Description: Freeman comes to collect what Ayame promised to him a week before. A life for her own. One way or another, Ayame's dealings with the serial killer conclude this night.
Ayame has a lot of money but one wouldn't think that given the current location she choses to dwell in Metro City. Just two NDP matches have given her more money than all but a few percentage of Americans will see in this entire year yet the hole in the wall she's calling home for now is a dingy loft apartment in a nondescript building not far from the harbor proper. The streets are barely lit, many of the street lamps are busted from neglect. Many of the windows of neighboring units are likewise broken or boarded over. She could be enjoying even generic suburban life with the money she's won this year by beating up two people on TV but she choses to live here for some reason.
The night air is cool and damp. It feels like there might be fog later on, but right now, there is merely low cloud cover blotting out the stars and much of the silver light of the moon. Occasionally a low, long drone of a ship horn can be heard out toward the docks. There are two other rooms over the warehouse adjacent to Ayame's with hers being the center one. It's a step up from the studio apartment she used to have in Southtown, at least. Entering from the door to the indoor hallway, one would find a coat closet on the left, a bathroom on the right, a bedroom the next door on the left, a kitchen the next door on the right, and a living room at the end.
The furnishings are sparce. The bedroom has a bed, a nightstand, a closet, and a dressor with basic necessities sitting on top of it. The kitchen only has a few dishes in it, currently unwashed, sitting in the sink. The cupboards are mostly empty aside from a few packaged snacks and the fridge is meagerly stocked. The living room has a beatdown couch against the wall, a stand that looks like it is intended for a television even though there isn't one on it, and a desk that looks newer than most of the furniture on which a laptop computer is nestled alongside a number of electronic gadgets, a few tools for working wood and metal, and various pieces of things that seem to be 'works in progress'.
Both the livingroom and bedroom windows are closed and covered with blankets. All in all, the apartment seems to be a pretty typical slumish abode. It would take a very careful inspection to uncover the meticulous details in place to help reduce the chances of any intruder surprising the lone occupant. Wires along the windows connected to circuits that will trip noisy alarms; a cord connected to the front door that will trigger an alert if the tension goes out of it from the door opening. Even the space above the ceilings have been filled with caltrops in case anyone got the clever idea to crawl over from one of the neighboring apartments and drop down in that way.
A simple but effective laser grid points from the kitchen across the hallway at a difficult angle. One would have to get into the kitchen to disable yet, yet there is no way to get into the kitchen without crossing the grid of lasers Ayame has mounted on a counter inside of it. All in all, it is easy to tell that the resident of this place is paranoid. Many of the countermeasures appear old - they weren't just recently put in place. She's been like this for a while.
Ayame, herself, has retired. Having achieved victory over the clever detective in Russia, she lingered in that far off country for an extra week before finally returning to Metro. She has been back now for a day, the bruises from her match having long since healed. The cuts from her harrowing encounter in the city park mostly gone except for a particularly garish one over her right ribs that is taking longer to mend.
Her clothing from the day is on the floor of her room. Shoes, socks, skirt, her belt with the knives in it, her vest, grey camitop, are all piled on the floor not far from her bed. Draped over the nightstand are her gloves, the wrapping she uses over her right arm, a contraption that houses a half-foot long blade in it, a small device that upon closer inspection would appear to be a tiny crossbow, and a long black ribbon. Another sheath housing a larger dagger than the bufferfly knives she often utilizes sits there as well. /That/ dagger might give off a strange vibe that would be hard to place. Missing from view is any sign of her staff.
Ayame, herself, is asleep. Her clothing from the day shed, she had donned a long, pink T-shirt with a small breast pocket to wear over her black panties and crawled beneath covers to sleep. The room doesn't hold heat well but it isn't drafty tonight with how still the air is. Her door is closed, locked, the lights in the room out. She seems a sound enough sleeper that the occasional noises of a heavy truck passing by outside don't wake her, her breaths staying slow and regular.
There would always be that paranoia in the air. Those signs that Ayame is not alone. Followed. Watched. It was in Metro City, and did not vanish until she flew back to Metro City. And afterwards, she would have felt safe. Enough to return to her home and not sleep with cold steel and weapon pressed to every inch of her body. Freeman said he would find her and make his demand... although it has been well over a week now. Perhaps he has forgotten, or she evaded him. After all, how can a simple murderer track her across an entire globe? He is not an electronic sleuth, and hardly seems the type able to so much as shake down a pedestrian. His almost unworldly threat was probably bad luck. A shadow of fate's cruelty.
And then, there is a loud, insistent knocking upon her door.
It would ring sharp and clear through her spacious room. It is not enough to trigger the alarm, but Ayame would need to be a fool to sleep through it. The time is past 2:00AM. And she has likely never had a visitor in all her time here, only perhaps the sound of shuffling addicts and dealers moving about the hall.
After some moments, the knocking returns, a touch louder. Not insistent, but not shy, either...
Eyes blink open at the sound of the knock and Ayame rolls onto her side in no particular hurry, her hand fishing under her pillow, fingers closing around the curved, cool metal of a familiar weapon. And then she lies there, letting her eyes slip closed once more as she prepares to drift off. This time of night, it's likely just someone who's found her door by mistake while looking for some dealer in the area. Then the knock comes again and the girl makes a bit of a face, opening her eyes once more to stare at the empty wall across from her bed. ...now what?
Well. Whoever it is, there's no point in going to the door over it. At best, it's some wandering creep who will only be harder to get rid of once he knows there's some girl living in the apartment. At worst, it's someone actually looking for her, in which case she has no interest in dealing with them in the middle of the night. Pulling her collapsed staff out from under her pillow, she folds her fingers around it and clutches it close to her chest beneath the blankets, and waits.
Long seconds pass, and it seems that it was indeed nothing. Some listless wanderer, having moved on after failing to find what they sought.
And then a fist begins to pound on the door, so loud it thrums like the beat of some tribal drum through the floor. The wood gives slightly, and the alarm attached to it triggers despite it not actually being opened yet -- that is how violent this particular 'knocking' was. No completely mundane thug could do that. Her traps might suddenly feel useless. She already knows someone is here, after all. Someone who seems very able to simply smash down her door, if they had a mind.
