Author's Note: The backstory to the Vancouver Vigilante can be found in Chapter 6: The Vancouver Ninja of my other story: The Trials of Kick-Ass and Hit Girl.
Sunday, February 5th, 2017
Vancouver, Canada
She had had all the intentions of it being the first night out for Phosphor, only she did not think things were going all that well.
The sixteen-year-old had just dived down a dark alleyway, however, she had a nasty feeling that she had been seen by a group of drug-dealing cunts before she was ready to attack. She didn't even have her kit on – it was still in the pack on her back along with her weapons.
"I am so going to get my ass kicked," Phosphor whispered to herself.
"Hey, jailbait, where're you going with that pack, bitch?"
Phosphor ignored the jibe and she kept walking before she stopped dead – it was a fucking dead end! The girl turned around to find five men facing her.
"Hey, bitch," the leader drawled. "Now, where's you going?"
Phosphor grinned as the men encircled her.
"I'm off to fuck your mother with a twelve-inch strap-on," Phosphor retorted, knowing a fight was inevitable.
"You're gonna suck my fat cock, whore!" the leader growled.
Phosphor feigned handing over her pack as the men encircled her, then she dropped it to the ground, kicking out and sending the closest of the men crashing against the steel shutters which protected the backdoor to one of the stores out front. Initially, the fight was going well, but only because the men had not expected the apparently vulnerable young woman to attack them. Once the men recovered from their initial shock, they brandished an evil array of melee weapons which included knives and nunchucks. None of the weapons phased the girl as she kicked out, punching with her fists which bore a set of knuckledusters swiftly retrieved from her jacket pocket. Two of the men were sporting nasty bloody marks where the knuckledusters had struck, and one man was flat out on the floor from a kick and a punch which had put the man out cold.
However, Phosphor had seriously misjudged her opponents who were all seasoned streetfighters. If she had been wearing her armour and had the use of her weapons, then the outcome of the fight would have been a forgone conclusion and the men would have regretted messing with Phosphor. As the kicks and punches came in, thick and fast, Phosphor fought her way into the clear but not before someone punched her in the stomach. As the girl fell to the ground, grabbing hold of her pack, and the men walked off, laughing and dragging their unconscious colleague, the sound of a motorcycle engine could be heard approaching. It was a decidedly powerful motorcycle engine too which got louder as the machine came closer and closer. Finally, Phosphor saw a wheel enter her field of vision and she winced as she heard a very familiar electronically enhanced voice lecture her.
"Well, aren't you one sorry excuse for a Marauder!"
"I am not one of them, anymore!" Carrie Milligan groaned as she sat up, rubbing her tummy.
"Okay, you're one sorry excuse for a Predator."
"Shouldn't you be in Chicago?"
"Shouldn't you be able to stand on your own two fucking feet?"
Carrie quickly tired of the verbal sparring.
"Is this a social call?"
"Kind of."
"You come to gloat?" Carrie asked as she stood up, glaring at the motorcycle rider.
"Yeah," the rider admitted. "Meet me here – twenty minutes."
Carrie studied the card which she had been handed as the motorcycle roared off into the darkness. The card bore the embossed initials HG and a number. With a small amount of maths, accomplished entirely in her head, Carrie transposed the numbers according to a method taught by Urban Predator and she ended up with a longitude and Latitude. Carrie figured that she had nothing to lose and if that bitch had managed to find her in a city of over two-million people there was no hiding.
With a groan of pain, Carrie picked up her pack and she began to walk.
About two hundred yards away
With her motorcycle suitably hidden, the rider stealthily approached the group of men who were happily, and noisily, discussing the ass-kicking which they had just given out.
One of the men was shaking his head as he sat on the ground, having evidently just regained consciousness. Three others were nursing their wounds, but all appeared in high spirits.
"I think we should go back and gut the bitch."
"She disrespected us."
"She had a tight ass – bet her pussy is tighter."
"You hold her down while I get my dick wet."
There was much laughter which tailed off as a dark shape entered the dim glow of a nearby street light.
"Hey, cunts!"
While it was Hit Girl inside, on the outside, it was Hit Girl Black Edition. Hit Girl was clad from head to toe in her armoured black motorcycle leathers with an all-black mask in place of her helmet. She carried a suppressed automatic pistol, her Balisong blades, and a collapsible double-ended bō-staff.
