One of the greatest truths universally acknowledged among all Drive users is that all life began with a single point. In the instance this singularity traveled in a straightforward path, all matters of sentient things sprang forth. Creatures such as us. Although human beings are resistant to change, all things follow the ever-flowing constancy that first created man in the first place, no matter how unaware they might seem. And as much as we hate to admit it in our steadfast longing to remain grounded in what makes us happy, so long as this infinity courses throughout space and time, life will continue to rapidly progress with or without us. Eras will rise and fall. Man shall inevitably be driven by their pursuits, needs, desires, and temptations. And yes, even something as dark as revenge. These are the purest form of Drive — that infinite line — of which manifests the truest nature of ourselves.

Master Espoir, Scripture 1:11 of the Pulsus Perennis

Derelict buildings lined the street, merging into an array of colorful lights in the downtown area. An air transport whirred overhead, passing over a busy food market filled with flashing neon lights on buildings, crowds chattering indistinctly, steam, and food sizzling on large fryers. In the backseat of the transport was a man sporting a lime green jacket. Two big, black arrows curved over the shoulders, pointing to his chest. Taking in the view, he sighed; wondering when he'd finally see the local gang members go passing by unaware that he had returned from the army to exterminate them all. He'd taken many paths before in life, good and bad, but none of them could amount to the horror he was bound to unleash on the gangs in Paris.

Despite his twisted ambitions bogging him down, the arrow man would have found his little trip through the air to be a smooth, enjoyable ride were it not for two eyes in the driver's seat peeping at him in the rearview mirror. He'd caught him glancing a few times, irking him to no end.

Keep your eyes in your fucking head or lose them. Your choice. Those were the words he wanted to say, but held his tongue for the sake of not wasting his energy.

"So, uh…what's your name?" the driver asked.

The arrow man stared out the window at a purple gradient blending into the midnight sky as he leaned against the door of the transport. "Moncestierre, if you must know."

"Oh. You in one of those gangs, Moncestierre? That is...judging by your appearance and all, I thought maybe you were running with one o' them."

Moncestierre clenched his teeth at the very mention of those thugs. Insulting how someone actually mistook him for a member of those groups. The audacity. The volume of his gravelly voice raised and he pointed a condemning finger at the cab driver. "For your information, you brown-nosing bastard, I'm a legionnaire! Not some piece of shit gangbanger, you got that?! So don't go categorizing me as one of those murderers based on a stupid-ass assumption like that! You don't know the first goddamn thing about me!"

It was as though the clapback hadn't fazed him one bit as the driver's brows raised and he looked back at Moncestierre in the rearview mirror. "Whoa-ho! The Legion?! Nahhh, you're shittin' me! Must be serious business for you to step foot outside the capital like this. I mean, if you are part of some gang, it's fine! You can tell me, I won't rat on ya to the Prefecture." He coughed into his balled fist and continued talking as if Moncestierre cared about each sentence spewing from his mouth. "Y'know, my cousin ran with a gang once. He got all the cocaine he wanted. 'Course, as a cop at the time, I had to bring him in for possession of drug paraphernalia. Doesn't mean I didn't keep some of that shit for myself, if you catch my drift, heheheh!"

Can this man ever shut up? Moncestierre sat there begrudgingly listening to him drone on about useless information. He'd sooner stick his head in a toilet and flush than take part in this lame conversation. "What a loser," the taxi driver rambled, "well, more for me. Not long after he went to jail, the prefects replaced me with an A.I. of all things. Tch. Goddamn scraps...world would be a better place without them. Hahaha! Am I right?"

Affronted by the driver's racial remarks, a seething hot ire burned in Moncestierre's eyes. How dare he look down on the people who made the conscious decision to toss aside their humanity for the greater good! This ignorant fuck, what did he know?! Silence took the place of the driver's incessant rambling. Below them seemed pretty empty for the time being. Looked like a good place for Moncestierre to make his leave; it wasn't his destination, but it would suffice. Anything but being cooped up in a vehicle with someone this annoying.

After the air transport landed securely on the side of the street, Moncestierre made his exit from the vehicle, about to walk off when the driver shouted for him.

"Aren't you going to pay me for the lift?"

