October 8, 1999

Chunli found she absolutely hated Spain the moment she was out of the airport.

In fact, she may well have been a little bit biased about the nation - ALRIGHT, very MUCH so! - but there was an air to the people and the way they were which seemed to call for - well, the best word she could come up with was 'downtrodden'. But it wasn't really that. Maybe it was just her being her usual sarcastic self.

Then again, any mention of Spain brought back images and memories she'd rather not have, so the point might be moot from the beginning. Anyway, it had nothing to do with the reason she was here. To find whom had killed her father...and...and what? She couldn't answer that quite yet.

The message had come to her while she was back at Interpol Headquarters in Hong Kong, an anonymous E-Mail which asked her to come to the City of Valladolid, sixty miles to the northeast of Madrid, where she would finally meet the one who had killed Doraļ Lee over a decade beforehand. The curiosity and the drive for vengeance that always bubbled below the calm surface she showed the world - unlike her friend William Guile, who wore his hatred on his sleve - had come forth, and she had used her influence to get permission to investigate this memo herself.

The worst of it was, she was almost certain this was a trap. But by whom? Vega would normally have been the most likely suspect, but after the crippling he'd received at her hands and the severed spine Giorgio Castillo had given him, word was the man had locked himself out God knew where, a shadow of his former self. Small loss. The world was a far better place without that maniac.

Getting her bag from the airport services, she strode outside and hailed herself a cab, taking a view of Madrid as she did. It was an old place, obviously, showing signs of the great empire it had once controlled, but more recent signs of its gradual descent into what was now the laughing stock of the European Community. A beautiful place, she had to admit, but definitely a sad one as well.

A cab stopped in front of her soon enough, and she quickly stepped inside, taking her bag -which wasn't that big, for she intended her stay to be short. The cab driver - a squinty fellow with dropping mustaches, asked her a sentence in Spanish she understood as her wanted destination.

"Hotel Coroba, per favor." she answered, her accent thick. The cab driver only nodded, lifted the glass which lay between passenger and driver, and off they were.

Set upon her destination, she allowed herself to return to her primary subject of concern: what to do with the killer once she had it in her hands, if of course the info wasn't just a trap of a sick joke. She knew that the order had come from Bison, and that particular man - thought killed by the Wanderer Ryu and American Martial Arts Champion Ken Masters but having resurfaced quickly - she would rip apart if she had the power to do so. However, as angry as she felt, she wasn't that certain she was ready to kill one who had just been possibly paid for it.

She remembered her father once telling her "Hate does who seek to hurt, pity those who seek money. Thats the difference between my feelings, princess." It had seemed so clear when he said that.

But to her, hate was hate, and she could hardly have mercy for any type of killer. It may make her better, it may very well make her worse, but that was who she was. The killer would suffer, that much was darn certain! Then she would see what to do with him, when her nerves were in a more logical state.

Then the sight of her hotel zooming past her, caught from the corner of her eye, made any and all thoughts of revenge and moral dillemma fly out the windows of her soul. There was no way the cab driver could have missed the place, or misunderstood the name. And that meant real trouble had come up to her sooner than she'd expected.

But never did she panic.

Instead, she looked around as if nothing was wrong. Let the man in front of her think she was oblivious to what was happening. She carefully examined the window seperating her from the driver, and had no problem recognizing the telltale signs that indicated a bulletproof window. No use using her gun then. She subtly tried to open the door while seeming to look outside, and found it locked tights. This more than anything told her all she needed to know. And also frantically advised her to get the hell out of there before she would arrive at their new destination - one she probably wouldn't like at all.

With her gun out of the question, she seemed stuck. However, there was another way to escape for someone like her. A dangerous one, granted, but danger was part of her everyday life.

She opened her bag, looking as if she was idly looking in, and when her hands where both inside, she took one of her spare shirts, wound it about her left fist, and concentrated while trying to keep as neutral an outlook as she could. It was tricky business, for concentrating the chi which ran though her body was no cigar, but steadily it came, building, stronger, the flow pulsing into her forearm, her knuckles, invading flesh and bone until her fist started shaking form the strain.