The question is... who?
She's just beginning to drift off when the noise comes again. Eyes open and Ayame sits up abruptly, this time, staring toward the hallway that leads to the front door. That sounded a lot stronger and way more insistant than some random passerby in the night. Who could that be? Yamazaki, maybe? But he doesn't seem like the knocking type. If the Southtown Syndicate bulldog had tracked her down, her door would be in splinters already. The girl's hands twist over the collapsed staff in her grip. She has to deal with this. The alarm is buzzing anyway.
Slipping out of the bed onto the cool wooden floor, she makes her way across the room, reaching behind her dressor and pressing a small switch there and the alarm falls silent. Her sleepwear T-shirt comes down to her thighs as she pads softly out into the hallway, ears alert, trying to sense what she can of who or what is on the otherside of the door. Her steps are silent, the girl moving with her usual stealthiness, but standing in the hallway staring useless at the door isn't going to really tell her much. She makes a mental note to wire a camera into the outer hallway at some point.
"What do you want?!" she finally exclaims back through the door, hands gripping her collapsed staff as she stands a good couple yards away from the door itself. "I'm armed. You better just move along!"
The knocking stops immediately the moment Ayame speaks.
And then, the world grows cold.
Ayame, so susceptible to the flow of chi, would instantly remember the feel of this dark, otherworldly energy. Flooding past the door, bulging slightly where the repeated blows began to cave it inwards. Shadows seem to swirl and deepen, making it seem a portal to another world. A demon resting beyond it, some monster that defies description. Violence, death, dripping down the walls like blood.
"Little girl..." A soft voice. Fingers can be heard stroking along the door. Gentle rasps. His voice is muffled; a cheek is pressed against the cool wood.
"Little girl... let me in..."
Her blood runs cold at the aura she feels. /Him/. He's asking her to let him in? She knows he could break through the door with little effort or cleave it in two with a sweep of his hand. Yet he's asking her to let him in? It feels like part of the game - to force her to open the door to him no matter how much she might hate it - to act as he dictates even without being physically coerced. She stares at the door, forcing herself to start breathing again after a long moment of held breath. "Okay." she speaks up. "I have to disable some things first..." she states plainly, her tone level. She's bluffing a little. She already turned off the alarm system with the switch behind her dressor. Even though the laser grid from the kitchen entry is still stretched across the hallway, breaking the beams at this point wouldn't do anything with the system offline anyway.
"Here I come, just a second," she continues levely, forcing herself to /sound/ calm even if her heart has started racing. She's, of course, doing the opposite of that. She's backing away with silent steps toward her bedroom. Her weapons are in there. Should she fight him again? /Can/ she fight him off? Should she give up? He said he would come for a name. She could provide that, certainly, having spent many a moment in the last week iterating over names in her head as to who she would sentence to death if forced to chose. There were plenty of lowlife ne'er-do-wells about that no one would really miss. She would be uneasy about the prospect of naming one of them... but not so uneasy that she would hesitate in the slightest before giving one of them up.
But will he simply leave after having been given a name? What if he decides to have some fun with her after that? What if he decides to finish the artwork he began in the park seven days ago? Her mind continues to race as she steps back into her room. In her closet she's carved out a hole in the wall. The hole opens into a gap between the walls just wide enough for her to squeeze into... from there she can make it over to the neighboring apartment's wall and simply smash her way through the aged drywall without too much fuss... from there she could bolt...!
Freeman is patient at first. Just quietly seething that energy through the door, building up like a gas leak and making the oppression all the more tangible as time goes by. But when seconds continue to tick on, the darkness intensifies suddenly. Impatience. Aggravation. Dangerous emotions, when Freeman is obviously a deep keg of catalysts. He could be calm, or he could try to rip out her throat. It is impossible to tell, sometimes even second by second. When his very existance seems to be the essence of death, then that drowns out everything else. "Little girl...!!" Wood begins to creak and crack now. And then suddenly erupts inwards. The chance for a decision has passed. The noisy sound of broken wood clattering over the hallway just beyond her room dismisses any last notion this might resolve with relative peace. Fight, or flight. The situation has devolved to the most base of instincts!!
With the roar, Ayame is already moving fast. Her staff is tucked under one arm and the larger, sheathed dagger is pulled off her nightstand before she pulls the closet door open without the slightest hesitation. She's got to run!! The back of the closet has the hole cut out of it - something she took care of months ago when securing the apartment for dwelling.
The closet doesn't have much in it so she doesn't really have to move anything to get into the opening, but the girl does pull the door closed behind her before squeezing into the space between the walls. She already confirmed that she can make it over to the wall of the neighboring apartment's closet this way. She focuses her thoughts, trying to put images of Freeman out of mind and concentrate on the building layout itself. The apartment next door is the same layout. It has been unoccupied since she moved in. The interior has some decaying furnishings left by the prior occupant. She heard rumors that he died down at the warfs. Just another random statistic.
Right now she's trying to NOT become a statistic. Freeman came back faster than she was ready for. She sucks in her breath and forces herself to push through the space!
The serial killer indeed seemed to strike the moment Ayame was vulnerable. Content with her winnings and the comforts of home. Neatly destroyed in the breadths of a couple minutes. There was no sound of footsteps; only silence after the door broke. But the closet door is yanked clean off the hinges and hurled backwards into her room. Yet the hole is for someone her size; Freeman should hardly be able to follow her, right? Nothing else comes of it after that moment. The heaviness of his aura seems all the greater, groping through the darkness between walls, pressing just as firmly against her scarcely clad body as the sheer violent essence. Enticing visions of struggling to escape a coffin, perhaps. Where has he gone?
One foot, two feet, three feet, four feet... Ayame counts the distance off in her head. It's important to move to precisely the right spot - she has to be behind the closet of the other room where the wall is the thinnest. Her hands stay gripped on the two choice weapons she decided to take with her. It's all she has this time. Clad as she is, it's clear that she has no tricks, no hidden blades, no darts tucked away. It's just her, her staff, and the dagger...