Moncestierre turned his leery gaze back to the cab, feigning an innocent, though disingenuous, smile. "Sure thing." He took out a square drive from his jacket pocket and handed it to the cab driver. Giving a nod of approval, the driver inserted the device into a slot on the dash. Whether that truly was easier as opposed to ancient ways was always an interesting topic. Physical money had been rendered obsolete some thousand years ago. Ping. Grinning, he handed the drive back to Moncestierre and he pressed his elbow to the console, waving goodbye.

"Well, see ya around."

Moncestierre stood by on the sidewalk, taking a whiff of the night air as the transport began to make its ascent. As it drifted away, something peculiar — something gold, and in the shape of an arrow-cross — stuck to the cab driver's arm, disappearing from the console. By now the transport was already miles high and steady climbing. There were places to go, people to pick up, and odd-ball conversations to be had with the passengers.

From up that high, it looked like a tiny dot. Inexplicably, it began to swerve recklessly in mid-air. Going left, then right. Next thing he knew, the transport was plummeting to the ground. On collision, the street went up in a blazing conflagration, the firelight reflecting off the pupils of his eyes as his ebony hair blew on a breeze.

"If there's one thing I hate, it's bigotry." Moncestierre began to make his way opposite of the burning blaze and screams coming from up the street. "The only thing that tops that are these biker gangs." He stopped, looking up at a monitor on one of the buildings adjacent to him.

Violent images displayed all-out war: gunfire, grenades, the whole she-bang. It was as if he was back serving France on the frontlines in World War 4. Look at them all. Ruthless criminal scum ruining the lives of innocent people like his family. Just as they did to his little boy.

An ill-conceived anchorman by the name of Iommi Legrand hadn't realized they'd gone live as he sprayed nasal decongestant up his nose. His hair was crimson, gelled back with sprigs neatly poking upward throughout. There was a faint, white shimmer to his gray business suit. The studio went awkwardly silent just after the news intro finished; to their ever-recurring flabbergastedness, Iommi's face twisted. His mouth opened wide, partly diagonal as his opened eyes rolled up with his lifted brows. "Aughh..." He blew his nose into a handkerchief and looked into it with a scrunched face. "Ooh, that's concerning. Hey, uh, Steve," he said to the anchorman next to him, "what does it mean when your snot's green? That's bad, right?"

A woman barely made a whisper, the slight sound of her mouth clicking with saliva as she mouthed: You're live!

Iommi's face blanked, noting her hands waving and the inaudible live mouthed through the look of horror. "What? Oh. Oh!" He cleared his throat, pocketed his nasal spray, and composed himself. Iommi straightened his tie and forced a smug smile as if he hadn't committed faux pas in the first place. He laced his fingers together and placed his hands on the desk, speaking through his stuffiness. "Good evening, Paris. I'm Iommi Legrand."

"And I'm Steve Ennui."

Iommi smiled. "And you're watching INN - Idol News Network at 11. Earlier today, citizens of Rue de L'espoir Vide bore witness to one of Paris's most shocking gang activities this side of the capital. Fourty-three people have been pronounced dead with gunshot wounds to the face, chest, and pelvic region. Though what can only be described as severe radiation burns were also uncovered as local officials formed their investigation. Reports say the gunfire began around 3:00 p.m. this afternoon, though what sparked the incident currently remains under inspection. According to the Préfet de Police, there has actually been numerous concerns of strange phenomena occurring in Skid Row as of late, as if crime rates being at an all-time high wasn't bad enough, am I right, Steve?"

"Seems gang violence is all the rage in the outer districts these days." commented Steve. "Not that it comes as a surprise."

Iommi replied imprudently, "Well, that's the hierarchy of Paris for you, Steve. You keep the trash," he made a pushing gesture as he emphasized his speech, "outside the capital. 'Cause if you mix the classes together, you have a heterogenous catastrophe. Nobody's safe. That's why the androids thrive here so much. You don't have the working class rioting through the streets, demanding the A.I.s give their jobs back. That's why the city is structured this way."

Iommi's team rolled their eyes. One of the members behind the camera shook their head, making a neck cutting gesture.

Moncestierre groaned, tiring of Iommi's prattling. Could he just get to the point already?

