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Will and Fate Interlude II
By Jeremy
October 6, 1997
The punch caught the young man who called himself Big Bats - but whose real name
was Greg - squarely in the face, right on the mouth. It hurt. It hurt a hell of
a lot. He felt as if his teeth were are broken up and his mouth spit out warm
blood. God, it hurt so bad, he wanted to cry out loud. But he wouldn't. He was a
man. Men don't cry, had said his dad. Choking, he thrust his right fist forward
in a vicious attack.
It hit nothing. His opponent seemed to melt through the air, reappearing a
fraction of a second later in another position. But Bats didn't register that
fact, for at the same moment he received a knee directly in his stomach. He had
strong abs, and he was tense all over, but he might as well never have tried
anything, for it penetrated as if his insides were made of jelly instead of
muscles.
He staggered back, almost cut in two, bile rising to his mouth.
Still he wanted to hold on, like a man. His spirit told him so. His stomach,
compressed and lurching, decided it did not agree. His stomach won the argument
as he was forced to puke from both the pain and the terror that dwelled inside
him.
"Quite gross." sneered his opponent, looking at the smelly mess, fresh
as a rose, not the slightest bit winded. Bats knew by now that his opponent was
someone whose strength, speed and stamina were far, very far, above his own. And
that cracked him up. Opened the shell of arrogance that told him to hang on, and
diminished him back to a young man of sixteen, in jeans and leathers, who felt
very scared.
"Please..." he said, sniffling slightly, trying to speak with his
swelled mouth. "Please...enough..."
Grey eyes gazed at him coldly, without an hint of mercy. "Hardly enough.
You've had this coming for a long while bats. So shut up and take it like the
man you think you are." With that he pivoted his muscled, lean body and
gave the sniffling boy a kick that sent him crashing into the wall.
"People have tried with you, maggot. They failed." Another kick. He
landed in the middle of the small street. There he started to sob. That did not
calm his opponent, who seemed to get angrier. The voice only responded with
contempt and irony.
"Feels bad to get beaten, heg? Feels bad to hurt like that, you little
trash?" a very malicious smile. "I know how that feels. Welcome to the
club." And with that a powerful, trained leg kicked Bat again, slamming
into the wall again.
He felt pain everywhere now. His whole body felt like one big bruise. He could
barely move at all, much less get back on his feet. He could only look at the
one whom, who now was sure, was ready to kill him here, in this alley. And he
horrifyingly knew that person could easily do so.
The man who approached was reasonably tall, had a lean, athletic outlook that
said that in that body, all was muscle and not fat. So although this man looked
barely more athletic than a well-trained man his build, Bats knew he had the
strength that equaled much bigger foes.
He wore green pants, a black t-shirt and a dark blue small coat,
both sleeveless. The only thing that adorned his arms were great, black fighting
gloves, that covered fists all up to the elbows. His hair was brown and short;
his eyes had steel gray that held experience and strength. Bats knew who this
guy was. He'd met people who bragged to be the real thing, but never seen one,
until now
A Street Fighter. Or World Warrior, if one preferred to call these few that.
That was why he was dead. He knew he could never beat a World Warrior.
Consequently, he sobbed in depair.
And then the other man lifted him up - easily, so damn easily, and held him face
to face. Bats could see the gray eyes looking out, blazing with anger and
contempt, yes but...but tinged with... sadness? The boy thought he was
hallucinating from the fear, giving the guy some more benign intentions for the
crude reason he wanted this to happen. But when the man spoke again, there was
little anger, just a great weariness and deep sadness.
"Now, Bats." the man began softly. "I hope you're starting to
understand how it fee...ukk!"
The fighter let him go, one hand clutching his side in disbelief, where a foot
had kicked him. Hard. He was looking toward another person. Bats saw her for a
moment. Blond, smaller then the man but extremely athletic, dressed in much the
same fashion as the man, except that she wore jeans, her coat was longer and
black, and that it had sleeves.
She looked at the man angrily, her face beautiful even then,
even with the scar that ran down her left cheek. And she had the same feel as
the man. Another fighter.
Scared as hell, not wishing to be caught between two people as strong as these
two seemed to be, Bats surged to his feet, painfully, and half-ran,
half-stumbled in blind panic through the backstreet. As he put as much distance
between he and the fighters, a thought tailed him, inexorable, frightening, and
containing a truth that made the violent part of his being pause.
Is this how those I beat up felt?!?
* * * * * * * * * *
Mere seconds later...
"Why the F*CK did you do that for?!?" shouted Jeremy, staring crimson
into Cammy's equally angry face. She didn't flinch, glaring right back.
"Doing the only decent thing that anyone in my position." she hissed
back. "I stopped you from beating a kid to death!"
"To death?!? I NEVER had the intention to..."
"Sure looked like it! What were you doing, then, teaching him to
dance?"
Jeremy took a deep breath before he exploded. She didn't know the reasons. No
use biting her head off. He'd just have to explain how this wasn't so, how she
had stopped something she shouldn't have. Calmly, mildly. Even if he didn't feel
like it. Even if he felt betrayed somewhat.
