Rhythm Brawl: Chi of the Guan Lord (IC)

OOC Found Here


The year is 2040, a year full of innovation and technology, but some things never change, and that prime example is gang violence. Groups still irked the streets at night, but one notorious individual set those standards high; His name was Guan Long-Wei, who was a former Shaolin monk from the Shaolin Monastery when he was 5. He was trained rigorously as a child, learning the best of his abilities. His Father, however, was a gangster in Hong Kong, and Long-Wei wanted to live his dream, while being reunited and loyal to his father. Being 14, he wasn't ready to go out on his own, according to his teacher. In response, he ruthlessly murdered his teacher, and ran away to Hong Kong to spend the rest of his days with his father, living in treacherous ways. It got the best of his father once he got lung cancer, spreading around his body. On his deathbed, he promised his son to raise the empire, passing the torch.

Guan Long-Wei is now 50, being the most infamous, richest crime lord in Hong Kong, and the world. He also planned on passing his torch to his greatest prodigy: his son, Guan HuiZhang, whom he had been training ever since he was born. To gain more bad reputation, Guan Long-Wei organized a fighting tournament, on a remote island south of Asia, to see the best fighters around the world, while Internet viewers, and vacationers of the island, would be able to see the matches. If that fighter has been proven to be victorious, he/she would be able to fight against Guan HuiZhang, if they win, they will be rewarded $500,000.

While some fight for fun, and the money, others have been planned to assassinate the crime lord, or for personal reasons revolving around him. There are even others who have their own “chi” that they have been training for all of their life, and plan to challenge Guan HuiZhang's “chi”.

Lance, the MMA star of world he shed blood for, a world he fought for, a world he hates with every single breath he takes. Once a child like all of humanity he was warped by his surroundings. The anger of a child is unique in that it know no bounds and never actually goes away. Anger for a child is easier then despair, he found it easier to walk the streets a soldier. He fought so often the police of his childhood kept close watch on him. And this anger,this driven by his parents. A father who left long before he was born, a Mother who daily tried to drown herself in the Firewater so popular among his people.

But this was just another angry Native, A Cree of Manitoba.Descendant of those that had everything taken away from. In his world Lance was normal. In the Cree world of today if one didn't fight, drink, or smoke something one was abnormal.Anger, Hate, Despair it was easy for his people to fall prey to. But Lance it seemed was particularly driven by the anger his people where consumed by. He lashed out harming those who sought to get close to him. Although their motivates may have been good their skin tone sickened him, the descendants of those that robbed his people of everything. He didn't trust them on any level and it showed, report after report. His behavior only tolerated because Lance seemed to know how far he could push it and his mind was as sharp as his fists where fast. He was in fact an outstanding student capable of work that put the rest of his class to shame.

However it couldn't go on, his anger was becoming more and more volatile. The school's guidance counselor, luckily a Cree herself told Lance of Martial Arts knowing the good it did for people like Lance. And Lance because of her Cree nature trusted her and became a student of the Jeet Kune Do Dojo about a half hour's walk from the school. Part time jobs of varying nature paid the tuition as a drunken mother slowly faded away. During most of his life Lance and her barely spoke despite living in the same house, which suited Lance just fine. Practically self raised Lance didn't particularly need her in any way and preferred her drunken silence to her sober rages.

And slowly but surely Lance was changed by the Martial Arts. A calm he had never known in his entire life wrought itself in his mind. And yet the anger found other ways to manifest itself. Despite repeated warnings he refused to bow down when defeated, he would fight on till he had proved he was the winner. A few punches landed he argued hardly qualified as victory and thus he earned his new name. Unyielding Iron Fist, he fought under that name. Covering the walls and trophy cases with prizes bearing his name he was showing just how Unyielding he truly was.


But it all changed the day His mother died, drunk driving it was no surprise to him. Despite knowing he should feel Sad Lance could not muster the emotion choosing instead to stay silent which he knew would be interrupted as grief. His mother had died long ago, finally it seemed fate agreed.

After graduating from High School he took up a job as a Bartender at a Bar in Winnipeg his Mother's Friend owned. Not knowing what he wanted to do Kaian simply joined a New Dojo. His path still held Martial Arts in it and he was still angry but it was no longer of the wrong kind. He used anger, he didn't let anger use him. He let fuel him when his hands hurt, when his body ached with fatigue after a long work out session. He let it drive him when tournaments rolled around.

Yes it seemed life was good, he had a steady job, the Life Lessons of Martial Arts, and the eye of more then one woman. All in all it was prefect life. Sure it wasn't the lofty heights people expected of one with his intelligence but he was happy. And that was worth more then all the money in the world.

But fate was not done with Lance by any means. His cousin, a brash yet wise man of 22 had decided he was bored with life and had joined the army. And like so many Natives before him the cousin felt alienated to a certain degree but his skills where valued nonetheless. Bidding his family farewell the Cousin was shipped over to the sands of the Middle East, soaked with the blood of a thousand years of warfare the cousin did not last long in that political hellhole. 7 months later he came home in a flag draped coffin, the proud colors doing little to assuage the grief Lance felt. The cousin had been his closest relative, a constant companion since childhood.

And with that grief anger once more wormed it's way into his heart. Blooming in the fields of despair that covered it he was seduced by it's bitter venom. With a convection that was wrought of more then revenge he signed on the dotted line. Sent to Basic he showed his worth. Nothing they could put in front of him stopped him, nothing they could do to him could break him. He refused to be remodeled in their image. But he proved his worth nonetheless, his skill with weapons and combat far exceeding his limited experience with firearms. Anger was a powerful ally it seemed and one Lance knew how to use all too well.

Sent like his cousin to the blood soaked sands of hell he showed all who faced him his anger. Terrorist after Terrorist died at the end of his rifle. IEDs, RPGs, Predator Drones, Oscar Mike, Tango, these words shaped him like nothing else could. Causality Report, Operational Status, KIA, these words changed him. And like so many soldiers before him he grew sick of the bloodshed.

Silent and withdrawn he was at first diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder till it was shown there was nothing wrong with him mentally. He could reason, knew his place in the grand scheme of things, and most importantly of all could do his job with out endangering his unit. His silence was then understood, after all Most Soldiers don't like to talk about what they did why should he be an exception.

Merely going through the motions driven by a half believed duty he nonetheless proved his worth. So much so he was promoted to the rank of Second Lt. and enlisted in anti-terrorist unit. Operating worldwide funded by various world governments including his own the Front Lines became history for Lance. Places like London, Hong Kong,Nigeria, Cairo, any place dark hole terrorist tried to hide became home. He and his unit would drag the dark slimy worms to the light and there butcher them like the animals they where.

And this also changed him, no longer driven by the half remembered duty Lance became a hunter of men through and through. Solo Missions where he became a ghost, Assaults on the Mountain Strongholds of Terrorism, he came to revel in the slaughter. A hunger was born in him. And thus he was reimangined into the Military's image.