"Know what I'm sayin'?" Iommi asked Steve, who nodded along with a casual yeah. "Because the working class have this...hatred...for androids. And they always have. So, what? My uncle lost his leg in a freak accident, and got a cyber prosthetic. Are you gonna hate him, too? Pfft. Come on. There are jobs out there, don't be daft." Iommi finally glimpsed his team desperately urging him to shut up. He seated himself as a professional, clearing his throat. "Our reporter, Trisha Clé, took to the streets of Skid Row to ask the residents about their concerns this evening. Though the responses were...well, let's face it...not as unsual as the everyday Parisian would think. I mean, come on. It's Skid Row we're talking about."

The camera footage cut to an interview with one of the local residents of Skid Row. An older woman in a bathrobe took a drag from her cigarette as a cyan snake nonchalantly hung from her shoulder, and slithered along her arm. Its eyes were a striking hue of magenta.

"I was just sitting there painting my toenails." the woman spoke in a frail voice. Her white, ungazing eyes stared off in a completely different direction of the camera. "Then this gunfire just came out of nowhere. I thought I was in one of those simulations kids these days play. We never did any of that when we were young. Why, my generation were reclusive little shits - sitting in their room all day, talking shit on social media." She took a drag from her cigarette and blew smoke from her nostrils.

The interviewer, Trisha, chuckled awkwardly. "What about the mass shooting earlier, madame? What are your concerns? Weren't you scared?"

The woman flashed a crooked-toothed smile and laughed, dabbing ash on the ground as the snake's physical form faded out of sight. "Are you kidding? Me and my girlfriends were taking bets on who would hit the asphalt next. Screw bingo night. Sign me up for the next turf war, baby!"

Turning slowly to the cameraman, Trisha stared back into the camera speechless and pale with embarrassment. Just then, one of the dangling light fixtures from the damaged streetlight crashed to the pavement.

Just standing there watching the report made Moncestierre sick. Every bit of what he was seeing only served as a painful reminder of what he once had, and now was lost because of these criminals running amok. His fist clenched and a welling emotion built up inside of his chest, climbing to his throat. Images of his little boy flashed through his mind like a projector at a theater playing a motion picture on the big screen. In his memories, he was reliving the past. The past that was ripped from his grasp and shredded to bits by these heartless bastards.

Iommi's voice pulled him away from his painful memories, bringing his attention back to the screen. And it was as though he was meant to hear what was being said. Images of three young men in the midst of action were captured and plastered all across the news report for the world to see. God damn the 240p resolution! He wanted something more clear, dammit! Then Moncestierre froze, watching with wide eyes as the images swapped over to mugshots that had recently been taken of the trio within the past few years.

Name: Léon Polnareff. A young man of slim muscular build, indigo eyes, and combed up, spiky silver hair. He was wearing a black, denim jacket with a broken heart emblem on the back, as well as a red choker; showing no fear in giving authority a bras d' honneur gesture.

Name: Tenmei Kakyoin. Another young man with a cheery smile, cherry-red bangs poking up in the air, and a cloth hunter-green band around his forehead with diagonal gold stripes. If the photograph had shown his feet, people would know he wore mismatched shoes. The soles and shoestrings on the shoe were goldenrod-yellow, while the shoe itself was green. On the other, it was the opposite.

The last one had a more reasonable expression on his face — deadpan. Name: Abbas Avdol. He had long, sable dreadlocks, and stunning amber eyes. From the waist up in the photo, he was donning a vibrant, purple vest with silver chains hooking across his bare chest.

Moncestierre's eyes were glued to the pictures, taking in every last detail as was possible with photographic memory.

Iommi took out his nasal decongestant and resprayed it up his nostril. "Auuughhh, whew! If you or anyone you know have any information regarding the three murder- I mean individuals in these photographs, contact your local authorities immediately. You're watching Paris's Idol News Network. This is Iommi Legrand -"

"And Steve Ennui." he chimed in.

"Will you just shut up and let me say it?!" Iommi hissed at Steve. He then side-eyed the camera and cleared his throat, feigning a smile. "Signing off. Goodnight."

So, these three boys. It could be any one of them. Maybe all three. Someone in a gang murdered his son and Moncestierre was bound and determined to weed out each and every last one.

"Rue de L'espoir Vide…" he mused, thinking he could gather some clues from there. "...the street of empty hope." Maybe he'd plant some more arrow-crosses for if they ever came through that part of town again. Most likely. And if they did, they'd be on a one-way biking trip to hell.

