A Touch of Red

By evolution-500

Genres: Horror/Friendship/Romance

Feedback: Always welcome

WARNING: This story contains violence, coarse language, mature themes and disturbing imagery. Reader discretion is advised.

Disclaimer: KILLER INSTINCT is a property belonging to Rare and Microsoft while RESIDENT EVIL is a property belonging to Capcom. I do not own any of these characters.

Chapter Sixteen: Sundown

"Ja. Ja. Uh huh. I see. Thank you for your time."

Standing in the office with his back leaning against the wall, Dieter lit up his cigarette with a match as he watched Konrad finished his telephone conversation with his accountant and hung up the phone.

"So, what's the verdict, boss?" he queried.

He heard a muffled growl coming from the Baron as the latter pinched the bridge of his nose. "Nothing good, Dieter. Apparently, someone has been fucking me over with my back turned, taking small amounts from company funds and investing them into different shell companies, all without company approval no less."

"What sort of companies?" Dieter interestedly queried.

"I'll need to check, but one of them, Valkyrie Industries, has been verified to be a small robotics company that specializes in drones."

"Drones?" Dieter repeated, raising a brow as he scratched his head. "I don't get it. Why on earth would someone wanna invest in that?"

"That's the million dollar question, isn't it?" Konrad retorted. "I'll bet every dollar I've got it's Sergei, if not David. They're out there trying to make a fool out of me!"

"Calm down, Konrad," the bodyguard waved. "You think the two of them are working together?"

Konrad snorted. "Nein, they can't stand each other, as far as I can tell. That being said, I'd wager this has Sergei's fingerprints all over this, just because despite being a weasel, David is far too chickenshit to get his hands dirty. Still, it's possible he's built up a backbone without my knowing."

The brim of Dieter's fedora shadowed his features, the bodyguard crossing his arms while he smoked. "What do you think is Sergei's angle in getting these drones made?"

Konrad huffed, his breath causing his scarf to flutter. "Like I said, nothing good. We're already struggling to deal with Umbrella's shit, so this new development is going to give me no shortage of headaches. Best care scenario,"

"So why not clear this up with the Board and report Sergei?"

"That would be a great idea...if we actually had evidence that he was responsible."

"Hm." Dieter thoughtfully nodded as he smoked. "Yeah, that would be a problem." Letting out a puff, the bodyguard crossed his arms. "So what's your play going to be then?"

Konrad pressed his gloved hands together, his sunglasses-concealed eyes impossible to read. "Obviously we'll need to keep our ears low to the ground and get to the bottom of this. I pray that I'm wrong, but I have a feeling that the drones are merely the tip of a very ugly iceberg that we have yet to uncover."

The words lingered uncomfortably among the two men as they entertained the various possibilities, some more horrid than others.

Exhaling a thick grey cloud, Dieter hummed. "Well, isn't this dandy," he muttered before stubbing his cigarette out into an ashtray on Konrad's desk. "Any ideas on where you want to start?"

They didn't have to wait long until the phone rang.

Giving an annoyed grunt, Dieter watched as Konrad pressed onto the speaker. "Ja?"

"Good evening, Baron. There is a Captain James Malone waiting on the line," A.R.I.A. informed. "Shall I put him through?"

Hesitating, both Dieter and Konrad gave each other puzzled looks before looking back at the speaker.

"Did he say what this is about?"

"He says that it is urgent, but he has not elaborated. He is insistent on speaking with you directly."

"...Put him through." Picking up the phone from the receiver, the Baron held it to his ear. "Baron Von Sabrewulf speaking." Dieter watched as his employer hesitated. "Uh huh. Military police? From Regarthon Base, you say? What is this about?"

The bodyguard gave a quizzical glance at the Baron, who looked equally befuddled, watching as the latter suddenly straightened his seat. "What?! Are you sure?"

Even with his features concealed, Dieter was able to tell that the call put his boss in a bad mood.

"...I see," Konrad murmured. "Ja, thank you for your call. I will instruct security personnel immediately."

Hanging up the phone with a shaking hand, the Baron looked in Dieter's direction.

"We have a problem."