But it couldn't last forever, no soldier can live through that many battles and not tempt fate. It was in Cairo, a underground Black Market and a CIA operative that taught him Fate could only be tempted so many times. Trying to extract the Operative to the Exfill point Lance took 7 rounds to the chest from a MP5. Ignoring the searing pain through sheer force of will He managed to run to the Exfill point fighting the entire way before blacking out moments from the Truck. A fellow Unit member hoisted him over his shoulder and carried him to the truck.

The Unit's medic, newly inducted then ripped off his light armor vest. Pleased that the vest had slowed the already low velocity rounds of the MP5 she plucked the pullets from where they had embedded themselves into his flesh.Although he would bear scars for all his life from the incident Lance would life. Cleaning the shallow wounds with an antiseptic she sealed them.

2 months later saw Lance discharged from the Unit because HQ knew this soldier had tempted fate too often and the enemy could profit from his corpse.

Back home Lance took a life up in his old Reserve. a hefty military allowance and his own savings saw him off quite comfortably although he could never speak of his Special Forces Experiences he couldn't deny his military experience. He merely played off such questions with that he had spent time as a guard at various Canadian Embassies.

But that hunger that had been awoken in him wasn't satisfied with a civilian's life.His body, his mind, his very soul had become wrought in a Soldier's form. It knew not what peace was, it knew not what to even do with it, to it peace was a toxic greater then a round to the head. Lance then took up fighting once more. Never again to carry rifle and ammo he fought unarmed in the tournaments of the Martial Artist. The edge of his hunger was taken off but he still could feel it gnawing at him as if only increased the combat.

Lance then upped his game. Applying to Join the UFC he went through their training camp showing a skill that could only be wrought out on the field. No matter the amount of training no one could call themselves a true fighter unless one had fought for their life. More then once Lance had been saved out in the red zones by his Knowledge of Martial Arts. More then once he had had ended a life with a punch, with a kick. Compared to him these UFC contenders where children and it showed. Fast and Brutal he left no room for his enemy to maneuver around. Out in the field mistakes lead to death and even here Lance made no mistakes . He vaulted throughout the ranks, fighters who where considered legends fell swiftly to his combat. His very soul was forged in combat and these UFC fighters could never equal him. A Soldier knew how to fight on a level only they knew, it didn't matter the weapon.

Truly earning his Ultimate Fighting Championship titles the hunger still refused to be quiet. Despite being King of the Cage he was still hungry. He had yet to face real fighters, even the terrorist had offered better sport if only because they too understood combat at the same level his Soldier's soul knew.

And then a letter was dropped off at his home. Unassuming at first Lance smiled when he read it. A tournament of the best fighters in the world it seemed the prefect opportunity to quell his hunger. To win this would mean he was the best, that he would have no more conquests left in life. And that his hunger would be filled as it realized there was nothing else left to fight.


---------------------------

The sound of alarm clock buzzing it's insistent and annoying sound rang through out the almost spartan bedroom. Waking as soon as the first notes drifted he silenced it. Stretching with a yawn Lance got up lifting the arms of woman who laid beside him off him. Barely 20 she was a pretty enough thing but dumb as a post. But he hardly cared, for now he simply wanted her physically and she had preformed like a star pupil in that category. Smiling once more he let her be, her repose so deep even the alarm clock had not awakened her.

Opening his door he padded out to the hallway on feet made silent by Solo Missions. The Hallway also shared the Spartan Nature of the Bedroom. But it was a tasteful Spartan theme, almost Japanese like in it's nature. Opening a door several feet from the bedroom he stepped into a bathroom. Making a beeline to the Shower he turned it on. Then he stepped in letting the warm water rush over him.

" Be advised we are tracking approximately 100 Enemy Foot Mobiles coming in from the Southwest." A strange voice spoke it's tone slightly echoed by the radio headset attached to his helmet. " Copy Overlord, What is the status on Gunship Support over." He answered his voice slightly ragged as he fought to control his breathing. They had been surrounded for nearly 3 days fighting for their lives, low on ammo, low on food it was slowly becoming hell. " ETA On Gunship Support is at least 15 minutes Sparrow." Overlord responded with a slight hesitation no doubt calling up a status report." Copy Overlord Sparrow out." He replied as he turned to the men he commanded. A dozen of his Unit and handful of local Militia they knew they didn't have enough ammo for 15 minutes of fighting. " Alright you Heard Overlord, ETA 15 minutes. I know we don't have enough ammo for that but we gotta try alright. Make every shot count and if any of the enemy fall close enough to you grab any weapons and ammo they may be holding got it.

The memory faded as he snapped back to reality. These daydreams where a constant reminder of his military days. Although some might be troubled by them Lance with his Soldier's Soul took an odd comfort in them. For they where the fuel for his fire as it where.

Rapidly going through the motions of washing himself he stepped out of the shower and toweled himself off with a nearby towel that lay hung neatly on a rack. Dark green it color reminded him of the canvas tarps they use to use wrap dead soldiers in although it had nothing of the texture.

That being done he padded back once more his bedroom. By this time the girl was awake sprawled across the bed in a pose that briefly tempted Lance but he instead chose to dress himself. Opening a chest of drawers directly opposite the bed he pulled out his clothes.Black Boxers, Black Socks, Gray Cargo Pants he laid them out on top of the drawer with military efficiency. Then he donned them each article of clothing put on in a prescribed manner that spoke of a regimented existence. Then came putting his wallet and keys into his pants and after that came grabbing his passport,visa,and plane ticket.

The woman than got up and walked over to where he stood brushing his overgrown crewcut into order. Briefly fingering the Dog Tags slung around his neck the woman walked out of the room and towards the bathroom. His hair brushed into a semblance of order he picked up a suit case that lay beside the door. A single stainless steel suit case it was perhaps a little large but it was the only piece of luggage in the room. Exiting the room he once more walked down the hallway to find the woman sitting at his coffee table in the kitchen that lay at the end of the hallway. She was clothed in a white bathrobe and smelled of orchids for some odd reason till he remembered that she had brought a bag with her. No doubt it was some perfume she favored.

" So you going to fight in the Chinese Guy's little tournament Lance. How many of those things do you need to win." She asked with the curiosity of a child.

Briefly he considered walking on after all he hardly needed to answer the question." Just this one and I am through with tournaments." He said briefly before walking on to the living room that was off the kitchen. He then went out through the front door. Trusting the girl could take care of her own affairs he laid his suitcase on the ground beside the door of the car parked in the driveway. A BMW M3 GTR it was black with as much tinting as was street legal. Grabbing his keys he opened the door and tossed the suitcase into the passenger seat.

Starting the BMW up he backed it out of the driveway and onto the road. Throwing it into first he drove down the driveway. Briefly he also considered that he had left his house unlocked. But then again there was nothing to steal in that Spartan like house. No T.V, no game platforms, nothing a thief would bother with. Also came the notion he had left the woman in the house as well but just as quickly dismissed it. The worse that could happen was she would trash the place or destroy it in which case he would simply buy an other house.


