A/N : To all those that i said i'd have this up on May first must have mis-read my message, what i meant was the "first part" of May, feel me? Get some glasses, damn...anyways, feelz good to be back! )
Disclaimer – I do not own any of Team Ninja's charcters or anything else related to Dead or Alive.
(Prologue)
Not all wondrous, amazing duos begin smoothly...or even on purpose. There's no such thing as Fate, Destiny doesn't exist, and not too many people know what Kismet really means, but this teaming up of mighty existences was no mere occurrence of chance.
"What you do these people end now!" Hong Lee called out with clenched fists as he and his wife Ming watched in anger as Alistair Coulter rolled into a small town located in a poor district of southern Beijing. Coulter and his crew of English thugs were more feared than the frightful Triads in the parts of China which they patrolled, demanding protection money and the joy to 'test out' new brides before the actual groom.
Fortunately however, the two lovers and crime fighters decided to take action against Coulter and his gang of crumpet eating miscreants.
"You said, what?" In his proper and disdainful voice, Coulter responded to the two black gi clad fighters. He twisted one end of his blonde handlebar mustache as his thugs spread out behind him and the penniless townspeople spread out behind Hong and Ming in the massive dirt clearing in the middle of the tiny town.
"You collect no more from these people!" Ming called out, stomping down her smalled slippered foot, "Not money, not chickens, and not they brides!" The crowd cheered behind them and Hong and Ming smiled and looked to each other in confidence.
"I must admit, this comes as a most unpleasant surprise. I was looking to buy a horse a new monocle with today's collection." Coulter pointed behind his band to where their horses were standing, scowling just as furiously as the thugs.
"That not going happen!" Hong yelled out and crouched down into his fighting stance, holding one hand out, with his fingers bent into a fierce grip like he was holding an invisible sword handle. Ming slanted herself sideways slightly, kicking one leg high into the air parallel to her torso and held both hands out forwards, "Prepare yourself for deafening blow of Lee Double Super."
"Is it accompanied with chips?" Coulter laughed out richly and his thugs joined in the rigorous harassment,
"The savage chinks believe that they are gymnasts!" A well fleshed thug added, slapping his massive belly heartily. Even the horses began cackling, stomping shoed hooves and swinging braided, lavish manes.
the amusement ceases
Hong and Ming's answer to the harassment, sunk all the merriment into silence as the dust from the ground began lifting and the beaming sun scurried away behind the clouds in the sky. A massive sandstorm swirled around Hong and Ming as they focused the ethereal energy of the universe. Panic grasped Coulter and his men as they looked around at each other through terror, beginning to consider a retreat for the first time in their history of being roughnecks.
Townspeople covered their mouths and faces from the storm, and the English horses begin to turn and run, but Hong was having none of that. There would be retreat for them this day.
"There no escape from Double Super!" He grabbed a hold of Ming's leg, flipping her through the air and onto his right shoulder, holstered like a bazooka and took magnificent aim. The massive ball of purple energy forming in between her two hands launched forwards and Coulter could only hold his hands out in desperation, but it was far too late.
The energy of the blast doubled that of the sun and Buddha himself had to look down from his perch on high to make sure he didn't create the blast himself. The devastating blow lasted only a few seconds, the energy dispersed and as the dust was finally allowed to settle, the only thing that remained of Coulter's horses were the sparkling metal shoes. The victory was short lived however, as Ming slapped Hong hard across the face and escaped his bazooka hold.
"We aiming at Coulter!" Ming spat furiously as Hong turned his head and eyes at Coulter and his livid gang, unscathed and healthy.
"I think that...well that monocle...and eeh..." Hong stuttered through his explanation, but it was useless, as is any man's excuse as to why he did something his woman, or any woman in existence didn't agree with.
"Well then, men..." Coulter said as he shouldered his musket rifle and his thugs followed his lead and took aim at the two wide mouthed and witless Chinese, so-called crime fighters.
