Reflecting on that moment brought a smile to Léon's face as he wandered into the Industrial District. From where he was walking, he spotted the Nuclear Power Plant located several miles on the outskirts of town, a construction site, warehouses, flex buildings, and a trucking company. He strolled by a big, parking lot with truck trailers sitting near a building, the mesh link fence separating him from the curb. While he ambled on, he thought about the person he used to be growing up, comparing that version of himself with who he was now. In his opinion, he'd truly grown from the ignorant person he once was.

The image of his mother's crestfallen expression remained burned into his cornea. Then he harked back to the two-faced group that left him out of fear due to the consequences. Consequences that Léon faced on his own. His younger self never entered that store alone, as his so-called friends had followed him in with handguns hidden in their jackets.

But none of them were going to make the first move, that was part of Léon's test. He was the one that had to approach the register, not them. They were merely spectators there for amusement and to shoplift off of the aisles while he held the store owner at gunpoint. In retrospect, he didn't know why he did it. To impress his friends? Because he wanted money?

All those times he and his mother got into heated discussions, it was always about them and how they were affecting his behavior. Léon had rebutted every statement of hers with excuse after excuse.

But they're my friends! he'd told her.

Léon stopped mid-walk and gazed up at the sky, the embarrassment and bitterness sweeping over him as he lingered on that particular memory. "Hmph. Some friends."

Despite all of the hell he'd faced at juvenile hall, though, there was one good thing that did come out of it all. Rebel Yell. His stand was the only result of his horrid experiences that he was grateful for. Had he never gone through as much pain and suffering as he did (both mentally and physically), he doubted he'd ever awaken it at all.

The answer was simple: he wasn't anyone in particular, other than who he chose to be himself. That was his power. He could mold himself into any form so long as he put his mind to it. After all the sacrifices he made in order to fit in, after all that time he spent trying so hard to figure out his own identity, it was as if a tiny beam of light pierced the void surrounding his mind. Then it dawned on him: since his troubles began, he was heading down a path he never wanted to take in the first place. Disrespecting his mother, pushing his sister away when she wanted his attention, being rude to people, and prodding at situations that were better off undisturbed.

And to think. All it took was seeing the pain in his mother's eyes the night he'd been chased by the cops, and sent to jail. The shame, hurt, and guilt. Guilt because she blamed herself; she convinced herself that she'd failed as a mother. Léon's self-reflection led him to make the best decision he'd ever made in his entire life. After serving two years in juvenile hall, he picked up the pieces and worked his ass off to prove to his mom and sister that he was striving to change his ways.

Fast forward to the present, seven years later. Léon once did horrible things out of naivete and selfishness. Now, he was working with a gang all in the name of giving his mom and sister a better life. He couldn't care less what happened to him. Even now, after years of serving time in jail, he wondered…did his mother forgive him?

Lost in thought, it never occurred to him that he had wandered into territory that he was anything but welcome in — Motorhead territory.

Stirring in the shadows were sounds of rustling chains, boots scuffling against the pavement, snickering, and metal rattling against a fence. Léon hesitated to take another step, creasing his brows together as he listened. The area was eerily empty. There was no other presence as far as the naked eye could see, although an unnerving feeling nagged him at the back of his mind, urging him to get out of there as fast as his feet could carry him.

"That's weird," his voice carried over the spine-chilling silence, "I can't shake the feeling I'm being watched."

Choosing to cautiously press on, movement in his periphery made his head snap up. His legs stilled, unable to move. " Merde! " he hissed. Tall men clad in sleeveless, torn leather jackets stepped out from behind a freight, and onto the street. Léon's heart jolted; the cogs in his mind froze up, jamming the thought process. Backstepping, he turned on his heel only to almost run smack into another group of thugs behind him. As one of the sinewy men closed in, he batted a crowbar into the palm of his hand, laughing like the smug prick he was.

It was clear. They were forming a pincer attack. "The hell you doin' on our turf, Léon?"

His throat tightened. The fiery comebacks he would've had no problem giving them were scrambled like eggs in his mind, therefore, Léon said nothing.

Annoyed by his silence, the one with the crowbar grit his teeth and shoved him into the others. Four hands grappled his arms, holding him back as the one in front of him raised his crowbar, about to beat him to a bloody pulp. Swinging it down, the crowbar broke, falling to the ground with a splat. What was left in the thug's hand was a clay stump.

"What the fuck?!"

Seeing that it left a muddy residue on the pads of his fingers, he immediately dropped it with hastened breath and balled his fist into a tight clench. "That's fine. I don't need a crowbar to beat your ass!" Knuckles dug deep into Léon's cheekbone and then once more, clocking the edge of his eye socket. That bastard dealt two more blows before he grabbed Léon by his jacket and kneed him in the gut.

