September 3, 1999

The City of Quebec. The fair and proud City which stood as the bastion of remaining pure French culture in nearly the whole of North America. From old architecture to ancient walls, from the Chateau Frontenac which stood overlooking a city which mingled old and modern times, to the tranquil Plains of Abraham, preserved relic of the last great battle between the French and the English on North American soil, it was a place dedicated to art, commerce and culture. A fair city by many standards.

But for Kian Managi, Ninja Master of the Shinobi, it was fast becoming high on his list of places he would never revisit. Assuming he would ever revisit anything. A laughable thought for one of his skill in normal times. But these times he was facing were far from normal.

And neither was the man following him, having slaughtered his team.

They'd been lured in like lambs, he knew it now. A week ago sources on the streets had leaked that the Steel League, the underground empire of assassins which had been the bane of the Shinobi for the better part of a century, were setting up camp in Quebec City, intending to use it to get a foothold into Canada. Grandmaster Geki and the Ninja Lords hadn't liked this one bit, and had ordered a team to scout and scope out the city to assess the truth of the rumor. Through spying and threatening in the Quebec Underground, they'd be drawn to investigate a an old estate house. Kian and the other four of his team had slipped inside to check, stealthier than mice and thinking they were leving none wise to their presence.

What fools they had been.

The place had been a deathtrap, a carefully arranged setup for a man who was waiting for them patiently, waiting to pounce on them. And he had, slipping out of a room they had just checked, opening fire and killing two of his team before they had a chance to react, disappearing inside another room almost immediately. They'd searched for him high and low, and yet he evaded them, taking another out as he stood alone for a few moments, coming behind him. Kian had seen the black-clad form, had started to shout a warning, but it was too late, with a sickening crack the hunter had broken the ninja's neck. It had been their cue to retreat, and the Ninja Master took it. However, as they fled, they'd heard an horrifying soft sound, and his only surviving underling had clutched the side of his neck, looking dumbfounded at his hand which held a poisoned dart.

He had died in agony mere moments later. And Kian had escaped.

But had he? All th etime he ran from roof to roof through the streets of Quebec City, he couldn't shake the fact that the murders of his team had been too well orchestrated, to minutely prepared with each moment taken into account and used, to think that he truly had escaped whoever was hunting them in the house. It somehow contrasted too much. And added to that was the fact that his instinct - which had gotten him out of many a situation before - told him that the danger was still very real.

It was pitch black tonight, clouds hanging low, covering the moon and the stars, but still he felt it. Danger. Subtle noises all around him, down, down in the darkness of the street, darkness which didn't seem to be the ally it always was. His mind was fairly spinning by now, for this was the kind of situation that escaped his grasp, his tight control. The night had always been his friend, her silence and the fear she brought in most human beings an asset. But tonight it was he who was feeling the numbing terror of the unknown.

He was so disturbed, he only felt the presence of another when he was standing on the same roof. He skidded to a halt, his fear replaced by the steely Shinobi instincts as he saw his opponent with eyes accustomed to darkness. The street lights were few in the area, and he couldn't make the features of the one before him, but some things leapt at him immediately.

First, although this man - for a man he knew it was- wasn't impressively tall, he was broad, and an athletic outlook to himself. Garbed in a suit which seemed somewhat leathery, he was wearing something on his head which seemed to be goggles, yet emitted a sort of greenish light. He couldn't make out his forearms. They seemed bulky, which was not a good trend.

But worst than anything else, the entire casual deameanor - the relaxed stance, the ready legs, the slight coking of the man's head. All showed he had KNOWN this would be the place they would meet, like he had arranged it. And the sounds down on the silent streets gathered around the base of the building, and waited. There was no escape that way.

"Indeed, there is no escape, Shinobi." the man in front of him said, simply, as if he were discussing the weather. His voice spoke a perfect Kanzai Japanese, with just a hint of accent.Hard to define. Australian, maybe? "You fell right into my trap. It was so easy, but then I never really expected any challenge from the likes of arrogant bastards like your kind." the voice had turned bitter.

Kian knew that bitterness meant nothing good, but absolutely refused to let himself be daunted. "Even if you destroy me, the Shinobi will send more after you. You will become their personal enemy!" he grated.