She moves to the right spot and kicks out with her knee and one hand. It's enough force to shatter the old drywall into the back of the neighboring room's bedroom closet and then, in a cloud of white, sneeze-inducing dust, Ayame stumbles, somewhat awkwardly prying herself through the misshapen hole, collapsing against the closet door as she coughs for breath. Her hand goes to the door handle to open it so that she can escape into the bedroom.
From there, she can go to the apartment hallway then bolt for the outer hallway... Hopefully the monster after her will be distracted in her apartment and she can escape the building! She doesn't even give a second thought to not really being clothed for night time outdoor adventures... But she does know for certainty that she can't simply outrun him in the open. Losing him in the building might be her only chance, her mind races.
As Ayame's hand moves towards the doorknob, a fist suddenly bangs on the door opposite, loud and heavy just as before. Hinges bulge and shudder as a result, shaking the entire frame. Freeman did not follow her into the squeezed wall. A simplistic cunning, perhaps. She was not silent in her egress through the other closet, and there was no exit outside one she'd make for herself. Assuming simple logic might be behind how he knows just the way she flees. "Why are you RUNNING?!" An arm suddenly erupts through the door in a flash of crimson, fingers splaying and making a grab in Ayame's general direction. "We had a deal...!!"
A scream escapes her lips when the door moves, evidence of his presence on the other side. There's no escaping him!! She presses backward, but the hole she broke through the drywall is too incomplete, too malformed to really make it easy to simply wedge herself back into the wall and try to escape back the other way. Not that she doesn't try in a futile moment of desperation before finally just collapsing down against the back of the closet wall, curling up. There is hardly any light in the small closet, what little that is available is coming in through the newly added hole to the front of it courtesty of Freeman's hand.
Shaking, she hugs her weapons against her. "I-I'm sorry!" she exclaims. She has no where to go. She could try to attack his hand - to maim him in hopes of getting an edge before fighting for real. But she remembers injuring him at all last time did nothing to slow his assault. Why would this be any different? She doesn't remember the last time she's felt so vulnerable, so disarmed. "I panicked!" she tries to defend herself. It's... hardly untrue, really. "I won't run anymore!!"
The arm retracts, although Freeman isn't immediately seen through the remaining hole. There's a sudden red glow. A sound of rushing wind. A peculiar snap sound, ringing crisply in the air. There are suddenly leylines of light twinkling through from the door, shining out the bedroom window. And then the door falls apart neatly, clattering to the ground in large pieces. Perfectly sliced through, the lines eerily straight. Freeman is panting heavily, fingers curling as his arms twitch and shudder. "I gave you life...!" he hisses out. Unless Ayame otherwise resists, a hand will snap out to grasp her face by the chin. "I gave you life, and you flee from me, a pathetic dog who cannot even appreciate a wonderful gift...!!" Assuming success, he would shake Ayame like a newborn baby, smacking her upper back and head against the back of the wall behind hard enough to dent it.
Pressed as far back as possible against the closet wall, Ayame stares helplessly as the flimsy wooden door falls to pieces in finely cut chunks, the lines as smooth as if it had been precision sawed rather than disassembled before her eyes. She pushes back with her feet but there's just the wall behind her, so it doesn't get her anywhere. She hadn't seen him angry before. He had varying moods back in the park, but she hadn't seen him like /this/!
If she were feeling remotely cheeky, she would point out that he didn't exactly have a demeanor that promoted trust in any kind of relationship. She's not remotely that cheeky and at the immediate moment, the only thought going trough her mind is wondering how long before she'll feel the pain of his chi-blades carving into her again, and wondering how long after she'll feel nothing ever again.
Instead of blades, his hand grips her face by the chin, forcing her to stare at him as much as she'd rather just curl into a ball. The fight is already gone from her. She's practically limp when he slams the back of her head into the drywall, caving a new hole into the rotted surface with the solid impact, throwing up a new plume of white dust within the enclosed space. "Please!" she pleads before being cut off by another impact that knocks the breath from her for a moment. She coughs. "Please, we had a deal!!"
Freeman suddenly stops, and that rage bleeds off immediately. A more somber expression, before he gently sets Ayame down. Brushing some of the white powder from her shoulder. For a moment he runs his hidden gaze across her form; a ruffled-up pink shirt is hardly the most covering ensemble, but any budding interest appears unrelated to physical interest. Of that type, at least. "Yes. We had a deal. You would give me the name. Of someone I could sufficiently enjoy. Because the alternative at the time was simply... snuffing you out. Like a candle in the wind." A few steps backward are taken, giving plenty of room for the smaller girl. "So tell me. Who will you send to the darkness in your place...?" There's a dangerous feeling now. That Freeman might be reconsidering. Taking Ayame apart with his eyes, like an eager butchur portioning out a cow before he goes to work. Fingers flex and curl, not wishing to be restless.
The girl in his grip is easily pliable. She's scared beyond the point of fighting, pushed past the point of keeping her wits about her when she blurts out, trying to get him to relent before he goes too far. The way he stops so instantly, almost like a lightswitch was idly flicked, is nearly as alarming as having him angry. How quickly could he flip back to that state again? One wrong word perhaps? She sits perfectly still as he brushes the dust from her shoulder, not quite paralyzed with fright but rather with the idea that if she does nothing, she's less likely to trigger another onset of violence.
Of course she wonders fleetingly what kind of interests the broken mind of her attacker might contain. He could rip what passes for clothing from her body with far less effort than he put into creating those perfectly carved chunks of door covering the floor all around her. She doesn't know if she has it in her to fight him anymore if he did. Her breaths come steadily as she mentally reigns them in to a calmer pace to seem outwardly less panicked.
He reminds her of the terms of the deal, as if it had slipped her mind for long at any point, then backs away, but she doesn't budge from her corner in the closet, just watching him with attentive wide eyes. He poses the question once more. Who would she give up to save herself? The thought had gone through her mind constantly since she had awaken following last week's ordeal. It was strange, looking at each person she encountered, trying to evaluate if they deserve to live any longer.
The random people on the street that did nothing to her hardly seemed worthy of taking notice of. The loud mouthed man in line at the airport was annoying but that hardly meritted a death sentence. The quiet driver in Russia that got her to and from her bout with Daniel seemed normal enough, she couldn't think of any reason he would need to die...