Did she really think he actually had FUN beating off that
miserable fool? Couldn't she see how much he had pulled his punches, assuring
there would be no permanent damage? It seemed not. And that hurt. That hurt a
lot. He took another breath, to frame his thoughts.
And then it all went to hell with what she said next. It came in a fast speech,
furious, disappointed, and bitter. "You know, I always wondered why you
always seemed so mild and so controlled in battle. You take out your anger on
those who can't stand up to you, just like so many fighters do! That's how you
vent the excess energy, huh?"
Jeremy paled at this accusation, feeling as if something had been wrenched from
him by force. He tried to speak, a knot forming in his throat. "Cammy...I
never...y-you can't mean..."
"Well I can tell you what I think of that, Storm!" she cut in angrily.
"I think you looked just like Bison, having some damn fun at beating a
weaker guy! You're just like him, only to a smaller scale."
He stood there, numb, receiving those words, feeling each as if they were blows.
The lump inside him grew in force, merging with something hot and hard. He
couldn't speak; he barely remembered how to breathe. It seemed the world was
about to collapse around him.
He didn't even think to defend himself at the moment. He
suddenly felt he was sixteen again, just before the SCD, void, empty,
meaningless. He barely felt the other guy that had come nearer, tentatively. He
turned to that third person, slowly, and hazily recognized him. Tall as him,
auburn hair, bearded, dressed more sensibly than he.
"Will. Hey." he said slowly, thickly. "How are the kids?"
"They'll be okay. But that was a bloody near thing. If we'd hadn't come
when we did, if you hadn't beat Big Bats off..." his voice trailed off.
"Kids?" asked Cammy suddenly. "What are you talking about? Who
are you?"
The man thrust out a gloved hand, which she shook. "William Lawhead, Street
Counselor. As for what happened, well, the usual. Two kids had the bad luck to
run in to Big Bats, and things might've gone ill, but our little anti-bum
weapon, Jeremy, took care of him before things got serious. It's sad, but
sometimes the only way to make bums see how much they hurt people is to hurt
them."
She looked back at Jeremy, then at William, guilt and confusion slowly replacing
the cold anger in her eyes. "Then he didn't...hurt him...for sp?" she
asked so.
"WHAT?!?" The bearded man was clearly incredulous. "By the Queen,
no, no, NO! Only roughening him up a bit. Never seen Jeremy here do more than
was necessary, and I've seen him for over a year! He's done some good. Gave some
good kids some tricks, converted some bad kids. This neighborhood owes him quite
a little bit, ma'am, it does!"
"Will, could you leave us be for a moment?" asked Jeremy, still
slowly, still thickly. The man looked back and forth between the two SCD agents,
considering. Realizing he was in the middle of a delicate situation, the street
counselor wisely nodded, telling he be farther up the street if he was needed.
The young man barely nodded, still lost inwardly.
The silence was heavy, as both searched for the right words, the right feeling.
Cammy shifted, looking at him sometimes, sometimes looking at William's
retreating figure. Finally she coughed hesitantly.
"Jer...I..."
"You compared me to Bison." he said, his voice dead. "Compared my
actions to his, my feelings to his." his voice started to rise. "Did
Bison ever pull his punches? Did Bison ever try to help kids who are forgotten
by our oh-so benevolent government? DID BISON EVER CARE AT ALL BESIDE HIS
ROTTEN, WORTHLESS SELF?!?"
"I...I'm sorry." she said, her voice lacking strength. Jeremy barely
heard her.
"For the past months, we've helped you. Giorgio, Mark, Michele, Joan and
me. Me most of all, d*mmit. I gave you support, I gave you all the help I could.
I supported your rising selfishness as long as I could. No more." his eyes
stared at her angrily, "And all the while for the last six weeks you've
dismissed my ideas, interrupted me, treated me like dirt. Well, hell! I come
from a pretty prideful family, and one that dislikes these treatments. What have
I done to you..." he choked, and he could feel tears in his eyes as he
spoke. "...to deserve that spite?"
He turned away, his moment of grief battling his anger, and forced a cold
exterior. He had seen her look - a grieving expression, but one that could not
patch up what she'd said. His pride wouldn't allow it, not yet. He squared his
shoulders, and spoke gravely.
"Well, I guess that's it. If you can't trust me then I can't trust you.
Tomorrow I'll ask Bribsy to find me a new partner. I heard Michael's solo right
now, maybe I'll be with him. Go back and get yourself screwed by Bison for all I
care." he said the last archly, and even thought his back was turned, he
heard her intake of breath, felt how deeply his last sentence had hurt. Beyond
his hurt and anger, he felt ashamed of himself. Still he kept his cold stance.
"Leave, now."
He felt her shift, felt an hesitant hand on his back. "Please don't...I...I
need..." she stammered.
And that was it. At that very moment, three weeks of frustration, of being
bossed off, of being treated like an inferior agent by someone whom he cared
about, came crashing down on him. His mind became filled with pent-up rage, and
he acted on that moment. The dam had burst. The anger was flowing out.
