Author's note: I miswrote Ibuki's father's name in 53, it's not Ryo, it is Kanze, I apologize for the typo, tis the byproduct of hasting the work due to lack of time

** Chapter 54 **

** 2 weeks later, Underground Complex, Tokyo, Japan **

The room is bathed in darkness; a single candle combats the descending shadows, the halo around it illuminating the single man, his brown eyes glancing deep into the flame, the look within them distant, them unfocused and carrying a tired and regretful look within their depths.

He is sitting Indian style, clad in robes of raven black, most of his body melding into the shadows almost perfectly, body is lean and muscular, his clothing tightly spread over him. This man’s face reveal his eyes middle age, several wrinkles upon his skin, eyes dark brown, decent distinguishably oriental, his hair a mane of shoulder long smooth black hair.

The chemical energy invested in the wax of the candle wastes away in the form of heat and light, wisps of smoke swirl before this man’s face, the strong odor filling his nostrils, the toxic Carbon Monoxide vapor filling the man’s lungs and making them burn slightly, a heavy exhale being pushed out of his throat.

It had been months since he had been forced into an action he regret, once more bent down before the will of the elders, always forced to bow down to those foolish old cankers, the very thought made his blood boil and his muscles tense.

This man is known to a selected few by his real name, Geki, Geki Hasigawa, supreme high ranking ninja, one of the most revered and respected of his kin, one of the most feared and infamous individuals in Asia, if not the whole world.

Geki’s legacy is a bloody one, it consisting of a long line of successful missions, content clients, loyal warriors and the escalation of Shinobi influence to a global scale. He was the man, who took the Shinobi to the next level, and at the same time, due to being bent to the will of the stubborn traditions of the Elders, sent hurtling back every several advances.

The man known as the man of a thousand deaths, his name spoken in hushed fearful whispers in the shadows, his mere look of discontent enough to make many men and women recoil and gasp, was now in a state of deep thought.

Today was a colossal day in his life, the anniversary of one of the darkest hours of his past, on this day close to 14 years ago, he had witnessed a treachery so wretched, so sordid and outrageous; it made the soul scream at the injustice, the heart wrench in agony.

Yet, deep inside he knew then and he knows now, that could’ve prevented the grisly turn of events, he could’ve made a move that’d change many lives forever. He hadn’t, he had let his older brother be sent out on a mission he could not accomplish by the clan elders.

Geki had done nothing to stop it, he was a coward, his brother was dead, Slain not by the target he was sent to eliminate. Such a turn of events would’ve been perhaps been equally painful, but to some degree, acceptable.

Nevertheless, that was not the case, no, His oldest sibling was murdered by the clan’s actions, by the brethren he had trusted with his own life, by his own two siblings whom he loved and helped raise. His elder brother, Kanze, had lost his life, his family, his happiness, all for the sake of clan honor, or more like, elder’s honor.

The old ones conceiving Kanze’s rejecting the office of Shinobi leader and wanting to lead a ordinary life, if still performing minimal duties to the clan was an insult and act of insolence unspoken of, fear of the rumor spreading and the Shinobi pride being humiliated driving them to commit such an crime.

That, Geki knew, was an unforgivable blemish and sin that would forever tarnish the Shinobi and he himself most of all, to have his brother be betrayed so repulsively because he wanted out, because he had more hope for life, because he wanted to live, was something Geki knew, was intolerable.

True, some amongst the lower circles did say his brother Shingari’s betrayal, one that Geki himself, had no knowledge of before it was far too late, was the sole reason to Kanze’s death, it being a treacherous act of cowardliness in the name of selfish aspiration and greed.

It made his eyes haze in red, his fists clench and breathing jam in his lungs every time he remembered how he was misinformed and disarmed by the persuasive words of the old ones, and had been convinced Kanze would have backup in his task, that he was sent out so his will to leave the clan could be fulfilled.

Fire runs though his veins as hatred and a incalculable sense of stupidity fill him, for he should of known it was a lie. However, he wanted to believe it too much, he perhaps also did not see Kanze’s decision as a wise or truly acceptable one himself.

Thus, He let himself be blinded; only to be enlightened ever so devastatingly in the days following the death of his brother that it was all a grand scheme concocted by some of the elders to usurp Kanze and put his other older brother Shingari, who was much more suitable in the elder’s eyes, into power.