To his surprise, the man seemed to find the thought highly amusing, for he laughed softly.

"My dear little ninja, I am counting on it, more than you could imagine. Now...are you prepared to meet Buddah?" his frame flexed a bit, and he took a position that seemed not to belong to any martial art, but rather to a combination of many. And the telltale signs showed experience. But then, if this was the man who had killed his team in the house, Kian knew the man was more than just that.

But he had his pride. And so he took his practiced stance, facing off into the night in a battle which may well be unwinnable.

Both adversaries studied each other, until Kian attacked with a series of jabs and kicks designed to pounce on certain nerve clusters which should have paralysed his adversary. Yet the man did not budge, actually withered the blows without a bit of an apparent problem. His form was good, and he was fast - perhaps as fast as an average ninja of the Shinobi. However, he was no match for Kian, who'd trained all of his life for speed and strength born of precision. Evading a clumsy punch, he got his left leg up and aimed at his opponent's head in a split second, and he knew the forearm would never resist the pressure of the attack.

He was partially right. But wrong on a fatal point.

Truth, the man's forearm did bear the pressure of the attack well, as the man groaned very loudly. However, where the killer of his team groaned, Kian scream, for he'd found out why the forearms were so bulky. They were covered in thick leather, with long nails bursting outwards.

Many, many nails.

They tore through his suit, in his flesh, tearing chunks of it and opening was he knew was a river of blood. Still, although the defensive offense had probably crippled his leg, opening the major arteries, still the ninja held on, pride for himself, his clan and his people. He might very well die, but not as a coward, but a warrior with his pride intact. He stepped back, clutching his leg, but regaining control almost immediately.

"You have not vanquished me yet!" he said stiffly, going inside himself, looking for the hidden energies insides his body, mind and soul, combining them to create a flow which could reach his chi. He wasn't one with a large fount of it, unlike Grand Master Geki and those of his blood, but it would serve. It had too.

But he never had a chance to use it. To his surprise, his opponent jumped to the next roof. Kian looked at him, stunned for a moment, before finding his voice once more.

"Coward! Face me to the end!" he bellowed.

The other laughed again, the lighted, magnificient Chateau Frontenac seemingly glorifying the madman as it stood a way behind, a great background to the killer. He seemed unconcerned with the challenged being uttered in his direction.

"But it is over, only you have not realized it. Do you think I am so foolish as to look for a direct confrontation? No, I will get your worthless hides the same way you got your kills - through stealth, treachery and a lot of tricks. Like the one which will kill you right now. Look at your feet."

Kian looked at the shadowy figure, then down, and noticed something peculiar. Thin cords were strewn everywhere across the roof, linked together as some kind of web. Suddenly he started, as his brain registered what he was seeing fully. As he did, the man called out one last time.

"I am Damien Koslov, and I declare war on the Shinobi this day!"

And with that declaration, the tazer lines, carrying thousands of volts of electricity, flared tolife, envelloping Kian Managi in a world of pain, carrying him to oblivion. But the worst was that he realized he might not be the only one to go this way.

The Shinobi would face a very dark foe soon. His last prayer went to them.

And he died within his faith in his people.

Four days later...

Deep inside a disregarded part of the Rockies Mountains somewhere in Canada, a man was walking inside an underground structure. Not a feeble structure of simple concrete and stone, but most probably one of the most high-tech buildings built of the like anywhere in the world. Protected by jammers and powerful hidden weaponry - of which many were supposedly still being devellopped and by a miles of olid bedrock, it boasted training rooms of the most diverse and inventive kinds, radar analysis, weapon designing, and the most advanced set of computers in the entire Canadian Dominion.

It was a place of strength. An high-tech, well-nigh impenetrable stronghold and research center.

It was White Arms' Command Base.

Not that it meant anything to the man who was making his way down well-lit corridors and electronic barriers. Heknew White Arms well, and this place didn't have secrets for him, no matter how much those commanding would like there to be secrets to keep from him. After all, he had been working for the organization for many years now.

The man was named Jacob. And there was no one more arrogant in the place as he was, and he was the first to admit it. However, it wasn't something that had come lightly, nor was it in vain. Not impressively tall, the man moved with a grace which belied his stocky physique. Not the grace of a ninja, like many of the younger fools had once told him. But rather one that came out of killing and terrorizing, from afar, without being detected. And loving every single second of it.