She started spending way more time than she cared to look into the lives of some of those that she encountered on a typical day. How many friends did they seem to have? Did they have kids? She had picked out one random hoodlum in the slums, following him around for a few hours, until he returned home to a small apartment where his bedridden mother sat alone but for his presence. She scratched him off the list too.
Each time she thought she found the candidate she would feel the least guilty about, she would only come to find out secrets of their lives that disarmed her momentary flashes of hostility. It was a painful process, forcing her to come to see so many people, one after another, as actual human beings rather than just annoyances that she had to deal with throughout the day. Of course she knew of people that would deserve it, in her mind. Tyrants that used their incredible power to force their will upon others. The world was constantly shaped by the likes of /them/. But they were fighters. The predator in front of her didn't want them.
For the first time in a long while she thought back on Elle. Elle wouldn't struggle with a problem like this. The woman was cold, almost robotic, when it came to dealing with anyone that wasn't a part of her extended blackjack 'family'. She killed people all the time, Ayame knew full well. But not her, she'd never crossed that line before. Though she managed to convince some from time to time that she would, it was always a bluff. There was a line she never crossed.
She sits huddled still, arms craddling the two weapons she had bolted with. She has to give him someone. A victim to kill in her place. When she was scared to death of dying in the park, it had seemed so easy to volunteer to do something like this. Now the thought is sickening. She always mused that if there was some kind of metaphysical hell after this life, she was already well on her way to heading that way. This next act is pretty much sealing the proverbial deal.
"Despo Fernandez." she states. He never did anything wrong to her. Sure, he was a bit of a hoodlum, but not really the dangerous kind. Just the 'probably had a tough childhood, never got a break, no direction' sorta street rat not terribly uncommon in the seedy side of Metro. Given another five or ten years, he'd probably grow out of it, settle into something decent to carve out his place in life, and that would be that. Or he would cave to pressure and finally do something bad enough to get him into prison. Or some random girl he doesn't know about could offer his name up to a mudering psychopath to save her own neck and cut his story aburptly short. "32 Brookhollow, unit 22." she states numbly, sinking down a little bit more against the wall. His mother would be left all alone in the world because of this, Ayame muses. But she gets to live. The world is a pretty unfair joke, when it comes right down to it.
Time seems to stretch out in those long moments, as Freeman simply stands in the darkness. Wrapped around him like the cloak of a reaper, still doing nothing to hide the malevolence of his chi within such close proximity. Yet it must have taken longer then she thought. For that growing tension continues to build around here once more. The trigger of a gun, imperceptibly being pulled. A finger gently scratching a mouse trap's pressure plate. At some point it's going to go off, and the only descriptor to go on is 'soon'.
And then she speaks a name, and like that, Freeman is appeased on some level. The act is done. She gave him what he wanted. But he is still there, standing, watching, as if expecting something further. She'd have time to guess, if Ayame cared to, but he wouldn't respond to the huddled girl.
"And why have you given me him?" Freeman wonders, slowly allowing a grin. Barely seen in the minimal light of the abandoned bedroom, seeming more like a dark gash across his pale chin then anything else. "I would hope you put in some thought. Appease me... I will not let you go until I'm sure my itch will be..." Fingers once more tremble, clenching shut before easing open with a trembling exhale of his limbs. "...scratched."
That same queasy feeling washes over her. Just like the time she volunteered some hapless girl confined to a hospital deathbed when he last lorded over her with his menacing aura. She offers a name and feels sick to her stomach. She follows it up with an address and Freeman says nothing. She's never felt so vulnerable, so trapped, so pathetic. She never felt she had much in the way of pride before but being forced into this situation has given her a stark realization of just how haughty she normally was.
With her weapons, her tricks, her ability to lure, deceive, and betray. All those things were on her terms - just how she liked it. But beneath the killer's baleful company, she feels utterly helpless and it frustrates her like she's never realized before. The silence is painful. Ayame fidgets, her hand running down to the hem of her shirt, awkwardly tugging down on it a little, covering her svelte, dust covered legs a bit. She's in no position to make demands and she hasn't the strength to look at him directly, but she wants to ask all the same. 'Will he go away forever now?' 'Is he done with her?' 'Can she go on with her life without a constant sense of dread lurking just over her shoulder?' She wants to ask those things but she doesn't have the guts to. What if he says no? Can she take the thought that he will back again at his pleasure? She can't keep going like this!
Finally, Ayame lifts her face just a little, eyes flicking up at her tormentor. Just in time for his voice to be heard, the words demanding more of her than what she has already suffered so far to offer. 'Why this kid?' She sees the shift in his mouth, subtle as it is. Is he going to make this go on? Is he just going to kill her anyway, enjoying the mental anguish his demands cause as a form of psychotic prelude to the murder to follow?
"He fits your criteria," she answers a touch timidly. "Young, no thought of dying soon, harmless... I'm sure he can throw a punch like any kid, but he isn't a fighter, like you said." Why did she settle on him? She isn't even sure herself. Maybe because she thought it would cause the least harm out of everyone she encountered - the least people possible would suffer by his death. The gangsters he hung out with would hardly notice; they weren't a tightly knit group. Only his mother would know... his sick, bedridden mother, would be left to mourn alone. Ayame looks away, glaring at the side of the closet. Under those criteria, she should volunteer herself. Afterall, who would mourn her?
"I don't know him any better than I know most people." She has so rarely gotten close to others, she realizes. While the killer wasn't very specific in his demands she knows that he wants something else - that intangible quality in his victims that makes it somehow worse than any mitigation Ayame is trying to concoct. That's the missing quality, she realises. She's trying to soften the wound he intends to inflict on the world. He, on the other hand, desires to exacerbate the damage, to rip it asunder and scatter the bloody fragments caused by his actions... "T-there is another at that address besides him, I hope that you..." Her voice grows weaker, "You only asked for one." Spare his mother, she wants to ask, but lacks the confidence to beg anything of him beyond her own life.
But she knows the problem. To find a victim for him, to find something that would /really/ sate his demands, she would have to think like him. And it is that dark corner of thought that she has avoided throughout this ordeal: if she thinks like him she could begin to understand him. If she could understand him she could become like him.
"Liar."