Driving swiftly on the rarely patrolled streets of the Reserve Lance made good time to the highway where he slowed down to legal speed limits. Even so it was not long before he was parking his car in a Parking tower outside of the Winnipeg International Airport. Paying for a 4 month place he hefted his suitcase and walked the short distance to the Airport proper. Knowing his flight wasn't for other 2 hours he went through the motions anyway. First came screening his luggage and validating his ticket then paying all the fees and the numerous other security checks.

That gotten out of the the way he grabbed a meal consisting of a Sushi, Green Tea,and a Protein bar and waited for his boarding call.

A hour and half later it came and Stepping through security once more he made his way out onto the runway where a sleek looking Private Jet awaited him. Being Ushered on board with about a dozen other people who thankfully didn't recognize him he sat in a seat close to the rear of the plane. Lance was particularly sick of his fans and the media, they simply didn't want to leave him alone. But at least here no one recognized him.He prayed it stayed that way, after all cops seemed to dislike him knocking out the media. Feeling the slight drag as the plane began it's take off Lance closed his eyes and fell into a mediation state , it would be a long trip.

In Hong Kong, China, the many city lights illuminated the night, but one building shone more brightly; the beautiful, white three-story mansion behind a large brick wall, and a dragon-designed gate in front. On the underground floor, hidden behind a door, many bulky men dressed in black uniforms stood against the door and into a room filled with red paint, red carpet, and gold dragon statues surrounding the room. One man, with a young and handsome appearance, stood next to a redwood polished desk, with an older man next to him with a cigar in his hand.

Another guard knocked on the door and opened it. "Xiānsheng Guan, a...Fù Ping is here."

The man with the cigar burns it on the ashtray, and puts out his last smoke for today. He made a specific hand gesture, meaning to send him in. The guard opened the door slowly as men walked inside. In front, an Asian man in a white suit, and a blond devillock hairstyle. walked in, but was put back by one of the bodyguards, checking his and his guards' bodies for weapons of some sort. The men raised their arms as the men checked them, and as the guard stopped, the man lowered his arms, and walked towards the desk as if he was suave.

A rather raspy voice in a Hong Kong accent came out of his mouth. "Guan Long-Wei, my brotha. I see your son has became a grown man...."

"Let's cut to the chase, because your wasting fucking time right now." a rather deep, and mature voice interrupted.

"Hey, I thought we were friends."

"Just because I'm doing business with you doesn't mean we are acquaintances."

"Well, I got the moolah. You got the snow?"

The man behind the desk snapped his fingers as one of his guards came with a black leather briefcase. In response, the blonde-haired man smiled and snapped his fingers, trying to mock the other man, as his guard came with his suitcase. Guan Long-Wei glared at Fù Ping. Both guards placed their suitcases on the table, as both of the men opened their suitcases, looking at them for a minute, and closing them at the same time.

As soon as they closed them, the guard at the door opened the door, "Xiānsheng Guan, your daughter is here."

Both men hid their suitcases: Guan Long-Wei's under the desk, while Fù Ping quickly passed his suitcase to his guard. When everything was situated, Guan Long-Wei waved his hand, before the guard opened the door fully.

Through the door was a beautiful, exotic woman dressed in a black, long qipao dress in silk, walking gracefully towards the desk. She stopped, looking directly to her notorious father with her bright green eyes.

"What is it, my sweet Jasmine?", the father said in a rather calm, and pleasant voice.

"Mother wanted me to tell you...that dinner is ready.", the woman replied elegantly.

The father nodded and replied, "Thank you for the news. Tell her I'll be there in a minute.'

Jasmine looked at her brother, who stood there with a masculine look, as if he was to be feared. He wasn't her friend. He wasn't her brother anymore. Just the devil in a young man's body. Her eyes moved back to her father, nodding to him, before turning around, and walking towards the door. She looked at Fù Ping's guards before she exited.

"Well, it seems you have your family all in your trade activities.", Fù Ping exclaimed as Jasmine exited the door.

"To correct you, all of our business is just business. My family is also mine, but not yours, and remember that." Guan Long-Wei replied.

---

In Berlin, Germany, a mansion, with three beautiful Rolls Royce cars parked in the front yard, stood out from the rest of the city. Inside the mansion was a Butler, around his 60s, dusting the place, and a woman sleeping on her king-sized bed, wearing nothing, but red bra and panties. The time was 07:59:53 on the clock. The time moved to 54 seconds...55 seconds...56.....57....58....59....The alarm rang loudly. The woman in the bed woke up,, raised from her bed, and turned off her alarm. Today was the day to go to the airport, leading to the tournament.Today was the day where she'll assassinate the crime lord who killed her father.

Her butler walked past the door.

"Good morning, Aksel.", she said in a relaxed manner.

"Good morning, Ms. Helene. Pleasant day, isn't it?

"It sure is."

She turned on her stereo, listening to the seductive electro trance "Rolvario-Orgasm (Original Mix), turning the stereo up fill blast. She began to unbutton her bra, until she looked at Aksel. "Don't act like you haven't seen me nude before."

All Aksel did was smile, and close the bedroom door. Inside the bedroom, Helene stripped out of all of her clothes, and walked towards the bathroom, dancing, as she turned on her shower, and entered.

After getting out of her shower 30 minutes later, wearing nothing but a towel, she put on her a black thong, before putting on her suit, and her waist belt. Her suitcases had already been packed yesterday, so she picked them up, turned off her stereo, grabbed her keys, and her envelope containing the tickets, and walked out of her bedroom.

"Would you like some help with your bags, miss?", Aksel said to her.

"No, but thank you for asking.", she replied as she turned to him, "While I'm gone, I want you to watch this house like an eagle, and when someone doesn't knock, or comes in the wrong way....you know what to do. Feed them to the vultures. See you later."

She turned towards the steps, walking down, and strolled outside the mansion doors. She walked to one of her 2040 Rolls Royces (a dark black once). She put her suitcases in the back, and entered the car. She looked inside the envelope at the picture of her target (Guan Long-Wei), gluing that picture into her head, full of anger and revenge, before placing it in her glove compartment, and turning the ignition, driving 90 mph from her mansion, to the city miles away, directly to the airport.

"Everyone got all that correctly?" asked Ricky to the group of inmates that were huddled around him.

"Umm... Can we go through it one more time?" answered a lankier Afro-American whose skin was covered entirely of ink.

The larger blond slapped his face before shooting an irritated glare at the slow prisoner. "Look guys, its simple. We start a riot, while the titheads are busy whipping the others with their baton we sneak out to that tunnel in the activity area and then run like hell. Simple!" explained Ricky. "Hey Ramon! You got those baits I asked you?!" called Ricky to another prisoner who were roughing out a couple of skinny inmates.

"Right here, Ricky." grimaced Ramon as he presented the two scared and battered males.

"Why do we have to become bait?" asked the one with the Asian accent.