"Oh geez." Hong whispered and closed his eyes as numerous single shots rung out into the wind and ended the reign of the short-lived and apparently futile 'Lee Super Double'. This obviously was not the duo that was mentioned in the first sentence.
Onufrii and Klavdia Morozov, two middle aged Russian immigrants and/or emigrants, not to be confused with 'illegals' sneak through the cold and dark, night streets of Chelyabinsk, a Russian city close to the border of Kazakhstan. They pant and sweat, constantly looking behind themselves for any pursuers or onlookers. They finally gain refuge, stopping at one of the numerous abandoned warehouses cluttering the area. Onufrii, the man, grabs a hold of Klavdia, the woman, by her wrist, and pulls her into the dank building. The panting and sweating ceases and they look deep into each other's eyes with undying devotion.
"Do you anticipate any such pursuance at this locus?" Klavdia asks, slumping down beside a bare, brick wall and Onufrii shakes his head with a sly smirk,
"Inviolable we are at this roost, my love." Onufrii answers confidently as he removes his gloves and begins rubbing his hands together for warmth.
"But are we not categorically intramural with the border of Kazakhstan?" Klavdia asks with an air of doubt and Onufrii looks over with a wide grin,
"That's what makes it so dirty!"
He erupts in laughter and Klavdia joins in with giggling of her own as they reach for each other in the heat of bawdy teenage passion. Grabbing and tearing at the other's clothing, the two forty year olds begin rolling on the dirty, wood floor, ignoring the splinters, loose nails, and scurrying, voyeuristic rodents. They are simply glad to be away from their annoying offspring for once, abandoning him at the rest-stop.
A few grunts, a couple moans, and exactly sixteen seconds into the adoration, the couple is interrupted from their multitude of techniques as an unexpected roaring wind is heard from above. Onufrii curses as he reluctantly pulls himself away and peaks up and out the window, eyes widening at a massive battle helicopter roaring high above. It bears the flag of Kazakhstan, obviously, and the pilot's eyes are red with fury.
"The KNB!" Klavdia yells in terror, pressing her cheek against her husbands, looking out the same window. They both hurriedly throw on whatever clothing possibly as they rush for the exit and bullets rain down like metal, lethal hail from the heavens. The scantly clad Russians dodge, duck, dip, dive, and dodge the falling barrage, hurrying for the border which is their only hope for survival.
Somehow the buildings behind them begin to blaze with fire as they run, ignoring the pain underfoot from the poorly kept road, which is actually just a dirt path, leading uphill to where they parked the black and blue volga. Somehow they believe deep in their hearts that they will survive, possibly to be in the other's warm arms again, all be right in the world, Ashlee Simpson will stop making music, but all such dreams are crashed as their son's global head comes into view.
That pudgy face, those ridiculous freckles, his god-awful eyebrows, everything they regret in life staring down at them as they attempt to make it up the now never-ending hill. Onufrii actually gives up, knowing it's probably not even worth it anymore, and he feels a chain of bullets penetrate his back. He sighs in gratitude, knowing he'll never have to watch his son throw the baseball a mere two inches ever again and collapses to the ground. Klavdia closes her eyes as she shares the same release, the release of the torment which is having to wash the boy from head to foot because he's afraid of water coming from the shower head. Having to walk through the grocery with people starring at the grown boy demanding to still sit in the toddler seat. The sweat release.
"MOMMY!" The boy's head jerks up in his uncomfortable bed and he hits his already enormous head on the bottom of the top bunk. The nightmare's images still reflecting in the tears that well in his eyes. He falls back onto his pillow and sees his bunk mate's spiky black haired head swing over the edge and glare daggers at him through the cold night.
"If you want to wet your bed, keep it to yourself, but if you wake me once again, there will be no salvation." Jann Lee swings his head away and the only sounds that reverberate throughout the neutral Swiss orphanage are the sobs of the twelve year old Bayman.