December 6, 1999

January 8, 2000

Inside a special tank built to contain special experiments, something screamed. It should probably have been called someONE, if one wanted to go purely by the book. Only the cry that reverberated had something too feral, too animalistic, to really be called the scream of a human being. Indeed, it seemed more like the cry of a man and a beast howling in unison. A sound from nightmares.

A sound to give nightmares to a any sane, decent, or normal man. But Joshua RedBarrow had long stopped considering himself any of the three. The criteria of the everyday people no longer applied to him. Because he had seen and done far too much.

And in the end, it had been for these 'everyday people' that he had lost his soul so eagerly. And to protect these unwitting souls, his job was to make sure to do even more, even worse. So was the price asked of those who worked in White Arms.

"Ah, commander, I wasn't expecting you this early."

RedBarrow looked sideways at the person who had talked. It was a man of average height and stature, with greying brown hair topping an angular face which showed nothing of its thought, be it in the smooth, patient line that made up the man's mouth, or the placid brown eyes which always gave one the impression of being in the way. The tone, in itself, went with the package - no hurry or pleasantry, just an underlying drive and a sort of dark lust betraying something.

RedBarrow, for his part, smiled slightly, keeping his expression polited but tightly controlled. "Indeed, Proffessor Fayette. I was wondering about the status of your experiments in Project Meta. Be so kind as to give me the latest news and results."

It was a stiff way of addressing anyone, but Redbarrow knew, from rumor and experience, that this was the way to talk with this man. Jean-Marc Fayette, a biochemist and genetist of particular brilliance, wasn't one who took to small talk. In fact, it had been said by many that he probably didn't know what the term meant. Except, of course, if one had something to say on advanced genetics.

The man, who never dressed in the blue-armbanded white coats of the White Arms Research Division but always in black pants and a green turtleneck, nodded crisply, his demeanor immediately shifting to something ressembling a lecturer in some university course. It felt strange to behold.

"The research is advancing somewhat more slowly than we had expected, commander, owing to the fact of the complexity of DNA analysis and to the subtly of the genetic changes which triggered the metahumanic powers in certain people."

"Any leads?"

"A few." the scientist said smoothly "We have managed to ascertain that the DNA changes happen only to half a percent of the population, and that in some cases, the changes are triggered more than present."

RedBarrow lifted an eyebrow. "Triggered? Are you saying some of the Specials used to be Normals?"

A pronounced nod. "Actually, sir, a very great number used to. A very great number always do stay Normal. Secondary in-depth analysis can in fact allow me to theorise that only certain paths of mental or physical stress may permit a person to attain Special status. And even then, there are levels of strength depending on a wide variety of factors: parental genetic status, mental fitness, type of training, pure physical prowess are only a few."

RedBarrow couldn't help but groan slightly at that. He had known that Specials were called what they were for a good reason, but still...

"Are you saying that you have found nothing which could help us achieve our immediate goals?" he asked, and he knew his tone was both menace and challenge. He had enough of the scientific chit-chat. Hard, clear answers was what he wanted now.

The scientist batted his eyes, the only sign that he was taken aback by his commander's suggestion. He put his hands slightly in front of him, vaguely placating, but not out of fear or nervousness. Only a note of wounded pride could be detected as he spoke again.

"Sir, of course not. We have gone behind schedule, but the operation, although slower, is still going very smoothly. I believe we are very close in understanding the principles that might make the Chi-Transference work on specially selected members, but there IS something which could advance things even faster..."

RedBarrow wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know, but the die was cast. He folded his arms and waited, his eyebrow rising to show Fayette could continue.

"We would need that prisoner, the one called Blair Dame, for intensive genetic, chemical, mental and physical study." was the bland request. Not a demand, of course, never a demand. But it was just so.

He stared at his head scientist levelly, not letting the unease he felt settle. He was all for certain things, and all for killing those who stood in the way, be they innocent or not. After all, he had to build protections for the human race, and no price was too high to protect the whole. But Blair... that girl hadn't stood in the way of White Arms, had merely been a pawn to use to maneuver her assassin sister into their game.