"Well, the way I see it you have two alternatives." smiled Ricky before approaching the two men and crouching down to level his face with theirs. "One, you could help us escape, get baton-ed a little bit by the guards, and walk away with a few bruises..." told Ricky before grabbing both men by the collar. "Or, me and my boys could tell the warden how two prisoners got into a bloody fight which ended with both of them being injured gravely and dying through bloodloss!" he snarled before pushing both of them to the ground. "Any alternative is alright for me guys. The only question now is, which is okay for the two of you." he smirked.

The two looked at each other before back at Ricky with quivering eyes.

"And remember; if you rat us out, we'll make sure that that scenario becomes reality sooner." he smiled.

"Fine fine... We'll do it Ricky." uttered the one with the Australian accent.

"Good good..." nodded the blond before sending the two off to start the riot he was looking for.

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A couple of hours later, Ricky and his gang were being all cuffed and being transported using a prison bus. All of them had a defeated look in their faces.

"Thought you guys could give us the slip, didn't you? You morons aren't as smart as you think you were." laughed the cop who was watching Ricky and his men.

All of a sudden, the blond burst into frantic laughter for seemingly no reason.

"Why are you laughing huh?!" scolded the cop but Ricky just kept laughing his heart out. The cop finally reached hid boiling point, lifting up his baton and aiming to give the American a good whack across the face.

Before the baton could make contact with Ricky he headbutted the cop in the gut, effectively taking the wind out of him. It also pushed him to one of Ricky's man who was ready to unleash a jarring boot to the cop's spine. The man dropped like a cut fishing line on the floor before Ricky stood up from his seat.

"That's why." he smirked before looking over to the driver. "You okay in there, Ramon?" asked Ricky.

"Dammit Ricky! This police uniform is tighter than shit!" snarled Ramon.

"It's gonna be alright Ricky. We'll be free men again after this." he assured, walking up near the metal wall that separated the passenger side to the driver's side. "Just head for the docks and we're practically home free." he smiled.

The bus soon rolled into the HuangZhong port and parked on a shady area before the prisoners each boarded a ship after they said their farewells. Ricky was the last one to get on a boat, choosing the one who was currently loading a really diverse group of individuals. Many of them looked downright outlandish but there were still some who looked fairly normal. In true badass nature, he snatched one of the would-be passengers and roughed him out of his ticket as well as his wallet. He had no problem bypassing the security after he showed his victim's ticket.

"Heh... Piece o' cake..." he grinned.

((I'm not usually this pretentious or mushy, honest.))

Le Prologue

Peacetime seemed to be changing everything. In the past month, the chateau had seen more guests in the waning days of late summer, the festivities buzzing throughout the rooms like a fine merlot. Such class was almost anachronistic in a time like this, the foreign oddities that awaited him. And all the while, through the joy and the laughter and the feeling of impending doom, Anton watched her.

Her ideals had been just as sentimental as when they first met; she was gifted with leading the discussion even if she were not permitted to sit at the head of the table. They’d fancied small glances and gestures for some time now, engaged in their little game, where suppers had become mere excuses to reignite the flame that doused upon her departure. She spoke confidently, eyes glinting as she finished her tarte tatin. Anton smiled when she smiled. He nodded when she emphasized her words. He flinched when her foot nudged his leg once more, making him flustered, but still she would go on, pushing for the moment when they would both collapse.

“Corinne...”

They stood outside now, away from the disturbances of the house. He opened his mouth to speak again, but she placed a finger on his lips, silencing him. The day was quickly approaching its end, and they became silhouetted in the fading daylight.

“Promise me that you will win?” she asked, the French wrapping thickly round her tongue.

How many times had she wanted to be reassured of this? Anton chuckled. He knew that she was not distrusting; she was, however, persistent.

He answered her, “Yes.”

“And you will fight for me?”

“Of course.”

Corinne pursed her lips, removing her finger from his. He knew that look. She could detect bullshit before the words were spoken. Where was his spirit? she appeared to ask.

“I will win,” he added, backing slightly from her. In the space between them, he entered his battle stance, his feet positioned in a playful, almost sloppy manner. A far cry from the usual, yes, but he continued to feed off of her amusement. Silence filled the interval, then a rapid maneuver followed, accompanied by a rush of wind. Lashing out with his right foot, he stood rooted there, reveling in the overblown grace of the move. “I have the world’s strongest kick, you know—do not forget that. I will fight for you, and I will win.”

And yet, she looked unconvinced. He could support his claims, and she looked unconvinced. Corinne strode forward, gently lowering his leg.

“Just stay alive for me, Anton. Please.”



The letter opener remained where it had been for the entire week—hiding away on his nightstand, right beside that faraway invitation. In the morning, Anton scanned it thoroughly. In the evening, he dared not to read it, lest he break his calm façade for the anxiety of waiting. What amalgam of men could be plotting his demise? A vehement, well-trained bunch, one that kept their empathy suppressed. In a way, they must have not unlike him. From the window, he could observe the great expanse of the vineyard before him; this year had been kind to the grapes, as the evidence was clear. Marcel the yard worker sat leisurely in the fields, the familiar shape of a cigar produced from his hands. A start this handsome could only predict tragedy in the future. Only the storm clouds were absent, ridding the scene of cliches, and he hoped that Versailles looked just as pristine.

Corinne rose and fell in her slumber, unfazed by Anton's preparation. In contrast to last night, innocence had replaced the fiery woman who challenged him before. He traced her back with his fingertips, her skin dark and warm. At the doorway, the ginger cat greeted him as he stood, mewing before prowling nearer, her pads silent across the hardwood floors. “Zut chatte,” he muttered with a sort of faux contempt, though he couldn’t resist smirking at the feline.

Just stay alive: a perfect, if vague, plan that he would be certain to carry out. Mindset focused, he hurried to his scheduled flight in a daze, his knuckles white from the tightened grip on his belongings.

Au revoir, et ja t'aime.

-Introduction song:http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LPTWk6L7RhQ&feature=related-

The sounds of night whispering to the ears of the people below where easily drowned by the visual display of lights and moving pictures that where being irradiated by a strong sense of stimulating colors that had been placed in the Centers of London. Big Ben was the only standing building that had not been reconstructed into a giant efficient Sky scraper or a flat with little or no real artwork put into it They where basic, Square and lacked color. Amongst the outer rims of the sky a large gathering of smoke could be seen from the Molotov of angry citizens in the distance Thankfully the tall buildings where in the way of having to watch his fellow officers beat the living hell out of just typical workers enraged by un-fair treatment.

Harry by the way was sitting in the mist of all the lights, Hunched up with his knee's to his chest as he leaned against the entrance to a closed station for underground travel, Locked up and kept safe from the protestors. The light bulbs where left on, Each one emitting a semi-Dull and bland tint of yellow across the cold steps that led down to now closed off entrance of the subways. The two soulless orbs that where implanted into Harry's skull flickered across the floor and then up to the giant bodies before him Slowly letting them jump to big Ben in the distance and then to the eye of London which could just barely be seen with the right eyes. A long draft of air entered his lungs before he sighed with a sense of deep contempt. The empty street only whispering thoughts into his ears as everyone was in the riot or staying home to escape it but it would seem some groups take advantage of loneliness apart from Harry.