Fists rapidly met leather as T.J. delivered a swift flurry of punches to the punching bag, the boxer breathing through his teeth with each blow as it connected, his face damp and sweaty.

Focusing on the bag, he continued his combinations, watching it sway back and forth from the blows as he tried to work off his anger and frustration.

Clenching his teeth, T.J. struck it again and again, finishing with an uppercut, the force so strong that he had inadvertently punched straight through.

"Shit!" He swore, watching as the manager of the gym, the old gym manager, Zhou, approached with a broom and a dust pan. "Crap, I'm sorry, fella. I'll clean this-"

"No no no!" Zhou waved. "No trouble. I'll handle this."

"Are you sure, man? I feel pretty bad about-"

"No, it's okay! No worries!" The old man smiled. "Please feel free to use the weight machines in the meantime. I'll come back with a replacement bag."

"Alright." Gratefully nodding, T.J. moved toward the other end of the gym, seating himself down on a weight bench.

"Very impressive," a voice lightly commented.

Glancing to his right, he spotted the veil-wearing man, Jago if he recalled his name correctly, nearby in a meditative position, sitting cross-legged on the floor.

"Thanks," T.J. nodded. Lying down on the weight bench, T.J. then started to do some power lifting of his own, his pecks and biceps flexing as he lifted one hundred and fifty pounds upward and downward in a monotonously repetitive motion. "Didn't mean to hit it so hard, though."

Jago hummed. "You seemed troubled, mighty one," he commented. "Is everything alright?"

Pausing slightly, T.J. gave him a glance. "That obvious, huh?" The boxer then continued with his workout. "Admittedly I've had a lot on my mind lately."

"I gather it's about Nivans' brother?" Looking back at the monk, T.J. raised a brow, causing the former to shrug. "I was there during the confrontation."

T.J. scoffed. "Saw all of that, huh?" He exhaled, "Yeah, I guess everyone did that day." Looking back to the ceiling, he continued his weight-lifting. "Yet another thing to add to my bucket list, as if I don't have enough bullshit in my life to deal with."

"Do you not feel regret for what happened?"

Scowling, T.J. glanced back at Jago. "What are you, my father? It's none of your fuckin' business, Ninja Boy."

Jago then raised a placating hand in a calming gesture. "My apologies. I was only curious, that's all."

Staring at Jago for several seconds, T.J. then averted his eyes, staring up at the ceiling, his mouth feeling dry.

As the latter continued his weight training, the latter breathed. "...I gotta admit, I never expected that. I was a champ for twenty years, and not once have I ever killed anybody, either inside or outside of the ring. Shit, not even when I was on the streets or when I was high as a fuckin' kite with drugs had I ever killed nobody. Worst I ever did was bang somebody up, but this? Fuck, man."

"Does it scare you?"

Pausing midway through his lifting, T.J. scrunched up his brow in thought. "...A little," he admitted. "I'm not a smart man by any means, but even my dumb ass knows there are some lines a man should never cross. Shit, at this rate, I'm either going to jail, or face another fuckin' lawsuit." T.J. sighed, "What I would give to have it all taken back. Had I been smart, I wouldn't have associated with so many fake friends. I wouldn't have lost my title, I wouldn't have lost all those millions of dollars, nor would I have married the single most unpleasant woman in the world and owe support payments to said-bitch. And now this bullshit? Fuck, man. A motherfucker can only take so much shit."

Jago contemplatively sat on the floor, his eyes lowered.

"If it means anything, mighty one," he began, "...I know what it's like."

T.J. gave the Tibetan monk a glance. "You owe spousal support as well?"

Jago lightly chuckled. "No, I don't mean that. I mean killing a man."

T.J. stilled his movements, giving him a questioning and anxious look.

Lowering his eyes, Jago exhaled. "A few years ago, one of the monks in my temple had gone mad. I don't know what happened to him - one moment, everything was calm and quiet. The next, he just suddenly barged into the temple waving a sword around and started to attack everyone around him. He was like an animal, just ranting and raving in a language none of us were able to understand, slashing wildly at anyone and anything. Several within my Order ended up getting hurt trying to pacify him, and I had attempted to reason with him, but..." He shuddered, "his eyes were so wild. I've never seen such madness!"