On his long, bushy-haired face, there was the expression which made him both disliked and feared. His lips were upturned and twisted slightly, giving out the impression that this man looked down at the world and found it very wanting as far as his standards went. Every one, besides the higher commanders, were regularly treated to the look, even the White Guns, the very unit that he commanded. But where the Guns no longer minded the look, there were others who shot dark looks, and whispered depreciating comments.

But never in front of him. For if his smile was that of pure arrogance, his eyes were that of death. Cold, expressionless, with a glint of a strange hunger that no food - litteral or not - seemed to sate. Except terror, shock, and death, on which Jacob lived and thrived.

For once that day Jacob wasn't thinking about death or terror, even if it remained there, thrilling his soul with images of the many lives he'd broken or destroyed. Today his arrogance was toned down a notch, his face almost normal. After all, it would not do to irritate one of the three sub-commanders of White Arms. And of the three, Daniel Hartcourt was the darkest, the most insidious, the most dangerous, and one who always succeeded, no matter what it might cost.

Jacob grudgingly respected that kind of men. A rare thing.

He came to a door guarded by two soldiers wearing the customary uniform of White Arms. Dark blue mostly, the strinking difference was the fact that the right sleeve and right glove were white. Not really what the name of the organization meant, but to outsiders, that uniform usually got the point across. White Arms is here: submit, bow or die.

One of the guards nodded, and Jacob entered the room. It was small, well-lit, with only a table and two chairs, one of which was taken by the man he needed to meet. No need for follies in that room. For it was here that Hartcourt gave his most secret orders.

Normally Jacob would have sat without asking permission, for he wasn't one who waited on people's permissions. However, two men he had long ago decided, one always waited on: Commander Joshua B. RedBarrow and Sub-Commander Hartcourt. Thus, the leader of the White Guns waited, until the grey-haired, hawk-faced ex-killer nodded curtly, allowing him.

As soon as he was seated, the sub-commander began crisply and gravely. No pleasantries with him. He was one who wanted the orders told without adding unnecessary details, and that suited Jacob just fine.

''Jacob, as you know, the Specials are starting to gain greater and greater influence over our world, threatening the greater masses of the normal people we are supposed to protect. For many years the Circle, although Psychics-based, had served as an excellent buffer because of its despondence and carelessness, which we could sometimes use to keep the Brotherhood, the Steel League and, most of all, Shadowlaw to gain too much power. No more'' he rose took three steps and stopped, rigid, commanding.

''But the Circle has fallen now, thanks in part to the efforts of the SCD.'' Jacob filled in, wondering where this was going. ''And word is Shadowlaw moved in and annexed most of what remained of it.''

Hartcourt nodded, his eyes slightly furious, but then again the man always seemed angry at something. ''You are correct. And with Bison having increased his ressources and his power so tremendously, we have no choice but to carry on some of our most touchy and complicated plans.''

The assassin couldn't help but look a little shocked. ''Weren't the Science Section people still ironing out these plans? To go in prematurely - '' he was stopped by the sub-commander making a cutting gesture with his arm, falling silent immeditately. His superior, however, seemed only to want silence and not to argue it.

''Commander RedBarrow has made his decision, and all in White Arms must abide his decision.'' he took a deep breath ''And so, official today, we are beginning the first stages of the SCR Protocols.''

Now Jacob couldn't help but react, actually gasping outloud, something utterly ameteurish and childish that he normally would never allow himself to be caught doing. But this was too much to take, even for him. SRC. Of all the potential experiments, the darkest, involving Specials and Psychics, with the deatails that no one besides the highest scientists and the White Arms commanders knew about. Even he didn't get the whole picture, except that it was supposed to be extreme and tricky, and having lots of dangerous potential.

''Sir, what you are saying...its mind-boggling, to say the least. Even to me. Has it...has it really come to that?'' He asked the still-standing man. A slight sigh was all that showed the hawk-faced man's own ennervation.

''Yes. And in order to start to carry it out, we need to ready the kind of people we might need. And for one of them, we need you. You and the White Guns.''

