** 2 months later, Outpost of the New Enclave, unmarked Isle, the Pacific Ocean **

It is very early in the morning, all of the agents of the neo Enclave still sleeping snugly in their beds, 3 stories above the research complex. So many resting, with an exception of one, Lauren, her fiancé Magnus sending her to check on their most valuable test subject, the dark lord, Xavier Bison.

She was to monitor his vital signs, input the data into the research log and refill the supply of the psionic nullifying hormones, dubbed by the couple as “Psionium”, to the machine, in order to prolong the numbing effect on Xavier’s core of being.

Lauren is not a happy camper, first of all it’s 2 hours before dawn, secondly she was getting jumpy and upset by Xavier’s attitude and mind games whom forced her to remain alert and sharp at all times. Bitterness swells within her heart, soul filled with the turbulence of doubt and frustration, her mate too busy to spend time with her lately in a manner that is less than comforting.

She rakes at the corners of her mind, scrapping against fading and blurry memories, exhaustion nearly overcoming her, while Magnus himself was always occupied elsewhere, supposedly meeting high-ranking officials in the Enclave, and working on plans and procedures concerning the new projects with his direct superior officer, the alluring and ever flirtatious Ms. Irene Styles.

However, he didn’t seem keen or caring to her distraught and kept on piling work on her desk and all but ordering her to perform them, citing his everlasting love and that he would make it up to her soon. Normally she would believe him, if it hadn’t been going on for over 2 months now, these phenomena and many clues and insinuations beginning to shatter her self esteem, believing she is being used, and her confidence in both her lover and herself, feeling like a failure.

She drags her feet tiredly through the maze of corridors, bypassing the many security checkpoints, varying from sound verification receivers to eye-scanners, fingerprint identifying hardware to code inputting panels. Once she has finally finished the long and tedious process, her state of irritation and weariness is even worse than before.

The metallic set of doors slide open and Xavier’s eyelids with them, silvery pale eyes locking upon the form of a trembling, puffy eyed woman whom thunders into the room like a raging hurricane, sitting down heavily on a leather office chair and sighing long, low and hard.

A smile plays on his lips, the femme finally at the breaking point, spying upon her wordlessly as she lifts herself with effort and all but collapses against a nearby steel locker. Twin hands glide across the labels of the many flasks and bottles of chemicals and toxins in search of the infamous “Psionium” no doubt.

His lips curl more, his pearly white teeth revealed, his eyes flickering with amusement and content, “Let’s see if my little research and prodding will come to fruitation…” he thinks and would rub his hands together evilly, if they weren’t bond with titanium cuffs.

Lauren stalks back towards the desk; her eyes red, cornea reflecting great physical and emotional fatigue, the waterfall of her gentle brown hair a chaotic mess, her lab robe slightly wrinkled and upside down, not to mention X can see her nightgown since she had neglected to button it, its exotic violet shade and fabric a notable little bonus.

The room is completely silent, save for her breathing and the respiration devices that keep Xavier alive in the murky liquid prison whom he is bound within. “Good morning Dr., a little jumpy aren’t we?” The psionic horror says quickly and suddenly, smiling broadly at her, causing her to leap out of her skin and gasp lightly.

She grins her teeth and whirls towards him, glaring at him silently, eyes ablaze and hands clenching to tightly held fists, weighting the possibility of a verbal retort, but deciding against it, instead muttering to herself inaudibly as she turns to check the diagnostics.

“Awww…that’s rather rude, I’m only trying to make conversation. I thought women were supposed to be well mannered in Western Europe, oh well…I guess there will always be exceptions*Sigh* by the way…you wouldn’t happen to know where Magnus is, would you? I haven’t seen him for ages now…” the violet haired man says and chuckles to himself at the sight of the woman’s head snapping backwards, eyes sharp as sharpened daggers, teeth bared and grit as those of an disquiet Tiger, face twisted into a snarl that would make most people take a few steps back in caution.

“Shut up…” The tormented soul hisses, her voice rising, an edge of warning ringing within it, hands shaking some, body stiffening to the point of turning rigid, her patience thinning by the second at these mental bantering and jesting, her personal problems hard enough without this additional verbal barrage.

The Mind master laughs cheerfully at her discontent, making a pitying face and clicking his tongue some “My My, Someone’s definitely woken up on the wrong side of the empty bed this morning,” he says, chuckling more at Lauren whom chokes an angry growl.

Her heart races and adrenaline fills her, emotions wild and smoldering with hatred and contempt to the despicable wretch whose appearance had triggered the downfall of her life. Her lungs spew air forcefully, body shaking with unchecked ire, hands tightening so that a pencil she was gripping a second ago snaps in two, causing her to wince as some shards bite into her flesh.

“The truth is a painful thing, isn’t it? I can’t say I don’t understand you, dear doctor” he muses with mock compassion, shaking his head, lips twisting downward “sadly”, “But, If my spouse was herding in other fields, I’d be confronting her, not letting her make a doormat of me. So I must say that for a woman so fair and intelligent, you disappoint me,” The white eyed tyrant muses, eyes flashing with delight, feeling her anger skyrocketing more with every syllable he invokes.

“I’m warning you…” The weary scientist says banefully, glaring at him with ice cold eyes, “I’m NOT in the mood for your sh*t right now…” she whispers, causing the psychic to laugh ever louder, his head rolling backwards, completely unfazed by her threats or growing fury.

“Don’t get me wrong doctor, I’m quite sympathetic, I mean, let’s face it, not everyone is built to deal with unfaithful mates, some people are just too weak, too trusting and devoting to perform even the minimal effort of confronting an unfaithful lover…” Bison’s heir muses non-chalantly more to himself, though his shoulders shake with light laughter.

“That’s strike two a**hole,” The scorned woman says in an increasingly shaky tone, each of his words imbedding themselves into her heart and soul into her like arrows of steel, grief and doubt rupturing her soul, every notion the escapes his putrid and accursed lips seeming so accurate and true, only doubling her grief and torment.