From the bench, T.J. watched as the Tibetan monk shuddered. "So what happened?"

Sitting quietly for a moment, Jago stared down to the floor, as if reliving the memory. Letting his shoulders sag, he shook his head with remorse. "I...I had pushed him off of one of my brethren, but in doing so, he had tripped and fell down a flight of stairs. When I tried to save him...it was too late - his neck broke on the way down."

The gym was silent as the two men sat alone.

The boxer let out a breath. "Damn, man. That sucks. I'm sorry to hear, dude."

Jago gave a slight shrug. "It is what it is, unfortunately."

"How were you able to deal with that?"

"By accepting it," Jago answered. "In Buddhism, we are taught to live in the present moment rather than focus on the past, for that is where the future is created. Everyone can make mistakes, but ultimately, it is up to them to become better as both individuals and as people. Everyone has the ability to decide what kind of person they want to be going forward, including you, mighty one."

T.J. scoffed. Grunting, he placed with weights back onto the rack and sat right up, facing the Tibetan monk.

"Easier said than done, Ninja Boy," the former said as he wiped off his face with a white towel. "Some folks are incapable and just can't let go of the past. Some folks just can't be redeemed, no matter how hard they try. Hell, sometimes the past is never the past, so why even bother? Shit, I wouldn't be surprised if that Piers guy harbors a grudge against me for the rest of his life."

"He will be angry with you," Jago agreed. "At least, for a time. He and his family have suffered a loss, so they are understandably upset. However, I believe that in time he will eventually be able to move on from his anger - time has a way of healing old wounds and dulling the pain, and all he can do at the moment is heal."

The boxer scoffed. "Great. Well, that's great. I only have to wait a few years and hopefully he'll forget about little ole me," he drawled. "Assuming he doesn't hire a lawyer or hitman or somethin'. Very comforting."

Jago said nothing, his expression hard to read.

Cracking his neck, T.J. sighed. "Well, whatevs. So tell me, Ninja Boy - what's my fortune cookie say? Any words of wisdom that you want to share with the Main Man? Any advice on how I get out of the shit that I'm in?"

The boxer watched as Jago thoughtfully stared at him from the floor.

"Tell me, might one," the latter spoke slowly, "what is it that you fight for?"

T.J. blinked. "Is this rhetorical?"

"No, I'm actually asking. What do you fight for?"

T.J. shrugged. "Isn't it obvious? Money."

"That's all?"

"Afraid so. What can I say? I've got bills to pay, and the Main Man isn't gonna go down without a fight. I was a champ for twenty fuckin' years, and no motherfucker is gonna force me back down onto the streets and take that from me. Not after everything I sacrificed in order to be on top. I made a ton of mistakes, but things will be different this time."

"And what of the people that you've hurt along the way in order to get where you were?" Jago pressed. "What of the people that you will hurt in order to get that money? What if you don't? What then?"

T.J. opened his mouth to make a retort...only to find himself faltering.

Working his jaw, T.J. struggled to find the words to respond.

"...Things will be different this time," he said softly, as though he were trying to convince himself, though his voice lacked its conviction.

"So you claim," Jago nodded, "but words and actions are two very different things, mighty one."

Clenching his jaw, T.J. harshly breathed through his nostrils, his face feeling warm.

"...What do I do then?" he asked, his voice low. "Huh? What do you think I should do then? Tell me, what should I do?"

Jago shook his head. "All you can do, mighty one, is to accept what happened and hope for the best. Hope, and move forward. Where you go from there and how you go about your redemption, should you choose to seek it, you will have to decide for yourself."

Getting up from the floor, Jago then pressed his fist into his palm and bowed. "Good luck in the tournament, my friend."

As the Tibetan monk left, T.J. sat alone on the workout bench in the gym, pondering the former's words in silent contemplation.


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"HIIIIII! This is your girl Kila Streets speaking!" A high-pitched voice spoke in a singsong tone.

"Oh God!" Claire rolled her eyes, groaning at the annoying pop idol's face as it appeared with a smile. "Not her again!"

First Justin Bieber, now her?!

What's with these social media twerps?!

At least Pewdiepie was somewhat tolerable...and Claire used that phrase loosely.