He could perhaps try to believe, that if Shingari hadn’t issued a warning to Bison, the target who physically killed His brother, that Kanze would’ve managed to kill Bison. Nevertheless, that was a lie as well, for everyone knew, Geki included, how dubious such a claim is.

M.Bison was at his prime in those days, surrounded by his most powerful aides. Even his brother Kanze, the most prominent of the children of the shadows; the true heir to the throne of the children of the ancient Japanese Ninja, and Imperial hero, Shinobi, was not powerful enough to penetrate the base alone, and kill such a powerful figure as the Lord Bison.

The ninja was no self delusional fool, nor was he one to lie to himself, he is fully aware that the fact he didn’t speak out and vote against sending Kanze to try and assassinate the lord of Shadowlaw himself, a task no mortal could hope to attain alone, he would never be able to justify.

Geki’s eyes open, he looks as the murals on the wall, at the holy relics of his ancestors, and his eyes moisten, as his heart twists painfully, the truth stronger than his pride and undeniable even with the best excuses and presumptions at his side.

Geki who with his own two hands, had taken the lives of so many, who’s wit had brought down hundreds of foes, had let his pride, his anger, and his acrimony get the better of him, and in a quite long series of uncharacteristic actions for a ninja had become the catalyst of his own family’s destruction.

The memories that have brought him so much pain for so long have been flooding the Ninja lord’s mind and dreams more than usual as of late, this a direct response to another recent mishap, this time with Kanze’s daughter, his niece Ibuki.

She was just like him, she abhorred killing, and she couldn’t bring herself to do it despite her extensive knowledge of ways of sending one to the grave, unless of course there was utterly no other choice, or some moral excuse or piece of logic that was beyond even her ability to disregard.

Just like the time she had killed the Yakuza lord, for his crimes, his threats on her, his almost raping two of her friends, One Sarai and Sakura, several months ago, despite herself, part of the ninja was still within her.

He had questioned her over what she had done and she explained to him that she knew he would hurt, kill, rape and destroy more lives, that he would try to kill her repeatedly, the man confessed that to her. He was beyond the hand of the law, this she knew at the time, and truthfully, men like that Yakuza are feared, the judge would’ve been threatened and he would yield, or he would have been out on bail for their extensive resources, or possibly even both.

Therefore in what she later said, that despite her ire, was truly a maternal instinct to protect those she loves and other people from dying and being scarred by him, killed him. This he found to be a more rousing and meaningful goal and way of seeing things, one he couldn’t help but smile at, in it’s simplicity that showed the depth of her caring and love for the people she loved and even strangers.

On one hand, he had to feel a pang of relief that she did not turn out like the elders or brother Shingari, who paid the price for his duplicity by Geki’s own hands only several months ago. She was just like Kanze and Kumiko were in that light, she had some ideals and morals that even Shinobi training just could not break.

He felt sorry for her, she had really liked the positive philosophies of life the Shinobi ancient scripts gave, loyalty to one another, how ironic it was that that basic tile is skipped over so many times by so many of her brethren; Community and mutual respect to your friends and acquaintances and even rivals.

But most of all did she take in the long since ignored and forgotten rule of never killing, torturing or maiming one weaker than you, unless he or she has or will hurt others, and at every possible opportunity to let the legislation and legal branches deal with such foes.

He hangs his head low as the thoughts bring him pain, sighing inwardly, moving his hand to rub his temples as he whispers out a curse and grits his teeth, guilt gushing around him like a cyclone, enveloping him snugly like meat in an Enchilada and letting him boil in the soup he had cooked for himself.

** Meanwhile, Brotherhood/Hezbollah Outpost, outside the city of Sidon, Southern Lebanon **

Urien stands high, walking through the corridors of the structure, it being casual, a floor of tiles in a shade of faded grey, covered by layers of dusts. The walls are chalk-white, carrying large cracks, some of the foundations behind the wall revealed through the large cracks.

Urien runs his hand over the wall flippantly, feeling the wall’s exterior crumbling onto his fingers, then using his other hand to comb through his silvery hair, thus removing large deposits of dust and small pieces of the ceiling from it, the ceiling crumbling as well.

He rolls his eyes and pushes out a heavy sigh, the dim light of the small light bulbs above him not enough to say at least, them flickering on and off every now and then. Urien moves to massage his temples, gritting his teeth some, looking down at his business suit, the black fabric now altered to white.