With a flick of her wrists, both Balisong blades coursed through the air, embedding their razor-sharp blades into the hearts of two of the men. Without a word, Hit Girl began to weave her bō-staff from side to side, cutting through the stunned streetfighters with ease. None had even considered that there might be at risk. Though they were aware of the Vancouver Ninja, that vigilante tended to operate around the centre of the city. However, they knew that they were not fighting the Vancouver Ninja – they were fighting death itself. It took mere minutes for the final man to fall and for Hit Girl to wrench out her bō-staff blade and then bend down to retrieve her Balisong blades.
"Not bad for a warmup," Mindy mused to herself as she returned to her motorcycle.
Downtown, Eastside
To Carrie, it was just a standard shipping container – one of many which were arranged around the edge of the large industrial port complex.
As she stood there, feeling really stupid, she heard the same throaty roar as before and the same motorcycle pulled up beside her. The rider dismounted before striding to the container and grabbing Carrie's right arm along the way. Carrie considered yanking her arm away but quickly thought better of it. Her hand was pressed against a section of the steel door which glowed a dull green before there was the subtle sound of electronic locks disengaging all around the left had door. The door was pulled open and Carrie found herself shoved inside before the door was pulled shut. Only then did a bright strip light mounted on the roof click on, illuminating a small entrance area devoid of anything but another doorway. A gloved finger pointed at a plastic pad mounted on the wall. Carrie pressed her right hand against the pad and the outer door locked and an interior door unlocked. Carrie recognised the kill-zone between the two doors.
"Move!"
Carrie grimaced but followed the orders of the electronically disguised voice.
"Oh, wow!" Carrie commented as more lights flicked on. "Not bad!" she commented as she looked around the container.
To the right was a mini-kitchen with a table and two chairs. Beyond that, a sofa bed and a desk with a chair. Mounted on the wall above the desk was a forty-inch flat screen. Carrie studied everything as Mindy emerged from beneath her helmet and a mask. Mindy was grinning.
"What do you think?" Mindy asked conversationally.
"What is this?" Carrie asked. "Your home from home?"
"No, Carrie – this is yours."
"For when I get the shit kicked out of me?"
"Snap out of it, Phosphor. You had a bad night; get over it. If you want to be able to compete with the Vancouver Ninja, you need to up your game."
Carrie moved through the forty-foot container and she peered into a small bathroom equipped with a shower, toilet, and sink in the far corner. To the left of the bathroom, there was a steel door. Carrie clocked the small plastic pad beside the door and she placed her right hand on the pad. The steel door unlocked and slid to the side. Actually, the door was two doors which opened together. Carrie stepped through into the neighbouring container which had been secured to the first.
Carrie's jaw dropped as she pushed through a set of thick plastic curtains.
..._...
The first think that caught Carrie's eye was the jet-black Ducati Multistrada with luminous green highlights.
However, it was not the motorcycle that awed the young woman. Mindy had punched in a code on a keypad to a full-height steel cabinet on the end wall to the right of the door to the neighbouring container. Carrie's jaw which she had just closed, dropped again as Mindy pulled open the steel doors. Inside the steel cabinet were row upon row of weapons, from pistols to assault rifles. There were stacks of magazines and boxes of ammunition of every type. Carrie was totally speechless. Her mouth was moving as she muttered the names of each weapon stowed in the rack.
"Did I miss anything?" Mindy grinned.
"You can be really annoying, you know."
"Oh, I know."
"Fuck!" Carrie grinned.
"This is all yours," Mindy commented. "But should you fuck it up, I will fuck you up, understand?"
"Yes, ma'am."
Just before the motorcycle, there was a training area with weights, punchbag, and a rack of melee training weapons. Then, across from the motorcycle was another steel rack. Through a mesh door, Carrie could see something which was black and green. The girl looked over at Mindy who simply nodded. Part of Carrie knew what was inside, but she hesitated as she keyed in an eight-digit code as Mindy pointed out the numbers. Carrie only ever needed to see a number once to remember it for all time. As the doors opened, Carrie horrified herself by squealing. Mindy laughed; it was like watching a little girl opening presents on Christmas morning.
"I take back all the nasty shit I said about you," Carrie muttered before turning to Mindy. "Why? How?"
"Because, I think you deserve a fresh start, Carrie. Not to mention that I have no desire to see any of reprobates killed. Yes, I know you've been out, scouting the city – never mind how. I cannot stop you, and I won't try. I applaud you for what you are trying to do. Whenever you need help, I will do what I can. I promised each one of you back down on Level 8 that I would do all I could to look after you all. This is me fulfilling my promise."