She could think of many celebrities who would have been more suitable as the face of Ultratech's entertainment brand - Markiplier. George Clooney. Idris Elba. Henry Cavill.

Even a dead rat was more suitable than Kila freaking Streets, whose only notable accomplishment was singing the loathsome "Muskrat Love", appearing in horrible music videos which solely consisted of her twerking, and breathing.

And breathing was too much, even for Claire to handle.

"Whose dick did you suck for you to land such a cushy job?" The teenager muttered, glaring at the screen. "I bet you slept with the casting director or something. Maybe the producers."

"Be sure to subscribe to my channel on YouTube! Also, be sure to check out Blaster Fuel, which is brought to you by our sponsors over at BLASTER Fuel! Hashtag #KI4Life! Hashtag #KIFEELING!"

"Eat shit and die, you stupid bitch," Claire swiped, turning off the television with her remote. Laying back on her bed, she stared up at the ceiling, letting out a dissatisfied groan.

Shifting to one side, then the other, she gave a frustrated groan as she tried to find a more comfortable position.

"For God's sakes," she muttered, slapping her pillow.

Of all the times for her to be unable to fall asleep, it had to be now.

Granted, it was pretty early in the evening, barely five o'clock, but still, she just wanted to get a good night's sleep before the tournament tomorrow.

Was it too much to ask?

Sitting herself up, Claire pinched the bridge of her nose, giving an indignant huff.

"Goddamn it."

How was she supposed to get to sleep?

Taking a deep breath, Claire swept her hands through her auburn hair, brushing some bangs aside.

'Maybe a walk could help,' she reasoned.

Thinking it over, nodded thoughtfully before sitting up, grabbing her clothes.


T.J. let out a groan as he stretched out from the shower.

Once he finished getting dressed and gathered all of his belongings, he stepped out into the cool evening air, breathing it in before letting out a rumbling hum of approval.

"Enjoying the cold air?" he heard someone ask.

Turning to his right, he spotted a tall man step outside of the building beside him, his hair long and tied in a ponytail.

"Uh huh," T.J. nodded. "Nothin' better than enjoying a nice breeze after an intense training session." He then gave a the big man a quizzical look, his eyes widening in recognition. "I know you. You're Lightning, aren't you?"

The big man laughed lightly, shaking his head. "Thunder, actually. And you're T.J. Combo."

"The one and only. You a fan?"

Thunder shrugged. "Not really. I'm more of a wrestling fan myself, but my little brother Eagle was a huge fan of yours."

"Is that right?"

"Yeah, he used to watch all your fights, including back when you used to participate in the KI tournament."

Smiling, T.J. nodded as he reminisced on those days. "Yeah, I remember those days. That was back when the tournament wasn't such a freakshow as it is now. Man, the sponsorship deals that I had, the babes..."

As he trailed off, Thunder shrugged. "Things change."

The boxer grunted. "They do. Not always for the better, though."

Humming thoughtfully, the Native American nodded. "That's true."

T.J. then gave the big man a side-glance. "So what is your brother doing nowadays?"

Thunder shrugged. "I don't know. The last time I saw him, he had been KI's champion a few years ago. We had a bit of a...falling out."

The boxer hummed. "Got into a fight, huh?"

"That obvious?" The Native American exhaled. "The Eagle that I knew was different from the one that I last saw. Far less mouthy, with less of an attitude problem. Our parents had died years ago, and I had been the one who had to raise and look after him."

T.J. let out a low whistle. "Sounds like you had a lot on your plate."

"He was a handful when he was a kid," Thunder admitted, "and God knows, I have tried. Granted, I was never the best brother or person. I'm not perfect, but I did my best to do right by him. We may have gotten on each others' nerves every once in a while, but we were brothers." As he stared out to the horizon for a long time, T.J. sensed an air of melancholy emanate from the big man, the latter's eyes filled with regret. "I have tried...so hard to be a role model for him. A role model for our community. I had tried to instill in him all of the values of our heritage...but it hadn't been enough. He became...hateful. And arrogant."

Thunder's eyes drooped along with his shoulders, slowly shaking his head. "I failed him, and the worst part is, I don't understand where I went wrong."