“Now, Now Doctor, what’s the matter? You look like you’re going to cry…I’d offer you’re a handkerchief but I’m afraid I’m a bit, tied down. Then again…I don’t think I’d bother…you being so, so…how do I put it without being too offensive…umm…you being so pathetically blind and stupid!” he says fiercely on the end, his venomous words further destroying her ravaged self esteem. busy

The sensitive and fragile hearted woman is unable to hide her bitter and woeful tears any longer, the droplets of warm, salty water pouring down rapidly, her breathing turning irate, sobs overcoming her, body trembling uncontrollably..

“Stop it! Stop it…please…” she says in a frail and weak plea, shutting her eyes, covering her face with her hands, sitting back down and sobbing hard, unable to cope with her misery, moreover when Xavier keeps pushing every button in order to remind her of every mistake she had done thus far in her relationship.

“Look at yourself, you’re pathetic… he spits out in disgust and ridicule, “He’s used you, lied to you and thrown away your love like yesterday’s trash and instead of making him pay and confronting the bastard, you bawl in the dark like some child! How do you expect to keep your man with this pitiful display of confidence and self-respect? You’re not worth the saliva he spits on your devotion and loyalty… ” he says, voice harsh and cruel, cold and insulting glaring at the nape of her neck.

She sobs more, tears spilling rapidly, the dams within her heart obliterated by him, by the frustrating and outrageous simplicity in which he spreads out her psyche and shoves every weakness into her face purposefully, all the bitter and unruly anguish swirling within her like a black hole, consuming all other thoughts and feelings within.

She is reduced to a broken, nervous wreck, the woman finding it hard to breathe and think, coughing and whimpering during her heavy weeping, hugging her body tightly, curling into herself and wishing his evil words would disappear and all the pain would go away, but all these silent pleas in vain.

She knows only one thought, she had to silence him, or she’d go mad, she would make the arrogant, revoltingly hurtful SOB pay “I, I, *hard exhale* I warned…you!!!” She bellows suddenly, rising suddenly reaching for the console, clicking the buttons rapidly, her eyes glazed and much tears falling, shaky breathing escaping her lips, turning the shock dial to max and clicking the red activation button.

X’s body tenses and he chokes a scream, volts of furious electricity rocking through him violently, his body rocking against the torrents of pure, unadulterated pain, head snapping back, eyes shutting tightly and body tensing against the machine’s vying to destroy him, “You can…you can try shut me up…but you can never…never erase the truth. You’re nothing Lauren, you hear me? A nobody! And no violence you may use…can…or will…erase that, Lauren!” he screams in between intervals of spasms and near blackouts.

“I swear by god…I’ll kill you?!” she screams, hand moving from the dial to the manual override console, glaring at him angrily, bitter weeping not ceasing and the pain strong and pure, unadulterated, irrepressible and unstoppable.

The dark psychic grins some, eyes full of fierceness and defiance “Go ahead Lauren, Kill me, if that makes you feel better…but it won’t erase his betrayal, won’t erase how he used you! Killing me won’t appease your soul!” he shouts audibly, brows ticking and face twisting angrily.

“Instead of wasting yourself on me, Bitch! Why don’t you do something productive for once in your worthless existence and talk to Magnus, be a woman, and not some weakling to be trampled on!” he invokes hoarsely, face calm and cold, eyes blazing with spite and overwhelming authority and commanding.

Lauren hates to admit it, but the b*stard has a point, killing him might give her some satisfaction, hell, it would make her day, but it wouldn’t take her troubles away, it would only double them, having to deal with the wrath of the brotherhood over spoiling their precious projects would be the death of her.

She cannot bear looking into his horrid empty eyes, his look making her feel weak and lost, every second more unbearable than its predecessor. She has to summon every bit of willpower and inner strength to spare him and turn off the machine, glaring at him with indignant eyes full of rage before storming out of the room.

X is left panting heavily, eyes slowly opening, ignoring her final words, scouring over the room and to his great delight and content finding the small bottle of murky liquid, aimlessly sitting on the table, untouched. He hears the warning signals of the imprisonment machine, it desperately warning the Psionium reserves are depleting rapidly.

Xavier’s shoulders beginning to shake, lips curling upward, his mouth finally opening behind the oxygen mask to further magnify the vocal expression that slips out of his throat “At last…freedom... but first…my long since anticipated, sweet, deliciously cold-served revenge…” he hisses to himself.

He pops his neck, feeling his weary, brain impulses reviving, his blood stream reacting as his brain slowly but surely begins feeding long since neglected nerves with oxygen and glucose. The Dark lord shivers and shuts his eyes, ecstatic at the sensations; the invigoration and thrill of the feeling how the long since forgotten nerve pulses escape his mind, racing back and forth through his spine with a fond and pleasant ticklish feel.

His power rises from its ashes like a mighty phoenix; his body hungrily devouring the forsaken, forbidden energies, intoxicated by how it revisits his body. The skies weep woefully, the rain pouring down angrily, the clouds protesting with rueful roars of thunder and violent bolts of lightning. The earth wails in horror, nature pausing in fear at the rapture of the moment in which the reapers scythe is once more lifted menacingly over humanity’s slender and frail neck.

Mother Nature helplessly left to linger with regret and doubt as the epitome of doom licks its bared fangs, extending its long and bony fingers, beginning to coil around the souls of the mortals upon the earth.

** 3 days later, “Stonehenge” Prison, USA **

The sun hangs high in the sky, its scorching rays of heat baking the inhabitants of the crowded penal institute, the wind non-existent, everything stagnant and still, ever increasing the effects of the heavy, bothersome summer born atmosphere this day visits upon the cons of the Stonehenge Penal institute.

It’s early noon, the country yard crowded and packed with women of all shapes and colors, spending the first of the respective three hours a day prisoners get to exercise and get out of their choking cell, even if for only a short while.

In the middle of the courtyard, two femmes are facing off one another, the rest of the women crowded around the two, watching on eagerly on the rare sight of a hand-to-hand brawl that is very close to erupting, keeping their fair distance to be out of harm’s way, but close enough to see and hear each blow land.