But then again, Sharon Dame had failed to report in the prescribed time, which meant that she had at least failed her mission to kill that pain Adam Winters, the chi-powered thief and hacker who was related to many powerful ifures and many contacts. Or worse, that she had abandonned her sister altogether and joined up with that kid. It wasn't entirely impossible. After all, she WAS an assassin. And assassins seldom thought of anything beyond their safety. He understood the principle but could only have contempt for it.

Assassins were all cowards, in the end.

He shook his head. "You know that I intended no harm to come to this woman yet. She had a certain use to me. She may yet."

"She will not die from the tests, sir." Fayette assured in a neutral voice "She will be useful still as a pawn after we are finished."

'As if I didn't know very well that there might be very little AFTER those tests.' he growled mentally. However, he wasn't there to have some warm-hearted compassion for a small piece amongst more important ones. The world didn't stop spinning. It had no time for self-depreciation or doubt. Within a long moment of thought, the leader of the entire White Arms organization nodded gravely.

"Very well. You'll have Blair within the day. Provided " he raised a warning finger at that "that the woman be returned as unharmed as possible, and with as little permanent damage as possible.

The scientist's response was a soft as silk, even though his eyes glimmered for a second. "Of course, sir."

A faint scream reverberated from the tank he had contemplated just a short while before, and he turned at the noise.

"Who is in that?" he asked, gesturing at the noise.

"Someone - if one could call it that - from the small but peculiar organization called Ribambelle, the onw which went down this past summer." was all the explanation he received.

He looked back at the tank. Yes, he seemed to recall something about this Ribambelle group. Very small, rather harmless in his opinion, but he remembered a sub-commander had dispatched a squad of soldiers armed with heavy gear to catch a man-thing which had been hunting the group for reasons he cared none about.

He frowned. He HAD glanced at a report on the Ribambelle's downfall, and there had been two names which had struck him as odd. No. Not the names in themselves, but the organization itself. He thought about it for a moment. Then started. He glared at his head scientist.

"I expect results in the days to come." and without waiting for an answer, he strode out of the room.

He had lost too much time already.

Now was the time to test how much of an old friend's spirit remained in the place he had created.

Two days later...

"You kiddin' me, darling? I'm sure I could beat Storm in a REAL fight, if he wasn't teachin'!"

Sometimes, it was really annoying to understand Japanese. And even worse to have excellent hearing. It made one feel like he was intruding in personal lives more often than not, and that kind of acting simply wasn't one Jeremy Storm was used to.

But it didn't mean that he had to stand for such blatant swagger that tarnished his name and reputation more than the young voice who had uttered the regrettable sentence could know. Gritting his teeth, Jeremy contained himself as he turned to the assembled group of teenage fighter-wannabes. He couldn't think that the verbal jibehad been meant to be overheard, but it had been there nonetheless, and a ripple of agreement could be discerned from the auras of those that heard.

'Amateurs. Swaggering, ignorant amateurs.' he hissed mentally, before smirking slightly. 'So they think I can be beaten by one of them, eh? Time to give these tenderfoots a bit of reality. As he decided whom would be the victim, he briefly reflected on the events which had made him dropped to Pacific High School, in Japan, teaching a bunch of teenagers about street fighting.

It had come briefly after he and Cammy had broken off with the others searching for clues to the continuing White Arms mystery in Montana. It wasn't new orders which had ended their participation early, not right then. What had ended it rather quickly was the fact that Cammy, having over-exerted herself, had had precocious contractions that had sent them driving like crazy to an hospital, where these had, fortunately, dissipated. The doctors there had been stern and adamant, telling Cammy in no uncertain terms that she had to have complete rest for the remainder of the pregnancy. And so, they had returned to England. And it was there that he had been told that Ibuki, who reported some findings monthly, hadn't reported that given month.