T.J. clicked his tongue, considering his words.

"Maybe it's not a failure on your part," he said slowly, drawing Thunder's attention. "Growing up, my daddy used to work as a dockworker. Back then, times were hard as shit, and God knows, my dumbass always got in trouble, both at school and with the law. He had always believed in me, though, and he had fought hard to make sure our family never went hungry. It was only when I became too much of a jackass in my teens that he decided to kick my punk ass out, and looking back, I don't blame him. I was pretty angry back then. Always blaming the white man for all my troubles and fuckups. The thing is?" The boxer let out a dry laugh. "It don't fuckin' matter. The white man didn't make me choose to get cybernetic implants, take drugs or cheat on my wife - that was all me."

T.J. crossed his arms as he continued, "Sometimes in order for one to grow the fuck up and mature, some guys need a good kick in the ass and fail every now. Some motherfuckers need to be reminded that the world don't revolve around them and that they don't know everything. We bitch, we moan, we cry, but the fact is? The world doesn't owe us shit, even though we would like to believe that it does. It's been turning since the beginning, and it will keep on turning once we're all dead and gone. Some motherfuckers could have everything - all the money in the world, all the support from their family, friends and community or whatever - but all it takes is one dumbass decision to lose it all, just like that."

For emphasis, he snapped his fingers.

"It's easy for folks to blame everyone else for what's gone wrong in their lives and play the perpetual victim, but at the end of the day, the person signing the cheque will be the one who cashed it. Sometimes motherfuckers just need to take responsibility and be accountable for shit. My daddy used to tell me all the time growin' up, 'Life isn't about winning, son. It's about losing and still keeping on. That's called grit.' Maybe if I had realized that sooner and showed my appreciation better I wouldn't be in this mess, I don't know. My daddy did what he could to do right by me, tried to give me a future, but my failures are the result of my own choices, not his, and the way I see it, the same is also true of your brother. You did what you could, but ultimately, the rest was up to him."

He watched as Thunder silently absorbed his words, the latter staring at the floor in thought.

Looking up, the Native American nodded. "Perhaps there's some truth in what you say." He quirked a brow. "You sure you are a dumbass?"

T.J. offered a lopsided grin. "Well, I may not be the most educated, but I like to think the Main Man does have his moments of pure awesome."

Letting out an amused scoff, Thunder shook his head. "You are something else, alright."

Nodding in agreement, T.J. chuckled. "That I am. Hey, what say we get a beer? I wouldn't mind hearing more about your brother's fights."

He watched as a dark look passed over Thunder's face as he eyed their surroundings.

"I appreciate the offer," the latter ominously replied. "Truly, I do. Perhaps some other time after the tournament I can take you up on it, but right now, my priority is on finding Eagle."

Blinking in confusion, T.J.'s brows wrinkled as the big man started to turn away. "'Find Eagle'? What are you talking about? Isn't he in the tournament?"

The boxer watched as Thunder looked uncertainly around, as if unsure whether or not to say anything.

Exhaling, the latter's shoulders sagged as he shook his head. "My brother's missing."

Frowning, T.J. raised a questioning brow. "'Missing'? What do you mean?"

He watched as Thunder stared out to the cluster of trees and buildings, his eyes darkly roaming along the latter.

"He hasn't appeared in any of the seasons following the earthquake in Munich back in 2013," the latter explained. "His last Twitter post stated that he was "retiring" from his position as champion and from social media due to stress, but I think that's bullshit. I haven't found a single update for him anywhere. Not on Twitter, Facebook, Tumblr, Instagram, Twitch or YouTube. I have tried calling him, I have left countless emails and messages, and not once has he responded. It's like he's vanished off the face of the earth, and even though we parted on bad terms, I'm worried for him."

T.J. placed his hands on his hips. "Shit, that sounds serious. You haven't heard from your brother since that time?"

"Not even a "fuck you", and that has me worried."

The boxer ran a hand along his jaw, pausing. "You said that the two of you were on bad terms, right? You sure he's not just ghosting you or trying to avoid speaking to you?"

He watched the Native American considered his question, scratching his chin.

"It's...possible," he slowly admitted. "But still...it's unlike Eagle to not check in with his fans on Facebook. He loves social media."