All of them were laughing, each taking turns punching and kicking. He had to fight back, but there were so many ganging up on him. Léon collapsed to the asphalt helplessly as the group kicked him in the sides and stomped on him. Get up , his mind adjured. Get up or you'll die. Léon's fingers curled into the pavement; goddamn the pain! Fuck! Why'd I have to get jumped like this?!

The violence went on for not even half a minute before they all quit for some reason. Shoes chafed away from him. Pain burned all throughout Léon's ribs, legs, and spine. As his fingers twitched, he sorely lifted his head. One eye was swollen shut, obstructing his vision, while the other perceived his surroundings in a slight blur. Shoes clacked casually towards him, and for a moment, that's all he could see. Everything from the ankles up was a mystery. Léon peered, trying to make out who this unknown figure was.

He strained, lifting his head as he pressed a palm to the ground for support. As he glanced up, his heart stopped and his mouth fell agape, letting out a quiet gasp. Standing approximately six-foot-one with spikey, silver hair was none other than a spitting image of himself. It was as if he was looking in the mirror. The doppelganger wore black leather pants and lace-up boots with a solid black t-shirt, as well as spikey bracelets.

What the hell?! That's me! But how…?! The adrenaline coursing through him seemed to give him the strength he needed to climb to his feet, though he did so shakily, wincing at how painful the act was. "Hey…who the fuck are you?"

The clone said nothing; it's piercing, red eyes only stared back vacantly at him.

"Hey, I'm talking to you!" he shouted.

As the words to you left his mouth, four twelve-inch metal knives ejected from the clone's knuckles, two on each hand. Léon had barely any time to react. The clone darted rapidly towards him, slashing its fists one way, then another, aiming for his face. Putting his knife-fighting experience to good use, Léon managed to evade the blades by moving out of range. But it seemed like no matter how much distance he'd put between them, the clone was too swift; too persistent.

Motorhead thugs rallied around them in a circle, their voices loud and obnoxious as they rooted for the adversary. Great, now there was no way for him to make a run for it. Shit! "Alright…" Léon said. He leaned down and picked up the clay crowbar, while Rebel Yell returned it to its original state. Glaring at his doppelganger, he slipped into a fighting stance; if it was a fight he wanted, it was a fight he was going to get. "... en garde, enculé ."

SCHWOPF

CHINGGG

SWISH

Twenty-six seconds. That was precisely how long Léon put up a good defense until the unthinkable occurred.

Sparing him no time to size up the enemy, the clone hurled a jab for Léon's midriff, sinking its blades deep into his gut. With the other hand, it pierced the side of his head. The tips of the blades were poking out the other side. At first the onlookers were cheering, but what they didn't expect to happen next caught them off-guard. He was still standing there with the crowbar tightly clenched in his fist, exchanging a look of contempt with the clone.

He reached up and took hold of the clone's wrist. All eyes around them stared aghast. Jaws dropped. Faces blanched. That same silence he'd heard before the fight had reclaimed the streets once more, save for the sound of vehicles passing on a distant highway. Léon slowly pulled the knives from his skull with a drawn out squelch. There was no blood, no signs of trauma. He was just standing there with a deadpan stare. The ruptured hole in his head amalgamated, reshaping his skull and skin to the way it was meant to be.

"That's it?" he smirked. "Come on, surely you can do better than that."

"How the hell is he doing that?!" one of the thugs asked, unable to tear his gaze from the fight.

Léon whacked the clone across the cheekbone with the crowbar, causing its other blades to dislodge from his abdomen as it toppled to the ground. Oddly, the sound of striking it made a metal-on-metal noise, something Léon wasn't expecting, but wasn't thinking too much about at the moment. The puncture wounds closed up and he was fair and fine once again, batting the crowbar in his hand. "You may be fast," he said, pointing his weapon at the doppelganger, "but your form is sloppy as fuck. So what, you think you got this one in the bag? Well, I got news for you…" The bones of his knuckles molded into long, thick spikes; similar to his enemy's, but six inches shorter. "...you're not the only cat around here with claws!"

As it always did, Rebel Yell transformed the spikes from clay to brick. Léon drew up his fists and brought his body into a boxing stance. "You're looking at one of the best streetfighters in town," he boasted, "but by all means, if you wanna go…" He spit blood on the ground. "...then get off your ass and let's go!"

The doppelganger performed a kip-up, leaping from its back to its feet with no problem, nor any expression of physical pain whatsoever. If anything, its cheek looked dented. But that wasn't all. Léon studied how the side of the clone's face was glowing a brown-ish red color, then bright red, and lastly a hot orange. Uncertainty began to churn inside of him as he lowered his fists and watched in bemusement. The dent slowly brought the afflicted cheek back to normal and the hot glow faded away from its face altogether.