“I’ve had it up to here with your attitude…You’re going down B*tch!” One of the two combatants shouts and catapults forth, attacking. The woman is clad in her long and baggy, orange prison garment, her upper body nude save a black sports bra, her shirt tied around her waist. Her lithe and slender upper body tanned and decorated by droplets of perspiration.

The woman’s hair is a mane of long black threads that are tied neatly in a ponytail that spills between her shoulder blades and the middle of her back, her hair currently damp with perspiration. Her eyes are dark brown, currently ablaze with rage and indignation as she stands in an offensive martial arts stance; her legs spread slightly and hands before her bodies, hands open and poised to strike.

Her opponent is around an inch or two taller and female as well, a simple white T-Shirt conceals the femme clad in similar prison garments, save her upper body over a red sports bra, the shirt clinging to her body due to sweat and its skintight material.

This woman stands in a neutral stance, hands at her sides, one lying on her hip, her hair equally black, shortly trimmed in long smooth even strands, reaching just an inch or two under her neck, wildly grown bangs dangling before her eyes, giving her a more mysterious look.

“Sloppy…” Ibuki says impassively, moving to dodge Mei’s kick neatly by sidestepping, the former Shinobi’s body slanted sideways, both hands whipping forth, fingers clenching quickly, locking around Mei’s foot, snugly.

Ibuki then shifts her weight, her body tilting in the opposite direction, turning around quickly while using her momentum, ripping her cousin off the ground violently, heaving the femme from her hands and sending her flying a foot or two away, the Black Dragon survivor hitting the ground with an audible thud.

Mei winces as her side slams into the dry and arid ground, the femme sent rolling once or twice before painfully she comes to a stop on her back, exhaling through grit teeth and coughing once or twice from dust her descent had summoned.

“Giving up so soon Cousin? I thought you were going to teach me the true meaning of pain,” Ibuki muses sarcastically in a calm tone, quirking a slender brow, not impressed by the younger woman’s rage or lust for revenge, the days in which she was moved by such things long since over. Ibuki had gone the extra mile many times and pleaded with her cousin over the course of many and often intense arguments, but all for no avail, and many a time Mei had both insulted and disrespected her needlessly, thus the way Ibuki sees it, she owes her no respect or curtsy as well.

However, after so many months of verbal and mental conflict, in which she failed to reach her cousin, slowly but surely, the Rogue Shinobi has lost all hopes of embracing Mei as a close family member. More so, she has even given up trying to befriend her or even cooperating with her; the years of hatred and “Black Dragon” teachings engraved in the mind and soul of Shingari’s Daughter, the teen simply beyond changing.

Mei had grown to despise her older cousin more than ever before, jealousy and old teachings and vows from her Black Dragon years slowly feeding new levels of abhorrence into the core of the young Ninja. The battle worn woman had constantly overshadowed her, midgeting her worth and questioning it, let it be with remarks, gazes or simply by ignoring her when the older woman, was supposedly exasperated with her presence alone.

“You won’t make a fool out of me Ibuki, not this time…” she vows, rolling to a lying position, rising to her feet, eyes steeling and turning cold, anger cooling and being reigned by the sheer need to prove a point, and teach her cousin a lesson, once and for all.

The distance between dissolves in second, dust dispersing as feet kick against the ground, twin pairs of brown eyes lock, one determined, the second solemn and calm, the tension so thick it can cut with a spoon, the younger woman taking initiative, her fist whipping forth like an angry viper.

Bone meets bone, wrist kisses wrist, momentum shattered, Mei’s fist is sent on a stray path, the older kunoichi gliding backward, both hands melting into blurs and entrapping the upcoming blow with ease and timing born of many rigorous hours of training.

Tendon and muscle resist, the brain flooded by a torrent of warning signals, Mei realizing too late the danger as Ibuki pulls her suddenly, turning her body sideways and slamming the back of her hand into Mei’s nose, causing a stinging sensation to rip through the woman’s head.

“D*mnit, she’s fast…” Mei mutters under her breathe as Ibuki’s heel slams into the back of her, sending her staggering forth, sheer will and some luck helping her keep her bearings, shaking her head, ignoring the dull pain at the back of her head.

“You’re mine!” eyes raging, energy building as she summons her Ki, energy bursting forth from her hand, swirling tendrils of reddish energy forming a globe of lightning, in a manner of second the Scorned Kunoichi turning around and throwing her hand forth, a blade like projectile roaring forth.

“No way!” Jaw wide open and eyes wide as she blinks, her cousin’s eyes flashing blue, energy crackling around her hand, an aqua colored hue surrounding her hand, the Former Shinobi slashing her hand outwards, striking her projectile and dispersing it, the woman’s calculating eyes taunting.

Her head pounds, ears deafened by the crowd’s roars, lungs pushing out air heavily, sweat drizzling down her face, surroundings moving in slow motion, there was only one way to banish the heat, fight. Body tensing the young woman throws herself forward, determined to succeed where she had previously failed.

“I have to…pierce her defense…somehow…” she determines and furrows her brow, throwing a reverse sidekick, her back left vulnerable to attack, her kick strikes nothing but shadows, Mei timing herself carefully and then kicking off her grounded foot.

“Eat that!” exhilaration filling her as her heel hits home, sensing how Ibuki’s body slumps sideways, the vicious impact rattling her teeth no doubt. Gravity embraces her once more, the moment she feels the ground against her feet she leaps into action once more.

Ibuki crumples backwards, Mei’s kick slamming into her abdomen, pushing the older Kunoichi a foot or two backwards, much to her opponents glee summoning her chi and aiming her foot at Ibuki’s neck, willing to shatter it, that is the very moment she realizes she had committed yet another mistake.

Ibuki’s body bends backwards and the kick misses horribly, the older ninja glaring at her slightly as she rises to her stance, whereas Mei’s stance is broken and her body exposed to punishment, and her cousin isn’t late to retaliate, and this time seriously.