It took only a second ,A blink for a loud Thud of a foot hitting the pavement to make Harry's eyes snap up at a man in a big, Black Trench coat, Reflecting most of the lights off in a euphoric display, Some of them mixing in the leather to look like some kind of hypnotic high, Being that the material was rather clean and smooth to do this. The man was roughly One Meter and eight Inches tall to a Harry when he was sitting down. His eyes restricting visual access from others as his head was coated in a big, Cowboy hat. Baring a small bull sky on it's middle while the base of the lump was wrapped in a set of strings, White and a gentle sandy texture to some "Hey...shouldn't you be fighting the riot...?"the man asked in a deep and slightly robust tone His body enforced this tone well Not only was he frighteningly tall but he was weighted and heavy. He was almost like a sumo but instead of fat you could see clear muscle. Harry only blinked once at him before looking to the side gently "Fighting is just fighting if the cause is not grand.." he replied in a shame filled tone, Not making eye contact when he said this. He never really admitted it to anyone else his changed view but he had a feeling about this man, Besides, Harry knew what his police comrades and spies where and none of them where as big as him "Kid..aren't you a bit young to be wrestling thugs and criminals down?..." the stranger asked in a rather arrogant but old, Tough voice. Sounding vaguely of a croak in it to suggest aging vocal chords. Harry looked up once more, His orbs of mist now a bit widened while his lips where detached slightly, Getting up onto his feet with the help of his fingers as he pushed against the wall he was leaning on "Who are you?..." Harry asked in a rather curious tone, Developing a frown as he said that. The aged stranger only let out a slight "hmmpf.." at him as if it was a day dreaming question to ask, Almost teasing if to say "Good Luck on getting me to tell you.." the man did not say this however he did let out "Beat it out of me...Kid.."


With that said Harry let his fingers fall onto one another and begin to flex, Making a gentle crack before he merely looked up at him with a sense of wonderment "I beat up enough bystanders.." He uttered, Drenching his desire to challenge him with guilt and started to turn his body and walk away in a disciplined posture ,His fist clenched and his eyes focused at the street. His chin slipped just a little to the pavement as he pondered. Two steps past before the man quickly placed his big, Strong hand at Harry's chest " Aren't you going to step up to a challenge...?.." The man asked slowly. Harry froze and twisted his neck to peer up the mountaining tower of unknown flesh before him. He metamorphed at those words, Suddenly he was no longer a man but the machine, The cybernetic Enforcer of the tyrannic rule of his leaders, His chief commissioner, They where both very tall, Strong and un-godly beings but he knew that his Chief Commissioner was not this man. Harry only took a few steps back and took advantage of such a absence of people by putting his fist into his palm and squeezing it to tensing himself up a little. Moving into his M.O.C.C position. The mans fists just hardened.

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The night was in a mixture of pure tar black by the time their brawl was done. The breaths and heavy panting being the dominator of the breeze of the midnight now. The lights where just as powerful as before but the habit of being punched in the skulls a few times made this blurry and un-important to Harry or the man. The streets respond to the previous fight with a few rocks and pebbles being scraped against with finger nails as the big, Enormous stature of man lied at the entrance of the subway station where Harry was previously sitting, Drips, Gushes and small puddles of red tar and sticky liquids sitting below the stranger mouth as he rested on his stomach, His clothing still on. Harry stayed in position, His eyes maddened with determination, Both of them glaring with a sense of zealotic and hateful atmosphere which was any placed for murder..or revolutions. His own lips was smeared in blood and his nose appeared to be broken from how disjointed it was, His left eye pounded and blackened with a bruise so deep you would think he was hit by a baseball bat. His armor was cracked down the middle and his left glove had basically been smashed to pieces, Only leaving the base like a bracelet on his tricep. The anti-Riot agent only took in a few heavy gasps of air in the extreme that the fight was To some sense his eye even expressed a little fear from the power displayed. Both remaind silent as they sought to catch their fatigues, Taking a minute before one of them spoke. The unknown stranger "That..is what I wanted to see.Harry.." he croaked in a proud and smug tone "What the..how do you know my name?.." Harry asked with some sense of viciousness in his voice "Let's just say..I..know you...and your thoughts..and I can give you a grand cause..but you will only find it here.." the man croaked and reached into his coat, Swiftly drawing out a ticket and flicking it at Harry's feet. Two blinks took place before Harry snatched the piece of card from the ground and inspected it "The..Tournament?..." Harry asked in somewhat suprised Interest and confusal mixed with hesitance. Looking up at the man who was now on his knee's, Starting to stand "What..Harry, not going to step up to the challenge..?"

Something snapped in his head and his sense of duty and authority was brought back to life again, He quickly clenched his fists and frown as he knew that this man was aware of everything in is head Taking a stranger to make him realize. This is the chance to make everything right.

The man screamed in pain as the ligaments inside his finger ripped bone from bone, leaving only the skin to hold it on. "W-what do you want Chris," the man in the vest looked at him, "sorry, Funk, funk right," he looked around in panic, "I'm paid up, right."

"Not about money this time Phil, and by the way, if you ever aim a gun at me again, Your family will be the ones regretting it, get it? See you just don't understand how lucky you are Phil, you got me, I come in, I deal with you I leave, the other guys, if you're late, they'll make all kinds of interesting little threats, for Instance," Chris sat down on the counter by the cash register. "you have a daughter don't you? Some of the guys are right bastards, hell, I've heard more than one mention how easy it is to sell a little white girl to a mexican whore house. These men are bad Phil, they like crime, they enjoy these things, and you Phil, if you want to protect your family, you better make sure you pay on time, or they'll do horrible things."

"L-leave my daughter alone." Chris smiled, "You misunderstand me, I'm not making a threat, I'm giving a warning, I'm going to be coming into some money soon, and I'm going to go straight. Open up a dance studio, which means I won't be coming around anymore. Take care of yourself Phil, and your daughter," Chris pushed off the counter and landed with perfect poise on the floor. As he walked towards the door he stopped. "On second thought, maybe you oughta send her to your mother's or something, just an idea," Chris grabbed the suitcase he'd left by the door of the mini-mart and headed off to the airport with his invitation in hand.

Sitting at the dinner table, everything was like a routine. The table was noticeably quiet, while everyone was minding their own business, until someone made a comment, and another would respond. Usually Long-Wei would say, "It's a beautiful day outside, isn't it?", and Monica (the mother) would respond, "Oh, I agree." Guan HuiZhang, of course, sat looking down on his plate with a sad look on his face. Something was about to change.

"Son, are you going to eat your food?", Monica (the mother) asked HuiZhang. HuiZhang moved his eyes to his father, who was looking back at him blankly, though it seemed frightening to HuiZhang. Then he looked back down, picking up his chopsticks slowly. He barely picked up his fried rice, steadily shaking as some of the rice fell back on the plate, while the remainder went into his mouth.

Monica and Jasmine was looking at HuiZhang, scared of his next, but also feeling sorry for him, especially his mother, since she knew what Long-Wei did to him as a child, but never confronted it to him.

