It had been two years. Two years since Rick had taken him under his wing, showing him how to survive. "Kuon," Rick had said, "You're too weak. We've gotta stick together 'cause we're alone out here."

Rick was a tough teacher – too tough, Kuon sometimes thought. There had been times when Kuon had to refuse Rick's suggestions. When Rick had asked him to kill the defenseless chicken dubbed 'Brian', Kuon couldn't bring himself to hurt the innocent creature. Somehow, whenever he even considered it, the round, beaming face of a little girl with pigtails popped into mind. At least for her, and her belief in the goodness of 'Corn', Kuon would not kill the bird.

Yet, there were other times when Rick's rough, demanding nature were welcomed. Rick had given him his first beer. Kuon had tried alcoholic beverages before at the numerous parties his parents were invited to, but he wasn't used to the bitter taste of the beer. Yet, the second time Rick offered some, he welcomed the drink – it took his mind off of whatever else was going on at the time. Rick had taught him to smoke as well. Somehow, Kuon found, since he began smoking, his usual bullies tended to keep their distance. It was probably as Rick said - smoking made him less of a chicken. Rick had even let Kuon have a go in his old car a few times, teaching him some daring maneuvers.

Then, there was the fighting. Kuon was already skilled at many forms of the martial arts, courtesy of his father and numerous teachers. But, his conscience kept him from using the knowledge of martial arts against his tormentors. So, Rick had taught him how to fight. "Assess your opponents first – don't be too cocky," Rick had said, "Though I've never lost a fight, I still have to watch my back." The second rule was to watch your opponent, anticipating their next move. To Kuon, this seemed the most important, as most often he was younger and smaller than his harassers. He had to be nimble – and smart.

But now, after two years under Rick's tutelage, Kuon had finally gotten Rick's nod of approval. Next time around, Kuon was determined that he would not let himself be pushed to the ground – they had given him hell, and now he could return the favor. Especially him, the actor. Ever since Kuon had been given the spot in the film that they had both been vying for, he had become violent.

"Those eyes, that hair. None of it is something you've earned."

"There isn't a place for the likes of you here."

"A fucking Jap that can't get a job without your looks and blood."

"We wouldn't even give you room for your foot."

When they insulted him, Kuon could take it – he was used to being oppressed. And, Kuon thought with a growing bitterness, it wasn't as though they were wrong, either; countless directors had said much the same as they fired him: "You're not like your father." No, Kuon knew he wasn't like Kuu. But why should that mean he was no good? Kuon couldn't wait for the day he could stand on his own feet as an actor due to his own hard work and talent.

However, it was when he and his cronies started to insult his parents that Kuon couldn't stand idle.

"You and your kind should go back where you belong. I'll bet the legendary Kuu Hizuri's just the same. Dying his hair blond? Who does he think he is?"

"Oh, she's the one that gave you that hair. But then, isn't she a Commie? That's no good either."

It was at times like these that Kuon would clench his fists at his sides. "YOU DON'T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT MY PARENTS!" Sure, Kuu had dyed his hair blond. But that he was ashamed of his natural hair color was the furthest from the truth. Rather, he wanted to blend in with his family. Then there was Julie – Kuon's grandmother, his babushka, had grown up in the Soviet Union, but had been deported as a child because her family had been kulaks, independent farmers deemed enemies of the rising Russian Empire. His babushka's family then moved to the United States, where Julie had been born. Nowadays, since Julie's extended family was so large, they were rarely able to meet at reunions, and Julie hadn't been able to teach Kuon much more than the Russian language. Both Kuu and Julie had overcome hardships to reach their current success, and Kuon couldn't let him tarnish their names.

It was several weeks before Kuon's 16th birthday. He had finally landed a major role in an upcoming television series, and today had been the first day of filming. When he had first relayed the news to his parents, Kuon couldn't help but grin at the proud look on Kuu's face. For that night, everything had seemed normal again, like the times before Kuon had begun to feel the crushing pressure to surpass his father in acting. But today, it had all come crashing down when he had gotten in an argument with the director again. It was just another job to add to the tally; apparently it wasn't just girlfriends that he kept losing.

Kuon had opted to walk home that night from the set. He knew it wasn't the best idea to walk the streets of L.A. alone at this time of night, but a tiny part of Kuon was hoping he would run into some kind of trouble. His blood was still boiling with anger at the director's words, the jeering looks from the rest of the cast. If anyone, just anyone –

"Hey, you!" called a familiar voice from an alleyway.

Kuon turned, heart thumping in anticipation. He narrowed his eyes, "What?"

He stepped forward with a grin, followed by five others. It was a different group from before, but Kuon knew they were all the same. He glanced back at his cronies with a leer, "Looks like our little Jap is eager for a fight! What're you gonna do without your protector, Jap? Why don't you run home now while you can? But … that wouldn't be any fun, now would it?"