"Does he have a girlfriend?" T.J. suggested.

Thunder frowned. "No, not that I know of. Fighting's his life - ever since he was a kid, it was all that he was ever passionate about. The Eagle I knew was focused and driven, dedicated to honing his skills. Still, given the lout he became after achieving fame in the KI tournament, perhaps..." He hesitated, "...perhaps..."

As Thunder trailed off, T.J. noticed the big man deflating, and in that weakness, something in the latter broke. He looked lost, weary, and conflicted, his eyes filled with uncertainty, looking so utterly defeated.

T.J. tilted his head. "...You okay, guy?"

Letting his shoulders sag, Thunder stared down to the floor. "Have...Have I travelled all this way...for nothing? Have I been wasting my time coming here?"

The words he uttered were spoken so softly that they were barely even audible, and for a moment, T.J. had wondered if the big man were even conscious of the fact that he said those words aloud.

He had to admit, he admired Thunder's loyalty to his brother; not a lot of people would travel thousands of miles in order to try to find a sibling, especially in light of the fact that there was bad blood between them.

At least, not without good reason.

The fact that Thunder had taken the time and effort in order to get here was proof enough that he deeply cared about his brother.

The question, however, was was that also true in terms of Eagle himself?

T.J. pondered quietly, his thumb and index finger supporting his own chin.

It was hard to determine just what sort of person Eagle was based on Thunder's own comments alone, as it was always possible that the man he was now was significantly different from how he was before, something that T.J. could relate to on some level.

While it was true that people could change, sometimes it wasn't for the better, and if it were the case that Eagle was now on a path of ruin like T.J. had, then chances were high that he was going to be in a world of hurt, if he wasn't already.

Whatever the truth was, someone was going to get hurt regardless, making it all the more tragic.

Sighing, T.J. ran his hand over his mouth as he struggled to think of some way to comfort Thunder, even though he had no idea how to.

Clearing his throat, the former spoke, drawing the latter's attention. "Listen," T.J. said slowly, "have you tried contacting the police about this?"

Thunder exhaled, some of his resolve seeming to return, at least somewhat. "I've tried calling the police in Munich, even had my lawyer reach out to see if he could get in touch with Ultratech representatives, but I wasn't able to get anything. Ultratech knows something. I don't know if they're holding Eagle captive somewhere, I don't know if he's hurt...I don't even know if he had died in the earthquake and if they're covering up in order to avoid a scandal or payout, I don't know. All I know is that Ultratech knows what happened to my brother, and I'm not leaving until I find the truth."

T.J. stared at Thunder, studying the latter. "And what if they don't know? What if your brother left the grid because he's a junkie or drunk somewhere?"

The Native American's eyes harshly glared, his visage darkening. "How dare you suggest my little brother to be such a thing. What, just because we're Native American you expect us to be either a drunk or junkie? Is that it?"

"Oh don't give me that racism bullshit!" T.J. groaned. "Listen, dude, as unpleasant as it is to hear, we need to face facts - you and your brother had beef, and because of that, you stopped talking. Is it any wonder why he hasn't gotten in touch with you? You said it yourself - success went to his head, right?" He held out his arms in a grand gesture, "Well look who you are talking to! The washup who has lost everything after making it big and who has a PH.D. in making every bad fuckin' choice imaginable, so I know a thing or two. I lived it, brotha - I had partied hard, I had snorted up every drug I could find, drank every bottle of booze I could get my hands on, and tapped every piece of ass that I came across. Your brother is probably in my position as we speak."

Thunder clenched his mouth. "You're wrong."

"Am I?" T.J. then leaned toward him. "What guarantee do you have that your brother isn't either in a ditch or alley somewhere, getting wasted or high off his ass? Huh? What guarantee do you have that he's not with a hooker or blowing somebody on the street in order to get his fix?"

T.J. watched as the Native American curled his hand into a fist.

For a moment, he expected Thunder to use it to punch him in the face.

Instead, the big man turned and slammed it hard against the nearest wall, producing a loud bang.

T.J. waited with bated breath as Thunder exhaled, the latter appearing morose.