Carrie ran her fingers over the awesome carbon-fibre body armour.
..._...
"What if I need help?"
Mindy looked up from her coffee to where Carrie was sipping a mug of sweet tea.
"I know you trust Jay, so I trust your instincts. When you decide the time is right, you let me know."
"You make this so fucking difficult – stop being so goddamn nice; it doesn't suit you!"
"I have my moments – anyhow, I need to get back to Chicago."
"Thank you," Carrie said. "I won't let you down."
"See that you do – oh, a word of caution, Carrie."
"What?"
"Should you meet the Vancouver Vigilante, don't shoot her."
Carrie appeared confused but she nodded nonetheless.
"Okay."
The following day
Monday, February 6th, 2017
Longmeadow Road
Chicago, USA
Rodney Staite had many curious habits, some of which annoyed the hell out of his beautiful wife, however, he knew that Jen thought some of them were 'cute'.
During the early hours, he often walked the house, physics and math problems working their way through his amazing mind. Since the arrival of their family additions, Lin and Xiāngxìn, Rodney often paused outside the bedrooms occupied by the two girls. He knew that both girls suffered nightmares two or three times a week, and that concerned him greatly. However, that night, he heard Lin muttering in her sleep. Normally, it was 'gibberish' – actually Chinese – which Rodney did not understand, but a single word was clearly understood – Rylee. Therefore, that evening, over the evening meal, Rodney turned to the older of the two girls.
"Lin?"
"Yeah," Lin responded in between mouthfuls.
"Who is Rylee?"
Lin and Xiāngxìn almost dropped their forks as they turned to look at each other. Jen saw the anguish in their eyes, and she frowned at her husband.
"Sorry," Rodney said. "I heard you call out the name, last night."
"Rylee was somebody we both knew," Lin replied.
"Was she special?" Jen asked.
"Yes," Xiāngxìn answered.
"Tell us about her," Jen suggested.
The two girls began to 'jabber' as Rodney put it, in Chinese for a few moments for both girls looked up.
"Rylee was brave. She was loyal, a leader, a friend. Without her, we might both be dead," Xiāngxìn replied evenly. "She was amazing."
"You both miss her?" Rodney asked.
"Very much," Xiāngxìn replied.
Lin held out her left arm, turning it to show the underside of her wrist. There was a small tattoo there which Jen was aware of but had never queried.
"An 'N'?" Rodney commented.
"Read it on its side," Xiāngxìn growled.
"Zed?"
"It stands for Zeta Squad," Lin said.
"Zeta?" Jen queried.
"They were grooming us for something special, but we never found out what," Lin explained.
"I hope she's still alive and that she can be rescued," Rodney said.
"Me, too," Xiāngxìn smiled.
Glenview
Mindy had returned home that Monday afternoon, after a brief stopover in Seattle.
As she stepped out of the garage, she was not overly surprised to see a girl handcuffed to the bannister. The ten-year-old girl was accompanied, on the opposite side of the stairs, by an eight-year-old girl. Both appeared very sullen and they scowled as Mindy grinned at their situation. Then Dave appeared.
"Hi, honey!" he said as he swept Mindy into a deep kiss.
"They been bad?" Mindy enquired as she studied the two miscreants.
"They didn't believe that I could be as cruel as you," Dave chuckled. "They played up and I cuffed them there. The boys are in the pool."
Mindy laughed as she handed Stephanie her bag with a shake of her head.
"Take that to my room, please, Steph," Mindy directed, and Dave scowled as Stephanie easily flicked off the handcuffs from her wrist before lugging the heavy bag through into the main suite.
"She picked the lock!" Dave growled.
"Remember, like mother like daughter," Mindy grinned as Stephanie returned, a broad grin on her face.
"I suppose I had better unlock Anne-Marie," Dave said as he reached into his pocket, only for the younger girl to shrug off her own handcuff.
"She taught, you, huh?" Dave asked his youngest daughter.
"Despite what a lot of people think," Anne-Marie responded, "I do pay attention to what my gobby sister teaches me."
"Girl power always wins, Dave," Mindy stated.
Stephanie grinned facetiously at Dave before turning serious for a moment.
"Sorry we messed you about," Stephanie offered.
Dave laughed as he gave Mindy a big hug.