And as the chi reached a crescendo, she built up the same into her right leg, tearing about the filaments of chi inside her spirit, something she had learned to do and only controlled moderately. Doing both at the same time would drain her for a while, but it would be worth it if she could get the hell out of the place.

When she saw no car where anywhere near around in the street they were passing through, she enacted her risky plan of escape.

Without warning, as quick as lightning, her fist came up and smashed into the bulletproof glass., just behind the head of the driver. Her chi flowed out, hardening her hand like steel for the space of a single moment, not long. But long enough for her hand to actually burst through the special glass, nailing the man from behind. The man bumped his head on the steering wheel, sending the cab careening out of control.

This was her cue. Ignoring the pain that blossomed in her left hand, Chunli used the gathered energy of her leg to let loose one of the moves that made her quite feared on the streets and beyond.

"LIGHTNING KICK!"

The kicks pummeled the side door with great savagery, unrelenting. The door was locked, but this attack had once sent a man clear through a wall. True, the door was made of solid material...but the hinges which held it weren't quite that strong. With a great metallic wrench, the door litterally flew outside, banging on thew concrete.

She launched herself through the opening, hitting the ground hard but rolling to absorb the damage. She managed to get to her feet after a few moments, just in time to see the cab careen right into a light pole, were it groaned and stopped. Nothing stirred for long moments, and she looked herself over to assess the damaged.

Her left hand hurt like head, despite the huge amount of chi and the great wrappings she had wound about it. It wasn't broken, but it would be sore for a few days. Her leg throbbed from the strain as well, but she wasn't worried, knowing that in this instance it would return to normal within a few hours. Aside from that her right shoulder hurt a little from the impact, and she must have a bruise or two.

Considering what might have happened to her if the cab had continued its way, it was a bargain.

As people came around, gasping and pointing in Spanish, some calling out to her and others rushing to phones, she heard the door to the cab open, and the driver feebly make his way outside, blood pouring from his forehead, stooping from the pain her blow must have effected. She couldn't help but to grin at the sight. Bidding her pain to begone, she rushed towards him.

He saw her coming and tried to escape, but even in her weaker state she was able to catch him and hold him easily enough. He looked terrified as she shook him.

"Do you understand what I'm saying?" she asked in halting Spanish with a death-like grin, her eyes cold. The now-shivering man could only nod fearfully, more than impressed by her and at the end of his wits.

Perfect for a little interrogation.

"Good." She purred softly, managing to scare the man even more with her deadly tone. She was amazed he didn't just faint, scared as he was. "You and I are going to have a little heart-to-heart. And you're going to start telling your part right here and now!"

And her tone carried such menace that the man babbled imeediately, telling everything he knew. Which gave her a place to visit.

Something she would do as soon as she was rested. This investigation wasn't going so badly after all, it seemed.

The day after...

It didn't make any sense to her.

It rarely happened that Sharon had been confused about a job, but this one, up to a point, had her utterly stumped. She had checked the guy's background, and yes, there was a man under the name of Denis Farraday in the records of the Benton and Stern Firm. She'd talked on the phone with some Canadian contacts, hacked her way into private accounts, gotten all the information she needed. Name, family, occupation, influence, even the type of car he had everything checked out.

Perfectly.

Which was, in essence, the problem.

It wasn't the fact that she didn't think the man existed, no, but she felt things had been tweaked to make him such an easy target. The people she'd talked with had been the kind that one normally had the most shitty time just gettin the time of the day, and yet for this, there had been no problem. They'd given her what she wanted with little haggling, no bickering, no grumpiness. Odd. Very odd. And it wasn't all.

The fee had been paid by a unknown organization, that was certain and very ordinary - this wasn't the first time this had happened, after all. But she had managed to get a single shred of code only, even with the high-tech computer she was using and the speed of her recovery system. That entailed both a professional hack and highly advanced systems. System which most companies didn't have or never bothered to have.

And when she'd tried to enlist the help of hackers, all refused after knowing the scrap of coding she'd found. Seemed to scare them stiff, in fact. All seemed arranged so that she would go on with her mission, and all was prepared so that she would have no proof. This had been successful.