Flashes of red and black dance before her eyes, eyelids shutting tightly to protect them, body folding into itself in the wake of a punch, knuckles sinking lightly against her skin, Mei exhaling sharply, head bending forth only to meet a matching blow, her chin being scooped and shoved upwards.

The crowd roars in delight, whistling and cheering as the Black Dragon survivor barely manages to resume her stance, looking at her cousin’s now colder and bone chillingly calculating eyes, her bangs concealing her eyes partially and giving her an almost sinister look.

She has only a moment or two to ponder these notions, as with blinding speed the forsaken Shinobi is upon her, striking with blinding speed, her brown eyes increasingly filling with tendrils of energy, her pupils flashing brightly, small trails of energy following her motions, as she plants her palm against the center of Mei’s chest, between her breasts.

The younger warrior cries out in agony as she is blasted backwards, a river of chi exploding within her body, thrusting its way through her body angrily and sinking inward beyond the flesh and bone, assaulting her spiritual body instead.

Mei’s vision and conscious almost slipping as she crashes on her back heavily, shaking and panting hard for air, clutching herself desperately, skin ablaze at the burning hot soil’s touch, the aching woman shivering and struggling desperately to keep herself from submitting to her body’s demand for rest.

Ibuki sighs and shakes her head, she really didn’t want to fight Mei despite it all, blood was thicker than water, but the younger woman had a moment ago tried to not only defeat her, but to kill her with that. Such actions were unforgivable, that was treason, and thus the Kunoichi reckoned her relative needed a quick lesson on just who she was messing with.

Ibuki begins walking away, shutting her eyes, blocking out the sounds of the crowd and exhaling heavily, rubbing some blood from her lips before pausing as she senses Mei climb back to her feet, “This…isn’t…This isn’t over yet!” the Descendent of the legendry Shinobi’s head whirls backward and her hands rise defensively.

Her younger cousin grits her teeth hard and exhales painfully, focusing her chi into a fatal maneuver to obliterate Ibuki completely, her eyes blinded by furious crimson chi, body on fire and lungs wheezing with effort, barely able to provide her blood with oxygen, her limbs flashing in deep red, fists glowing brightly, willpower fueling her, resolve guiding her hand.

Blurs follow her hands that crackle forth like lightening, the raven-haired combatant discharging furious blasts of condensed chi in the form of wild bursts, her vision blinded by blurs and the red blanket of energy that illuminates her body, her eyelids quickly shutting to protect them.

This maelstrom of chi blasts is nicknamed “The Red Nightmare” one of the most secret and powerful of the Black Dragon’s techniques. Mei wills not only defeat her cousin, but to humiliate her, to wound her, to watch her suffer and writhe in pain, if possible to destroy her.

The Crowd gasps and shields its eyes, gusts of hot air and smoke rising from each explosion of chi which hits home, thunder roaring, and Mei barely holds her ground, violent shockwaves threatening to sweep her off her feet. After around a dozen projectiles, her body begins urgently signaling her to cease, so she finally seals the attack by clapping her hands and forming a gust of wind from her Chi, pushing the air, the force so powerful the crowd before her being pushed back as well.

The dust is swatted away by the wind, revealing Ibuki, arms crossed, shirt torn and prison garment full of burnt holes and tears. She remains of the disperse fall, Ibuki left in her bra, arms and upper body caked with some blood and sweat, some of her skin seared in a painful looking way, Ibuki’s hair flapping lightly before covering her bangs once more. “Not bad…” she muses quietly, her voice showing some surprise and respect to Mei for the first time.

Mei growls in rage, but the exhaustion is stronger than her and fatigue gets the better of her as she collapses in weakness and dizziness, unable to hold her footing any longer, body shaking as she tries to get up, skin a bit pale and body covered in sweat.

Ibuki licks her dry lips and examines herself, wincing at the burning sensations of sweat mixing with blood, then looks at Mei, whom she had greatly underestimated with cold and calculating eyes, resolving to never repeat such a mistake before walking off, cutting through the crowd.

Mei coughs and writhes in pain, barely able to breathe, “I swear on my brother’s grave…one day…I’ll kill you Ibuki…I won’t forgive you for this insult…this I vow…” she whispers to herself in Japanese. She then sighs heavily and leans weakly in the arms of some of her friends in jail, who help her up and begin carrying her away towards the medical wing.

High above the spreading crowd, one of the guards in the prison tower looks on curiously and rubs her chin; this battle and what was around it were a very interesting chain of events, one that could serve his superiors well, and with that, her own pocket as well.

** 2 months later, Early morning, Paris, France **

It is very late in the evening in the city of Paris, the sun setting in golden red glamour; the wind blows kindly, swallowed into the vociferous cacophony of sound and word that echoes from within the city. The spacious and imposing streets of the capital of France are as usual, flooded with a constant swarm of people.

However, on this day, unlike many others, the city is also populated by dozens of armed men clad in military uniforms, these folks being the French Security forces, each of these men and women brandishing an assault rifle and a brave, if burdened, heart as they scout the streets alongside trained explosive detecting dogs, held by leashes.

The French administration is but one of many in the international community that has been overwhelmed by an boundless throng of intelligence reports, each warning these governments of various and imaginative strikes to be committed of terror cells against strategic and symbolic sites across the world

The worst nightmare of every government has been realized as of yet, for in the last few months the various international terror groups, known Islamic ones and various others, new and old have been increasingly active logistically and strategically, preparing themselves for something big.

However, worse than these mass preparations around the world is the fact it is all apparently a joint effort by these groups to strike against a joint enemy, the West and all it represents. Amidst these nightmarish new developments, the men and women of the intelligence cores are forced to participate in an impossible race against time, in a guessing game of doom over the target and the deadline to what seems to be the dawn of a wave of terror unprecedented and unparalleled by anything in history.

A simple looking man walks the streets, his body is slim and lean, swallowed within the folds of his raven black trench coat. His eyes are fixed forward, twin thin orbs of emerald that carry a piercing gaze, hands in his pocket as he walks steadily, black leather boots tapping repeatedly upon the pavement.