"However," Mindy said over Dave's shoulder. "I am mad at both of you for giving Dave a hard time."
"He can take it," Stephanie responded. "He put up with you for what – nine years?"
Mindy nodded in agreement.
"Yes, that's very true, Steph. So, I suppose he should easily be able to put up with two little bitches."
Anne-Marie smiled proudly at the veiled compliment.
Two days later
Wednesday, February 8th
Downtown, Eastside
Vancouver, Canada
Carrie carefully pulled open the steel cage which held her custom combat suit.
The suit looked even more awesome than when she had first seen it at the weekend. However, on closer inspection, she found a large purple post-it note attached to the suit with an arrow pointing to a small tablet with another post-it note attached: 'Read!'. Carrie picked up the tablet and she sat down on the sofa bed to read the contents. It was an owner's guide for her combat suit. After twenty minutes of reading, Carrie was stunned by the level of protection which her new combat suit would provide. It became blatantly obvious to the Predator why Fusion had an annoying tendency to win their fights against extreme odds. As a Marauder, Carrie could see that she had never had a chance against Fusion. Yes, they had had armour, but it had been off-the-shelf, and of a much lower standard to that which she now had access. Indeed, the manual explained exactly how far the armour could be pushed before the wearer suffered more than simple bruises. As Carrie read how the armour could defeat stab thrusts, blunt strikes, bullets, blades, she was never more glad to be on the good side of Fusion, and especially Hit Girl.
It also occurred to Carrie that if the female armour was so touch, while being so light, what about the armour worn by the males? Carrie knew that Kick-Ass and Trojan wore much heavier armour which she decided had to make them almost indestructible. Indeed, stories abounded of Kick-Ass' ability to stride through machine-gun fire and still take down his target with barely a scratch on his armour. Carrie felt awed by the level of technology which was being placed in her hands. Mindy had not been kidding when she had promised to protect each and every one of them and help them enjoy new lives.
Carrie actually found herself crying as she looked around the awesomely equipped containers which were all hers.
..._...
With trepidation, Carrie pulled off her clothing until she stood in her underwear.
Only then did she reach for the combat suit and begin to pull on the undersuit and additional armour. It took a good sixty minutes for Carrie to cover her body in armour and adjust her utility belt. It would take much less time in future, she knew, but Carrie was still learning. Once she was fully equipped, she gazed into the full-length mirror mounted on the wall and she gasped. She was amazed by how snuggly the combat suit fitted her body. It had felt like a second skin going on, but seeing it fit so well, was simply amazing.
Carrie gazed down her body, observing each and every part of her new getup. Over the back undersuit, she wore flexible armour sections which covered her body from neck to ankle. The armour was primarily black with green highlights which highlighted her curves very nicely, she thought. Atop the armour and dropping down almost as far as the black and green composite carbon-fibre grieves which covered the entire lower legs of the vigilante, she wore a black Kevlar-lined leather jacket. Under the grieves, she wore Kevlar-lined black leather trousers. Her hands were encased in green and black gauntlets with composite carbon-fibre backs which extended up almost to the elbows. Her masked face with the luminous green eyes was all-but-hidden beneath a black Kevlar hood. Her thighs supported a brace of pistols – custom-painted Glock 22 pistols in .40-calibre Smith & Wesson – in holsters on her thighs. Inside her leather jacket, she found slots for throwing knives and a long pocket for an awesome-looking carbon-fibre baseball bat with luminous green illumination.
After spending almost an hour fiddling with everything and trying out some movements, Carrie finally pulled off the combat suit and weapons, carefully stowing each item where it belonged.
That weekend
Saturday, February 11th
Downtown, Eastside
With extreme care, Carrie geared up for her very first night out in her new armour.
The combat suit went on just as before, only Carrie knew that she was going to put the suit to use out on the streets of the city. She felt energised by what the combat suit represented, not to mention the trust which Hit Girl had put in her. That thought had Carrie feeling overcome with nervousness as she pulled on her mask and enabled the really neat anti-lift feature. Just as North America's newest vigilante considered herself ready to visit the city's criminals, she heard a faint crackle in her right ear. Then came a very familiar voice.
"You all set, Phosphor?"
"I won't ask how you knew I was wearing the suit," Phosphor growled as she pressed the talk button of the communications unit which she carried on her utility belt.