But it had more than heightened her doubts about all this. And for the first time since she couldn't even remember, Sharon actually considered dropping this job. It wasn't something she did lightly, and wasn't certain that to back down now wouldn't cause even worse - and very real - complications for her.

As she fought with the rather ambivalent decision in her mind, the phone rang. It barely registered on her mind at first, but when the message recorder hooked up the voice of the one calling, it brought her right back into her computer workroom, in Los Angeles, California.

"Hi, Sharon! Its Blair, sis! I'm returning your call and..." the young, strong female voice said. She didn't go any farther as the red-haired assassin dove for the phone, nearly wrenching it off.

"Blair! Hello!" she said, truly happy at hearing her sister's voice, something which didn't happen often these days for different reasons. "I'm sorry for the lag there, but I was stumped about something and gone to lala-land thinking 'bout it."

A mild chuckle on the other side. "Sounds like you, always thinking things over until your head hurts and you forget reality. But enough of that. How ARE you, sis? From your phonecall I was sure something BAD had happened to you."

Sharon grimaced a bit at that. Her call had been made using the mildest voice she could muster, hiding her doubts about the mission she was about to undertake. But it hadn't been enough, it seemed. Far from it. But then again it had been a little foolish to think she could hide anything from her younger sister. They knew each other so well the message she'd left must have been like a big neon "I NEED SOME ADVICE" or something to Blair.

"Well," she sighed "You're right up to a point. Nothing BAD has happened, as you just said, but it wasn't anything GOOD, and in the end it might not be good at all. But what about you? How are things going for you." she regretted calling her sister now, having done so on impulse, forgetting how much time had changed things.

Blair seemed to be rather imaptient with her attempt to divert the discussion on another topic. "Me? Oh, the usual. Fighting. Helping out people, having body guard jobs and stuff. The usual. Now don't try to change the subject with me and tell me whats wrong!" the voice had an air of finality which matched her own. There was no avoiding that talked now.

"Okay." she said, dreading what might happen. The terrian was a dangerous one, now. "You see, I took an hunting job a few days ago." she hesitated, but charged on reluctantly. "To take out a clean guy."

There was a long silence on the phone, and then a very calm, very level "I see." from Blair.

Sharon knew that tone only too well, knew the emotions which lay behind them, could ascertain that they had agin touched upon the subject that had created a rift between the two sisters which had never quite healed: killing. It had been between them for ovr seven years and wouldn't end anytime soon.

Blair had always been strong, ready to punch anyone who tried something she didn't like all the way to an hospital room. But never to the morgue. She took life as sacred despite the kind of job she was doing on a day-to-day basis. Sharon had no such theme on her soul. She had always been a skilled fighter and a remarquable shot, and had decided this path of life as the one which opened the most doors.

And, unwittingly, had nearly closed the one she shared with her dear, stubborn sister.

She didn't want that. Not here. Not now. She loved her sister so dearly and wanted no more rift. "Please don't hang up. I think I may be over my head on this one and I'd really like your ideas!" she hoped she had put enough sincerity in her voice, enough to catch her sister's now- faded softer side.

Apparently she did, for after a long silence, Blair spoke again, and the flow of restrained emotions had washed off her somewhat. "Okay." she said at length "You know I hate talking about these things, but I'm not about to turn my back on you, sis. Whats the hitch you're worried about?"

Barely able to keep her voice from overflowing with relief, Sharon did explain then, opening the valve of her doubts wide open, describing the straightforward operation and pointing out the oddities she couldn't help but have found out. She didn't know what Blair thought of it - maybe that old sis was getting paranoid, she wouldn't blame her, she sure felt paranoid - and she awaited her word on it.

It didn't take long for it to come. "You really like to get yourself into such messes, sis...I think this stinks, all the way from British Columbia to Florida! My advice is simple: back down! And its not just because of the kind of mission, but the peeps who hired you sound like major bad news!"

Exactly what she thought deep down. "So, you think I should give it up."

"Yup."

"Its not that easy. I've built my reputation on being the most relaible around. I can't remember a time when I refused without a darn good reason."