A dark gloom fell over the latter as the harsh lines on Thunder's face softened, the big man raising a hand to his own face as he shook his head from side to side, though whether it was in denial or not made T.J. uncertain.

Letting out a breath, the Native American's shoulders drooped.

"...You are right," he admitted, his voice low. "I don't know. And...that scares me. I...want to believe that that is not the case...but..." Closing his eyes, he shook his head again, "All these years, I haven't heard a single word from him. I have spent countless nights thinking about what happened. Always wondering about what he's doing. Always wondering if I was too harsh. Always wondering if things could have been different, if I...could have been more patient and forgiving with him. The last time we spoke..." He licked his dry lips, "I had turned my back on him."

Turning to face T.J., Thunder stared directly to him, his eyes haunted and regretful. "I am afraid for Eagle. I don't know if he's hurt, I don't know if he's quit, or if he's committed suicide somewhere...every day, I sit waiting for that phone call. Every time it rang, I constantly dreaded it. You cannot imagine how torturous it is to never know what is going on with your own flesh and blood. Of waiting for that one phone call from the police telling me that my brother is dead. I'm terrified of the possibility that I may have been the one who had inadvertently driven him to that point, that I pushed him away when he was at his most vulnerable. But even more? The thing that scares me more than anything...is being unable to reconcile with him, and...and that my last words to him...were that we were no longer family."

The big man ponderously shook his head. "Perhaps I am looking in the wrong place, but...I just don't know where else to look. He's all I have left."

T.J.'s eyes softened as he pityingly regarded Thunder, the latter's words filled with helplessness and despair.

"What will you do if it turns out that Ultratech doesn't have anything that you're looking for?" T.J. asked. "What if you end up emptyhanded?"

Tilting his head, Thunder thoughtfully considered the question, nodding to himself. Finally, he spoke. "Then I will leave and continue my search elsewhere," he answered. "There would be no point in my continuing with the tournament."

Thunder then turned and started to walk away, leaving T.J. alone in front of the gym.

Looking around in different directions, the boxer scratched the back of his head, his mind warring with itself.

'It's not my business,' he told himself.

Don't get involved. It's none of your business. Don't-

"Hey, uh, listen," T.J. spoke up, his words causing Thunder to halt and whirl back to face him, giving the boxer a puzzled look. "If you're gonna look for your brother, you're gonna need all the help you can get. I mean, a place this big, that's a lot of space to cover, and that's assuming Eagle is even here. So, uh, if you like, I can...help you out. Provided that we don't do anything too crazy that will end up with us either getting kicked out or arrested."

He watched as Thunder's eyebrows rose up in surprise, the big man seemingly taken aback by the gesture.

Smiling, the latter nodded, looking grateful. "That would be very much appreciated. Thank you for your assistance."

"No problem." Crossing his arms, T.J. expectantly lifted his chin. "So then, big man, where do you want to start?"


The pavement clacked beneath her boots as she strolled alone on the street, the cool breeze causing trees to flutter.

Shivering slightly, Claire blew on her cold hands, slipping them into the pockets of her shorts for warmth.

In retrospect, she should have gone outside with warmer clothing.

Overhead, the sky was a mixture of orange, gold and purple as the sun set, dimly coloring everything around her as the girl casually strolled.

As Claire walked alone, she heard a loud female wail somewhere ahead of her, followed by what sounded distinctly like...chains.

"Huh?"

Raising her head, Claire glanced in various directions, listening carefully before moving in the direction of the noises.

Blinking, the girl's brows furrowed in confusion as she spotted a silhouette of what appeared to be a hunchbacked figure wandering around the front of Spencer Mansion.

"What the hell?!"

Rubbing her eyes, she squinted, watching as the figure vanished into the once taped-up entrance, the caution tape fluttering loosely in the breeze.

Staring in stunned silence, Claire nervously swallowed as she took an anxious step back, her heart beating loudly in her ears.

...What was that?!

Backing away, Claire's brows scrunched up, unsure of what she just saw.

'Should I go out and check, if not call security?' she wondered.

Turning around, Claire barely walked two feet forward when someone bumped into her, grunting from the impact.

"Shit, I'm sorry-"

Recognizing the voice, Claire looked up, her eyes widening in surprise. "...Billy?"