Lowering his hands and slightly loosening his fists, Léon couldn't believe what he just saw. "What the hell? Did that thing just fix its face with intense heat? But…that would mean…"

A stand striking the same resemblance as Rebel Yell ghosted forward from the other Léon. The only key difference was that its skin was a muted magenta, the glyphs on its body shined silver instead of gold, and its furry legs and neck were taupe. Its three clawed fingers took hold of the crowbar in Léon's hand, causing it to change color in the exact same fashion as the clone's dented face. Feeling it grow hot before changing color, he quickly released his grip on the crowbar, watching in horror as it radiated a searing glow. Molten metal began to drip to the asphalt with a tssshhh , creating cracks in the pavement.

"Whoa! Didja see that?!" one of the gangsters cried out. "That crowbar just melted like a popsicle in the hot sun!"

"Hey, yeah! How'd it do that?! No one's even touching it!"

"You don't think the droid replica has mind powers, do you? Whoaaa…AI's are scary."

One of the Motorhead boys whipped a cell out of his jacket pocket and pressed the record command on his camera. "Wait'll the other guys get a load of this." he said, turning the device sideways to capture everything in widescreen mode. A few gang members peeped over at his screen, while the rest picked up where they left off — cheering for Léon's opponent.

Léon was rattled by the sheer power his enemy displayed. "So, this thing can alter its form by generating heat up to 1,370 degrees Celsius! That's enough to melt steel!"

PANG

"Hold on," Léon mused, "this other me has a stand that looks just like mine, but with different abilities. What if…. noooo …don't tell me…it's just like Rebel Yell but with metal and heat! And heat and clay makes….! Bordel de merde! "

Glowing, intense heat consumed the doppelganger, melting it into a pool of molten lava. Consciously, its viscous form ran along the pavement, making its way closer to Léon. He took a few steps back, watching it.

"Merde! " Motorhead gangsters fled the scene, climbing over fences in a rush of adrenaline. "I'm out of here!"

"You got that right." Léon said, turning tail and hauling ass down the street. "Wait, wait, wait." He stopped, looking back at the lava pursuing him. His eyes scoured around, looking for something he could use against it. There had to be some way to beat it. Somehow. He couldn't just keep running from this bastard, and endanger innocent people. There wasn't much he could do, but there was something red (and fairly girthy) poking up from the sidewalk that he could make quick use of.

A 3-foot-tall fire hydrant.

"If I can get that open, the water should solidify it. Léon hurried over to the fire hydrant, examining it. "Fuck, where's Tenmei and his endless supply of tools when you need him?" Lava coursed its way towards him, spalling the concrete as Rebel Yell attempted to twist and turn the cap. As it strained to open it, the lava gradually formed a circle around Léon and the hydrant.

He turned his head, mouth falling open. "Shit!" he yelled. The circle around the hydrant grew smaller and smaller. Léon backed into the hydrant, thinking he may have a chance of jumping over it, but the pile of molten metal was spread so far apart, he'd have to be superhuman to make that far of a leap. It was hopeless. The best he could do was sit atop the hydrant, resting his feet on the large valves, and wait.

"I'm so stupid," he lamented, "I should've stayed at the bar, or went somewhere else. Maybe Avdol was right. I'm a catalyst for trouble…hmph. Guess he won't have to worry about that now."

Out of all the near-death experiences he'd ever faced, this by far had to be the worst. There wasn't a clear method of cheating Death this time around. Cracks formed in the concrete around the hydrant, chipping and getting swallowed up by the lava. The circle around the hydrant was just about to close up around the base of it when Léon's ears perked. A distant vrrnnn — the sound of a vehicle, no less.

"Quoi? "

Sweat poured down his face and back as he peered off down the highway, hearing the motor grow nearer. Heat from the molten metal made the air around the hydrant thin and hard to breathe. Appearing over the horizon was a man on a motorcycle. The body was painted a metallic black-violet with a gradient silver to lilac decal in the style of lightning bolts. The biker in question had black dreadlocks, although some of the locs were prussian blue. The more Léon could make out the man's features, the bigger he smiled, knowing full well who it was. How? That didn't matter. Not yet. "Avdollll!"

"Steelheart!" Avdol shouted. A lustrous, light blue stand departed from him, taking the thermal energy stored in its body and creating an electric current in its wiry fingers. It cut thin strands of metal from beams lying in a nearby construction site and began to wind the strands into a long, durable cable, the likes of which Avdol's stand tossed to Léon and Rebel Yell. Amazing. While Avdol drove his bike and willed his stand to cut the beams, red streaks of light came off of his body, somehow making his stand move at a remarkable speed. Rebel Yell drifted higher into the air, it and Avdol's stand pulling the cable tighter.

Avdol called out to Léon, making a come on gesture with his hand. "Zipline across!"