"The combat suit notified us that you had powered up the comms unit and then enabled the mask's systems. I assure you, Phosphor, we are not spying on you. Anything you want to say will only be heard by Battle Guy and Hal, here in Chicago. You need anything, just ask, and they will assist you in any way that you can. You are not alone, up there. I promised to keep you safe, and I always keep my promises."
"Thanks, I suppose," Phosphor responded.
"You can talk to me, or anybody, just ask. I promise that we will not spy on you – Vancouver is yours, not mine. Stay safe and enjoy your night out."
"I'm sure you'll know when things go to shit!"
Heatley Avenue
The jet-black Ducati Multistrada with luminous green highlights blazed down the avenue, heading north.
The dark streets provided cover and the traffic provided anonymity. Very few clocked the dark machine and its equally dark rider as both weaved in and out of the traffic. Speed was Phosphor's friend that night, but only because of the extra technology which she had been exposed to. Forty minutes earlier, the very moment she had pulled on her black and green helmet over her mask, she had been startled to see multi-coloured images appear on the inside of her visor. To the right, the specs of her motorcycle – fuel range, speed, oil and engine temperature, RPMs – floated before her eyes. To the left, a full colour moving map showed her exact location, including a latitude and longitude readout.
"Fuck me!" Phosphor exclaimed as she started the 1198-cc Ducati Testastretta DVT engine before she grinned as two words appeared in the centre of her visor:
Good luck!
..._...
Phosphor took a right at the access ramp to the port facility before pausing at the first alleyway on the right.
There was movement down there, in the darkness, and that appeared to be as good a place to start as any, she considered. Turning down the alleyway, she cruised slowly, amazed that her visor display displayed a low-light image when she turned her head to look into darkened areas. Her visor was like having all-round vision and she made good use of it as she rode slowly down the alleyway. The alleyway, itself, broadened slightly and Phosphor stopped, pulling the Ducati in behind a pair of steel dumpsters. Something was amiss and she dismounted, pulling off her helmet. Her senses went into overdrive as she listened and watched for anything which might tell her what was amiss.
Above her, power cables were strung from poles arranged with a pole on either side of the alleyway and crossbeams supporting the cables and power transformers as well as an abbreviated attempt at street lighting. Over to the left, Phosphor could see a dark-coloured panel van and she could hear chatter. Slowly, she moved closer, taking her time to figure out the developing situation. As she peered over another dumpster, Phosphor could make out three men busy loading something into the panel van. What they were loading soon became apparent as one of the men dropped a heavy package which hit the concrete with a thump.
"Hey, clutz! That's three-sixty kay of powder there, be damn careful."
It looked like the package was heavy – maybe five or six kilograms, Phosphor thought. That would make the 'powder' cocaine, which at sixty dollars a gram would equate to about $360,000 of drug. After a brief look around, Vancouver's newest vigilante stepped out from behind the dumpster, her eyes glowing a fierce phosphorescent green. Phosphor moved around the panel van to blindside the three men who were busy transferring what appeared to be dozens of packages stacked neatly on a wooden pallet into the back of the panel van. The pallet sat just inside a roller-door which was partially open just behind the van. The three men were about halfway through loading their shipment of drugs and would need another twenty minutes or so to finish the operation. Just as Phosphor was about to make herself known; a nasty thought occurred to her. None of the men had weapons in evidence which had Phosphor thinking further; who would leave a third of a million dollars' worth of drugs unguarded?
Answer: nobody!
..._...
Phosphor knew that she had fucked up, the moment she heard footsteps to her left, across the alleyway.
She heard the unmistakable sound of a weapon being cocked and she braced herself for the impact of the bullets. Less than a second passed before she felt the first bullet strike her left side. As the second and third bullets struck, Phosphor dropped beneath the impact of the rounds. However, she was fully aware of the Kevlar in her leather jacket which she knew would protect her – at least she hoped it would. As she fell to the ground, she rolled, bringing up her twin Glock 22 .40-calibre pistols. Her eyes clocked the two men, both of whom were armed with Czech Scorpion EVO 3A1 nine-millimetre sub-machineguns. Neither man expected their target to get up, not after receiving half-a-dozen bullets into the back. The .40-calibre S&W slugs took the men by surprise, the copper-jacketed bullets tearing into their bodies, ripping apart organs and shattering bones. The final two bullets took each man through the head just as those heads hit the concrete ensuring that they never got up again.