Jacob nodded firmly, strands of excitement stirring within him. ''We are all at your service, of course.'' he raised an eyebrow ''But whom, may I ask, would be our target?''

As an answer Hartcourt came and gave him a file. It showed photos of a rather attracted, red-haired woman, busy with different activities, some of them very dangerous, a few very physical. After admiring her figure a moment or two, Jacob skimmed the file, and his eyebrows raised as he read what was there.

''The Freelance Assassin known as Sharon.'' Jacob mused ''Heard about her, but I never believed she's so good. She'd be a fine addition to the White Guns!'' And to him, it was the greatest compliment he could give to anyone. However, Hartcourt shook his head.

''No, we do not want her to join White Arms.''

''Then you want her captured? Dead?''

''Captured, yes, but only temporarily. She's to be our ace-in-the-hole, our way of carrying out certain duties without people starting to point fingers at us.''

Jacob nodded dubiously. The plan seemed logical, but there was a definite hitch. He knew Sharon's type. Tough and nearly fearless, they were the type of people who always did what they wanted and woe to those who wanted to tell them to do otherwise. Very likable people, very proffessional, but not easy to convince, and he told Hartcourt that.

Hartcourt smiled. ''Ah, but she has a weakness, man. A very fatal one.'' and he showed another file, which showed the images of another nice-looking woman, blue-haired and having strong ressemblances to Sharon. ''Meet Blair Dame, Sharon's sister. Our ace versus the red lady. And this is where you, yourself, come in, Jacob.''

''And what do I do?'' Jacob asked.

Hartcourt told him.

And as he spoke, the leader of the White Guns smiled slightly, the twist making his arrogant look return. In his eyes, the the lust, the hunger, which had been set back, came back to the fore.

And deep within himself, the dark strings sung with joy and anticipation.

Two days later...

"What do you fear, dear?"

The question was asked in the softest of tones, with compassion and great care, but there was an underlying, faint trace of impatience no one with the least bit of sense could help to feel from it. It was the voice of someone who cared very much about the other, but seemed a bit exasperated about the whole situation.

It didn't usually happen to Rose, far from it. But this time, she thought that Cammy was taking the whole new business a little too far.

The young woman had come to her suddenly, asking for advice, her emotions controlled but carrying with her a great fear and much confusion. She had explained the situation quickly, and the lavender-haired psychic had been astounded, then worried and irritated. The mere fact that Cammy was pregnant with Jeremy's child was a cause for celebration and joy, of course. But what was the use of that if she couldn't even tell her own husband about it.

To be certain, to be absolutely certain, she had felt out for a new mind inside Cammy. Although primary and unformed, it wouldn't have the same kind of energy, and thus easily detectable to someone with her extensive talents. And so she had prodded, very gently, concentrating, and found what she sought. A tiny, very tiny surge of chi, reminding her both of Jer and Cammy, surprisingly strong for it being so early yet. An innocent little light born of love.

That's when Rose had started to be annoyed. And when it happened, few living beings could be as relentless as she.

The blond woman shrugged uneasily, her face downcast. "I...I can't say. I'm not sure. Its just something thats holding me back." She didn't seem inclined to say more, but the fortune-teller would be damned if she let it at that. Feeling soft, conciliatory words would not bring the truth of the matter, she opted for the one thing that usually worked with military people: bluntness.

"Do you regret that he is this child's father?" she asked quite seriously, her face set for her arduous task.

Cammy's eyes widened, and she looked across into Rose's eyes with an expression which was so astounded it was almost plainly disgusted. It was clear the concept never entered her mind. Not that Rose had thought she had. If Cammy had thought such a thing about the man she married and loved so much, then the psychic woman would have been much more than just mildly exasperated about the new turn of events. But she had to hear her deny it, had to push her.

She didn't have to wait long. "No! Jer is the only one I'd ever want to have children with me!" she snapped rather vehemently "No one else!!"

Rose nodded sagely. "Good. Perhaps, then, it is because you feel what he did is a form of rape, and you just don't want to admit its." she suggested mildly "After all, you have suffered, it would be - "

She didn't get the chance to finish, as Cammy jumped to her feet, her expression actually angered now. "What are you talking about?!? Its not rape! Thats dead and buried for me. Nothing...I never felt anything he did EVER was anything LIKE a rape! I love him!!"