A soft sigh. "You're right. And you can go ahead with it. Which I think you will, by the way, you're too stubborn to let go." a pause "But whatever happens, I'm here and you'd better watch yourself!"

Sharon was touched, and she exchanged pleasantries with her sister for a little while, but in the end, they'd said all they needed to say, and soon the conversation stopped, rather fulfilling, but always missing something, something they both would have wanted to feel again, something the old wounds went against. It left Sharon strangely contemplative.

She decided that she had to take the chance, as Blair had predicted so knowingly, but from the moment her sister had said she supported Sharon whatever she did, the decision had been made. Both sisters had chosen their paths. If something presented itself, they had never shied away from it.

Sharon wasn't about the start doing that. It wasn't in her personality or in her blood. She would get on with things.

Even if that meant this mission would be more dangerous than it seemed. Her mind now set, she prepared herself for her trip to Canada.

Two days later...

Shadowlaw shock troopers, the best of the best the organization could field when they needed a show of military strength against particularly annoyant opponents, were not people who were inclined to shy away in fear. Trained in the most advanced ways of military and tactical combat possible, they were a force to be reckoned with.

If that wasn't enough, these fearsome soldiers were arrayed in hardened, crimson-colored kevlar armor, sophisticated helmets, and had the privilege of using the Blacktide Eight Laser Riffle, the very costly - and utterly illegal - high-tech piece of machinery that the Shadowlaw Weapons Research had put together using means and methods that were better not discussed at length. Each, in short, had enough to lay low even the best SEAL soldier.

Yes, they weren't people who were easily frightened.

But they shied away when the Lord of Shadowlaw passed through the corridors leading to his private discussion room. Oh, not so much in demeanor, they were far too proffessional to do such a thing in public. But mentally, they were backing away from him, out of fear and the deepest kind of respect possible. A feeling which mixed awe and fear and hatred into something that could only be called 'hateful adoration'.

Bison enjoyed it greatly, and for a moment he forgot what the man beside him was saying, basking in the feelings he felt, enraptured in his own power, until a cold, respectful voice broke him out of his reverie.

"My lord Bison."

The moment passed, and the crimson-coloured, muscular psychic turned a look of venom to the man who had dared to interfere in his thoughts, a look that made stout men run for their lives or faint dead away or still held them to the spot, paralysed even better than he could do with his vast mental powers. Any other man would have had a reaction of some sort.

But then again, this was Everick. And Everick never seemed to be frightened of anything.

And it was true this time, as the man garbed in simple clothes of the same color - black, of course - held one of the most dangerous man in the world without blinking, his eyes black as coals and colder than the voice, and yet reflecting complete loyalty and respect. And Bison never could quite become angry at such proof of utter loyalty.

It wasn't out of a whim or superfluous, as others watching the scene might have thought, for the peculiar Shadow Walker had soon become an invaluable lieutenant. Very bright and extremely talented in controlling troops in and off the field, as well as possessing a calm which somehow always made harsh situations simpler to deal with, the man - who'd served his late brother, Kale, so very well - had no ambition but to serve someone worthy of his services, and as Kale had said, shifted his full loyalty to the person he served, no matter what his feelings were.

A very practical and cold and smooth lifestyle for a man who embodied the meaning of the three words. Indeed, it seemed he barely used the privileges his position as Shadowlaw Lord - position held only by those directly below Bison himself - and then only when it served the purpose of an order of mission. Bison sincerely couldn't have ever lived like this.

But if he'd known Everick was that good a lieutenant, he would have ordered Kale to send him to work for him.

The moment passed, and Bison simply asked "Yes?" in a commanding tone. At that, the dark-clothed psychic continued what he was saying as if the exchange had never happened.

"We have secured Denver and its underground ressources. They are vast, as they are a focal point to the illegal activities and the black markets of the entire state of Colorado. A few small bands have resisted us thus far but they will be crushed by the end of the week."

The door to his private room slid open, and Bison entered, followed by his lieutenant three steps behind specialized bookshelves lined one wall, a computer with a large screen another, and a mechanized chair was all the other ornament Bison allowed. This was a room of work and discussion, not relaxation. The large man snak into the chair, while taking in the continuing report.