The individual is tall man, of European complexion, long strands of spiky black hair flowing down his head, arranged neatly into a single ponytail which spilling between his shoulder blades, swaying back and forth like a feline’s tale upon the grip of the evening wind.

He approaches the entry to the metro and is stopped at the entrance two soldiers stationed near the entrance to the Metro,” Excuse me monsieur, and show me your documents please” one of the soldiers says in French, the Parisian man of arms sighing lightly as orders are orders after all.

The man’s lips slant upwards, revealing his pearly white teeth. His the shade of green in his eyes turning a bit more wild and almost violent also revealing obvious amusement as the man’s shoulders shake lightly, a soft silky smooth, deep chuckle slides out his throat.

The individual’s actions baffle the Military men whom shift from suspicion to caution, both of them demanding the documents once more in a firm and demanding tone, anxiety and fear washing over them like a stream of ice cold water, leaving them both shaken and startled.

The man lifts his hands in a non-aggression statement, bowing his head slightly in a humbling gesture to signal his apology for the distress he has caused. One of the soldiers doesn’t look impressed and repeats his demand while reaching with his hands, his fingers lying over the hilt of his automatic rifle and placing his finger over the trigger to stress his point

The man shakes his head lightly and tilts his head upward, his smile erased and his body stiffening somewhat, locking his sapphire eyes with one of the security guards, a cold and emotionless soul glaring at them maliciously, for a split second the twin jades flashes vibrantly.

Their initial shock fizzles away into determination, the two defense force operatives lift their rifles, aiming the barrel at the bizarre being and placing their finger on the trigger, stepping backward and gain some distance and cover.

However, their reactions are too little, too late, the assailant leaping off the ground, exploding into action like a blast of dynamite, kicking off the ground and slicing through the air with incredible speed, shifting his weight in midair, spinning like a tornado while suspended above the ground, extending both of his feet with careful timing.

Pain, disorientation and astonishment plague the duo, both being sent flying sideways, one falling to the sidewalk, the other being compacted upon the wall, their bodies swallowing the bitter pill, convulsing inwardly as their systems ring in alarm at the awesome force behind the blows they suffer.

Disorientation blinds their senses and confusion clouds their thoughts, time oozing forth leisurely. sooner than they expected, before they can even catch their breathes the green eyed devil of a man is already upon them, eyes a pair of glaciers, face contorted in stony calm, the epitome of bone chilling, controlled violence pouncing upon them like an angry lion.

People begin realizing what is transpiring and look on in paralysis, like deer gazing moistly at the upcoming headlights of a truck. Some instead scramble away in fear of being hurt by stray fire, or by the attacker himself. Some surprise themselves by having enough initiative to call the police or look for other soldiers to alert of the man’s actions.

The raven haired aggressor doesn’t hesitates nor wavers even for a split second, the pillows of his feet once more welcoming the surface of Gaia, and then, he attacks, his muscles stretching as he turns his body sideways, spinning gracefully, revolving towards the soldier against the wall.

He lifts his knee to abdomen level, proceeding to heave his body backward, sending his foot whizzing forth like a bolt of lightning, the procuring heel of his boot hungry for blood, thundering forth like a wild buck in a rodeo.

Before the soldier can realize his situation the blow hits home, the heavy heel of the green-eyed man’s boot slamming into his temple, thrusting the military man’s head into the cement wall with authority, pain flashing once before darkness prevails.

His companion is left to watch in horror, lying on his stomach, eyes widening as the oxygen jams into his lungs, his best friend and partner sinking to the ground lifeless, the sickening sound of bone being shattered ringing in his ears as father time lets reality snails by.

The remaining soldier pulls himself together, quickly lifting his rifle and aiming it at the man, eye sight passing through the crosshair, locking on the man’s torso, breathing outward, voicing a silent prayer to the lord above and pulling the trigger, realizing a burst of bullets at the his friend’s killer.

The murder, catches his motions and leaps backwards impossibly, rocketing high into the air, flipping and turning backwards in midair, before swooping down like an eagle on its prey, fist coming down viciously upon the soldiers head, an open hand embracing it angrily, thrusting it forward, forcing it into the pavement cruelly.

The green-eyed man turns and walks past his gruesome display of massacre, ignoring the bodies as if they were extinguished cigarettes, grunting as a blow crashes into his bodies, hands locking around him from behind, wrapping around his arms and attempting to immobilize him.

He doesn’t struggle or thrash in panic, he calmly shuts his eyes and gritting his teeth slightly as a steel pipe slams into his abdomen. The green eyed figure opens his eyes, the pupils flashing in bright green, his spreading his hands aside, breaking the grip easily, stretching both hands to the sides of his body, glaring deeply into the eyes of the youth whom struck him.

The youth has only time to gasp in horror, the man’s hands clapping over his ears in a blink of an eye, in a cymbal like motion, palms smashing the more vulnerable area of his cranium, the force causing irreversible brain damage and causing the youth to slump to the floor lifelessly, blood pouring from his ears soon enough.

The other youth doesn’t have time to register what has just transpired as the scythe of death falls upon him as well, the green eyed killer spinning around while pulling his fist backwards, non chalantly sending it forth soon after.

With deadly precision, he mashes his fist against his windpipe, the extremely vulnerable tissue submitting to the might behind the blow, the spinal vertebra breaking under the strength of the quick blow, the youth gurgling and choking on his blood and last reserves of oxygen.

The man pushes the dying youth aside impassively and turns around, cutting his way through a crowd of now very frightened and shocked people in the state of mind of panicked cattle, scrambling away in horror as he approaches.

He ignores them, a small smirk reaching his lips, walking down into the metro’s entrance, reaching into the pocket of his trench coat, taking out a small cell phone and flipping it open, punching in a number quickly as he ignores the chaos around him.

The man awaits a reply while reaching behind his body, bypassing the coat and reaching for his lower back, fingers feeling around the hilt of a gun, the man smiling lightly and pulling out a silvery Desert Eagle pistol. He blows upon the barrel of the large 0.5-inch cylinder gun playfully, shortly examining the gleaming reflection of the fluorescent light upon him, now, ready to deal with any new attackers more efficiently.