Freeman states this as barely a whisper, and agitation quickly wells up within him. Somewhere, somehow, he has picked out the truth of Ayame's delay and painstaking efforts. "You said you would do anything to live. Anything!! And look at you... brazenly risking your life for a stranger, trying to sate my hunger as minimally as possible?!" He strikes out at a nearby wall. It is only a closed fist, but still causes a sudden crack that splinters up the wall. Debris falls from the ceiling, white dust speckling his dark shoulders. His good eye seems to almost glow in the darkness now, breath coming quicker. "You are not what I expected at all... I gave you a chance. But do you wish to know something, little girl?" He laughs then, pressing a hand to his face. "I have given this chance to many people...!! And every single one of them has failed!!"
His chi fully floods out now. Seeming to ingregrate with the shadows, adding a tangibly ominous quality to them. It makes Freeman shimmer, his edges lightly difficult to see. There's a brief moment where Ayame could ready herself for what comes next... as he lashes out, this time lacking the distance curiosity of the first encounter. A true bloodlust, aimed precisely for her. A flash of crimson chi tearing out, edges jagged rather then crisp and perfect, intent on ripping into the closet behind if she does not get out of the way...!!
COMBATSYS: Freeman has started a fight here.
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Freeman 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: Ayame has joined the fight here.
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Freeman 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Ayame
COMBATSYS: Ayame blocks Freeman's Vision of Death.
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Freeman 0/-------/-------|=------\-------\0 Ayame
Ayame has been called a 'liar' plenty of times in her life. But never has it cut the way it does this time. "No, I-" she tries to protest, but he's already continuing over her voice and the swelling anger is palpable, reflected in the intensity of his fel aura. She cringes as the wall is struck, trying to curl into a smaller ball, hands covering her head as her form trembles in panic.
After a few seconds following his strike, she forces herself to look up, taking her hands from off the top of her head. How she wishes to find him gone, how she prays like she never has that he has grown bored enough with her to simply move on. Of course she knows better than that. She's far too sensitive to the malevolent chi that floods the room to delude herself into such vain hope.
He continues speaking. She's disappointed him. Hardly the first time she's let someone down but it's looking like it will be the last. He laughs, his hand going over his face, and Ayame slowly pushes herself up out of her cowering position. If she's quiet, maybe he won't notice and she can get a head start on the run for her life!
But that chance doesn't come. No sooner than she gets to her feet than she senses that his attack is coming. Trapped in the closet, there's no hope of evading it. The confines are far too limiting for her to expand her collapsed staff either. All she can do is raise her hands, her left one gripping the six inch tube of her staff. Her right one holding that long, bejeweled dagger. Sparks in the closet flash out along with the sound of cloth ripping!
Inspection would reveal that while she escaped suffering the full damage of the attack, she didn't come out of his vicious strike unscathed. Claw marks cut across her sleeves and forearms, only coming to short stops where the metal weapons were blocking in each hand. The right of her long, pink T-short is severed to the point of nearly falling clean off. The right-breast pocket seems to have been snagged into almost peeling off as well. But maybe there is a window of opportunity after his strike - maybe she can hope, as unprepared, as undergeared as she is, and how little she's clothed, that this time she can best the monster!!
"No one can give you want," she's already lunging forward then, determined to break free of the confines of the closet where at least she isn't a fish in a barrel. "Because no one's as broken as you are!!!" She strikes out with the dagger, going for a direct stab into his torso. Trying to maim and cripple him last time did nothing... she has to go for the kill! The blade is sharp, capable of plunging straight through unresisting flesh. She's never used in a fight until this moment.
COMBATSYS: Freeman endures Ayame's Assault and Battery.
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Freeman 0/-------/-----==|==-----\-------\0 Ayame
Oh, Ayame is certainly going to get the chance. Although any tactics she has built up thus far on how to combat such a creature is almost instantly proven pointless. There is literally no attempt to escape the blow towards him. He ignores it, twisting around and lashing out with his hand. Trying to plunge his fingers deep within her shoulder, and rip them free, along with likely a good portion of her shirt if the maneuver succeeds. The blow causes blood to well up, but the manic focus of his eyes is entirely on Ayame, not himself. That energy around him... he is succumbing to it. Allowing it to flow into his body. He is not empty anymore. Now he feels more like a demon then she might have ever thought possible. The manic, frenzied expression would likely entice memories of one other phenomenon... the Riot of the Blood. "You can give it to me... I will rip it from your body...!!" Freeman hisses out, tone a thorough, wanton promise!!
COMBATSYS: Ayame slips a mysterious dagger into her hand.
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Freeman 0/-------/-----==|==-----\-------\0 [E] Ayame
COMBATSYS: Ayame dodges Freeman's Strong Punch.
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Freeman 0/-------/-----==|==-----\-------\0 [E] Ayame
Even unprepared as she may be, even as panic-driven as her actions likely are, Ayame has never been known to be slow when it comes to avoiding attempts at extracting her blood from her body. She already knows the stakes this time, there's no question he will kill her. All that has happened is that her date with death has been delayed a week. Otherwise, she might as well still be lying in the Metro part, bleeding out from a severed throat for all the good those extra seven days have done her. She just couldn't bring herself to do it - to find him a proper replacement. She thought it would be easy yet seven days later she can't sate his need with another. He will have to take it from her.
Her strike rings true and Ayame snaps her arm back, a trail of newly summoned blood following in its wake. She's already moving in that moment. This is the second time she's fought this apparition... she can read his attacks a little bit better now than last time. If only she had her full arsenal at her disposal, she might even stand a chance!
His hand misses her shoulder, the girl twisting at the waist, turning her body away from the attack. Her left hand continues to grip her collapsed staff while he right hand manipulates the dagger. The curious thing is the way it thrums after tasting of Freeman's blood. Whether a product of the dagger or a byproduct of being drenched in the undoubtedly corrupt creature's blood she isn't sure... But with her hand on the hilt, she can feel it thirsting for more than it has already had the chance to taste.
Ayame's still in close. First one stab, now she's going for another. Trying to smash the weapon into Freeman's heart before he can retract his lethal arm. The dagger flares to life with a sickly green, pernicious aura. But there is a second energy visible beneath the first - a subtle hue of violet that Ayame realizes she can't sense in the slightest in spite seeing it out of the corner of her eyes as her hand slams forward.