He turned around, and before she could do anything, his fist lashed out, in one
burst of concentrated emotions.
"LEAVE!!!!!!!" he screamed.
The fist caught her on the cheek, flinging her a good ten feet back ward. She
slumped there, and for a while did not move, clutching her face in disbelief. As
for Jeremy, this action had drained almost all the anger he felt, and he stared
at his own fist in horror, as if it had changed into a snake. He'd gone too far.
He knew it. He'd gone too far.
Damn it you idiot, what have you DONE!?! he screamed mentally. You can't leave
things like this. She'll think you really hate her! Go apologize, hold her, kiss
her, I don't know! Just don't let it go at that!!!
But he didn't act. Whether it was shock or what remained of his anger, he
couldn't tell. But he just stood there as she came to her feet, looking at him
with an unreadable expression, of which only the tears that flowed from her eyes
indicated what she felt. She looked at him, choked twice, but finally spoke in a
barely quavering voice.
"Okay. I'll leave." and she turned and walked away.
He wanted to stop her. Wanted to reach out for her, to explain somehow. But he
held back. And so she left. He had lost her now.
And he felt his heart break all over again.
* * * * * * * * * *
The day after...
"Master Bison. The monitor cyborg sent to investigate Cammy has sent back
something that I think you will find most interesting."
Bison looked at his agent's face on the screen of his personal video feed in
complete impassivity. "Indeed? Show me this 'interesting'
information." it wasn't an invitation, it was a command, pure and simple.
And the man took it as such. The agent's face was soon replaced by a video. It
did not last long, but the farther it went, the more pleased Bison seemed to
become.
He was watching a video feed that came from the top of a building in London,
zoomed in so that the recorded incident be plain to see. On it, that ex-doll of
his, Cammy White, was having an argument with the man she had seemed to be
getting closer to. It wasn't a very nice or clean argument, and both had
expressions that satisfied Bison.
Then he saw him punch her. In hatred, and anger and grief. It truly was a
marvelous thing to watch. The separation of these two left her without the
support she needed from the SCD. None of the others truly believed in Cammy, or
liked her enough, to want to risk themselves for her. This man - what was that
name, Stoor, Storem?, no matter - seemed to be the only one who had a true
attachment to her.
And now that little pillar was gone, perhaps temporarily, perhaps forever. It
did not matter to the Master of Shadowlaw. All he remembered was the fact that
she had defied his power, and that he would have to punish her for it. Greatly.
No one escapes Bison's complete control. She would learn that, and she would
break to his will.
He was about to make sure of that. "I think I should go stretch my legs
somewhat." he said to no one in particular. "And England is such a
nice country to visit, when it doesn't rain there." he laughed out loud
then, a short barking sound that would have frozen the marrow out of any sane
man. He then looked at the video of Cammy, with her devastated expression.
"Yes, doll. Very soon, we shall meet again!"
* * * * * * * * * *
Two days later...
"You noticed, amigos?"
"Aye, how could I not, with all their moping around."
"Still, I suppose they will mend their ways sooner or later, mates."
Three men were gathered at a table in a cafe in London. One was Giorgio
Castillo, another Mark Culhen and the last Michael Veingrad, his long,
ponytailed strawberry hair tucked under the neat leather coat that he always
wore. To see him, arranged in a black turtleneck, jeans and leather coat, one
could never have guessed the Australian who descended from a small German family
was the strictest man in the entire SCD, and most probably the best marksman in
the entire British Commonwealth. Yet, for all his apparent coldness, he was as
concerned about his friend and his partner as they were.
And they had a right to be. For the past three days, Jeremy and Cammy had gone
to great lengths to avoid each other, and when they had to talk with each other,
they did so with cold professionalism. They did not know what had happened
between the two, except for the fact that Cammy had a red mark on her face ever
since the coldness had set in.
Although they couldn't believe that someone like Jeremy would
hit anyone without a good reason, they agreed he was one of the few skilled and
strong enough to hit the blond woman like that. It really seemed like it was the
end between these two.
Still, sometimes there were looks given by one when the other wasn't looking. A
look of hurt and grief, quickly masked. The others had watched this for three
days, and the three men had decided that enough was enough.
"They still care for each other, that's plain." said Michael.
"Aye, but there's something that's preventing them from patching up the
wound. If they don't patch it soo, the wound will fester, and something will
die." mused the Scottish.
Giorgiogrowled. "Enoug. I'll talk to him this week. Its poisoning them both
and that's unhealthy, Dios!"
Michael raised a brow "And what about Cammy?" to their blank looks, he
expanded. "Its fine to see Jeremy and all, but what about her, mates? Do we
let her in that grief."
A moment of uneasy silence followed. They respected Cammy, but did not know her
enough yet to know how to act around her. Add to that the fact that she had been
having strange rises of temper lately, and the situation was that much more
peculiar.
Finally Mark smiled. "I think I have an idea. Let's get someone to look
after her for a little while...secretly."
"Look after her?" asked Giorgio curiously. "Whom?"
Mark's smile widened. "I know exactly who."
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