“This is Blackheart…Yeah, I’m here…I understand...ya don’t have to tell me twice?” he muses and nods to himself calmly, listening intently to the speaker he has called, before turning and looking around, walking a few feet away and kneeling down, following instructions no doubt.

He taps on the cement with his hand, sighing softly before knocking it in a pattern of two taps, three knocks and another tap. The tile of cement slides inward and then sideways, revealing a device of hi-tech properties, a zeroed timer most noticeable upon one of the panels.

“Blackheart” receives input from the speaker on the other line, quickly punching in some numbers on the digital console and fiddling with some knobs and dials, the device arising to life, light bursting forth from many miniature light bulbs before the timer changing to “48:00:00”

He then clicks on a red button and the timer starts running. He then frees his hand and punches the tile beside it and it slides shut. “All in a day’s work” he says to the cell phone receiver and cuts the conversation, looking around and narrowing his eyes.

A man is watching him, perched behind a pillar and seemingly monitoring him, possibly holding a firearm by his stance, he squints his eyes slightly, cocking the pistol and pulling the trigger. An audible bang deafens him shortly and a large bullet flies forth from the barrel, slamming into the bystander’s head after carving through the corner of the pillar as well, the man dropping dead.

Content at his plight and it’s remaining a secret due to the much panic he had caused, he puts the cell phone back in his pocket, taking out a pair of black sunglasses, chuckling lightly while grinning to himself and brushing his hair out of his face with his hand.

He walks away, melting into the panicked cacophony of a crowd, finding his way into the side streets, pausing to lean against the wall and take out his cell phone once more, flipping it open and pushing the number five button for several seconds.

He sends the autodialed call on the wings of the microwave waves “Viva la France” he muses sarcastically as a horrible explosion deafens the nearby area, her watches the huge mushroom of fire burst through the concrete, enveloping man, flesh and stone alike. “D*mn! It feels good to be back…” he muses to nobody in particular, grinning to himself as he melts into the side streets, leaving the city of love to burn in the fires of anguish.

** Early Morning, Small apartment, London, UK **

The room is silent and serene, a young woman in her mid 20s, lying on a brown leather couch, head pillowed onto the handle of the simple piece of furniture, crystal blue eyes a bit unfocused, their shade somewhat reddish from exhaustion, bags hanging beneath them mightily.

The Femme is wearing a dark blue silken robe, tied to her waist by a long piece of cloth, the article of clothing concealing a satin nightgown. Her long blond hair uncombed and wildly dangling in many directions, spilling over her neck and face, licking over her white skin with the soft breeze from the open window outside.

Cammy White had recently been freed from her hospital bed, having gained a few pounds from the lack of exercise or activity whatsoever, her muscles lazed about and needing refining. Now however, her body cuddled snugly under a blanket, some food stained plates and murky looking drinking glasses lying over a nearby table in disarray, faint remnants of last night’s dinner and midnight snacks.

“Ain’t this just great…I finally get outta that bloody hospital wing last week, after being delayed there for a needless 2 months past my recovery and instead of being sent back to work at long last, those stupid blokes in HQ send me out for another “vacation”. I don’t need MORE time off! God d*mnit! I maybe not back to my prime and added a bit to my rear and hips but even when I still had a broken knee, two busted ribs and a dislocated soldier I’m twice as better than half their operatives!” she mutters to herself, face twisting into a frown, slender brows furrowing and eyes narrowing.

A ringing sound shakes her out of her daze and bitter thoughts, her eyes roll as she pulls up her weary body and stretches “I’m coming, I’m coming” Cammy says as the doorbell rings three times, making her head pound a bit and blood pressure rise “I said I’m COMING!” she shouts and stalks over to the door.

Her hand grips the doorknob, her fingers clasping around the cold steel with vengeful might, other hand rising and hitting the door angrily, fiddling with the locks a bit while her teeth grind and mind going over a few choice words that are best left unvoiced.

She then yanks the door open and glaring at the person who just can’t get a hint. Coy eyes greet the aggravated Brit and a sly grin accompanied by a chuckle, a tall young woman looking right back at her with big brown eyes. Cammy’s eyes widen and mouth drops, blinking rapidly “Li!!!” she squeals and crushes Chunli with a hug, having not seen or heard from the Chinese lady for almost 8 months now, missing her best friend immensely over the long absence of connection between the two.

Chunli winces and hugs back weakly, coughing a bit “Cammy…Cammy…I kinda need…to breathe…every now and then…you know!” CL mutters out barely, the British woman squeezing the daylight out of her out of her excitement and delight.

Cammy blinks and releases her, leaving her Chinese friend panting and wheezing a bit, “Glad…to see you…too” she says “I…I brought a visitor with me…I hope you don’t mind…” Chunli says with a smile, kneeling down a bit after turning around, lifting something up and embracing it gently “This is Aiko…Say hello to your auntie Cammy, Aiko” The Chinese femme says in a soft and loving voice, looking down at her child and holding the infants hand and making her wave.

The Brit blinks, then smiles, “Hello there…awww you’re such a cute lil’ thing!” Cammy says as she looks at the small package her best friend holds so lovingly and carefully, the infant’s skin milky white, her small face round and chubby. A small mane of black lies on the baby girl’s head, her big brown eyes looking around curiously, as she coos and waves her little hands with enthusiasm.

“Looks like little Aiko here likes you, hehe…*Sigh* Sooooooooo... can we come in?” CL asks, quirking her brow. Cammy laughs and then backs away so CL can enter the house “She’s the first person that won’t complain about the mess in here, no? Ha-ha… how can I say no to that?!” The Brit says and flashes a grin as the Chinese woman turns and drags in the baby carriage with her.

Cammy invites Chunli to sit down, to whom the Woman smiles gratefully, practically crashing down onto the couch, sighing tiredly, smiling down at her daughter whom snuggles against her sleepily, yawning and cooing quietly.