Jeremy knew Ibuki never stopped something she had promised she would do unless something quite dire had happened. Not liking the possibilities, and with Cammy restful at home - and especially with Giorgio and Julia's assurance that she would take her rest even if they had to tie her to the bed - he had gone in search of his missing Shinobi friend.

It was during the search he was conducting in the backstreets of Tokyo that he had encountered two young fighters brawling with no small skill. He had watched them fight and congratulated, even though he saw within them a swagger and over-confidence that was misplaced and could bring them to no end of trouble. The youths - Roy Bromwell and Burning Batsu were their names - had been very glad to meet the 'Black Panther' Jeremy Storm, and had asked, out of the blue, if he could teach them the tricks he'd learned.

There wasn't any reason to refuse. And so, when not continuing his investigation amongst the danger zones of Tokyo, he went to a field outside Pacific High School and taught quite a few people not only from Pacific, but also from Gorin Kokou, Taiyo Gakuen, Gedo Kokou and Justice Gakuen. It had been refreshing doing this, as it took his thoughts away from Cammy's pregnancy and the fact that he never seemed to find a darn lead to Ibuki's wherabouts. But the sheer overconfidence he felt there - one which had been stemmed from him far before he had reached the students' age, started to annoy him. However, he usually could block the annoyance out.

But this was a personal challenge, unwitting or not.

"Tiffany Rose!" he called, silencing the others and making the young girl - the one who had issued the challenge- jump with the severity of his voice. "You're my first opponent! Lets fight!"

Although his tone was definitely sharper than usual, the tension lifted as soon as the girl stood up. As tall as Cammy was, with blonde hair that couldn't help Jeremy but remind him painfully of his dear wife, she was dressed in a black shirt and loose jeans, and smiled down and winked at a man larger than Jeremy himself was, the blond, athletic Roy himself. As she stepped in the ro circle they had built for the fights, he immediately discounted the similarities betwen his wife and that younger woman. There was swagger in that pose were Cammy's was tempered confidence. There was a light of eagerness, lacking the scarring and the trials of true experienced fighters. It was as if Tiffany was ready to take anyone head-on and thought she could win, too!

No more. He would give her much-needed humility today.

He bowed to her, keeping his eyes on her. Her bow was more showy, and she almost seemed to curtsy. And while she did, she looked down. Not at him, something he had never used to his advantage. But is this was a REAL fight...

Five meters seperated them. A trifle. In an instant he had it crossded, before she even looked up and before any of the other watching teenagers could even gasp. As she did look up in surprise, his fist was already swinging, and in one, fluid backhand, he backhanded her aside. A startled cry escaped her as she fell to the side a few feet away, regaining her footing and touching the spot where he had hit her, staring at him with a mix of anger and disbelief.

"You looked away, Tiffany." he called loudly "How can you drop your eyes? Its a gaping hole in your defense that any experienced fighter could use to beat you to submission before you know it!"

Her eyes narrowed at this. "Its not fair! I never knew you were gonna -"

He charged at her again as she talked, evading her surpised counter-punch, stepping behing her and driving her to the middle of the circle with a palm strike. She turned to him, furious, and around them a surprised, but excited clamor arose. Although he was certain Roy wasn't enjoying the spectacle, many of the others seemed to find this highly interesting. He stayed neutral, his face calm, his eyes intense.

"Don't talk during a fight. Once started, the only sounds an opponent will hear is you forfeiting or you unconscious on the ground. Stop babbling like an snivellign beginner and attack!" It was a goad that wouldn't have worked with anyone he normally fought against.

But Tiffany Rose was young and inexperienced. It stung for her. She attacked with a loud battle cry. And so the fight was on.

If it could be called that. The girl had potential, could achieve a good level, but Jeremy had fought killers, psychics and World Warriors in fights where there were no rules and no letting up. Her speed, her coordination were all remarquably honed, but nothing to him. He was long past that level.

He used a speed honed by training with the likes of Necro and Cammy everyday allow him to evade every punch. He let reflexes and coordination improved by need and despair stop nany attemp at her trying to escape his immediate range. And above all, he used a strength and skill of many years and untold sacrifices to make each blow he landed on that hurt.