"Will the resources of Denver suffice to begin our project there?" he asked gravely.

Everick, standing erect exactly five feet from his lord, nodded. "Yes, my lord. The ressources we have acces to are good enough, and the infrastructure we need to implement will be so well before the end of the year."

Bison smiled slightly, but continued probing. "That's very good. Were any specimen collected already?"

"Only two thus far, my lord, but I expect my agents to find out the other four comes December. Come the time to celebrate year two thousand, we will be ready."

Bison nodded, very firmly, a pleased smile crossing his lips. "Excellent! Most excellent, Everick. As always, you performed your mission flawlessly. Have you anything else to report?"

He was certain there would be, for the Shadow Walker always gave rather lengthy but very simple and precise reports. And the feelings, the tight, highly-controlled feelings the man kept in check, told him the news was of great importance. He was thus unsurprised and expectant when his chief lieutenant spoke again.

"I do, my lord." he said, his voice actually grave this time. "I have heard very disturbing news from certain contacts both underground and in the upper world. White Arms has started to move again."

That got Bison's attention, the kid of attention he did not care for. White Arms was a named he had heard little lately, and it had pleased him. Not that the harsh, UN-backed organization was anyt threat to his present state of power, but none other had ever been such a tenacious annoyance, even before the CIA, SCD, Interpol and MI6 and all the other bugs that often attempted to sting Shadowlaw. Still, although it irked him to see them come back into the picture, it wasn't a surprise.

"We should have expected it." he mused "After all, the fact that Shadowlaw has annexed most of the Circle's interest, we must seem like too much of a threat for them not to take notice and act on it. What is their intent?"

"Unknown at present, my Lord, their shell is as hard to penetrate as it ever was." he paused "However, if I may have the liberty to give my opinion..."

Bison gestured dismissively. "Of course."

Everick continued immediately, his tone still grave. "I heard faint rumors regarding them having their sights on Specials, and one of my best spies has reported that they have engaged the SCR Protocols, with which I must admit I am unfamiliar."

Bison, however, had heard some things of it, having once succeeded a partial probe from a White Arms Researcher - before the probe was detected and the latent poison in the man's brain activated and killed him in a very straightforward and remarquable fit of agony. He knew it involved aquiring the powers of the Specials and introduce it into the everyday life, althought he never learned the means to be used. Whatever these were, it remained clear that he couldn't allow it. Normal humans could be a nuisance. Enpowered normal humans could be a threat.

"Everick." he commanded at long last. "I want you to see to it our very best spies and moles are put to task in trying to find out what they are planning. Once that is done, let them find a weakness, for we will have to crush them quickly and mercilessly before they enact their plots fully."

The tall, black-clothed man nodded as if he had assumed this would be his orders all along - and he probably had, at that. He seemed to hesitate for a fraction of a second, however, and Bison raised an eyebrow. "Anything else?"

Another hesitation, so small one had to be practiced to see it, and then an utterly calm nod, the little breach was closed and shut tight again. "I must admit there is one, mu Lord."

"And that is?"

"Well, sir, it is about the Shinobi..."

The day after...

A man with brown hair, wiry and in obvious good shape, was busily wolfing down choice pieces of chicken, an assortment of cheeses and vegetables, along with a few nuts from a bowl, his attention on nothing but the television in front of him, which was busy displaying the latest news. Overall, the man seemed content of what he was doing, and showed not one bit of wishing to leave his spot.

He also showed no bit of awareness as the window behind him slid open, moved by an hand used to making absolutely no noise. He didn't see the masked faces which looked at him in cold hatred, and certainly saw nothing of the hands which readied darts and shurikens. He saw nothing as death prepared itself to welcome him with open arms, just chowing down his food and looking at the news from time to time.

He had no chance as darts and shuriken flew too him, embedding themselves in the chair and...passing right throught him. The man's image wavered, then disappeared, as if it never existed at all, as well as the ustensil, plates and food he had been eating so nearly joyfully. The masked people's eyes widened, they had expected anything but this.