Phosphor turned back to the men loading the van – they had all dived to the ground at the first sign of gunfire. As the echo of gunfire receded, they scrambled back to their feet, expecting whatever the threat to have been, to have been neutralised. However, they rose up to find a pair of phosphorescent green eyes glaring in their direction. The three men froze as the apparition before them holstered a pair of pistols and then reached into the long leather jacket it wore. A large baseball bat appeared, phosphorescent green illumination down the top twelve inches. All three men bolted with Phosphor hot on their tail. They did not get far and were very quickly overhauled by the vigilante who promptly put all three down with her baseball bat. As she surveyed the scene around her, Phosphor considered it a successful bust. But then everything changed.
"Not bad!" a weird-sounding voice called out.
Phosphor spun about to see a black-clad ninja slowly clapping her hands.
..._...
It could only be the Vancouver Ninja.
The Canadian vigilante stood beside a black Ducati Monster motorcycle. Phosphor had done her homework. The Vancouver Ninja had been operational for over a year – no one knew for exactly how long. She had reportedly killed four, maybe five times. As Phosphor had read it, the ninja was careless and often seemed to care less about collateral damage as she took down crime in the city. Phosphor strolled towards the interloper who began to stroll towards her. The ninja was of a comparable height, maybe a little shorter. Phosphor was very aware that the vigilante had a reputation for hitting hard, so she kept her eyes open.
"This is my city and I am going to make you leave," the ninja growled.
"You must be that other vigilante they keep talking about," Phosphor hissed as she stowed the baseball bat.
"The Vancouver Ninja? That's me. They call me after my city, so that makes me the boss, bitch!"
"The city's plenty busy enough and big enough for the both of us," Phosphor pointed out.
"You don't get it," the ninja growled back. "I want you out!"
"You want me out, Ninja Girl, well, you're just going to have to take me down!"
"So be it!"
The Vancouver Ninja ran at Phosphor who braced herself for a fight. When just a few yards separated them, Phosphor saw the ninja throw a trio of devices in her direction, she dodged two, but the third struck her chest armour, before clattering to the ground. Phosphor was pleased to see that Ninja Girl was annoyed by the fact her initial weapons assault had failed. She was also pleased that her armour had deflected the nasty bladed device which the ninja had thrown at her. In return, Phosphor threw a thin titanium blade which the ninja dodged with remarkable agility, Phosphor thought.
Then they were close enough for hand-to-hand combat to commence.
..._...
The Vigilante Ninja was no novice when it came to street fighting.
She had learnt along the way that anything went, and she was ruthless. However, the black and green interloper before her appeared to be highly skilled and very well equipped. The armour appeared to be top-notch – a hint of jealousy, maybe? The interloper could also move. Where might she have learnt her skills? As they fought, the Vigilante Ninja realised that she was fighting somebody on par with herself. Why was she being so possessive about her city? It was obvious that the interloper was there for good, but . . . No! The city was hers and hers alone. Okay, she thought, time to show the interloper what she was facing.
Phosphor dived to the ground as the ninja raced forward, jumping up and flipping over a car like it was a vaulting horse in a school gymnasium. The boots just missed her shoulder as she rolled back to her feet. The ninja was not done with her attack as she began a vicious routine, kicking and punching in a very unpredictable fashion which had Phosphor having to move fast just to keep up. The ninja bitch was a fast mover, Phosphor had to give her that. However, Phosphor was fast, and she was highly trained. There was no way that she was going to be run out of town by some little ninja upstart. Phosphor took advantage of one of the thick wooden poles which supported four power transformers, spinning around and booting the stuck-u ninja hard on the chest with the soles of her boots.
There was a weird combination of scream and yell of indignation as Ninja Girl fell backwards onto the hood of a parked car. Phosphor had the distinct impression that Ninja Girl was pissed as a pair of spiked darts flew in her direction. Phosphor brought up her long Kevlar-lined leather coat as a shield, deflecting both darts which clattered to the ground. Ninja Girl's body language said that Ninja Girl was very angry. Not that Phosphor cared as she proceeded to push the shorter vigilante back and back. It was the first time Phosphor had fought so hard in a long time. She also quickly realised that she was lugging a lot of equipment with her, however, the armour she had been equipped with as a Marauder had actually been heavier, and less functional. Fighting fully masked was also a little bit different than when she had worn the looser Marauder mask.
