

Another chuckle. "Yeah, whatever."

The dark-haired girl rose from her bed. "I can't sleep right now. I'm going out to the terrace to meditate."

Her teammate waved a dismissive hand. "Have fun."

Kasumi moved to the sliding door, opened it, and stepped outside, sliding it shut behind her. After she was gone, the girl who called herself Malin lay back down on her bed, head resting on her pillow, gazing up at the ceiling, watching the revolving motion of the overhead fan, trying her best not to close her eyes, for fear of dreaming old dreams...


Fresno, California. Fresno Police Department, 23rd Precinct. Eight years ago...

It had been a long day for Detective Jeff Rabin, longer than most. He should have clocked out two hours ago, and been home by now, vegging out in front of the TV with a bag of In N' Out take-out, and an ice-cold beer. Instead, he found himself conversing with a stiff, matriarchal-looking woman in a light brown overcoat, seated on the other side of his desk with her legs crossed smartly. The hem of her coat rode up past her ankles enough for the detective to see her expensive-looking alligator-skin heels. Her shoulder-length, honey-blonde hair was done up in a smart bun, and a brown attache case rested on her lap. Despite the comfortable leather back of the chair she sat in, her posture remained rigid.

"Who did you say you work for again, miss..."

"Landy," the woman said. "Joan Landy. And I work for the Clemency Organization." She whipped out a business card from the pocket of her coat, embossed in a manner more professional than Rabin's own cards, and reached over the disorganized desk to hand it to him. "We specialize in helping unique young women realize their full potential. And this girl you've brought in is truly unique."

Rabin took the card, gave it a once-over, and then tossed it onto his desk with a shrug. "No more or less than any of the other delinquents I've picked up in my career."

Joan leaned forward in the seat. "I beg to differ, detective. You told me you picked her up off the roof of a supermarket. She was fiddling with their electrical system, and her reason for this was, according to your report, so she could take out their alarms and surveillance cameras, in order to steal food. That hardly sounds like your average juvenile delinquent, especially one who is only ten years old."

Rabin leaned forward in his own seat. "Assuming you're right... this is not the first time I've picked her up for something like this. And she's now old enough to be tried in the juvenile courts in this state. Why should I just forgive, forget, and hand her to you?"

"Obviously, to make your own life easier, you overworked public servant! I am willing to take her under my wing, and off your hands. That's less paperwork for you, and also, you can focus more time and effort to put real criminals away, not just poor unfortunate children looking for something to eat!"

Detective Rabin flicked his eyes up to the ceiling for a moment. Then he took a sip of his coffee. "Okay, you have a point. But before you decide to take her, you should probably meet her."

Joan nodded, rose from her chair with attache case in hand. "I'd be delighted."

The detective led her out of his office and down a hallway that was still bustling with activity given the late hour. As they walked, Rabin continued to fill Joan in on the history of his latest arrest: "Like I said, this isn't the first time she's done something like this. She's got a longer history than someone her age should have: breaking and entering, pickpocketing and numerous other instances of theft, assault... she's developed a knack for electronics, picking locks, cutting glass... don't know who's teaching her, because she won't say."

To Rabin's surprise, Joan's face appeared to light up as he relayed all this information. "Really?"

The detective nodded. "Yup. Been bounced around a lot from foster home to foster home. We're trying to contact her current guardian, but he's not answering the phone. Asked the girl about it, she said something about how he took a trip to Phoenix, and she was hungry, so she decided to go shopping."

The middle-aged woman's expression turned more sour. "Hm... seems the child welfare system in this state is as shining as it ever was. They'll let anyone adopt, won't they?"

Rabin did not know what to say to that, and it had been a long day, so he merely shrugged. "Well, look... it's fair to warn you that I've already contacted every orphanage in the county. None of them want her back. Seems she's got some behavioral problems: doesn't listen, thinks the rules don't apply to her, mouths off to the other kids a lot, and the adults. So... if she doesn't wanna go with you and we can't reach the dad, I'm gonna have to toss her in Juvie until a trial date can be arranged."

"I see." After this, the two became silent until they arrived at the holding several of them were packed with as many as five to ten people, there was one cell towards the back which contained a lone occupant: a petite girl with bright blonde hair dressed in torn, muddy jeans and an equally tattered sweatshirt that seemed a size too big on her. Her face was streaked with as much dirt as her clothes, and she did not appear to be wearing shoes. Her knees were tucked up under her chin, arms wrapped around her shins, and the expression in her large amber eyes appeared to be one of boredom as her gaze swept the other cells.

"Not much to look at, I know," Rabin remarked. "Nothing in her pockets except a BIC lighter, a few bucks in assorted loose change, some pieces of bent metal that we suspect are lockpicks, and a Swiss army knife with a blade so dull it can't even cut butter. And yet she was working that alarm system like a pro."

Once more, Joan's face seemed to light up at hearing that. "Fascinating. Well, may I speak with her?"