And so it went that none of her strikes went in, he tssking her at the waste in the motions, at the ease one could read what she was preparing. If she attempted a kick, she receved a painful strike to the abdomen for her troubles. A backflip usually ended up with him intercepting her, slamming her into the ground, and telling her that backflips should be done only after one's opponent is unable to counter. He talked of opened defenses even as he slipped in too easily and connected combo after combo. Low and high kicks, snake swipes, boxing blows, karate chops, all went in. She was helpless, dominated from beginning to end. A terrible blow. A lesson to be learned.

Time to end it.

As Tiffany thrust forward with a a boxing jab which would crush even a strong man, Jeremy stepped aside deftly and quickly, on the other side, where he caught her other arm in a vice-like grip, forced it straight out, put his right elbow on her shoulder and heaved down with all of his strength. They crumpled into a heap, but Jeremy was settled a bare second later, firmly straining the girls arm. He could almost feel the tendons strain. The bones vibrate as the pressure builds. Tiffany, growled, gasped, then unsuccessfully tried to pull free. She tend did the only thing left for her to do. Tapping the ground with her free hand, she forfeited.

He released her instantly. She gasped in relief, clutching her arm, her face torn between pain and shame. Knowing she wasn't physically armed - his blows had been carefully timed and the pressured used minimal - Jeremy looked out at the young fighters who surrounded the place. And found them all gaping. Well, Roy looked ready to attack him, but since he had beaten his girlfriend in such a way, he couldn't fault the kid. His face didn't change at any of it.

"This is the way real fights happen. I used but a fraction of my strength, and I know others who are more powerful than I am." he stated "So you can choose one of two things: leave now and never try to move up to the bigger leagues, or stay here where its hard and harsh, and maybe some of you will become worthwhile...well?"

No one moved. In fact, some of them looked even more eager now. He smiled slightly, then crouched next to Tiffany, who was looking at him, hurt and angry and ashamed. He smiled gently, feeling a trifle guilty despite the fact that she had asked for it all. She was just a kid.

"Okay...now you know what a REAL fight can be. Have you learned something with this." an hesitant nod. "Good then. Hold this defeat within yourself. Never forget it. Because the day you forget, those stronger might get you in your over-confidence." He rose to his feet, helping her up. "A good fight, Tiff! I wouldn't have done half as well at your age!" not true, of course, but at least this little lie would let her regain enough confidence to keep on. He saw that it worked when she smiled shakily, going to a relieved Roy. He shook his head, then smiled as he took his students as a whole.

"Okay! Now, in fights, as you've seen, backflips can be fatal if you're not prepared. The best way to use them is, first..." and they listened as he explained. A very novel experience for him, teaching.

But on this, both his uncle Mattew and his old granfather James had been right. It was something that you grew attached to doing quickly.

He just hoped he wasn't going to miss it too much when he'd find Ibuki and leave for England again.

That was, IF he found her at all.

Which, at the moment, looked inconclusive to say the least.

Three days later...

It didn't just felt unfair. That was the way Ibuki visualized the situation. Being in this facility was getting to her nerves. Not only because it was a Shadowlaw base, or even because it was situated in a city she thought she knew like the bag of her hand - pure smugness, that - but simply because she had allowed herself to be taken there. It was inexcusable, a blight on her personal honor.

The fact that she had been uncounscious didn't change things for her.

The fact that she was now, for all intent and purpose, a captive, didn't do much either. However, the fact that it was Everick, the Shadow Walker, who had brought her here, really rankled.

She barely remembered anything at all after she had fainted dead in the man's arms - in his arms! Like a fairy-tale, snotty princess! What shame! - and been taken away. A sense of movement, of walking through a realm where strange sounds that she had never heard anywhere before where uttered, like moaning voices and screeches all rolled into one lament, all in pitch black darkness. A terrifying realm, that Everick had seemingly no fear of, as if he was master there, and the voices knew it. And then, the darkness had seemed to lift, the moans replaced by the rigid, no-nonsense voices of Shadowlaw soldiers. The rest had been darkness until she had woken up on the bed of what she soon found as being her cell.