This is no time to muse such things, however, as she stabs with the knife to plunge it into Freeman where his heart should be - if such a revenant could possibly have a heart!
COMBATSYS: Freeman blocks Ayame's The Fall of the Mourning Star.
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Freeman 0/-------/----===|=------\-------\0 [E] Ayame
The blade begins to arc through the air, but Freeman's hand suddenly swoops upwards. He catches the dagger by the blade, stopping it dead. Blood begins to seep out, and the chi within is all but snuffed out by the malevolent energy that suffuses the serial killer at the moment. He'd hold it still for a few moments, although Ayame would be able to rip it free with effort, deepening the cut on his palm. She might have expected him to comment on this. To say something to her. But instead he ducks down low to the ground, moving with a serpentine-like zig. His legs should not be able to hold him up, either in terms of strength or balance, but with a whip-like snap of contracting muscles he raises up. Fingers trailed by jagged orange-red chi once more, aiming to go perfectly up her body from her abdomen to her chin. "...!!" No words. Just that desire -- to see her insides. Eager and impatient...!
COMBATSYS: Ayame dodges Freeman's Nightmare.
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Freeman 0/-------/-----==|=------\-------\0 [E] Ayame
The way he catches the knife in his hand is not doing any favors for Ayame's confidence. She pulls it free, drawing a little blood, but not inflicting anywhere near the harm she had been hoping for. He's already proven to be all but immune to the normally crippling effects of pain that affect most people, so the only recourse she can think of is to cut him to pieces. Even her staff sees little use so far. Beating him with it as hard as she could didn't slow him down last time!
His movements surprise her less this time - the girl is a fast learner, she already knows to NOT depend on understanding of human physiology to predict the directions of his attacks. Attacks can come from any angle as his limbs, oft-times seemingly boneless, bend in any direction the monster deems necessary to hit her. She also learned not to dismiss the possability that he might just straight up /kick/ her, something that never occurred to her last time.
He comes in low, his arm raking up, but the girl leaps to the side, narrowly avoiding getting severely clawed, those sharp lined edges of chi slashing through the space she occupied just an instant before. Her body tenses as she lands, then she strikes, her left hand swinging up, that collapsed staff heavy in her grip, aiming for Freeman's jaw, attempting to clobber him with the weight of it. Her right hand follows up, slicing from hip to shoulder at an angle.
She can think of no words to waste against the killer now. She disappointed him for the last time. All she can do now is fight for her life a second time!
COMBATSYS: Freeman fails to interrupt Medium Strike from Ayame with Heavy Kick.
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Freeman 0/-------/-----==|==-----\-------\0 [E] Ayame
It's turning out that Freeman is much more normal a fighter when lost to this sort of mindset. Seeking out raw violence is predictable. She can see his mindset now, although the grisly result of such is something that's probably better not contemplated. While low to the ground, he braces himself and lashes out with a whirling kick. She hits him in the face hard in the midst; and using that to vault herself backwards would easily clear the brutal scythe-like motion of his spindly leg. Afterwards he stumbles backwards, seeming to be a touch dazed. The whirling blackness ebbs, seeming to stabilize rather then run rampant. "Heheh... mmm. Look at myself... I've become no better then that pitiful girl..." A hand holds up, finger indicating for Ayame to pause. "You are not the prey I want, either. You fear death... but in the end, you accept it. I saw that before... and it impressed me. You struggle with hope, but go limp when your supple neck is in the guillotine. So tell me this... and I will be sated. If life is so truly important to you... is there even a single soul who might miss you, if this room was filled with your blood? Or would your unidentified corpse be quietly swept away, and the world continue on, none losing a tear, none sparing a moment's concern...?!"
The clobbering strike to his face buys Ayame the time necessary to spring backward, kicking off with her feet, leaning her body backward to avoid the sweep of his leg intended to crash into her as it had before. Her backward 'fall' takes her into a hand stand from which she can spring the rest of the distance, her shirt falling 'up' over her torso, revealing more of her nubile figure than even her normally daring street clothes do. She finishes the vault, her sleepware falling back down over her hips, covering her black underwear once more. Against most normal-blooded, her physically fit body might be a distraction she would take advantage of given half a chance. But there seems to be no such allure here. She's still reluctant to think him human even if he bleeds like one.
Her stance is still at the ready. As his style of fighting devolves to be more like a mundane animal's, striking out aggressively and recklessly, she can read it. She's /fought/ people like that countless times. She's never fought anything like the creature that assaulted her in the park before, so aggressive yet calm, so unassuming yet so terrifyingly fast...
He's speaking now even though at first his words go unheard, so intensely focused on the pure desire to survive that she doesn't even notice that he isn't rushing forward for another slash. She has to replay them in her mind to understand what he's saying, catching up as he continues. He recognized her acceptance of her demise in the park... it was probably the moment she choked out a laugh, a vain acknowledgement of the futility of it all. Futile as it may be, she still seems to struggle to survive in spite it all, like a cockroach determined not to die even when so unloved and hated.
The question he asks provokes an intake of breath on Ayame's part. It's... not a good question for a girl like her. Someone who would miss her? It SHOULD be an easy question to answer. She could just make up anyone, couldn't she? Just throw out any ol' name. But the staker would know she was lying. She isn't sure how, but he would know. He can read even her, and she's been lying to herself and others as a way of life for years. She has to give him an honest answer. And so her mind races.
She can't say her parents. Surely by now they have given her up as lost forever or dead and moved on with their lives. She had people once... people that cared when she moved amongst the Southtown Syndicate. A Chinese woman - Shihong... she would have cared. But that was before the Syndicate collapsed into a smoking pile of rubble in downtown Southtown and Ayame assumed the criminal empire gone for good. She never heard from Mao Shihong after that...
There was the girl - Kiyoko - who had been her friend once, so long ago. Ayame volunteered her name to this butcher only a week prior. She hasn't ever sought her out when she stopped attending school... Ayame knew her time beneath the sun had come to an end and that she wouldn't be joining her for any more adventures. She never went to visit her in the hospital.