“I’m Sorry I haven’t contacted you in such a long time old friend. I’ve been working 24/7 for a long time until I was unable to work because of lil’ Aiko here… And I couldn’t call you afterwards, I was at Gen’s house, and he recently disconnected his phone to punish Yun and Yang,” she says with a small sigh.

Cammy’s eyes brighten and realization is finally grasped, chuckling and smirking “So that’s why you didn’t call, I was beginning to think you were still holding a grudge from that time I spread compromising picture of you in your underwear in the office…” Cammy says with a smirk.

Chunli’s face falls and her eyes roll “That wasn’t funny by the way and I’m not done with you yet! But anyway…I came over to introduce you to lil’ Aiko, and to let you know that when my precious little thing is old enough for the bottle and I lose these spare tires…I’ll get back to helping you with the fight against Shadowlaw. You know me, I never back down on a fight. So don’t count me out just quite yet!” Chunli states and winks, hand gently stroking her child’s head, soothing the infant to sleep.

“All right! Now that’s some music to my ears…’cause frankly, I could use your help, especially if you could be as kind enough to talk some sense into those a**holes and make them take me back to the field…” Cammy says quietly so she doesn’t wake up the sleeping child, her eyes flashing angrily and fists clenching some, jaw tensing, obviously flustered quite a bit.

“What’re you talking about?” Chunli asks, perplexed, not understanding Cammy’s words one bit, having been disconnected from the world of covert operations and worldwide crime fighting for over five months now, the Chinese agent missing out on Cammy’s critical injuries and long recuperation period.

“You really don’t know?” Cammy asks, a bit surprised and exasperated, rubbing her temples and sighing heavily before lifting her shirt and showing Chunli a long scar from her left hip to right about under her right breast, her fingers weaving over it slowly, her eyes dimming some, exhaling heavily and wearily at the memories.

“I got this ugly thing, from a ninja that infiltrated one of Mi6’s concealed bases, the whore slaughtered many of my friends before I reached her. D*mnit I hate fighting ninja, She was so bloody fast, she kept dodging and escaping my blows, it drove me nuts…and no matter how hard I tried couldn’t hang onto the upper hand for too long. Don’t get me wrong though, she got a good dose of my fists and feet…” The temporarily inactive Mi6 agent says wearily, rubbing her temples as she relives the battle

“*Sigh* Anyway…the b*tch managed to escape just before the reinforcements could arrive,” Cammy muses lowly, looking back into Chunli’s brown eyes “I was hospitalized for 4 months, to get some R&R even though I only needed 2 of them. I just got out of there a week ago, and they still won’t take me back, the new chief, d*mn that obnoxious pencil pusher twit…thinks I’m not in shape yet…” the Brit finishes, her right fist clenching and teeth gritting lightly.

Chunli lifts her slender eyebrows high, confusion and surprise rising to her features, eyes a bit wide as she finds it hard to voice her thoughts, feeling guilty and angry at herself for not making more efforts to contact Cammy and learn of these occurrences, or help her with that.

“I…I didn’t know…If I…you almost…and I…I didn’t know…” she stammers quietly in a frail whisper, her eyes showing guilt and sorrow, immensely displeased, feeling as if she had betrayed her best friend and abandoned her at the time of her greatest need.

“Don’t sweat it Li, you didn’t know, and had your own fair share of hospitals and pains. I didn’t need a moody, pregnant Chinese motor mouth, babbling and whining anyway in my ear. So the way I see it, I was quite lucky, it could’ve be worse” Cammy says and shrugs, to which Chunli quirks a brow questioningly “I could’ve been pregnant” Cammy finishes says with an evil grin.

“I resent that…” Chunli mutters lowly and glares at Cammy some, “It was hell I’ll admit, but at least the result was well worth the trouble…isn’t that right sweetie?” she whispers and smiles warmly at her sleeping child, the happy bundle contently clutching her shirt as she sleeps peacefully.

“Oh, and don’t worry, I’ll pull a few strings here and there and get you back in action soon enough, if you can still get off your lazy a** that is, Chubby.” Chunli jibes with a feral grin and amused eyes.

Chunli chuckles, her chocolate brown eyes lying upon Cammy’s extra pounds, light laughter escaping the Chinese, the femme choosing a tactical retreat and backing away a bit from Cammy as her temper skyrockets, the British Special Ops agent’s face shifting shades to pinkish red.

“I swear…If you weren’t holding that daughter of yours, I’d show you chubby, you brat!” Cammy says quietly with a scowl, her brow ticking and a small vein popping on the top of her forehead, making Chunli snicker hard, choking down the wild laughs she would usually unleash right about now so she doesn’t awaken her slumbering daughter, for if she does, it will be hours before she sleeps once more.

Cammy slowly smiles too, chuckling with her old friend, the two friends eventually making up for lost time and updating one another on all that’s happened in the last couple of months. The two share some laughs and tears until eventually they have to deal with an energetic and attention demanding Aiko, until the wee hours of the night, when their both exhausted and plastered tiredly over the sofas, sleeping deeply.

** 1 week later, “Stonehenge” Prison, Nevada Desert, USA **

This simply was not her day; she had slipped on a rock during one of her Katas and banged her head against a wall with respectable momentum, and stretched her ankle tendon somewhat. She limps through the corridors, two female guards following at a safe distance behind her, each woman looking a bit nervous.

To add to her physical discomfort many things in her daily life were getting hectic and very tense around the prison. Ibuki had been separated from her cousin Mei, who knew no lost love towards the former Shinobi, more so after Ibuki had defeated her in battle two months ago.

Ever since then the prison was in a state of unrest, Mei’s many friends in prison supporting her and doing all in their power to make Ibuki’s miserable, may it be to tamper with her food, ruin her laundry, and both jibe and insult her repeatedly.

Ibuki didn’t particularly mind them, she was more focused on continuing her training and planning means of escaping the prison. Even so, this new trend was getting old and bothersome and Ibuki feels she has outlived her welcome in the prison, beginning to get restless within the walls of the complex, the restrictions postponing her evolution, and more importantly her revenge.