Billy blinked, equally startled. "Claire? Jesus, you scared me!"

"Scared you? You scared the hell out of me!" Claire countered, causing Billy to wince.

"Sorry about that." He then gave her a puzzled look. "What are you doing out here?"

"I was going for a walk." Claire furrowed her brows, noticing the backpack that he carried on one shoulder. "What about you?"

Adjusting the strap of his backpack, Billy sighed. "I'm leaving, Claire."

Blinking in confusion, the girl hesitated, her confusion growing. "W-What? But...why?"

He shook his head. "I can't...I can't talk about it, Claire. Trust me, it's...it's for the best. It was a mistake coming here. I should have realized that sooner."

"What are you talking about? Billy, what's wrong? Please, talk to me."

The former Marine conflictedly looked at her, looking troubled, his eyes full of worry. Sighing, Billy then adjusted the bag over his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Claire - I can't. I just can't. I wish things were different, but...I'm sorry."

As the words lingered, he turned his back to her and started to walk away, leaving her alone.

"Billy? Billy, come back!"

Claire watched as the former Marine continued onward until he took a right and disappeared around a corner, his form vanishing from view.

Looking around in all directions, the girl dejectedly slumped, her eyes staring down at her own boots in disappointment.

Well, there went yet another friend.

Sighing, the girl turned around and started to make her way back to her room when she suddenly became aware of hushed hurrying footsteps that were fast approaching, moving toward her.

"Huh?"

Claire barely had a chance to react, let alone had enough time to see who it was when she felt something strike her across the side of her head, the girl letting out a cry as she collapsed onto the pavement.


Billy stopped mid-step, looking over his shoulder as he heard Claire cry out.

"Claire?"


Wincing, Claire struggled to stay awake, pushing herself up from the ground.

"H-HELP!" She cried. "HELP! HELP! S-SOMEBODY! SOMEBODY HELP-"

The teenager shrieked as she was kicked, causing her to roll along the pavement, her head feeling hazy as bright lights filled her vision.

Disoriented, the last thing Claire saw before blacking out was a pair of thick brown boots that stood close to her head and a cruelly feminine laugh.


"CLAIRE?! CLAIRE?!"

Sweeping a hand through his hair, Billy let out a frustrated growl, looking conflictedly between the path he was going and back in Claire's direction.

He should keep going.

After all, why should he intervene? He was in enough trouble as it was.

But...the screams...Claire...

He swore.

Damn it, why now?!

"CLAIRE?! CLAIRE!"

"What's going on?" Turning to his left, he spotted T.J. and Thunder as they appeared from an intersecting path a few feet away, approaching him.

"I think Claire's in trouble!" Billy explained. "I heard her screaming for help just now! Come on!"

As the three of them headed back to where they came, the former Marine cursed his luck.

Of all the times for this to happen.

He had meant to get away quickly, but for this to happen now.

Exhaling, Billy quickened his pace, praying that he and the others weren't too late.


Once the three of them made it back to the spot where Claire had been, Billy looked around.

"Do you fellas see her anywhere?"

T.J. frowned. "I don't see nothin'."

"Look! Over there!" Thunder pointed, drawing their attention over to a dark figure dragging an unconscious Claire along the ground toward the front of the taped-off Spencer Mansion.

Billy's eyes widened, watching as the person dragged Claire up the stairs, disappearing inside. "CLAIRE!"

Rushing forward, Billy found himself stopped by T.J. as he grabbed onto his shoulder. "Whoa, hold on! We can't go in there!"

"But Claire's in there! You saw yourself, didn't you?"

"I saw, but the Baron has told us not to go inside. I think it would be better if we got in touch with security and get them to-"

Billy clenched his teeth together, growling, wrenching his arm free from the boxer's grasp. "We don't have time!" He retorted. "Are you coming or what?"

Thunder stepped forward. "I'm in." He then gave an expectant look over his shoulder at T.J. "How about you?"

Wrinkling his brows, T.J. exchanged looks between the two men, then looked in both directions to make sure nobody was around.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he sore. "Ahh shit, alright." Reaching into his pockets, T.J. then put on his sunglasses. "Let's go."