A triad of laughter filled the nearly empty gas station parking lot, while a stray cat was poking around the dumpsters. There was a red tint in the indigo sky, stars twinkling above the city as the three sat around on the seats of their motorcycles taking in the night air, and enjoying each other's company.

"Whew!" came Avdol's voice as he took a shot from a metal flask. Judging by the look on his face, the drink in question had a particular kick to it he didn't care for. He winced, pressed his lips together, and shook his head handing the flask over to Léon. "I don't see how you drink that shit!"

Léon retrieved it, snickering at him. Damn, he loved getting these kind of reactions from people. "What, too stout?" he asked.

"Nah, it's just…ugh…" Avdol shuddered. "I'll stick to tea and Company B beverages, thank you very much."

Léon chuffed. "Wuss."

"Speak for yourself, Roxette."

Amidst their conversation, Tenmei was sitting on his bike, his fingers clacking away on a keyboard. Thin, translucent lines forming a cube projected a flat image of two video game characters duking it out in a fight. The image would appear to be the same no matter what side the person was standing on. Tenmei's face was focused. He couldn't talk right now, there were much more important matters at hand, like actually beating his neighbor in a battle tournament.

Léon's eyes came wide open. The very mention of Roxette's name made him choke on the beverage in his hand. Liquid splattered on the concrete as he coughed. Trying to speak over his wheezing, he sat back up scowling viciously. "Who the fuck told you…" he demanded.

Avdol laughed. "Your sister."

Of course she did. "Sherry…" Léon squeezed the flask in his hand and pursed his lips. "I told her not to tell anyone about that. Look, I'm over her, alright? Now let's drop it." Léon turned up his flask and took a long sip.

Laughter rumbled in Avdol's chest as he shook his head and closed his eyes. "Ohhh, Léon, you kill me." A moment of silence formed between them, allowing them to hear the city sounds in the distance: whirring transports, sirens, and faint — very faint — music from one of the nearby clubs. "Well, I'd better be getting home. I need to check on my grandfather."

Léon's face was less condemning as he raised his head and looked Avdol's way. "Oh, yeah. How is he?"

"Doing good." Avdol said, though the look in his eyes said differently. Léon didn't fully believe him, but he didn't feel it was best to pry. "Alright. See you guys tomorrow."

"Later." Léon said, "Don't run over anybody."

Avdol turned the ignition on his bike. "Don't worry," he said with a cheeky smile, "I'm not reckless like you." With that he twisted the throttle and eased out of the parking lot. Léon tried to shout over the engine, but Avdol was already pulling out onto the highway and heading home. The engine roared off down the road, leaving Léon to sit there and relish in the tranquil silence.

It was relaxing just sitting there smoking a cigarette and listening to Tenmei's fingers clack away at the keys. "Come onnnn…" he urged, as if the characters could hear him. "...yes…no…no! Noooo! " Gripping his hair in defeat, Tenmei shot up to a standing position on his bike and threw his head back, wailing. "I was soooo clooooose!" He slouched back onto his seat and stared at the game with a sulky look on his face.

Poor guy. Always taking his games so seriously. Léon just looked at him. The thought of striking up a conversation about the match came to mind, but what was he supposed to say? Tenmei pouted, sticking the console back in his backpack and zipping it up in a sullen manner. Léon took one last drag of his cigarette and put it out on his motorcycle before tossing it to the ground. He recalled how his maman was always getting on his case for leaving cigarette butts floating in plastic cups, or littering the front yard back at their apartment complex. "

"Shit, that reminds me. I gotta get a new ashtray." He'd misplaced the last one in his junky room not too long ago, and hadn't made a point to stop procrastinating about cleaning it yet. Sitting there on his bike, listening to the city ambience, he noted the sound of Tenmei's stomach gurgling. Hell, he was feeling pretty hungry himself, actually. Then Léon had an idea.

"Hey, Tenmei."

Tenmei glanced up.

"You hungry?"

He nodded, folding his arms over his stomach. "I was hoping we could stop by Cherry Bomb Cafe, but I think they're closed now. It's already eleven o'clock."