The former Kunoichi wonders who’s the visitor that has called for her, but pushes the thought aside, it didn’t matter much, she wouldn’t be staying here for long. With the help of some friends, or more likely allies to a common goal, she has formulated several possible plans to escape the fortress prison; now the only question left was when to act.

The Trio stop stopped as she reaches the door, her hands cuffed behind her back. She could tell them there was no need no harm would befall anyone, but such notions would do her no good, they didn’t trust her, and to be frank, it’s their job not to trust her, so doesn’t blame them.

The Fallen Ninja sighs wearily led into the room, taken to a small round table with two chairs, one for her, another for a woman who is obviously waiting for her. A slender brown eyebrow rises as the guards help the former heir to the Shinobi sit down.

Ibuki is silent, scanning the woman before her, while wondering why the guards gave her no visiting time limit, this causing the shadow child to make a note to be cautious with her words, suspicious already of this persons goals and intentions for her.

The woman is in her early 30s, her body covered by a sharp looking business suit, the brown fabric matching her form in a complementary manner. She is an average built woman, not in prime shape but obvious taking care of herself. The woman’s face is long and oval with hawkish noble edges to it, her skin tanned beautifully, and a pair of blue eyes gazing at her calmly, slender pink lips pursed into a small line.

She runs her fingers through a shoulder long mane of curly hair of fiery red, folding her hands together and inhaling deeply, obviously pondering where to begin. Ibuki exhales lightly “And you are?” she asks, taking initiative in a neutral tone.

“My name is Janice McGrath, I wish it were under different circumstances, but It’s still a pleasure to meet you Ms. Hasigawa” she says with a small smile, speaking quietly in a steady tone, making eye contact as she speaks.

Ibuki doesn’t bite, distancing herself until she is sure what this “Janice” wants from her, nodding lightly and muttering a quiet “Charmed” waiting for the woman to get to cut to the chase, eyes wandering and scanning the woman more carefully.

McGrath was married or engaged by the golden ring on her hand, and was not hungry for bread so to speak, by the advanced cell phone lying next to her, and the white gold necklace she wore around her neck.

“I assume you want to know what I’m doing here, so allow me to explain” The red head muses calmly and unfolds her hands, reaching for a bag at her feet and rummaging through it, pulling out a folder and placing it before Ibuki.

“CIA…?” Ibuki questions quietly as she sees the insigne on the folder, her suspicions growing more, tilting her head a bit, quirking her brow once more, obviously wanting the apparent agent, to elaborate.

Ibuki doesn’t move or react much to the news other than her curiosity, calm and collected, enlightened somewhat by the identity of the woman as it would explain why she wasn’t given a time limit, as most others are issued.

“My superiors have read your file, and we believe we may have use for your expertise…” Janice says and flips the folder open for the bond Ibuki, revealing some very sensitive information to the eyes of the young mistress of the shadows.

Ibuki’s eyes darken some as her eyes dart quickly over the pictures and text, looking up at Janice, “Why this, Why now?” she asks quietly, her eye brows furrowing, tone calm but at the same time demanding.

“Oh I forgot, you don’t know…here, this will explain it all” she says and flips some pages, showing Ibuki some slips from newspapers, the Japanese shadow warrior was a calm and calculating soul, but the news in these papers makes her eyes widen and jaw open wide in shock.

“So many people…but, but…who? How?” Ibuki asks, speechless in horror, the numbers, the cruelty incalculable, inhuman, then realization fills her and her face grows cold again, head bowing down slowly “Shadowlaw…” she utters solemnly.

“Yes, therefore, since we aware of your past affiliation with the organization…” Ibuki winces at these words and growls inwardly, her aura for a moment flashing with rage before returning to its calm, fists tightening unconsciously at memories that plague her.

“We would like to hire you, for a period of time to execute several missions which we believe require one with your prowess in stealth and reconnaissance ,” the CIA agent says calmly, tapping her fingers over the table lightly and examines the young Kunoichi expectantly.

“Let’s say I agree, what’s in it for me, besides you eternal gratitude?” Ibuki asks, quirking her brow, rearranging her position in the chair, her arms beginning to hurt from the extended position her arms is forced into by the cuffs.

“Ahh…*chuckle* your freedom from this imprisonment of course, and a chance to avenge yourself? That is a generous offer if I’ve ever seen one, but I’m listening, Humor me Hasigawa,” The CIA agent says and crosses her arms, knowing a bargaining attempt when she sees once.

“First of all, I want real freedom mind you, erase my record so I am liberated from the many agencies who will seek me, still believing me to be an accomplice with Shadowlaw. Secondly, I want the assets and belongings I was stripped of when I was imprisoned…” causing Janice to rub her chin, “What makes you think I can arrange all of this?”

Ibuki’s eyes twinkle, looking like a predator whom has trapped its prey, speaking calmly like a teacher would discipline it's pupil “It's quite Simple, you need me; I am the worm you are going to toss into the water to catch the fish. The way I see it, if I succeed in your tasks all is good for you, however even if I fail and die, you have a pinpoint for a means of reaching Xavier, either way you win” a victorious glint in Ibuki’s eyes.

Janice offers her a blank and slightly miffed glare “You assume much for one who knows nothing…” she hisses slightly, “On the contrary Ms. McGrath, no matter how expertly you can mask your thoughts physically, your aura never lies…” the Former Shinobi says simply.

A tense silence is left in the room, Janice quite unsettled and annoyed at being read and outwitted by this girl, but she knew when she was beaten. “Done, your first task…is to get out of here…” Janice says and signals the guard.

“When will I hear from you again?” Ibuki asks though she doesn’t expect an answer, doing so for the sake of trying anyway, eyeing the agent as she dusts her suit and begins walking away, blue eyes lie upon her, and a small smile playing on pink lips, “Don’t worry, all in due time, all in due time…” she says cryptically and walks out.

Ibuki sits silently in her chair for a long moment, as the guards are heard approaching, a small smile plays on her graceful face, it slowly turning into a grin, anticipation filling her eyes for the first time in months, the time was finally upon her, freedom would be hers again, soon…very soon…