The state of their base was disgraceful; and as many things belonging to the brotherhood had become, all Gill’s fault of course. The Blue and Red, horror movie reject is the one who insisted on sponsoring the Hezbollah, A radical party/terror organization, cooperating with Iranian Government, helping them financially, and in turn, gaining the help and support of the local Lebanese organization’s guerrilla fighters, who were outlets to the Iranian extreme Islamic Regime.

The only predicament was that the Hezbollah was as of late has been escalating its assaults against Israel, trying to push the Israeli’s out of territories the UN had already agreed were theirs, in the South and provoke them into retaliating radically and perhaps even trigger a war in the M.E.

Normally the terrorists’ fights against what they conceived to be the Zionist threat to the world and Islam was none of his concern, as he was not part of that branch of Islam or the mainstream Islam; which didn’t believe in such acts of atrocious terror and murders. He instead was an atheist in heart, even though at times he was forced to play along to indulge his underlings and associates.

However, the never-ending efforts and attacks do become alarming when the Israeli retaliation began. The IAF, or Israeli Air force’s, supreme pilots and Israel’s notorious intelligence managed to sniff out the Hezbollah outposts in Southern Lebanon and making short way of them; Or alternatively, the Israeli’s mechanized artillery shelling the terrorists or their bases if they were close enough to the border.

Of course, the guerrilla warriors were slippery, and not easily subdued, damaging Israeli facilities, wounding, and killing those they could, being like a bunch of mosquitoes on the Israelis backs.

Israel in all its Military might, and very qualified and talented army found it impossible to crush the organization completely, as Guerrilla tactics were an art of warfare no army in all of history had managed to conquer.

The organizations networks worldwide and widespread. Moreover, ground assaults were out of the question with the International eyes gazing upon you always, thus as the terrorists used civilians as human shields and struck in small and painful waves, the eternal repetition continued.

These cycles of terrorist attacks followed by military retaliations were beginning to gnaw at the Brotherhood’s pipeline of money and personnel, which was already beginning to dry off. But Gill insisted they would be a key asset in his battle with Xavier Bison when the time for war was upon them.

This facility for example, was once a hiding place for one of the Militant organization’s field commanders, 500 lbs bombs did the trick and leveled the eastern wing, and damaged this one.

The explosion killed that man, and many of his aides, a gruesome retaliation by the Israelis, but that was the only way to fight terrorism sponsored by a country, moreover when they fired missiles into your country and kidnapped your soldiers whenever they willed it so.

However, that was not important to him; he had other qualms with his brother Gill. Urien’s rage and hatred to the Egyptian warlord knew no bounds lately; the arrogant fool would be the undoing of everything and everyone Urien knew.

His Brother wasn’t aware of the changes that occurred in the years that have passed since his fall from grace at Akuma’s hands, and even before that, Gill was always trying to take a bite out of things he just couldn’t swallow, and getting everyone into trouble, first with Interpol, than with Shadowlaw.

All while Urien worked so hard, earned respect in the lower circles of the Brotherhood, all for naught, to be stolen from him by Gill once more, all his efforts, never ever enough, because of his brother, always his brother standing in the way.

It drove Urien nuts; he was a fearless warrior and a able leader and had been leading the brotherhood into the future. It amazed and angered him how Gill saw the picture all wrong. What Gill saw as humiliation by Shadowlaw, was Urien’s revolutionizing and making things more efficient.

He had taken the organization underground and cut expenses. What Gill saw as the allies disagreeing with Urien was negotiations on new relationships that would give birth to a worldwide alliance of organizations to cooperate and help one another against Shadowlaw’s mounting power.

It was always like that, for years now, Gill did nothing but humiliate Urien at every turn, The Godling not shamed of beating and wounding him when displeased. Moreover, Gill often belittled Urien’s hard work, scoffed at his ideas, gave then no notice, or if he did listen he would take all credit for it himself, leaving Urien to sulk and fill with burning indignation at being stuck in place for so long.

Urien was considered always as second best, weaker, less able, this made Urien bitter and angry because he was cunning, crafty, strong, fierce and very innovative and most importantly realistic, and smart enough to read the world situation like it really is, and not delude himself into sinking into dreams of false power he didn’t have.

Urien’s fate was to be a great and imposing figure in human history, Urien could feel it, and see his ability to make himself one if he only had the change, but fate had cursed him by giving Gill powers that overshadowed his own.