A cell which looked like an elegant, very comfortable room. Furniture was there - chairs, a bed, a table, a dresser - which she hadn't touched for fear of what it might contain - and other elements that made it look really normal. Except for a very important fact: the door was hidden in the wall with no way of opening it, and there were no windows. No way to escape. The meals were always given to her by three soldiers armed to the teeth, so that way out was blocked. Even if she COULD manage to overtake the three - it would be hard, but not completely impossible - she was certain that she was being monitored from somewhere, and that swarms of agents would be on her in a matter of seconds.

She growled in anger, clenching her fist and punching the wall in front of her, cracking it only slightly. She had been through this time and time again, and every time had seemed more frustrating than the last. She frankly couldn't know how long she had to stay in this blasted, but if an opportunity presented itself...

"You seem to find your accomodations repulsive. Or rather the situation. And the reason I'm keeping you here is because you need it for your own protection." a grave voice stated, making her wheel around. And look up at a dark-haired, dark-eyed face devoid of any emotions.

The anger in her eyes didn't seem to have any effect on Everick, but then, there wasn't much of anything that seemed to do the job. The man was rumored to have stared levelly at Bison himself while the man had been in the middle of a rage. Without fear. Which proved the man's fearlessness without a doubt. Those had been wild rumors, of course, quickly discounted by her clan.

But the truth, in fact, outpaced all fiction, all theories about the Shadow Walker.

In this instance, however, she felt anger rather than grudging admiration. "Alright, Shadow Walker. What is you gane here?" she asked archly.

No ripple of any kind marred the absolute neutrality of the handsome but frightening man's face. She was certain he had heard her question, but the way he was acting put everything in doubt. Her ire rising again - the last few days had put a severe burden on her Shinobi self-discipline, she began asking her question again before being cut of by his voice again.

"I want you here for your own protection. There is no game, no underlying plan. It just is. You are useful to us, although annoying, and we wish for you to remain so, if at all possible."

"What does that mean?"

"To put it bluntly, the Hunter is on the move again."

"I can handle him, if need be."

"You are not the target." there was a very slight emphasis on the 'not' that she didn't miss. It pricked her back with icy daggers, up and down her shoulder like an icy massage. This was a kind of tone she had heard her grandfather Geki use when a deed was to be done that she wouldn't like. A deed that would be done no matter what she felt on the matter. She struggled to maintain her rigidity, yet it battled with her anger and rising worry.

"If I'm not the target, who...who is?" she cursed herself for the slight quaver her voice showed, but her mind had already told her several names, one which seemed, from what she had heard the Hunter himself describe, very likely.

As if he was reading her mind - but wasn't he? Everick was a Psychic, after all - the tall, black-clothed man nodded gravely. "Yes, you are right. Geki is the target. He will die soon."

She felt as if physically struck. Her grandfather. Her grandfather! He was the target. But he was protected! There was no way the Hunter could get near him. There were too many Shinobi around him, even if the man fought as well as she.

"You talk as if he will not have help. I'm afraid you are wrong. I will help him." was the steady reply.

She flicked a disbelieving look at Everick, who almost, but not quite, shrugged. To him, killing was nothing. Geki was just a nameless face, not someone he had grown with. Damn the man, DAMN HIM!

Without thinking she attempted to hit him, only to be flung to the wall with violent strength. The wind was litterally kicked out of her by another wave of force. She slumped to the base of the wall, panting, while he simply looked at her as if nothing had happened, nothing had been said.

"It is my duty. I always carry out my duty. I am truly sorry it has such effects on you."

"Damn you to hell!" she rasped, her breath short. "I hate you, you insensitive killer!"

A short nod. "For now." he mused, as if to himself "For now." and the next instant she felt power envellope him, and he was gone.

And, pride or no pride, when the tears came she didn't stop them.

She had to escape.

She HAD to!!!