Léon checked his account on his banking tablet. Spending the last of his currents felt pretty tempting as he stared at the amount. If he was going to spend it, he couldn't spend much. His maman needed help paying off the debt his stepdad keeps sinking them into. Fucking asshole. But it was a gas station. Food in there shouldn't be that pricey. Pocketing his tablet, he gave Tenmei a pat to the shoulder, smiling reassuringly.

"Just stay here." he said. "I'll be right back."

He strolled across the parking lot and into the gas station, his eyes adjusting to his reflection on the glass door before entering. The bell dinged and he traipsed through one of the aisles, crouching in front of a box of pastries with cherry filling. If he knew Tenmei, he'd eat it for sure. Léon heard the bell over the door ring again. Did Tenmei come inside? He peeked his head over the aisle to get a look and see.

Standing near the entrance was a lanky man wearing a lime green jacket that had black arrows all over it, pointing in different directions. The sleeves were cut out, showing off his arms and the skull tattoos trailing down to his wrist. Half of his head was shaved with a nearly bald patch styled over his ear in the shape of a bulky arrow. Léon eyed him for a minute, then resumed finding a snack for Tenmei and him.

Moncestierre quietly stepped around the store, moving things around on the shelves like he was interested, but kept putting everything he thought he wanted back. It was hard trying not to pay it any mind, as it was beginning to make Léon feel a bit unsettled. Mostly because he was on the aisle just behind him. Nah, probably just anxiety. He shook it off and looked on the shelf for the price tags. Reading the tag, he scoffed.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" he whispered to himself. "1200 U's for a bag of candy?" He added up both prices in his head coming roughly to 1652 currents for all of it. He couldn't believe this price gouging shit. Wages had been increasing drastically since he was a kid. Hell, since the 29th century even. By now, 100 currents was the equivalent of 1. Something as simple as a bag of candy costing 1200 was ridiculous. "Man, fuck that." He placed them back on the shelf and went to stand up. In his periphery, he noticed someone standing there.

Léon's blood stilled like ice. Moncestierre's black hair cascaded over one of his eyes, keeping it a complete secret, but the other glared at him. If they were knives, they'd cut right through him. He swore it. Léon stared for a minute, unnerved and ready to get the hell out of there. So he broke eye-contact and walked away, still feeling the man's eyes on him. What a fucking weirdo.

The more Léon scoured the aisles for cheap snacks, his bladder made him antsy. He needed to hurry up. Tenmei was waiting for him. Crossing his legs together, he tried to rush himself and pick something. But what about the prices? If he just picked any ole thing, he could possibly risk spending too much. Ah, fuck it!

Léon dashed to the back of the store, looking for the men's bathroom. He'd just be quick about it then he'd find something else. No big deal. He was pretty sure Tenmei wouldn't care. Approaching one of the urinals, Léon unzipped his pants and did his business, doing his best to ignore the smell wafting from one of the stalls. The bathroom door squeaked open, closing back with a loud creak, then clicked shut.

"You better not stand next to me, asshole…" Léon muttered, not bothering to look their way.

Boots clomped across the tile, making their way over to the urinal furthest from Léon. Thank god. Léon shifted his eyes, turning his head just slightly to get a glimpse of the man that walked in. When he perceived the same black arrows on a sleeveless, lime green jacket, he rolled his eyes.

Not this weirdo again.

It's fine. It's fine. He'll just finish his business and leave, then he won't have a damn thing to worry about. Moncestierre sauntered just behind him, bumping his shoulder on his way to the sinks to wash his hands. It was enough to foment anger. Not even so much as a sorry? Léon leered over at him, internally daring him to start something with him. Prick. Now that Léon was finished, he could get out of there and back outside. Or so he thought until he took a small step back on something gold. But it didn't make a sound. It disappeared under his boot like it was never there. L éon went to zip his zipper up. He was pulling the zipper down. So, he kept trying to do the opposite. Still, the same result.

"What the fuck…" Léon said, his brows furrowed. "...why is this happening?"

Again, he tried to pull the zipper up, but it just went the opposite direction. In the midst of his bemusement, Moncestierre snickered. What the hell was so damn funny? It was like fuel to Léon's present irritation. Like poking a swollen abscess only to make the swelling worse. "The fuck you laughin' at?"