Urien was never given a chance, for the elders crowned the arrogant fool of a brother of his as the Emperor of the organization that had been alive for centuries in the shadows, the most foolish mistake the high council had ever made, for they as Urien had, watched as Gill ruins all they’ve built.

This is because Gill’s dream of genetic equality and perfection for the Human species a world where everyone loves and respects him for bringing peace and prosperity under his powers was a foolish illusion that will never be fulfilled.

Humanity would never accept him because his promises, many people had their ambitions for power, he would be assaulted by so many arrows, by so many armies and organizations he’d be erased, his dream of brazen conquer was impossible to achieve, Gill was just too foolish to see this, or too sure of himself to believe he could fail.

Thus, Urien was beginning to get desperate, Gill pushing for his dream more and more, and beginning to cross red lines, many a time purposefully in his attempts to achieve it, not afraid or wary of crossing with powers that are stronger than his own are.

The foolish red and blue idiot was going to set the brotherhood in a collision course with Shadowlaw, he was going to send a cat to battle a lion, he was going to get them all killed.

Urien would not let Gill lead them all to death, he could not forsake the warriors he had recruited, and Urien would not, abandon his own ambitions, but these were much more realistic than Gill’s and he could easily achieve them without battling Shadowlaw directly.

Urien’s eyes narrow some as he grins to himself, knowing that soon he would be second best no longer, he would be the strongest, the most paramount, the esteemed one, oh yes, he would be seen as laudable at long last, he would be the leader, the emperor, the one people come to for orders and advice, soon, very soon.

Urien is not afraid of Gill’s reaction, quite convinced he is brighter than Gill. He knows direct conflict with Gill or Xavier is suicide, he also knows if he bides his time there would be a more suitable time and place to get Xavier Bison out of the picture, it was only a manner of time and being crafty enough.

Urien had a plan, a devious one. It would remove both Gill and boost his own individual power and influence, all he had to do was play his cards right. He grins at that as he enters a door and looks at the person he had left in this small office to wait for him while he briefed some field commanders, nodding his head at him.

The man nods back at him, He is in his mid thirties, wearing a military outfit in black, green and grey. The man is young and of European decent, he has sharp and clever eyes, and while he is young, he seems to be more notable than most deputies are.

He is Reeve, Xavier’s field commander and intelligence coordinator. He sits now on a chair, arms crossed and gazing at Urien calmly, him sent by his lord to listen to the offer, him now waiting for Urien to speak the offer he referred to when they spoke by phone.

Urien sits down and folds his hands together, he would get Gill this time, the haughty bastard would die this time, and then he, Urien, would take the mantle of the brotherhood and lead them to glory, it was his destiny, not Gill’s, he would make it happen, and god hex Gill for holding him back for so long.

Urien grins inwardly and reaches for his coat, taking out a file from a large pocket in the inner side of the piece of clothing and putting it down on the table, looking at Reeve with cunning and expecting eyes.

Reeve picks up the file and skims through it and blinks, looking up at Urien at Surprise, wondering what the aqua-eyed freak is up to by giving him this information. He cannot be sure, if this is a trick by Gill, or if it really is what he thinks it is, but what he does know, Xavier will know of this, as soon as possible.

** Back at the Shinobi main headquarters **

The Lord of the Shinobi, sitting in his chambers, thinking of his past and sulking at his personal part in his undoing, now ponders his niece, having not done so for a while now. He admires all she had become, but deep inside can’t help but somehow lament Ibuki’s strength of spirit, the great emotional strength that makes her different from the others.

She is stronger, more talented, serious, dedicated, more eligible, the arts simply being absorbed and compiled by unbelievably quickly. He smiles sadly, those attributes are perhaps was the roots of the problem that had brought to her renouncement from the clan.

For the now fallen Shinobi’s unique heart and ideals were the sublime excuses the elders had used to vote out Geki, to bend his arm and force him to deal with her, the old, senile cankers. The young femme’s ascension posing a threat to them, especially as the young woman had repeatedly been unable to perform the ultimate test, taking someone’s life.

Thus, the Elders called out for execution, before she turns into another Kanze and shames the clan by withdrawing and rejecting them; also being anxious as the day he will have become too powerful to stop drew nearer; Geki however, could not allow this to be, he had slowly, but surely managed to reign them into making it banishment alone.

That is the only action the man of a thousand deaths could admit was just and right in this whole mess. Now she was all alone, though he worried not for her ability to survive, he had a feeling; some dark force was at work in the underworld, that some hidden power is out to accomplish something devious.