Still something was about to change at that table...

"Daddy?"

"Yes, Jasmine."

"I know you want me to be a great wife someday....but I've been dreaming of being...independent...and successful as you."

"That's great.". Long-Wei replied as he was looking down to his food, eating as he was talking.

"I am 20 years old, and I feel like I am ready to make my own decisions."

"That's great."

"That's why...I decided to ask you...if I could join the tournament."

Everyone stopped at their tracks and looked at her. Her mother was shocked about Jasmine's request. Long-Wei looked as if she was joking, but she was actually serious. She was scared of Long-Wei's next move. Was he going to throw a knife or fork at her? Was he going to storm the table, furious for the rest of the day? What he did was the unthinkable.

He laid his back to the chair, and responded, "Sure."

Monica pushed herself up from the table, yelling. "Are you crazy, Jasmine? That tournament is..."

"I said "sure". End of discussion.", Long-Wei interrupted in a calm voice.

Monica stormed out the dining room, flaring her nose, and letting out an exhale with force.

"Shit!", Long-Wei yelled as he placed his napkin on the table, got up from his chair, and walked after her.

Two people were left at the table: Jasmine, and HuiZhang. HuiZhang finally lifted his head up slightly, still looking at Jasmine with a depressed look on his face. Jasmine looked down, then to HuiZhang.

"Why are you doing this, Xiao-Li?", he asked Jasmine in a serious and slightly deep tone. This has been the first time he had spoken to her in nearly 15 years. Xiao-Li was her Chinese name.

"I have been feeling.....negligence since childhood, and now it is time for me to stop feeling that for the rest of my life.", she responded.

"What are you serious?" Porcupine asked indignantly. "How can I be overqualified?" Porcupine had been in line for hours, awaiting the much hyped Soaring Dragon Martial Arts tournament, held in Brisbane. It wasn't often, he'd come across such a gathering of fighters. It was certainly a once and a lifetime event and the sign-ups would be closed after five A.M. He woke himself up at two in the morning, skipped breakfast, and overpaid his bus fair in his hurry to get there. And now he was being denied access from the tournament, because he was freakin' overqualified? He didn't skip breakfast for this crap. "I demand to know why I ain't allowed into the tournament!"

"Well, Mr...Eh,..Look, is this even your real name?" the man behind the counter asked in a dull tone so irritating, that it soon became a great struggle for Porcupine not to just punch him right across the jaw. "I mean, Porcupine?" His fist visibly shaking, Porcupine slammed his fist on the desk with such a force tha the man behind the counter nearly leaped backwards.

"Yeah, it's my real name!" Porcupine shouted. "Got a problem with it?!" The man behind the counter rapidly shook his head, causing Porcupine to say, "Well, ya better damn well not! Now answer my question!"

"Alright, alright," the man behind the counter sighed, reaching his hand out to grab his clipboard. "Well, it seems all professional fighting organizations have, well banned you after the incident that occurred during your fight with Durango in last years Eagle Streak Martial Arts Tournament.

"So, my punch sets the poor kid on fire," Porcupine shrugged. "It was a fight. Someone's gotta get hurt, huh? Am I right?" Porcupine looked back and forth throughout the room, hoping to find someone who'd agree with him. However, all he received were irritated looks from the other fighter' in line, still waiting to sign up. "You know what, forget it. I'm outta here." Porcupine, sighed, leaving the tournament, he had skipped breakfast over to arrive on time.

"Ah,well," Porcupine said, shaking his head. The fighter's there probably wouldn't have given him much of a challenge anyway. As he walked down the sidewalk, a large stout man approached him. Tapping his back to get his attention, Porcupine looked at the man, giving her a quizzical look.


"Excuse me," the man said. "But, I couldn't help but overhear your predicament in the-"

"Yeah, yeah," Porcupine interrupted. "What about it?"


"Well, I'm a bit of a promoter," the stout man answered. "And I happen to have some invitations to a Tournament you can enter. I've been scouting for fighters all over this tournament and you're the only one who can, well keep up with the other competitors. And of course, you-"

"Cool, gimme the invitation," Porcupine interrupted.


"But, don't you want to know where it is or how you can get there?" the man asked, reluctantly handing Porcupine the invitation. "It's in Hong Kong, and you can catch a boat there from Sydney. It leaves at about seven o'clock tonight and-"

"Alright, thanks man," Porcupine said, running off. He had a lucky break today. All he had to do was find the boat leaving from Sydney and he'd be ready to go.

Hong Kong-8 P.M.

The night was somewhat disastrous after Jasmine spoke of her attendance to the tournament. Jasmine never knew why her father said yes to her request. Was it to rid of her, or was it to prove a point? Jasmine excused herself from the dinning room table, while HuiZhang just sat there, looking down at the table. Jasmine felt extremely sorry for him, even though she didn't know the reason to his strange behavior. She turned around facing his back.

"I suggest some rest, brother, before the tournament begins.", she said to him, before she turned back around, walking towards the stairs to her bedroom. It may have sounded like a challenge, but it was actually Jasmine caring for him.

While she entered her room, and closed the door, she began to shed water from her eyes. She wanted her brother back ;Not this fighting machine who happens to live in her home. She thought that if she attended the tournament, HuiZhang would come to his senses, but then again, she doubted it.

Not hearing a sound of anyone from the hallway, she proceeded on by putting down her long flowing hair, dressed into some red pajamas, and laid on her queen-sized bed, still crying until she fell asleep, waiting for the next morning.

---

In Germany 9 A.M.

Helene arrived at the airport just in time, having her car up front of the airport for someone to valet. She picked up her luggage, and gave the valet her keys.

"Park this car, would you, darling, and if I find a scratch, or it's not here in this airport when I get back, I will kill you.", she said in a rather serious tone. She quickly shifted her head towards the airport entrance, and quickly checked-in. She was quite aware of the long process. Cleverly, she placed her weapons in her luggage so she wouldn't have to get caught going through the security check-in.

She looked up at the list of outgoing flights, and one stood out to her. A rather unique name in itself, but the word "island" at the end made her assume that was her flight. Plus, the time matched her ticket. She went through the security checkpoint, smiling at the male guard as he checked her with his metal detector.

"You know you want to strip search me.", she said to him, joking around as she usually did. Once she got past the security check-in, she quickly made her way to the boarding area, next to the plane. She gave a woman behind the booth her boarding pass, making the woman smile at Helene.

"So you are Helene. You will we flying in first-class."

All Helene did was smile back at her, but in her mind, she was thinking to herself "Hell yes.", even though this wasn't her first time flying first-class.

She walked airstairs to the plane, which was rather small compared to the other airplanes around her, because she, along with a few other passengers, were boarding the plane to this island. This trip was going to be quite entertaining for her, especially since she was the only first-class passenger. She laid her head back, and relaxed on the cushion seat, waiting for the plane to take off.

OOC: We are going to skip to the island.

The many airplanes that were making their way to the island heard a mysterious static sound, and once it stopped, techno music began playing and a male voice with a British Accent spoke from the intercoms.