She thinks of the mysterious man... what was his name... They called him Saint. To make physical contact with him was to invite nightmares into one's mind; with nothing more than a touch he could reduce a human being to a quivering pile of shattered nerves. He had loved her, she knew. She might have loved him back. That she doesn't know. She last left him knocked out in playground park after blasting his face in with a point blank explosion of chi. It just wasn't meant to be.
In her mind flashes others... Elle would have cared, but the woman went so deep underground Ayame was never sure if she might not have simply been erased by one of the countless powerful cartels the woman had the habit of crossing. No, not even Elle could fill the blank space left by his question.
Is there anyone at all? A single soul that would even notice? She rewinds in her mind the encounters of the last few months. Names and faces, just 'others', she formed no ties with anyone. Was she truly that misanthropic? Not a single soul? She thinks of her fight with the detective then... Daniel. He said he would take the case. She was going to get back to him with information about this creature that traps her now. No... maybe with time there might have been something there, but she had no intents of dealing with him beyond using his skill set to save herself.
But thinking of him, she recalls the other name that came up in their fight - a mutual aquaintence entirely by numbers-defying coincidence. She remembers he fights with him, the adventure they had in the back alleys of Southtown, trying to get away from a gang that she had pissed off. He asked her out to dinner and she agreed... Why did she agree? Daniel had asked her as much but she never did give up the answer. She had fun that day... and when he asked her to dinner, something stirred in her. She wasn't even furious at him for being played after the meal. Why is that?
Would the strange rogue'ish fighter feel anything if he learned of her death? Ayame finds her mind fixated on him for some reason. "A tear might be a stretch," she murmurs, trying to picture eccentric gambler crying. No, he wouldn't cry, she's pretty sure. But would he miss her? "Roland Brown." she states, her brow furrowing, her eyes suddenly focused. It was a strange thought - there actually might be someone who would care after all!
Freeman was patient. He always seemed patient when it came to matters of philosophy like this. There has never been any indication that this man was stupid. Perhaps he has a deeply philosophical idea on life, which his rampant bloodlust backs up. He's fully calmed himself down now. Ayame might realize only afterwards the advantage she had in this murderer's single-minded rage has completely vanished. He is again inscrutable and calm, one with the dancing notes of peculiar energy. Fingers run through his crimson hair, slow sigh leaving him as the name is offered. "Roland Brown... yes. They would." Almost disappointment. Perhaps he truly thought she could give him nothing. But it seems what he wanted was behind that. Which might make Ayame wonder uncertainly what precisely it was he required. Then he brushes at his chest. "You may go. I am done with you, little girl. It was foolish of me to think you could fulfill my requirements... and unfair." After a few long moments, a slow grin forms on his face. Lips shaky, fingers curling and relaxing. "So I'll accept this name... this... Roland Brown...!!"
She offers the name out loud only to fall quiet as he repeats it back, then states something she didn't expect - confirming her own declaration as if he knew with certainty what the other man would do. How does he know anything of Roland? Did he simply read it from her own statement? Her tone, her thoughts laid bare for him to scrutinize? Has he been researching her? Stalking her past, picking apart her intersections with other people to evaluate others she had encountered?
She was mostly off the radar, true, but her occasional public fight appearances would give someone a bit of a trail to work with if necessary. There WAS that one SNF she fought alongside Roland Brown... but there was nothing to glean from that alone, was there? She fought alongside countless wouldbe partners in random venues all around the world. How would he have picked out that exact one and agreed with her assessment when she herself just formed the realization on the spot, here and now? The look she gives him is a mixture of incredulousness and dread. Just what IS he? A hellspawn sent to torment her because all of her crimes and acts of inhumanity? Is that what this is? Some kind of devilish judgement? Was she really so bad as to anger the proverbial gods that they would dispatch this harbinger to deal with her? No... that's ridiculous, but no other ideas come to mind to replace it!
He says she is free to go and Ayame begins skirting around the edge of the room toward the door that would lead to the hallway. Is this a trick? It didn't seem like his kind of mind game. No... his machinations were far more insidious than something so simple as basic playing on hopes.
She scoots against the wall, keeping the maximum amount of distance possible between him and her. Is she really going to walk away from this? She was certain this would be the last fight of her life...! But now it seems she may get away alive? He calls his demand of her unfair. In other circumstances she might have laughed at that. 'Unfair?' UNFAIR? Carving people into pieces of shredded beef in the city park is /UNFAIR/. Torturing her to name people for him to kill in her stead is so ludicrously unfair it defies comprehension. And now he calls his expectations of her unfair?
Recoil as her mind might at the sheer thought of it all, she keeps her mouth closed. She might survive this and she's not about to ruin what seems like her last shot by engaging the kill in unnecessary conversation. No... let him be gone then, leave her alone forever, out of her life. He'll go on to kill others, certainly, but it won't be her problem. She's no hero. And she's sure as hell no one's martyr.
But then he speaks again and Ayame's heart skips a beat. Accepting...? The sentence is slow to complete, but her mind is quick and she already knows how it will finish. He's accepted a name from her at last. A proxy for her life, someone to die in her place. Her complexion pales. "N-no... I didn't mean it like- You didn't-..." Her legs grow weak, a tremor going over her arms. She should try to kill him now, lunge for him and end this threat once and for all! But the enraged predator is gone. No... the executioner standing before her now is the being that hunted her down in the park. She is in no position to fight him and win. It would be futile.
"You demand a non-fighter from me!" she exclaims. But now Roland is her replacement. Her mind races. What can she even do about it? The butcher has the power here and she is but an animal for slaughter should he simply change his mind. Ayame leans back against the wall, using it for support. Two names before now she named, and in each case they were spared for not fitting his criteria. Now the third she offers she has doomed? "Why...?" Why is this happening to her? There has to be a reason for it all, her mind can't deal with this simply being a cosmic accident. There must be something behind it all!!