Though for many days and nights he tried to unlock the enigma, he was and still is unable to, all he did know is that his niece was part of the enemy’s puzzle, how important, he couldn’t not tell, but knowing the scenarios, from being head of a shadow organization himself, he days were numbered.

The most painful fact is, that he himself had participated in the hellish masquerade, being convinced and manipulated into acting, by his allies and foes as one, leaving Ibuki alone, to deal with the force, he had

The self-loathing and self-indignation he feels toward himself, toward the ideals of his clan, to his elders and peers was beginning to gnaw at his soul, festering like a cancer and feeding off his will to live, his will to lead and continue participating in the monotonous, nocturnal, shadow dance that was the Shinobi.

He was a fallen, diminished and beyond redemption. Yet his existence went on, while those so worthy of the spark of life, have had the fire of the soul be extinguished forever, these facts, for so long had he ignored them, in his advanced age, have finally begun to haunt him.

Perhaps they had always haunted him, but now more than ever, had he begun to realize, he had no legacy, when he died, he would forever be remembered only as a callous fiend, a cold-blooded murderer, a vindictive predator who lurked in the shadows to devour life for the sake of money and self-adoration.

He had failed his father, he had led his people on a false path, he had misinterpreted the teachings passed down to him, he was nothing less than a fool. Geki, once unbreakable and persevering even through traumatizing times, acts and horrors, was, at long last, winded down by his legacy, the clan’s legacy, of death.

For as long as he could remember Geki had only one beacon of light in his life that had given him hope, his family. They were the one thing that could keep him going, and try to obey the huge responsibility and moral and mental hardships of trying to manipulate the elders and control over such a delicate and volatile web of individuals with the skill of bringing death.

Now, he was alone, His parents long since dead, would not be proud of what he had become, or what he had achieved. His siblings, Kanze and Shingari, both lie under the soil of the earth, one a victim, one a villain, gone forever, their blood both on his hands, one by his own hands, the other, on his heart.

Geki’s, Sister in law, Shingari’s wife, was long since dead. The woman killed in faulty assassination attempt at Shingari 4 years ago, her son, from the black dragon, had recently been found dead, Hwang’s sister Mei, missing, rumors having her captured by the law enforcement web of Interpol somewhere in Spain, not surprising, she was a cold hearted and merciless assassin, true to the way of the Feudal Ninja.

The middle-aged ninja’s Sister in law, Kumiko’s traces had been lost for months now, hopes for her being alive, long since faded into nothingness, his gut instinct, and perhaps some signs he should’ve weighed earlier tell him, her fate is sealed as well.

Her daughter, Ibuki, was the last of his kin, perhaps the only one of them, who had truly, unquestioningly respected and loved him. She never knew, he was her uncle, the elders forbade him, threatening his son’s life, so that she, the offspring of Shinobi’s successor, would be tested truly and earn her place, only if she is worthy of it.

Geki’s eyes hold a distant look, his mind elsewhere, in the past, swimming in the fond memories of training her, of being a father figure to her, of seeing the smile and light in her eyes, when for her alone he could let some of his soul come to life, even if only glimpses and discretely.

He was fuming with collected yet, burning rage, he had not been thinking straight when he agreed reluctantly to the elder’s plan. He had let his pride and ego get the better of him, against better judgment being duped to believe that Ibuki’s secrecy and detachment derived from some kind of mistrust, or ulterior motive.

Most painful to him personally was the fact that his wife had died in labor, bearing him a single child. However, Geki was never in good relations with his son, one of the other elders trained him and there was friction, as his son was extremely jealous of his cousin, Ibuki.

Nevertheless, it didn’t matter now, he was all alone, two weeks ago Shadowlaw murdered his son, upon that note, It was the first time Xavier Bison had broken the unspoken non aggression pact with the Shinobi. Geki has no idea why the timing was now, what the devious and enigmatic psychic lord was up to, and frankly, he didn’t care much, his life was hollow, worthless, he was destroyed.

Geki sighs, he is tired, so very tired, but he had a conference with the elders, he pushes himself up to his feet sluggishly and stretches, many hours of meditation and brooding on many a subject leaving his body subtly aching.

He arranges his hair, smoothing his fingers through his brown hair and leaves the room. He paces silently through the dim lighted corridors, his feet making no sound at all, a direct product of years of training and the specially cushioned shoes emitting no resonance as they hit the mahogany floor. This fact real despite the manner in which the floor is meant to help the Shinobi protect themselves, should they be subjected to an attack by forcing their foes to reveal their locations as they move.