DJ Midnight: "Welcome, ladies and gents, to the ride of your lives, on WTKO radio. I'm DJ Midnight invading your ears, and I'm here with the lovely, Miss Dee'V'Us. How are you doing, my lady?"
Miss Dee'V'Us: "I'm doing great DJ Midnight, enjoying the beautiful view of the blue waters on the island of South Asia."
"You better believe it, I'm going to be enjoying this week. Looking at the hot girls in the bikinis, but most importantly, we get to enjoy a little hand-to-hand combat on the dance floors."
"That's right, Midnight. The fighting tournament of many skilled fighters around the world is heading our way, created by the infamous Guan Long-Wei."
"Now that is the coolest brother on Planet Earth. He is basically by inspiration."
"Right, Midnight."
"Well, anyways. While you head to the resorts, let's kick it to a good start with some Techno Music to HYPNOTIZE AND EXERCISE YOUR MINDS!"

" Sierra-689 to Bravo Team what is your status." The voice amplified by his headset radio echoed in Lance's ears. " Seirra-689 this is Bravo Team leader status is red. We are currently engaged with forces in the school building approximately 2 klicks north northwest of your current position." Lance responded firing back at two tangos taking cover behind a hastily thrown up sand barrier.They had been fighting through the city to link up with Seirra-689, a group of Army Rangers who had captured a person of interest. Lance's unit had the task of securing the VIP and taking them to the Exfil point while at the same time acting as force multipliers for Seirra-689." Bravo Team Leader this Seirra-689 what is your ETA." The Ranger squad leader asked, the irregular reports of soldiers conversing their ammo could be heard in the background." Sierra-689 this Bravo Team Leader ETA is at least 30 minutes, Enemy resistance is stiff. Can you hold?" Lance asked with a slight worry in his voice, after all the soldier knew what could happen in a half hour of fighting. It was a long time to hold out against a superior force. " Bravo Team Leader this is Sierra-689 we streched thin but we'll give him hell Over and Out."

His eyes closed and in that meditative trance was once more lost in a memory of a life better then the hollow shell he lived know.It was life where honor and duty meant something. But that life was the reason he was here now, the hunger it bred in him only wanted victory and to test itself against the world.

" Hey aren't you Lance, the UFC champ." Some annoying punk kid asked beside him.


Without opening his eyes Lance responded with such vehemence that is was a wonder the kid didn't back up and change seats. " Kid if you like how your face is arranged you'll keep that bit of knowledge to yourself. I don't need the media and useless fans bothering me." Opening his eyes when the fasten seat-belts sign came on. It look like he was at the Island and none too soon, sitting still for such a length of time was beginning to bore him. He was use to pushing his physical limits every waking moment and a long plane trip wasn't exactly physically challenging.

" This Is Your Pilot..."

The same useless warning to fasten seat-belts and prepare for landing. Lance didn't know why Pilots bother with such things after all their was the light and Flight attendants saying the exact same thing a few seconds before he did. But it was something he didn't waste too much time on and instead fastened his seat-belt and waited for the plane to land.


----------------

A few minutes Later and Lance was stepping out of his plane when the worse music he had ever heard started blaring out of some no doubt hidden intercom." Great, they better have a bar on this Island, I am going to need a drink to forget this techno BS." He muttered to himself shaking his head. I am not here for the music anyways, I am here to crack some skulls and show the world that a true fighter is forged in War not training. He thought to himself with a wolfish smile that made several of the passengers striding beside step back a foot or two. After all they knew when a fighter smiled like that nothing good would follow.


Picking up his single large metal suitcase from baggage claim he checked over his invite letter and pass." Hmm...Interesting..Exactly what do they mean by that."

Ricky's night at the ship was admittedly one of his easier nights in a long time. Other than the ticket and the tournament pass that he had mugged from the other passenger earlier, he had also received the luxury of spending a night in a VIP cabin complete with dinner. He knew that he had picked that fancy of a passenger for some reason... After the best dinner of his life and three bottles of red wine, Ricky laid down on his soft cabin bed. He shed his prison outfit to feel the soft caress of silk against his skin.

"Hahh... Wish everyday could be like this." smirked Ricky, closing his eyes and submitting himself into a restful sleep.

Come morning, the ship finally landed ashore on the tournament's venue: an unnamed island just off-shore of Hong Kong. Ricky didn't even wait for the passengers to start unloading as he had already jumped out of the ship's deck and into the docks. It was just in time too since the ship's management had found out that his ticket belonged to somebody else.

"Kehehe! Suckers." laughed Ricky, losing the port authorities amongst the crowd of tourists on the docks.

Even though Ricky received a few weird looks from the people he had passed by, none of them thought of reporting him to the authorities. With the huge amount of costumed fighters running around the island, Ricky was completely invisible. The prisoner placed his cuffed hands behind his head and hummed a tune as he trekked through the island. His tournament pass was in between his mouth as he did so.

"What to do, what to do?" he uttered.

Chris watched the skies as his plane flew ever closer to it's destination. Despite his seeming inattentiveness, he kept a wary eye on the other passengers. He watched the sky marshal, the man was obvious a rookie. He also watched the two hijackers he'd already disarmed. Those two would get a shock when they reached for their guns.

"So boring."

The woman next to him turned to him, "What was that?"

"Oh nothing. Just bored, intercontinental flights and all that."

It was at that moment the two hijackers made their move. Chris smiled as he thought. Hmm, finally some decent entertainment.

Helene's plane finally arrived onto the island, with the stewardess saying, "Have a nice trip", as she and others exited their flight. Helene knew that the stewardess was picking a joke at her, but as much as she would kill her, that wasn't important. For now, she was settling a score for her father's death, revolving around the man in the picture.

It took a while for her luggage to arrive to her, being brought in by a guy, who must be working either on the airplane or the island. Once she received her bags, she spoke to him in English, but a rather diverse accent.

"Oh thank you, sweetie. I would like to ask you something."

"Yes", the man responded.

"Has the executive arrived on the island, yet?"

"Oh no, not yet, miss. He doesn't arrive until another half an hour."

Inside she was restless, and driven to fight as soon as possible, but she knew that she had to be patient. In response to his answer, she smiled at him, and gently touched his cheeks with her rather cold fingers, and bright red nails.

"That'll be all. Thank you.", she said to him, before she turned to a path leading to the resorts, dragging her luggage behind her.

She observed this island, as it looked like a tropical city than an island. There were palm trees and a beautiful beach view, but the resorts stuck out, and at far view, a large skyscraper could be seen, which must be the main executive building.

She could hear techno music in the background, which wasn't much of her taste, but was enjoyable.

Anton had always considered himself a modest man--a man granted with a glass of wine and a flight of dreams, but modest, nonetheless.