But the Hunter had expected exactly this, and smirked at his prey, as he descended from the tree he had been hiding, coming down on a low branch just behind them.

"Well, well, what do you know." he intoned "Uninvited guests. Only five? I'm hurt, thought Geki appreciated me more..."

The last words were barely out of his mouth that the Hunter dodged a new hail of projectiles, jumping high into leaves, chuckling all the way. He had them, now, he knew. Nothing irked more than losing a target, and the Shinobi were even less used to it than most.

"Follow me, little sneaks." he chirped softly "Here in the woods, where fate deides who lives and dies." And he was of, right into the forested terriain behind the house which had been falsely leaked as being 'his' house.Behind him, there was no noise of anything, except a feel, a feel of presences so subtle that only the finest-tuned senses could pick them up. The Hunter could. They were after him.

Perfect, perfect. Time to slaughter these worms.

He had picked this patch of the woods for the confrontation, and for that purpose had made himself quite familiar with the layout. He knew which branches could hide him the best, where to go in case he was discovered. He knew they probably had done a cursory examination of the surroundings, but there was absolutely no way he saw they could match him here. The best way the five would have of pulling the whole thing off would be to wit him out, but they weren't going to do that.

'Arrogant fools' he thought savagely 'Its about time someone like me gave you the early graves you deserve.

He hid behind a tree, and waited. Sure enough, with a soft rustle of leaves, a dark form was just next to him. They felt each other nearly at the same time, and if they had both been expecting a confrontation at that precise moment, it might have gone ill for him.

But he had been waiting for that moment. His razor-sharp blade was out of it sheet before the ninja even started to shift, and as he turned, reaching for that katana these clowns always brandished about, the large blade was buried, wrenched and torn out of his enemy's throat, leaving behind a gushing flow of blood and gore. The man didn't have any chance at all to even shout a warnin, only grugling briefly in a stupor, than falling over, dead.

The Hunter didn't wait there to gloat. The moment the fatal wound had been inflicted, he had begun moving away, slipping from branch to branch, until he reached another of his designated positions. From there he could see who would go to look at the fallen warrior, and take care of it. As stealthily as a mouse, he reached inside the small pack strapped tightly to him.

Shapes went to look, as he'd had predicted - were these idiots so full of themselves that they'd make themselves such perfect targets? He could only shake his head, mildly amused at such irrealism, and put on the infrared goggles that he'd kept inside the pouch, as well as the special, silencer-equipped nine-milimeter pistol that was all ready to take on those who who styled themselves the warriors of the night.

With the goggles on, he could see almost as well as daylight, and as the two ninjas checked over their fallen comrade, he aimed carefully. Zzzzt. Zzzzt. Two bullets whizzed. One of them was a shot right in the head, falling down, dead on the spot. The other was more fortunate, only being grazed but falling down from the tree, uncounscious.

He smirked again, letting his attention drift for only a moment.

The moment was costly as he felt painful blows through his back, and he couldn't help but yell in pain. Multiple impacts- shurikens. While HE had been aiming at the two, another had been aiming at HIM, and had nearly nailed him. Hell, if it hadn't been for his kevlar protection, he would have been nailed.

He wasn't, but as he flailed about with the pain, a part of him stayed focused and cold, and told him what he instinctively had to do. He dropped from the tree, landing hard, nearly breaking an arm, and took every appearance of a man who was down. He felt the presences coming closer, and closer, and took out something from his ever-useful pack. He heard a metallic rustle, but as the balde went down, flashing towards him, he cracked the small flare off, and thrust it into the eyes of the ninja.

The man screamed. Then died as the Hunter emptied his pistol clip onto him, wrenching the sword away before death made it a struggle to wrestle. He turned as there was a shift in the tree behind him, ignoring the arm which was killing him and the his battered back, waiting for an attack. He raised the blade in a gesture of challenge and waited. Sure enough, moments, later, a figure moved down from a tree, and came at him fast, incredibly fast, with sword ready to tear him apart.