Moncestierre rinsed his hands under the sink faucet with his back turned to Léon. "Having trouble with your pants?" Slowly, he turned his head, eyeing him over his shoulder.

"Man, fuck you." Léon went back to struggling with the zipper. He pulled for a minute more then gave up, feeling he was just going to get it stuck in the fabric if he kept doing that. "What the actual hell is wrong with me?!"

"Why don't you use your left hand?" Moncestierre suggested, standing ominously against the counter. There was something really off about him. His aura emitted danger signs left and right — no pun intended.

Léon questioned it for a second. Why did it matter which hand he used? It was a zipper. Plus it felt kind of weird standing there with his fly down in front of a creepy guy that he assumed was following him. Definitely not what he expected to be doing tonight. Well, whatever. If moving his left hand mattered, he'd try it. He went to move his left hand as Moncestierre suggested he do, but instead, he moved his right hand a little too swiftly, smacking it right into the urinal. He cried out in pain. Naturally, he'd hold it close to his chest.

Dumb idea. Trying to reach for his pained hand with the other only led to more knee-jerk reactions with his arms. A weight of dread sank in his stomach like lead as his face deepened in confusion. "What the fuck…?"

Moncestierre stood by casually, amused at the show unfolding before him. Thankfully, Léon's eyes and neck were unaffected by whatever this power consuming him was. He looked at the devil adorned in arrows, mouth parted. No. No! This couldn't be what he thought it was. Why this? Why now? He hated these encounters with a passion.

"What the fuck did you do to me?" Léon snarled. If his gut was right, then Moncestierre was a sinister character out to get him for some inexplicable reason.

Fire burned in Moncestierre's eyes. "People like you took everything from me. Everything!"

Léon's face expressed incredulity. People like him? What the hell was this fucking weirdo going on about?

With a swift motion, Moncestierre kneed Léon in the gut, and grabbed a fistful of his hair, yanking his head up to get a good look at who he was about to kill. The wind was knocked right out of him. It hurt so much to breathe. Léon couldn't even look at him for the excruciating discomfort he was enduring. What the hell was he doing, he had to fight back. Let a piece of shit like him do him in? Not a chance.

"It was people like you that killed my wife and son. You drew first blood." Moncestierre elucidated. Tears were beginning to form in the corners of his eyes as he got all choked up. "I enlisted in the Seven Nation Army many years ago to serve in the war. All I wanted was to get my family the benefits they deserved. Then they had to be at the wrong place, at the wrong time. I...I just wanted them happy! Now look at me!"

Léon watched him in horror as Moncestierre reached up to his cheekbone and began peeling his skin away from his bones. Wait. Not bones. There was a metallic luster underneath the epidermis. Flesh stripped away, revealing a fully round ocular attached to a metal skull. Circuitry was visible in some places, spurring a numbing fear to cultivate inside of Léon. Moncestierre let the skin covering hang loosely from his face as if to make a contrast between one side and the other. Man and machine.

"You see?" Moncestierre's palm came up to his metal cheek, not quite touching it. "I am less a man now than I was before I enlisted. I became this to give my little boy the future he deserved. You took that away from me! " He brought out a pocket knife, springing the blade.

"H-h-hey! Hey!" Léon's eyes were glued to the knife in his hand, a lump forming in his throat. "Listen, asshole, I haven't killed anyone!"

"Liar! Your face is all over the news. You and your thug friends took part in that shootout today, so don't bother lying your way out of this one."

"What the fuck are you talking about? We weren't even there!"

"Save it. This is for my son. This is all for you, mon garçon! "

The entire time he'd been spouting off about his son and how he became some android, Léon had the time to think about his condition. If initially signaling to his left arm that he wanted to move meant he'd be moving the right arm instead, then it could only mean one thing. His brain was sending inverted signals! Which means if he had any chance of escaping, he had to make the opposite movement to get the desired action.

Moncestierre plunged his knife towards Léon's face, sure he'd be finished with him in no time. Then he felt something clasp around his wrist, thwarting his attack. Léon's hand. Moncestierre's face contorted in shock. "What?!"