He walks in certain patterns, skipping over trapped tiles, over motion detectors and scanners and uncommonly not making his way past a long line of subordinates, their faces, voices, bows and greetings insignificant, usually ignored non-chalantly.

However, now missing, he looks at a clock, no wonder, it was very late into the night, the clock striking past 2 am, and he was late, great, now they would be ever more bothersome.

He walks faster, the silence is somewhat intimidating, the shadows some to taunt him suddenly and his ears begin throbbing, It was as if the world was dancing and swirling before his eyes like some exotic dancer.

He stops and leans on the wall, shutting his eyes as everything begins turning into one large hazy mess, he opens his eyes and squints as he walks forth once more, brows furrowing angrily, in frustration, as darkness beginning to block his vision.

As ridiculous as it may sound, it is as if his world was literally crashing all around him and then fading into the pitch-black void that seems to devour him. His eyes flutter some and he inhales deeply, things not returning into focus still, heart racing, steeling himself in preparation for the council, as he reaches the council door.

He grasps the handle, feeling the icy metal under his skin, his soul tortured and bleeding from his previous musings, his mind calling him to control himself, but his heart screaming for release from the hellish ordeals and thoughts he must live with daily.

He barely walks now, his chest cavity warming up, his body turning heavy and unresponsive as he lays his hands on the wooden door of the council room, panting heavily. A thick layer of cold sweat covers his body, falling down his face and making his eyes sting, his body hot and weak.

He grits his teeth, he had a heart problem, his cholesterol level higher than usual, it being a bit over the usual, but he was in masterful shape and still considered young; perhaps it was all the stress of these last few months, it added to a weak flu he had last week getting the better of him.

On the other hand, perhaps it is because he had drunk that herbal tea earlier. It was a new brand he had never tried before, maybe he was allergic to it. He then hmms and ponders another notion, perhaps the elders have finally done the deed they had wet dreams over for so long and gotten rid of him. Could those old bastards have poisoned him?

Geki’s not certain, but the symptoms are quite similar to those of some poisons according to his recollection of several of his victims from times past.

He collapses against the door; it being pushed open, in the haze, all he can see is some blurry shapes of many individuals, unable to distinguish anything, but they are wearing black it being to obscure to make out. He hears voices, them being deep and the words coming in an alternation between too slow or too fast.

He falls to his knees, looking around but seeing nothing, only these people before him, whoever they are, they are the reason for his weakness and pain, he strains to struggle against it, in the back of his mind panicky, wanting revenge, wanting to slay his murderers, but his body does not respond.

They then leave the room, him hearing a deep laughter and the rest of them are apparently not amused and remain silent, their footsteps fading away into the corridor, him barely hearing or sensing them, his pain and weakness so vast, it pollutes his senses, even if not wholly.

He turns with the last visages of his strength, gasping and trying to follow, the door shuts behind him, and for the longest time, Geki lies there, on the veil between life and death, struggling to life against his body’s waning efforts to shut his life off.

His instinct to live is strong, and he fights to remain alive, but another part of him accepts it and is grateful for the solace of death. He turns over on his stomach and notices many blurry shapes, around him, a mixture of brown, black and orange and red, light, wood and the council of elder’s chairs no doubt, crimson though, blood? Was it coming from the room, or him?

As his mind struggles to put the pieces together his train of thought if cut short as out of nowhere Geki’s eyes burn painfully, his pupils being force fed a huge amount of light, the pain inhuman as everything goes white.

He knows he’s not dead yet, the pain is not over, the torture still there, all this runs in his mind in one split second as following the flash is a booming thunder, roaring like an angry lion. As if on queue an excruciating pain hits him, a scorching heat encases him; his throat releases a horrid tormented cry and then there is a dreadful silence, then nothing but darkness.

** New York City’s outskirts, Eastern coast of the USA**

The man walks the streets of the more rural area, his eyes scanning the surroundings vigilantly. He was not exactly thrilled about having to do this. He frowns some and mutters some choice words as he stops and looks into the horizon, his eyes locking upon his target.

This man wears a pair of long, dark brown trousers, the fabric rather loose and flexible, carrying a bit of a baggy attribute to it. He wears a dark green shirt over his upper body, it being smooth and without any printing and clinging to his brawny body.