The two swords met, rapidly, as the men fighting shifted and changed positions and lunged faster than most men could go. Even though he had had the intent of finishing off the last one in a swordfight, the Hunter soon discovered how foolish that notion was. The other man was faster, had more stamina left than he, and wasn't hurt. No matter how hard he tried, he was losing, and rapidly.

A shot made him step back, and his feet caught up in some tree roots. He went down hard, and even before he could get up, the assassin was upon him.

Fear took hold of him, and he reacted the only way he could. As the ninja lunged for the kill, he flung dirt at the man. Luckily, it hit, and his adversary was stunned and blinded for a moment. Amoment he had no intention of letting pass. Gripping his blade, letting the adrenaline carry the motion forward, he thrust thr blade at the man's neck.

It didn't sever it, but it penetrated a good three inches into it, severing skin, muscles, veins and tendons.

Still the man did not go down like the other had, but stayed up, looking at the Hunter with glazed eyes that still showed defiance and anger. Clutching the fatal wound, the Shinobi tried to rally his strength, and looked his enemy square in the eye.

"Why...do you...do this?" he rasped, and the Hunter was surprised he could speak at all. Still, an answer was well-deserved, and he knew what he would say at once.

"Your kind must die." he said simply, thruthfully. "You have killed far too many, to be ever considered redeemable."

That did not convince the ninja. "We...only do...what other ask...we...do...only...do..." The man started to slump, his strength and life ebbing.

"You took too much from too many. I aim on bringing a sort of ironic justice on your kind of arrogant assassins."

The man slumped to the ground, but just before he did, his eyes became clear again, and determination was in them. "You will never...succeed!" he growled, then coughed blood and fell.

He watched the man in his last convulsion coldly. He thought about dispatching the uncounscious Shinobi at first, to make it all clean, but finally decided against it. Let the little one return to the others and tell them how they had all been fooled by one man. Grimly, he looked at hisnow-dead opponent.

"You are probably right." he said "But that doesn't mean I won't bring a lot of them with me if I die." And he meant it.

It was, after all, his mission.

Two days later...

He had been looking forward to this a lot during these past few months.

In fact, it could be said it was what had fueled him. Or so Vega thought when he remembered his self-imposed, burning desire to bring the Interpol Agent and Street Fighter Chunli to her knees...litterally.

Ever since his defeat at her hands, it had burned him. During the months when he'd been nothing but an invalid, it had choked him. But when Everick had come to him with a possibility of regaining what he'd lost, it had kept him alive. Kept him alive through the dangerous spinal operation, which had nearly killed him. Kept him going while his atrophied legs could barely walk about. And most of all had given him the strength to pull through the hellish training he'd set for himself in order to become his old self and more, regaining skills which had made him feared.

And now it was coming true. She was coming here, in Valladollid, a town which was run from behind the scenes by Shadowlaw, a fact that was unknown by Interpol and that he'd used for his own purposes and plans.

He looked down at the large, dusty central area between the buildings. No one circulated there, at least, no one who had any sense when the Cutting Jaguars, the town's strongest gang, resided in the area. Even the police didn't come here these days, for the very realistic fear of losing one's life in the line of duty a little too fast. The Jaguars obeyed no one. No one, that is, except Vega.

As he looked down at the ring, he felt someone move near him. He instictively started to raise the claws on his hand - his new set, honed by laser, more cutting than ever - then relaxed as he recognized the presence.

"Is everything in place?" he asked at once, softly.

The other probably nodded, for he heard no immediate answer. "Yes, Lord Vega. Everything is ready for your opponent's arrival. The other are only awaiting to cage her in."

He nodded, remembering that when he'd first come back to the city, the Jaguars' leader had been mocking, unsollicitous, and had nearly laughed at him overtly. That had had been because of his defeat at her very hands, of course. The Jaguars had thought him, an has-been, a fighter who had lost his place and his skills.

But things had quickly come back in perspective when he'd killed their leader with these very claws, and wounded his lieutenants. Then the laughs had stopped, the fear had returned, and he'd regained the fame he'd had in Spain quickly enough afterwards.

Presently, however, he had an even greater goal, and was pleased it was all going well. He smiled almost dreamily. "Ahh, so close, now."