"Fucking dipshit." Léon said, his indigo eyes gravely looking back into his. "It's not like your power is impossible to figure out. Tricky, yes. But not impossible. Did you think I'd really just sit here and let you carve me like a rotisserie chicken? Détrompez-vous, connard. "

Moncestierre's horrified eyes shifted over to his hand. Or what used to be one. Everything from Léon's hand down to Moncestierre's fingers had been transformed into a thick wad of goop. He lifted his smooshy stump, stuttering. His breath quickened. The more-human eye bulged in utter terror. " What the fuck is this?!"

"Oh, so when I use my stand on you, suddenly it's wrong and you want me to make it stop. Shoe's on the other foot now, dickhead. Except, unlike a prick like you, I'm not going to waste time beating around the bush about my stand's ability. I turned your wrist into clay, and that knife of yours while I was at it. But you know, that's not all my stand, Rebel Yell, can do."

Moncestierre gulped, still horrified at what he'd done to his hand. Léon thought to himself to move backwards, and went to physically do so, allowing him to move forward and crawl away from the enemy. He managed to bring himself into a kneeling position, resting one arm over his knee. Ghosting into plain sight by Léon's side was a vermillion ifrit with glowing yellow-white glyphs on its face and body. Its eyes were solid black save for hot-red, vertical pupils. Tufts of brown fur rounded the base of its horns and around its neck.

"It can do this." Léon went to move his right arm, moving the other in its place. Fingers softened, flattening into one great big patty and reshaping itself into a sticky clump. Sharp clay broke through the globs of skin, thickening and hardening into brick. Léon's fingers formed, and he rolled his weaponized hand into a fist, drawing the brick, daggered knuckles up to his chin. "See what you made me do? Bet you're thinking you really fucked up now."

Rebel Yell reverted Moncestierre's hand back to normal, the knife still gripped tightly in his hand like before. He couldn't just kick his ass and not give the pitiful bastard a fighting chance. Where's the fun in that? His half man-half machine face was struck bewildered by Rebel Yell's ability. "Who are you?" Moncestierre just had to ask. "Are you another android? Is that why you have this ability?"

What the fuck...? What do machines have to do with stand users? Also, what difference did it make who he was? Whatever. "Look, I'm really starting to get sick and tired of dealing with scumbags like you every time I need to take a piss! Think you can cut me with that butter knife? Fucking do it then! My face is right here."

Moncestierre brandished his blade, getting into a fighting stance. "Have it your way, connard arrogant."

Fool. Well, okay then. If he just had to do things the hard way, so be it. The two locked eyes, one studying the other as they anticipated what moves they were going to make. Thinking it'd be best to leap forward rather than back to dodge the blade aiming for his midriff, Léon jumped forward with the intent to do so clear in his mind. The knife made a swish, missing him as he hopped backwards. Again, the two warily circled each other. God, it felt weird stepping to one side only to step in the other direction. Weird and annoying. Léon lunged his fist towards Moncestierre's face. The wrong fist. Shit! He had every intention to aim directly for the chin, not his stomach.

Grabbing a hold of Léon's wrist, Moncestierre seized the opportunity and sunk his knife into Léon's shoulder.

"Baise moi!" he hollered. God dammit! I got carried away. This guy's got hella quick reflexes. He's definitely got experience. On top of that, this stand of his makes that easy for him. It's like Tenmei's games when he inverts the camera controls. Except this isn't a video game. Alright, Léon, think. I have to walk myself through this carefully. If I make one wrong move, I'm fucked. A lightbulb went off in his mind. That's it. All I need to do is focus on just using my right arm at the moment. That way the bones on my left arm will hit him where I want them to. Let's see. In order to yank myself free for a counter attack, it'll be...left arm withdraw, right arm jab down!

Léon's right arm pulled free from Moncestierre's grasp. Thrusting the bricked, spikey knuckles of his left hand, he penetrated Moncestierre's torso. Now he was getting somewhere.

Right arm withdraw. Right arm thrust down.

Again his spikes landed a devastating blow, this time to the right of the chest.

Right arm slash! Left arm slash. Right arm uppercut! Left arm uppercut. Léon's jagged fist caught Moncestierre under the jaw, leaving gaping puncture holes through metal.

Rebel Yell transformed the bottom of his heel, sculpting it into a spear head that ruptured through the sole of his boot.

Right foot kick low.

Lifting his heel off the tile, he gave a good, hard left kick to Moncestierre's sternum, knocking him down. But he wouldn't relent. Moncestierre climbed back on his feet, flourishing his knife like none of it fazed him one bit.