In his mind, he had been falling. Falling from the sky. The aeroplane had banked left in an ironic motion, careening his thoughts and his sense of calm off balance, and his eyes shot open, blinked, settled on the few that awoke around him. Judging by the grogginess that wrought their faces, they had been falling as well. But the difference between he and them was the joyous anticipation that overcame them soon after, the mixed reaction to that dread pair of voices and the beats that accompanied them. They were falling in love all over again; his love, thousands of miles away, had already been found. Adjusting the tweed cap upon his head, he stood, veiling his slight distaste for the music that blared throughout the cabin, and things were routine from there. Yes. Thank you. You're welcome. On your fucking way now. English sounded so foreign now. If only they'd all engaged in the fun of bruising skin, then perhaps he'd feel more at ease. Perhaps he was merely envious of their peace.

Out of the airport, the first thing that struck Anton, stepping onto the white of the beach with a hand shielding his eyes, was the cool breeze in the air. It would make justifying his choice of sweater a tad easier, being so comfortable with European weather. He scanned the resorts up ahead, the pure ocean, and the palms tickled by the wind, with a smile. In conjunction with that ear-splitting tune in the background, the scenery was an odd mash of heaven and hell, but at least the travelers, oblivious as they seemed to be, didn't mind. Class--where had it gone?

Travelers. They had to be here somewhere, poking around in search of direction. Reaffirming his grip on the dufflebags, he set his sights on the blonde woman near by, her luggage trailing behind her. Anton gazed at her with a curious look, his steps quickening slightly as he began his approach. The gentleman in him, brought forth by Corinne, was drawn to help her, of course. Yes, of all stray females here, it had to be her, who, upon a second glance, had a chilling air about her, one that he tried to ignore as he walked beside her.

"Bonjour, madame," he said in greeting, tipping his hat, as he watched for her reaction. "It would be an honor to help a lady such as yourself. I am Anton, by the way. Anton Bien-Aime." He hoped that the words didn't sound too clipped, too forced. They certainly felt that way. Laughing softly, he added, "You wouldn't happen to know about a tournament here, would you? A little social gathering, if you will. I'm afraid that I am at a loss as to how the events will unfold."

"Bonjour, madame,"

A male voice was heard from her right ear. She moved her eyes to the right to see a rather unusual man, her height, walking next to her. She just continued walking while he was speaking to her, in a French accent that she couldn't comprehend easily.

"It would be an honor to help a lady such as yourself. I am Anton, by the way. Anton Bien-Aime."

"Ooh, a rather chivalrous gentleman. I'm not sure whether he could take it with this rough girl.", she thought to herself as she smiled at him, slanting her lips and not revealing her teeth. She thought about having some plans with this guy. A little vacation before the tournament wouldn't hurt.

"You wouldn't happen to know about a tournament here, would you? A little social gathering, if you will. I'm afraid that I am at a loss as to how the events will unfold."

Her face changed to a matter of slight anger, feeling a little disappointed that she had to treat him seriously, but she didn't wantto.

Her usual sadistic, yet sexually deviant, side awoke in her brain. "A contestant, huh? Maybe, I'll have the pleasure of slaughtering him softly. I'm going to love our little intimate bloodfest. Ooooooh yes!

On the outside, all she did was chuckle at him, and respond, "Don't worry. You'll see." She gave one of her luggage to him, and proceeded on to the resort with the gentleman.

There was something in her smile, like venom waiting to be injected. But he was never quick to judge or assume, especially with such a daunting woman, and he kept his cool, observing the others that laughed and beamed around them. And then her face quivered, betraying whatever irritation that might have filled in their space between. He could leave. He could walk away without a word, leaving her to her personal plots. A lady in need always had her share; she would be helped eventually.

Ah, non, what had been the use of asking her such a thing? He regretted the move already.

Then, "Don't worry. You'll see."

Anton blinked, slinging the luggage over his shoulder without hesitation. Puzzled at first, it all hit him when he halted in his tracks: "So I take it that you are aware? Oui? For a moment, I would have thought that you were lying. Ha, and to think I almost mistook you for a tourist! Don't worry--I will spare you, for the most part. We will see." A triumphant gesture, and then he walked on.

He spoke knowingly, keeping a casual edge to his voice even when she intrigued and tensed him at once. She must be watched more cautiously from here on; like the rest who had yet to show, her deception knew no bounds, at least to Anton, unassuming in his casual wear. Her baggage felt light compared to his own, but this did nothing to ease his wariness. Still, the smile remained on his face, soft, kind, lacking menace and an overall sense of danger. To fight a woman? He shook his head in disbelief; such a concept had only been absurd before he introduced himself. The resort loomed above them, a grand, earthy structure among the humbler houses surrounding it.

But his curiosity had not waned, and he said, "Oh, and madame? I do believe that you haven't mentioned your name."

(THIS POST WAS CRAP, REWRITE LATER)

(( Travel Song: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=saC3KnCZ-Hw))

The rain shattered into pieces at it was bombarded from the grey agents up above which had gathered into a giant herd of fog and smoke. Looking like a lingering shade in some sort of ethereal that was more than contempt in the idea and experience of spitting on him and the other little mortals below its gaze. The water that was slamming into his small and circular window from the cabin in the ship was merging in sound a effect with the waves of the sea that was generating loud splashes and crashing thunderous blows against the hall, Tilting it a little from time to time.

Harry watched the world warp and dance in the storm outside as there was nothing to gaze upon apart from the endless horizon and the growing darkness in the mist of his altered sight. The two white orbs just twitching every now and then as he focused on all that was before him, Even if all that was before him was simply water and aggressive weather. Slowly twisting his head and peering down at his table. Harry was placed in a gentle lodging with a few other people in his trip from England to the Island, It was small and in the mist of second to first class. He was seated in first class of course but the bickering of the other fighters and excited tourist dulled him and of course it was English so if there was not hate there was boring banter or just downright topics out of Harry's sense of view. Yes, He nodded at he confirmed that thought to himself before whispering gently to his own ears "I guess I should broaden my field of interest..." Slowly turning to pick up a class of strange silver liquid and drink it off the white and round table made of wood and plastic, Being bolted down at its legs while placed between two sofa like seats big enough for two people, Both red and cozy. Harry being in one.

A few moments past of sips and crashing water as his thought dwelled a little on the battles ahead "The best fighters in the world..." he murmured to himself before taking another sip and sighing in relaxation.

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Harry only blinked as the day came to greet him once again with a sun so bright it could blind you with it's wonderful smile and divine arua of light. Squinting his eyes at the light after a moment as he perked up his ears to the sounds of the waves, Noticing how timid they had become before a loud "Thud!" is heard in the distant and he is forced forward a little due not being prepared for it, Looking up with wide eyes out of surprise after his drink had flung from his hand and over the table, Luckily not breaking "We are here Ladies and Gentlemen...wait..we have a intermission" a bit of static plays out before the DJ's and Spokesgirl's voice hit the ears of everyone on the boat. Making Harry sigh a little "I get a vacation and I end up in a place where another British Man is yelling in my ear.."

He stands up and picks up his bag for Gym wear and weights, This time carrying his armor as he is simply dressed in a black, Tight shirt with his typical riot squad anti-Cut gloves and Trousers and heavy pair of Brown boots that would be fit for a average solder.