He’s wearing some brown leather shoes, which emitted faint tapping sounds before he brought himself to a pause now. He arranges he sunglasses, the oval shaped black shades concealing the look of irritation his eyes hold, his other hand grasping the handle of a normal looking black briefcase.

He is Jason, world-renowned assassin. He is known everywhere as volatile, black hearted, cruel and extremely dangerous, his expertise in Martial arts, explosives and firearms feared around all circles of the underworld.

Though people know him, only a selected few know of him. He was once a man, now he is half a machine. He had a name once, Jarred Johnson McNeil, he had a life, he had a family, but now, all he had only the art of death. How did things transpire like this? The number of people, who know this tale, can be counted on the fingers of one’s hand.

He was once a citizen, family member, Protestant and American Special Ops operative, to be truthful the best of his unit, winner of medal of honor and annual award of excellence twice in a row, the most legible officer that high command was ready to have promoted.

He had parents, two younger sisters, a dog and a girlfriend. He had a happy life, until the day he was sent on that mission. He could still smell the repulsive stench of the major’s cigar as he briefed them on the so-called easy mission.

They sent him and the unit to try to collect information from a derelict Shadowlaw Base in Katmandu, it didn’t go well. The intelligence report was archaic, they slipped up due to their confidence, the base was manned and ready for them, he watched as his friends dropped like flies, bullets and shrapnel ripping them apart as their blood cried out in agony from the ground that drank it thirstily.

He was hit, something tore through his upper body, and gut and remembers everything spiraling and distorting around him. Then He awoke in Shadowlaw HQ, on a surgery table, groggy and confused, fearful and panicky about where he is.

Jason also remembers seeing his own body, lying burned and brittle on a table next to him. He can still hear himself screaming in unspoken repulsion as terror filled him, shocked and falling back, knocking back the surgery tools who spread all over the floor.

He then looked at the red glow in his fiberglass eyes in the reflection made by the chrome tray those tools lied in and feeling his mind reel in inexplicable horror as he backed against the wall in sheer fear and confusion. He then pinched himself desperately; trying to wake up from the awful nightmare, trying to cry, but unable to, finding out to his great disappointment and displeasure that it was indeed no figment of his subconscious; it was bitter reality.

He continues walking, looking up at the moon and sighing heavily before, looking forth and pacing toward his target, a junkyard, a contact had asked for a meeting, with valuable info on the brotherhood, willing to give it for the price of 3 million dollars, little money for Shadowlaw, or no cost at all if it turns out fake.

Xavier then appeared before him, and after calming Jason, he told him the gospel truth about him being the only survivor of his unit. His friends didn’t survive the ambush, Jarred was the “lucky”, and only survivor, he would be the only one of those brave soldiers to live.

Jason remembers cursing Xavier for what he had done, that he had no right to do this to him. He remembers weeping angrily at how he had been reduced into such a monstrosity, a freak of nature, a glitch in the statistic, he was supposed to be sailing on the blissful waves of the beyond, not kept in the blasted vestiges of the corrupted planes of life.

The newly built Cyborg then turned toward the wall and asking him how he supposed to consider himself lucky as he looked into the mirror. Wincing painfully at his new, ruby red eyes with minimized text running over them, and seeing he’s in a body that was similar to his own in profile, but different still, his hair, skin, battle scars and tattoos, all of them had been altered.

Xavier said this was his chance to utilize his skills in a much more “imaginative” manner, and that it’s a shame that he had to be rebuilt, but there was no other alternative, and he’d learn to live with it soon enough.

Jason remembers the tone, the small pause and gleam of evil in Xavier’s eyes as he said he’d be back soon enough; Jarred at the time refused him, and demanded he be released, growling and clenching his fists, the abhorrence and anger filling him.

Jarred was freed and flown back to the US on X’s expense, armed with his new identity and documentation; he went to look for his family. It had only been a month after his “death”, and his world had been turned upside down, first being shot, and then, quite a lot more.

His eyes would have been sad as he remembers his pain, if he had pupils beyond the fiberglass, bionic eyes he now had, he would sob and cry, if he had the ability to cry, but this new body, the cybernetic melding of man and machine, lacked many human functions that are replaced by automatic, nanotech based biological functions.

Soon enough the lights and buildings disappear as he distances him from inhabited areas, now walking on a dirt road toward a certain location, in a mediocre pace as his mind is briefly plagued by memories, his velocity slowing down some, but he doesn’t notice or mind at the moment.