...the fuck?! After all that he's still going in for the kill?

Moncestierre let out a gravelly laugh. "I'm honestly impressed. Even with Quarterflash warping your control, you fight pretty well. I'm surprised someone with your skill hasn't enlisted in the Seven Nation Army."

Unbelievable. At this rate, Léon would be stuck in the bathroom all damn night. And like hell he was joining some military. Fuck that noise, nobody told him what to do but him...oh...and his maman. His body's definitely built to withstand melee attacks pretty well. But what if I attacked his brain? Or whatever's in there. Hmm. Can't be that much different than a regular person. But in my condition, and with him being so damn fast, how can I do it? Hold on...it's stupid, but...it's worth a shot.

Léon abandoned his need to mentally call out his own moves, and proceeded to walk towards Moncestierre in the usual way. He stepped backwards and stumbled into the sink like he was in a drunken state. "Seriously?!" he hoped the sound of his voice was convincing enough. As he thought. Moncestierre was starting to think the tables were turning in his favor. A feeling of excitement coursed through Léon's body. It was thrilling as hell seeing that he could play things to his advantage if he just kept bumbling around like a buffoon.

He took a step with intent to the right, sending him tripping into the stalls to the left. One of the doors swung open where he tried to grab on to keep from losing his balance. Moncestierre took the time to gloat, tossing his pocket knife back and forth from one hand to the other.

"Well, well, well. What was that you were saying before? Something about decking my ass out? Hmph! Face it. As long as you're under Quarterflash's influence, no matter how good you are, I'm ten times better. Enough games. It ends here, you criminal scum." Moncestierre drew up his pocket knife, flashing an evil grin. Léon convinced him with that tired look on his face that the fight was as good as over. And it was. The closer Moncestierre came the better. Just a few more steps. A few more. Bingo.

Rebel Yell modified the part of the femur just above the knee into a ball of puddy, shaping an extension from his bone into a hardened spike. Commanding his right arm to perform a lunging motion for Moncestierre's lower stomach, the left arm rammed the hardened skewers through his chest, twisting deeper and deeper. His mouth fell agape, and his human eye broadened.

"Wha…but…I...?"

With the guise of innocence darkening, Léon cocked his head and quirked his lip into a wicked smile. "Fool… you fell for it!" Grabbing him by his hair, he twisted it around his clenched fist and slammed Moncestierre's face down onto the spike jutting from his drawn up knee. Moncestierre staggered with a gaping hole in the center of his metal forehead. Time to finish this. Rebel Yell drifted away from Léon's body, hurling a devastating barrage of punches mixed with lacerations from the stand's six clawed fingers. MOUREZ MOUREZ MOUREZ MOUREZ MOUREZ MOUREZ MOUREZ MOUREZ MOUREZ MOUREZ!

Delivering the finishing blow, Moncestierre's body flung back against the urinals, smashing them into chunks. Water jetted up from the pipe, dampening the dented remains of the android. Good riddance, whoever the hell he was. Léon took a second to assess the aftermath. Goddamn, what a mess. Holding up both hands, it became clear suddenly that Quarterflash's inverted movement ability was negated. Thank fucking god, now he could zip his pants.

But there was something else. Léon knelt down and studied Moncestierre's remains, the android skeleton in particular. Shit was like something straight out of a horror movie. Another important fact came to mind…he couldn't just leave the body there.

"Aw, shit, what am I going to do?" His eyes scanned the room, hunting something Rebel Yell could use to hide Moncestierre from sight. So far his only options were to mold Moncestierre's body into some decor. And he knew just the thing - an ashtray.

Rebel Yell ghosted away from Léon and worked its magic. Tearing Moncestierre's clay body parts into several pieces, they crumpled with ease in the imp's palms, smooshing like dough into smooth round balls. They were small enough to take up space in Léon's hand as he held one up and looked at it, pocketing the rest. As if the ball of clay could hear him, he finally delivered the answer to Moncestierre's question.

"By the way, name's Jean-Claude Léon Polnareff. And I'm not a fucking robot."

Psst! Hey, you! This fan project is also going to be a manga soon! If you're interested on updates for that, or just want to shoot the shit, then join the official Discord server! :)
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