Kuon looked down at his feet. "You're right."

"I … I wha-?"

"You're right," Kuon said again, "That wouldn't be any fun." Then Kuon looked back up into his eyes. But it wasn't Kuon staring at him.

He, who was not Kuon, grinned.

There was never even a competition. It seemed that wherever Kuon was, he wasn't the next moment. And wherever he wasn't, he immediately was. He had run off soon into the fight, desperate to save face. Kuon let him go – he could get him later.

It wasn't much later that the others stood, panting for breath, nursing black eyes and cut lips, barely supporting one another. Kuon stood before them, knuckles bruised and covered in blood. It didn't matter anyway – it wasn't his blood.

"I … I have already apologized to you," said the largest one, "We were the ones too arrogant. I said it. We … we will never get on your nerves again, ever!"

Kuon tilted his head to the side, considering him. What was this emmental idiot talking about, he wondered. Why would one speak so stupidly when they are about to die?

"I didn't understand a single word," Kuon said, "I couldn't understand a single word you say. After all, the blood that flows through my veins is what you people call 'dirty Japanese blood', right? I don't understand English very well. Don't you guys know?" With a sadistic grin, he pointed to his head and continued, "We Japanese aren't very good with English." Kuon lunged forwards again.

Within the next minute, Kuon stood alone in the middle of the road. The big guy from before was slumped unconscious among a heap of broken bottles. Kuon staggered backwards slightly, looking impassively at the face of the man whose blood flowed from his nostrils. Kuon walked forward and raised his foot.

"KUON!" a voice yelled, "KUON! STOP IT!". Rick ran across the street, grasping Kuon's shoulder tightly. Rick's girlfriend, Tina, remained across the street, covering her eyes from the grotesque scene before her. "He's already unconscious! Are you trying to kill him?!"

"Oh …" Kuon muttered. He didn't quite understand what Rick was talking about. Wasn't he doing as Rick said? Killing the chicken inside himself?

The sudden whoosh of someone running caught their attentions, and both turned to see a man push Tina aside as he ran, "Out of my way!"

"ARGH!" Tina yelled as she fell.

"TINA!" Rick yelled.

But Kuon wasn't focused on Tina, rather, on the back of the figure running away. That suit, that matted, dirty-blonde hair … it was him. Kuon didn't think twice about it. He grinned and dashed after him. It was finally time.

"KUON! WAIT! KUON!" Rick's voice was yelling, but Kuon ignored him. "STOP! STOP, KUON!"

There was a sudden thud, and the sound of screeching brakes. Kuon turned, stopping in his tracks. Rick was falling, body twisting in the air and blood pouring from his mouth. There was another softer thud as his body hit the ground. The car that had stopped suddenly sped away, swerving with a cracked windshield.

There was a bloodcurdling shriek as Tina yelled, "NOOOOOOO!"

Kuon stood, eyes wide and frozen with shock. Through the pounding in his ears he could hear Tina screaming, "Rick! Don't! Please! Please! Rick! Don't die!"

Kuon's body began to tremble. There was nothing he could do but watch as Rick's blood flowed red out onto the street, a stark contrast to the black asphalt. If the blood wasn't stopped, Kuon thought vaguely, it would all bleed away.

Though he was several yards away, Kuon could feel Rick's cold blood flowing to his shoes, rising to his ankles, spattering across his clothes. The blood on his knuckles, Kuon now understood, actually belonged to Rick.

"I won't forgive you, even until the day you die …" Kuon heard Tina cry, clutching Rick's head to her chest, "Why … why? Why does Rick have to be the one to suffer?! This is all your fault … !"

Kuon felt frozen as she spoke. As the blood rose up his clothes, so did the darkness. He could feel the darkness overcome him as he grew colder. Kuon … he wasn't Kuon. Who was he?

"If only you didn't exist, then Rick wouldn't have to suffer! If only he had nothing to do with you …! If only Rick hadn't met you, then he wouldn't have to die," Tina shrieked, "you murderer … You should have died in place of Rick! MURDERER!"

Yes, Kuon's mind thought hazily. Yes. He should die instead. That's what this darkness was. If he, Kuon, succumbed … if he, Kuon, let himself grow cold … would Rick come back? Was that why Rick's blood was rising to cover his clothes? Kuon wasn't sure. All he saw was the blood, the darkness. Perhaps it wouldn't happen now, but eventually … eventually the darkness would cover his head and surround him completely. Then there would no longer be a Kuon Hizuri. Yes, that was best.

A/N: Thanks for the suggestions from one Guest reviewer! I can't promise I'll get to all your requests, but I'll do my best!

I was writing about a lot of things I don't personally have any experience in throughout this chapter, so please let me know if it seemed realistic. Thanks!