"There is something, senor, that you should know about the men. They think..." the voice trailed off uncertainly.

Vega's smile fled. "What do they think?" he asked archely, turning towards the lean man who was bowing behind him. The man seemed to consider his response, then coughed as little queasily, obviously and wisely deciding it would be better to answer Vega's question.

"The men are rather...doubting that the World Warrior will come here, as it is a deliberate trap." he said at length.

Upon hearing this, Vega threw back his head and laughed as he hadn't laughed in a very long, time, letting his mirth roll off the forcibly near-empty buildings surrounding him. So that was the trouble! What fools they all were to worry about this. He laughed until he was certaint the other man was squirming, then managed to get it down to a bare chuckle.

"Hehehe...you have no reason to worry about that." he said with good humor "I know our little miss Xiang - no, she changed that to Lee, no? - is more than intelligent enough to recognize that this is a trap. Yet she will be there very soon nonetheless."

"But...but how could she do so if it is certain she will..." the appointed leader of the Jaguars seemed to have problems understanding the dynamics at work.

"Because she is the proudest bitch I've ever seen. If she decides to do something, she will do so, no matter the cost to herself, no matter the risks involved." his lips curled upward again for a moment "Just like that old fool, Dorai." his expression became serious again. "Now go. I will wait for her appearance, and then everyone closes the breaches."

The man nodded, bowed with respect - respect that came from fear, exactly the type he liked - and moved off. Vega immediately resumed inspecting the area just below him, and waited for the co-star of the show to arrive.

And she did, cautiously, dressed in the fighting uniform that had become a trademark, her demeanor unafraid but definitely showing that, as he'd said, she was no fool to the game which was preparing itself. Not that the danger would be very great, if it wasn't for the fact that he was to be her opponent. The Jaguars were, after all, just a bunch of glorified bums who had nothing but numbers on their side - something someone as nimble as she could use to outmaneuver them.

She came towards the center of the empty place, logically choosing the best place to view where the attacks would come from. Again, her shrewdness was apparent, but it didn't stop the fact that she had come.

Come so that he could finally taste his revenge on her!

As soon as she was in position, men burst from the empty buildings, many of them, and came to enclose her in a loose circle which would - had they known it - barely stop her from doing what she'd want to do, she wasn't just a pretty girl. She was one of the fiercest warriors on Earth. Vega knew this quite well.

She didn't show any surprise at their appearance, which seemed to dampen their enthusiasm a little, nor did she show any sort of fear. In fact, the only thing that he felt from her was a sort of cold disdain, wrapped up in caution. They were merely obstacles and she knew it.

"All right." she called in halting Spanish. "I've come to play you're little tasteless game. Show yourself so we can settle this!"

Vaga smiled. It was at last time to get what he'd wanted for so very long.

"Very well, senorita!" he called "You wish the same thing as I, although our goals differ. Far be it for me to let such cuteness waiting." grinning, he put on his mask, hiding his face. He wouldn't remove it this time, wouldn't repeat the same mistakes he had made the last time, mistakes which had cost him so much.

He leaped down, landing inside the circle, barely ten feet away from her. And he savoured her expression of disbelief and dismay, the look of utter surprise she showed. She hadn't expected him to be there, had refused to even envision it in her mind, no matter what the clues would tell her. She was utterly at a loss on this.

"Vega...but thats...thats not...possible." she whispered, her eyes wide, shifting to her strongest defensive posture at once out of natural instincts.

He grinned behind his mask, ignoring the cheers and jeers from the crowd of bums. "Hardly impossible, my beautiful senorita. Vega still lives and is stronger than ever."

Although surprise still showed in her expression, anger replaced part of it. "This was just an hoax, then, only to get to fight me again, Vega?"

He shook his head. "Hardly. You wanted to meet the one who killed Doraļ." he spread his arms "Here he is, ready and waiting for whatever punishement you see fit." he went into his expert ninjitsu-toreador stance.

"Now, senorita, we both have something to avenge." he said coldly. "Shall we go?"

And he lunged at her. The time for talking was over