Léon gave him a knowing look, followed by a curt nod. Unfastening his belt, he looped it around the cable. He gave one last look below him at the lava. "Fuck you." he said, and picked up his feet. As he slid to freedom, the hydrant melted away and a solid, heavy stream of water jetted up from the sidewalk. Making contact with the molten metal, it cooled, getting hard and turning into a dark gray luster.

Léon gained speed, sliding over the cooling metal and the cracked asphalt. Avdol was still feet away from him when he decided to let go from the zipline. He barrel rolled to a stop across the concrete, looking back at the now solidified metal spread out across the pavement.

Crisp, cool air entered his lungs as he took a deep breath in and let out a sigh of relief. Avdol reached a hand out to help him up, to which he reciprocated and pulled himself to his feet.

"Fancying yourself a late night stroll, Polnareff?"

Léon sneered. "Fuck off."

Avdol's lighthearted demeanor remained as he flashed him a grin. Léon's angry brows relaxed, the foul expression waning and rising into a crooked smile. Exchanging laughter with his savior, he climbed on the back of Avdol's motorcycle. "You're a sight for sore eyes, you know that? How'd you know where to find me, anyway?"

Avdol twisted the throttle and eased into a parking lot to turn around. "I went to your house thinking you'd be there."

"Yeah, and…?

"Madam Laveau stopped me in the hallway and mentioned you right off the bat. It was pretty weird, I won't lie. It's like she just knew I was looking for you. Anyways, she told me…" he changed his voice to mimic her frail cadence, "...if you're looking for Léon, he's not here. He's taking a walk through the industrial side of town."

Léon grimaced. "Come on, man, do you have to impersonate her like that? You sound just like her."

Avdol laughed out loud, gaining speed as he left Motorhead territory in the dust.

"Seriously, that's creepy," Léon kept on, "how does she know this stuff?!"

"She's pretty intuitive, I'll give her that."

Avdol slowed to a stop under a traffic light. Despite there not being very many vehicles at that hour, he insisted that he follow the rules of the road anyway. Guilt swirled around in Léon's chest as they waited for the light to change, prompting him to speak out about what was on his mind. "Hey, Avdol…"

"Yeah?"

He ran his fingers through his combed up, spikey hair and sighed. "I'm sorry I snapped at you before. At the bar, y'know."

Avdol shifted his eyes as though he would turn around and look at him, but he still had to pay attention to the traffic signals. Smiling, he replied with a rumbling chuckle in his chest. "You're alright, man. If anything I'm sorry, too. It wasn't my place to get on your case like that."

"Soooo…we cool?"

Avdol chuckled. "Yeah. We're cool."

Just then, a loud ringing noise emanated from Avdol's vest pocket. Knowing he needed to focus more on driving, Léon took it upon himself to reach into his pocket and read the screen. "Shit, it's Angus."

"Answer it."

Swiping right on the option for a minimized hologram, a cyan grid erupted and took the shape of a man standing on the screen. He was the same tint that Avdol was during AL's phone call back at the 4 Non-Blondes. "Hey, boss." Léon answered casually. "Wow, you look really tiny. Wonder if I can crush your head." Angus's face kept the same sour expression, glitching while Léon foolishly opened and closed his pinched fingers in and out of the image.

Angus was a particularly tall and hulking individual, though in comparison to Husselhoff he was an ant like the rest of them. The motorcycle accelerated, taking them straight into the downtown area as their boss continued their conversation in a gruff voice. "Léon," he growled, making Léon smile impishly, "stop fucking around and hand Avdol the phone!"

Getting on his nerves was always a fun pastime. "Avdol can't talk right now," Léon said, "he's kinda busy driving."

" Urrrgh! Fine. Get both your asses down here immediately."

Avdol arched his brow. "Right now? For what?"

"Yeah, for what?" Léon repeated. "I haven't even been to sleep yet."

"Well, that's your problem, isn't it!" Léon scowled at Angus. "Anyway, quit joyriding and get your asses to the quarry. Tenmei's got something I think will help us out with the operation." Before Léon could get another word in, his boss interrupted. "And another thing…"

Léon groaned, just knowing he was about to ask for a favor, as per usual.

"...get me some coffee flavored circus peanuts, will ya?"


A light breeze swept through empty streets of the industrial district hours after Léon and Avdol's escape. The soft yellow and pink colors brightened across the expanse above Skid Row, painting the clouds in a hue of periwinkle and hot pink. The water from the hydrant had long ran dry since the stand battle ended, and the water cooled the molten metal. Léon had believed he'd beaten his doppelganger, who or whatever he was. But sitting there in the morning sun, still stationary, a hot glow beamed from under the solidified mass where metallic, glossy, splayed fingers — and then an arm — slowly reached up towards the sky, trembling.