He parents had died when a drunk truck driver crashed into them on the freeway, both his sisters were raped and killed by a gang of lowlife b*stards on their way home from high school, and his girlfriend had married his best friend from high school, and apparently had been cheating on him for months.

Jason remembers the sense of betrayal, the rage, the need to rip something apart, a sense of animalistic insanity. His life had been destroyed by the scum of this world, the vermin and cancer that festers in the core of the planet, humanity, now all he wanted to do was make society pay, suffer like he did in turn, that is what his goals were, and god be d*mned if anyone was going to stop him

And so it was that he did rip something apart, or more like someone, he killed that b*tch and her little fiancé before burning their house, using his training to leave no trails at all, the satisfaction was almost orgasmic with it’s sweetness and intensity.

Then Xavier came, he offered him a way to make that happen, he offered him an offer he couldn’t refuse. Jarred Johnson McNeil was gone, only Jason was left, and now he would do anything Xavier said, because Xavier had given him life, so he could take the life away from others, so he could exact his revenge on humanity.

He hated humanity, they made him sick, greedy, ambitious little selfish rodents that lived only for themselves and cared of nothing else but their own interests, he was like them once, now he was their exterminator, and he found pleasure in seeing them scream like he had before he saw the light.

He owed Xavier that, and that’s why he would never question him, the psychic was wise and cunning, and very dangerous, he knew what he was doing, and he like Jason, had no qualms with torturing or killing anyone who caused him pain or stands in his way.

He walks over the gate, it’s locked, he hmphs and grabs the lock, squeezing it in his bare hand, the iron bending and deforming with a spine chilling sound within his hand, before he tosses it aside and pushes the gate open. He looks around at the piles of garbage and debris piled around him.

There was no stench; it was quiet, the night crickets chirping around the isolated location, all surrounding by a wall of steel fencing. A large, there was even a huge garbage disposal machine, one that made cars and steel turn into nice little cubes, or humans into nice little blobs of crimson. Quite a site, as he recalls after killing not one a target like that.

He looks around, his scanners picking up nothing, he whistles lightly, feeling the steel of his magnum in its holster, strapped to his thigh and covered by his pants and shirt, hmphing lightly and pushing his sunglasses on the bridge of his nose and then hearing something and turning.

“Welcome Jason…I’m summoned you here, to give you this piece of information about the brotherhood” a voice speaks to him, a cold, yet amused tone being carried with the words, “ They’ve ordered your demise…and now for the recreational part of our meeting” it adds, a soft chuckle, ringing like silver bells in the midnight evening.

Jason turns and deflects a throwing knife with the back of his hand before it can pierce his chest, steel ringing against the thin layer of steel that covered the exoskeleton under his own skin. Jason grins as it falls to the ground with a soft thud, looking at the femme as she approaches him.

It has no heat imprint, her mask and body suit was protecting her, a sign of expertise, the brazen omen of the beginning of a true challenge, how deliciously delightful. He then smiles to himself, looking at those deep blue eyes, how the black suit of special reinforced, skintight leather clings to an alluring feminine body, and processes that soft and low seductive voice.

It was her, those trademarks were undeniable, Vibora, the Spanish viper herself, the human machine ponders inwardly and smirks to himself as the shadows slither and shift, the predator closing in on its prey.

She strikes swiftly, aiming to maim. Jason detects her, he sees her now, eyes narrowed and crystalline, body poised to kill, lunging at him with deadly intent, aiming her foot at his body.He grins, the adrenaline flushes through him.

The anticipation bubbles within him, breathing picking up, veins bulging and teeth gritting into a wide, wicked grin as he dodges her blow soundly, turning his body sideways while taking a large step, the Viper sailing past him with her jump kick.

They lock eyes, their bodies heating up, the anticipation and anxiety are so thick they can all but taste it, feel it, as it’s dizzying, exhilarating, overwhelming, it is everything. Jason takes 3 steps back, motioning her to come, war had just been declared.

He chuckles and then puts down the briefcase and grins at her “Have it your way woman, you wanna a shot at me, come and get it, let’s rock….” He says and enters a loose stance, one hand before him, one across his body, hopping lightly on his feet once and licking his lips.

Like lightning she strikes, both are prepared, both eager to attack, all hell is about to break out, one must fall, there can be only one, the battle of the most prominent assassins of the new age begins as the two begin their duel of life and death.