The detective nodded, and the two made their way down the center aisle towards the cell in the back. Upon hearing their footsteps, the girl turned her gaze towards the cell entrance. She obviously recognized the detective, but regarded Joan with a hint of curiosity that was gone just as quickly as it appeared. Joan assumed that the girl probably thought the elder woman was a lawyer, because she stuck her tongue out at them both, and then resumed watching the other cells.

"I'd like to go in there with her, if that's okay," said Joan.

Rabin turned his head towards the door they'd entered from, called out to a guard standing by a control panel. "Hey, Vickers! Open number two!" The guard slipped his key into the panel, turned it, pressed a button, and the iron-barred door slid open.

Rabin remained outside, blocking the doorway. Joan stepped into the cell and stood in front of the ragged blonde girl, blocking her view of the other cells. "Hello there, sweetheart," she said in a cheerful voice that sounded like it was routine for her. "My name is Joan. I'm not with the police, and I'm not with the foster care system in the state. Do you have a name?"

Those amber eyes met Joan's blue, and the woman almost felt like she was being studied. After a moment, the girl spoke: "Um... Melanie."

"That's a pretty name. Is there a last name?"

"Yeah, but it's fake dad's last name, not mine, so I don't use it."

"Well, I can't say I blame you for that, Melanie. May I sit next to you, dear?"

Melanie shrugged. "It's a free country."

"Thank you," Joan said with a pleasant smile, and sat down next to the girl, resting her case on her lap. "Now, Melanie, I'm just curious. Detective Rabin told me what you were doing when he picked you up. What made you think to try and disable the alarms at that grocery store? Most young girls wouldn't have been as clever as you were."

Another indifferent shrug. "Because the last time I tried to steal from them, the alarm went off when I smashed their window. So in order to get in without being noticed, I'd have to take out their alarms, wouldn't I?"

To Rabin's surprise, Joan seemed to take on a look of pride. "Very logical, Melanie. And... where did you learn how to tamper with alarm systems?"

"Dunno. I've just... always been good at tampering with electric stuff. I figure it out pretty easily."

"Fascinating... much like a young Mozart could look at sheet music and just... understand it."

"Dunno who that is," Melanie said.

"Well, you'll have an opportunity to learn, if you choose. Like I said, Melanie, I'm not with the police or foster care. I run a school out of state that I think would be perfect for a brilliant young mind like yours, so I'm offering you the chance to come with me, if you'd like."

The lady seemed nice, putting Melanie on the defensive. She'd seen friendly faces before on her deadbeat foster moms, whenever they told police or social services what they wanted to hear. "Why would you wanna help me? What's in it for you?"

"Nothing except the chance to help you realize your full potential. You're a special girl, Melanie. Surely you've always known that about yourself."

Melanie shrugged. "Not really."

Joan's smile grew wider. "Well, it's true. These things you know how to do are what make you special. This is probably why you have trouble getting along with other children: you can't relate to them because you're better than they are. Well, there are other girls at my school, Melanie, who have skills like yours. They're learning how to hone them, along with many other skills that will be useful in their lives. I'm offering you the same opportunity, to learn things that will actually be useful to you as you grow into a woman, and find your place in the world."

She could tell by the look on Melanie's face that the girl was considering it. Melanie had never given much thought to the future, focusing all her attention on the present, on surviving. That could only take her so far. She would need to learn some new tricks, and how to do old tricks better, to keep surviving as she got older. And also the woman was right. Melanie liked to think she was better than a lot of the other kids at the orphanage, even though she was shorter.

Joan was on her feet again, offering a hand to the blonde girl. "You don't have to come with me if you don't want to, Melanie. Just know that Detective Rabin has called every orphanage in the area, and none of them are willing to take you in, so your only other option would be Juvenile Hall. But again, the choice is yours."

Not exactly a choice. But still, this school could be interesting. Wasting no more time on thought, she reached up and took Joan's hand. "Okay. I'll go with you."

"Splendid!" Joan Landy said with a laugh. "I'll begin making the arrangements with the police at once! Um, Detective, does she have to wait in the cell? It seems rather barbaric. I'd like to bring her along with us, if that's all right."

The detective, still standing in the doorway, shrugged. "Why not? She's your problem now, as far as I'm concerned. She causes any more trouble while she's here, you're paying for it."

"Of course," Joan said in her most amicable voice. "Come along, dear. Let's get out of this dreadful room." And so, the two of them walked hand-in-hand out of the holding cell area, following Detective Rabin back to his office.

Besides, Melanie thought to herself as she walked. If I don't like it there, I can just run away. Like I always do.


ADDITIONAL NOTES

So, I researched the juvenile courts in California a little bit. As of 2019, the minimum age for trying a minor in said courts is 12, but I don't think there was a minimal age before that. So, in 1996, Melanie could have been tried in juvenile court as a ten-year-old.

And I know KoF XI came out in 2005, but I moved it up a year, because in my fic timeline, the KoF Tournament is an annual event.

And with that, the story is underway. Hope you like so far, and I also hope to have more up soon.