It was night. The time where the scum crawled out of the sewers and shadows to terrorize the good people of Deacon City. For twenty five years, he stood by while muggers and murders walked from prison, due to most of the cops being on the take. Men like the Rain flaunted their crimes out to the public, knowing that the cops couldn't arrest him even if they wanted to. His lawyers would just sue the police station for wrongful imprisonment. Every single time someone came up to testify, they either were found death or just disappeared.

It made Kabal sick.

He walked down the street covered in a brown trench coat. On his back were two swords. But they were different. The tips, instead of pointing straight down, curved up into hooks. The rain pounded his head, dampening his hair. It also fogged up the lenses of the gas mask he wore. He needed to protect his identity, hence the mask. His gloved hands were shoved deep into his pockets. Near him, a woman blew a kiss in his direction. He ignored it. The woman only did so in order to get his money. Hookers lined the streets on every street. He didn't blame the women. It was the only job they could find. He pitied them, actually. No, Kabal blamed everything else.

He heard a scream from across the street. The masked man made a quick left into traffic. Despite the numerous cars, he didn't stop. Several people shouted at him, but he didn't care. Someone was in trouble. And no one else would help. It was up to him. He stepped into the alley. It was dark, damp, and smelled up disease. That's when he saw them. A man was holding a knife out to a terrified woman. Several scars ran along his face. Tears streamed down the woman's face. She'd been only crying recently. Kabal's foot smashed into a puddle, earning both a loud crash and the attention of the attacker.

Kabal just stood there, silently, glaring into this monster's eyes. Neither said a word. Only the pattering of the rain and the light sobbing of the woman broke all silence. The attacker finally asked, "What the hell are you?"

Looking from the woman to the scarred man, Kabal said, "Let her go. Turn yourself in. Or I will kill you." His voice was muffled from the mask he wore, but it was still obvious that it was hoarse.

The attacker had cocked an incredulous eyebrow, before letting out a laugh. He pushed the woman to the ground and walked towards Kabal. "You should learn to mind your own business, boyo." From the man's left sleeve slid out another knife. He got into what would be considered a fighting stance. "Now, I'm going to have to teach you some manners."

He ran at Kabal, who dodged him easily. The scarred man turned around, ready to stab the masked man. Kabal grabbed the attacker's right hand, and quickly broke it against the wall. His scream echoed throughout the alleyway, but it was silenced when a fist connected with his face. Kabal stood over the fallen man, hook sword in hand. A light flashed through the gas mask's lens, turning them white for a moment. The fallen attacker tried to crawl away, but a boot stomping firmly on his back stopped him. He looked up, and opened his mouth to scream. But a sword being brought down on his head silenced the scream.

Kabal looked over to the shaking woman. She didn't know whether to thank this strange man or run away terrified. Kabal reached into his pocket, and pulled out a roll of money. He handed it to the woman before walking away, his hands back in his pockets. The woman looked down at the roll of twenties, too stunned by the events to move.

"Once again, the masked vigilante has struck again. Last night, this sword wielding man had stopped a mugging and potential rape in progress. I'm here with the witness, who will now tell us her story."

"At first, I-I didn't know if I should be scared. This man did save my life, but he also killed a guy. But then, he just took out a bunch of twenties. If he's watching, I just want to thank him."

The TV clicked off. In the reflection of the screen, a large man could be seen. He was of African descent, bald, and had some hair on his chin. He was leaning against a desk. A white, button up shirt was on his torso, with a police badge handing around his neck. He turned to face two others in his office. One was wearing a cap, the other had a blindfold wrapped around his eyes. Attached to the blindfolded man's back was a sword, and a gun strapped to his thigh. The cap wearing man had two nightsticks on his back, and two guns strapped to each thigh. The black man sighed, and ran his hand over his head. "The third one this week."

The man with the blindfold asked, "Any leads on who he is, Captain?"

Captain Jackson Briggs shook his head. "But all the reports are the same. Man with a gas mask and two hooks swords. Whoever this guy is, we need to bring him in."

The man with the cap shrugged. "That's one less criminal on the streets."

"That may be so, Officer Stryker," Briggs replied. "But that doesn't change the fact that this man is killing people. In one month, we've found ten men killed by a man with the same description." He took a seat in his chair. "Now, if this man were to keep these criminals alive, then I'd give him my full backing. However, I'd still have to bring him in. Vigilantism is illegal."

The blindfolded man spoke up. "So a guy is going around killing people. This man is also wearing a mask, and carries… what was it again?"

"Hook swords," Stryker commented.

"Thank you. A guy wearing a mask and carrying around hook swords. And I'm guessing you want us to bring him in?"

Briggs nodded in confirmation. "I'm not asking you. The commissioner is."

All three men shared a look of disgust. While they would never go to the public with this, they all hated the commissioner. Commissioner Gor Roh is corrupt to the core. He is the reason most criminals walk instead of serving their deserved times. He's got half the judges paid off from money given to him by the Rain. Hell, if they did go to the press about half the known crimes Gor Roh has committed, he'd just pound them into the dirt. Built like a linebacker, but with added steroids, he could kill anyone on this force bare handed. With all of the brown nosing he did, there is not any wonder as to how he got to be the commissioner.

Stryker asked, "And when do we begin?"

"Tomorrow," Briggs replied. "Tonight, you two can leave." He glanced at the clock. 7:55. "It's late, anyways. Get some rest. It's going to be a busy day."

Stryker nodded, and stood up. "Come on, Kenshi."

The man with the blindfold followed Stryker out the door, politely shutting it behind them. Briggs ran his hand over his head again, sighing to himself.

Outside of the building, Kenshi and Stryker were walking down the street. Stryker said, "I don't why we can't just take a bus. I have the money. And tokens."

"Buses are loud and annoying. You know how I get around loud noises," Kenshi replied.

"Clearly you've never heard yourself snore," Stryker mumbled.

"You do realize I can hear you, right?"

"…I'll never get used to that, will I?"

Kenshi shrugged. "Doubt it."

Stryker sighed. "Yeah. Hey, what are we having for supper?"

"It's your apartment, you find something to eat."

"Yeah, well-." Strker was interrupted when someone walking by bumped into him.

The man mumbled something, but kept walking. Adorned on his person was a brown trench coat, with his hands stuffed into his pocket. His short, black hair billowed in the wind. Stryker narrowed his eyes. Kenshi asked, "What?"

"Nothing. Guy's just a dick. Didn't even apologize."

"Yes, actually, he did. He just mumbled it."

Stryker scoffed. "Could've said it louder for the people who can't hear a pin drop in an IMAX theatre."

"Please, I can hear a pin drop during a Nuclear blast," Kenshi retorted.

"Have you ever tried that?"

"No, but that's the magic of hyperbole. It's supposed to be an exaggeration. That's the point," Kenshi replied.

They walked in silence for a few more minutes before Stryker asked, "You know what I don't get?"

"What?"

"How does Johnny Cage still get work?"

"I have no idea who that is."

"Exactly."