"You know your ass is a little big, don't you, Ninja Girl?" Phosphor commented as she planted a boot on said ass not able to resist a verbal jibe.
"What!" came the indignant response.
"Maybe you should try some exercise," Phosphor continued, infuriating the Canadian ninja.
"Fuck you!" came the angry retort.
The Vancouver Ninja flew at Phosphor punching hard and pushing the older girl back before Phosphor tripped, dragging the ninja down with her. For a moment, the two vigilantes stared at one another. The ninja glared into the phosphorescent green eyes while Phosphor stared into anger. The ninja sure did have a chip on her shoulder – both shoulders, she figured.
"We can both protect this city," Phosphor suggested as she rolled over and pinned the smaller ninja beneath her.
"If you're trying to make an advance on me, I am not into girls," the ninja growled back.
"You are so not my type," Phosphor growled back angrily. "You even started puberty yet?"
Phosphor yelled out as the ninja bitch elbowed her in the face and was shoved to one side. Phosphor let her opponent regain her feet. Neither attacked the other, however, the glares were not overly friendly.
"Stay out of my way!" the ninja growled.
"Jusqu'à ce que nous nous revoyons, mon ami," Phosphor commented.
"Quand l'enfer gèle!" the Vancouver Ninja growled as she threw a canister to the ground.
Phosphor jumped back as a black cloud exploded, filling the alleyway and blocking the ninja from sight. Phosphor heard the roar of a powerful motorcycle engine starting and then accelerating away. As the smoke dissipated, it was obvious that she was alone.
The Vancouver Ninja was gone.
The following morning
Sunday, February 12th
West 47th Avenue
"What's with the limp, Ella?" Carrie asked as she sat down on her bruised butt cheeks.
"I slipped at the movie, last night," Ella replied.
"You are a klutz, Ella," Carrie grinned.
"Thanks, so much!"
"You okay, Carrie," Amelia Milligan asked, an eyebrow raised.
"A little sore after exercising, is all."
"Here we go again!" Amelia muttered to herself so neither girl could overhear.
"Hey!" Ella growled. "That's my cereal!"
"Mine's finished," Carrie said.
"And that's my problem?"
"I'm hungry!"
"Get some toast."
"Girls!" Amelia called out loudly. "Carrie, what have I told you about your cereal?"
"To tell you when I run out," Carrie responded as Ella grinned nastily.
"As for you, Ella, stop being bitchy!"
Ella's mouth dropped open as Carrie grinned happily.
That same time
1,774 miles to the southeast
Safehouse F, Chicago
"Looks like your investment paid off," Marty commented.
"I think so," Mindy replied. "She fought well, putting down those druggies in no time. The appearance of the Vancouver Ninja was not expected but it was inevitable. Again, Carrie did well, all things taken into account."
"You figured out who the Vancouver Ninja is yet?" Marty asked.
"Not really," Mindy admitted. "One person came to mind but then I fell about laughing at the very suggestion."
"I suppose you're expecting Carrie to bring in her cousin and the boys."
"Ella's a bit soft, in my mind; I really don't see her being able to keep up with Carrie and the boys. I'd expect her to stab or shoot herself should we give her a knife or a gun."
"Okay, we'll leave Ella for the moment," Marty chuckled.
"Let me know if Carrie gets herself into any more trouble."
"Of course; I would expect something fun tonight, if she goes back out."
"Now, I have some work to do tracking down some missing Predators."
"See you later, Mindy."
Glenview
"Well, this could be interesting," Dave commented.
"It's not my fault – well, some of it was," Abigail admitted.
"I cannot believe that, single-handed, you trashed an entire house!" Stephanie grinned. "Well done!"
"Steph!" Dave chuckled. "It was an accident, I'm sure."
"I forget about the bath – I was distracted," Abigail said, and Stephanie winced at her friend's expression – Abigail felt really bad about it.
"We have Abigail for two weeks while Brad is forced to stay with Lauren," Dave commented.
"Forced!" Abigail laughed. "Yeah, right!"
"I want you two idiots to promise that you won't cause any trouble," Dave went on, staring down at Dumb and Dumber.
"Bit harsh," Stephanie scowled.
"Well?" Dave persisted.
"We promise," the two girls intoned.
"Remember, you two are going to be left in charge, and I would like to think that you two can be responsible."
"You can rely on me, Dad," Stephanie stated as stood up straighter.
Abigail laughed.
"Move it, twat for brains!" Stephanie growled.