"And don't trust him? Don't trust him to take his reponsabilities with the baby when it comes into the world?"

"No, of course not!" was the angry, frantic answer.

"Then why do you not TELL HIM!?!?" she asked, and there she raised her voice far louder than she had intended too, eager to drive home her point, and so very tired of seeing those she cared about in such situations. Her eyes were cold, she knew, and her expression was grim. All this struck a nerve, she felt, as Cammy recoiled slightly, her mind buckling for a moment, before that fear, hidden deep inside, finally showed itself, bursting for in one paniqued, raging sentence.

"BECAUSE I DON'T WANT HIM TO LEAVE ME!!!!" the braided woman shouted, then fell silent, sad and embarassed, as her brain caught up with her words. "I couldn't take it, Rose. I love him so much." she finished, more softly.

And Rose felt surprised herself, for the secret must have been so deeply hidden Cammy had never consciously thought about it before. She was starting to feel that this was very personal, far beyond what she should be meddling in, and felt her simmering ire start to come to the fore once more.

"Leave you? You do know this is one of the most ridiculous things you have ever said to me, do you not?" she asked urgently, keeping her irritation out of her voice. "I've felt Jeremy, and even if I hadn't, its clear to anyone that he loves you more than he does anyone else, probably more than he loves his own life. Why would he leave you?"

Cammy still looked dubious. "He's twenty-one, Rose. Just twenty-one. What if he,s not ready? What if he wanted to have a few more years with only me, before thinking of having a child? And what if, deep down, he NEVER wanted a child at all?"

"Cammy..." Rose started, but the blonde wasn't finished.

"I know I'm being stupid, selfish even, keeping this from him. I know, somehow, that he wouldn't leave me. But I'm not sure! I'm not sure! And everytime I doubt, I get more scared than...than I've ever felt in my life. Even when Bison...even when he had me back again, I didn't feel quite like that. I don't want to be alone again."

She sat again, her emotions spent, her secret given. She now reminded Rose of the fragile, uncertain woman who had managed to escape Shadowlaw, but had been so crippled it had taken months of work and a lot of caring to put the demons and ghosts to rest and allow her to carry on with life.

Not a pleasant reminder, that. Not at all. Rose actually sighed when the old memories passed through her, and she softened herself to the suffering tone she had heard, the panicking heart she had felt, the terrified mind she had read. She reached out and put a gentle hand on Cammy's shoulder.

"Jeremy is a very gentle person. He would never leave you behind, nor would he hate you because you are now carrying a child HE fathered." she said "He's your husband and your lover and will never forget that."

Cammy nodded, but Rose could tell her fears weren't assuaged, that she still hesitated in telling the man she loved that their lives were about to change in a very dramatic but potientially very fulfilling way. It was a sad state of affairs, but not one Rose could mend. This was too personal. This was between them.

"Cammy." she couldn't help but tell her friend softly as an encouragement. "Believe in him. Believe in his love."

As for the rest, she could only pray.

And hope for the best.

Two days later...

Night had fallen in Japan, but in the main Shinobi compound, everything and everyoner was very much awake. There was much talk and angry whispering, as the news of the day's event passed from person to person, from master to trainee, amn to woman, until the entire place, where one of the most powerful society of asian assassins and ninjas had been born, became little more than a place of heat and wrath.

And none was more filled with rage as the great, feared ninja named Geki Hasigawa as he read a piece of paper, written in perfect, neat Japanese.

'One for every one you took. I am coming to collect a debt the Shinobi owe the world.'

'The Hunter of Hunters'

Very pompous. Very arrogant. But not to be taken lightly. After all, the piece of paper had been found stuffed into Kian's burned head as they had cut down the spikes on which his head and that of his team rested, just down the road from the compound, right under their noses.

Geki could guess now that the call to Canada had been nothing more than a lure, to show the Shinobi this...Hunter of Hunters... was cunning and deceptive. That point, that declaration of war, had been well-made and successful. And now...

Geki gave a humorless grin.

And now...it was time to show this hunter how dangerous his chosen prey really were. It was time to hunt. Find.

And kill.

No one desecrated Shinobi warriors. No one.