"...Yes. That look confirms it." Freeman states matter of factly. Ayame, the queen of manipulation and sheer lack of emotion, just gave the serial killer the most easy of reads. When Ayame goes on to react so negatively to his promise, the pleasure only blooms within the murderer. Did he carefully orchestrate this? Was the entire ploy to get a name from her in a brief moment of weakness? Perhaps. It would hint towards a level of manipulation that belies the simplicity he presents. But being supernatural can only allow so much of him. He is a fighter prodigy. And those are rarely lacking a prodigal mind. "You cannot be taught death personally, little girl... But perhaps you can be taught it by proxy... I wonder. For a name you care about... do you even have the means to warn him? I believe... he is in Metro City..." A head tilted to the side, as if he's listening to some unheard voice. He is stepping away from her now, and suddenly lifts up his arms. They curl forward, a whirl of blackness that coalesces. Crimson energy lances out towards her, broad and dangerous. He nearly vivisected Vice with this attack; that much she would know. The wall behind would erupt, slit neatly in half. But the veil of shadow is slow to disperse... and when it does, Freeman is gone. His chi siphons away slowly, as if tainting the surrounding wood by his momentary presence...
COMBATSYS: Freeman has left the fight here.
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Ayame [E] 0/-------/-----==|
COMBATSYS: Freeman successfully hits Ayame with Full Blast.
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Ayame [E] 0/-------/-======|
The realization is staggering, Ayame blinking as the truth of the ploy comes crashing down on her. She feels her legs getting weaker beneath her as she stares back at the disturbing figure that Freeman cuts in the barely lit room. Two times he tried to get a name from her and two times she carefully couched her offerings as those with whom she had no ties in recent history. But that hadn't been enough. She had refused to think like him, to see things from his view, and in doing so, blinded herself to the truth of his game.
She has been offered her freedom yet she still feels every bit as trapped as when she was huddled in the closet only minutes before. Shaking her head, Ayame opens her mouth to protest, only to fall quiet as he speaks. This twisted game is all about her somehow, she knows, even if she can't fathom the extent of it. The body saw in the park hadn't entertained him enough - he must have seen no potential for games there. But her? Lucky, stupid her? Apparently he saw what he was looking for and now she can't escape this waking nightmare!
She has to stop him now. That is the only way she can live with herself, she decides, her hand tightening around her collapsed staff and the strangely glowing dagger. She has to give it her all. She starts to push away from the wall when he acts, his arms moving with a gesture that seems almost lazy in comparison to the pure menacy they generate. A blade of the sharpest chi she has ever seen cleaves through the air. Quicker on her feet, she might have stood a chance, but the dark one has stunned her without even harming her directly, and she can't manage to escape!
A normal person might have been cleaved in two by the executioner's blade. Even Ayame, with her formidable mastery of chi and defenses against it, is unable to fully withstand it in spite her efforts. The blade slices through her and only her impressive aura leaves her in one piece, the wall behind her not so fortunate. Her shirt is less a master of aura than she is, however, and is shreaded even easier than the wall, the cloth tearing to the side, ripping a hole wide open in the front, a thin red line visible in her flesh where the knife-edged chi struck.
Almost absent mindedly, Ayame moves her arm over her chest as she sinks down against the floor into a seated position, staring at the spot where Freeman was moments ago. He had said something else before he left but she had consciously misssed it. It's only thanks to her recorder-like memory that she's able to replay his words in her head and actually /listen/ this time. Right. Warning him. Ayame moves suddenly, her mien is a mixture of resolution and desperation. She has the number in her head, alongside countless others. Scurrying back into the outer hallway, she steps over the shattered remains of her front door and rushes to her bedroom. One of her many stolen phones is on the dressor.
Flicking it open, she dials the number from memory, staring at the device intently, demanding Roland pick it up. He has to know what's coming for him... it still might not be enough, but it's better than being caught unaware!!
The phone rings and rings. A sinking feeling likely begins to settle within Ayame. But then it clicks on. The murmuring sounds of a bar are in the background, along with the awkward shuffle of the phone on the other line. A gruff, familiar voice is on the otherside. "What? The hell is this? Anna Pfefercauk?" Must be the name of who she stole it from. "Man, that doesn't sound like someone cute... Please tell me we didn't..."
"What?" It's his voice for sure. "No, I don't even know who that is! Listen, this is Ayame. A-ya-me. Got it? There's someone coming to kill you. You need to get some place safe!!" She pauses for a moment, "I'm serious, this guy is a complete freak show and he told me he's going to find you!!"
"...Ayame?" Roland appears to remember her voice, despite the... years? Has it been years since they spoke? There was no hesitation, but certainly surprise. Whether she still confirms it or not is up to her. And -- he's completely drunk, too. She didn't catch him at his most mentally astute. "Someone coming to... oh, god. Really? I was waiting for your revenge for the restaurant, and this is kind of lame after so long..."
"Yes, yes," she replies as he speaks her name, trying to not waste time on the unimportant details. "What?!" she yells into the phone. "I didn't send someone to kill you!!" Well, not intentionally anyway. "I just know about it and this guy is deadly serious, trust me!" She makes a face. How wasted /is/ he? "Ugh. Just tell me which awful bar you're at."
"SENT someone? Oh man. That'd be even lamer. Hahaha! My bar? You are just trying to figure out where I am. Like... trying to scare me. When you know I'm drunk." How does that make any sense?! A sound of motion follows, then awkward footsteps. "So who's trying to kill me? Did you get a name? Hahaha. Like you'd waste money on an assassin... and anyone who wanted YOUR head wouldn't want MINE..."
Ayame grits her teeth. This guy is so impossible! "What?? No, I'm coming to get you out of there, you idiot. You're too drunk to even know what's going on. Just because you win some lousy NDP match doesn't mean you should blow it all on alcohol." Yeah, she saw his fight. "Huh? I don't know his name, he's some kind of psycho killer, okay? What are you babbling about now? Just- Just tell me where you're at already!"
"You call me after years... just to tell me someone's gonna kill me. And I don't believe you. And I'm the idiot?!" He doesn't sound very moved by what she said. The sound of a door creaking, then the crisp air of Metro City at night. The sound of voices fades away. "HEY!" He's shouting really loud. "IF SOMEONE IS TRYING TO KILL ME, ROLAND BROWN, I'M RIGHT HERE!!" That's the last thing he should be doing right now. "God. So why'd you never say hi? I thought we had a good dinner... see how it is... I can pay for it now, if that's the issue..." He sounds genuinely hurt, somewhere in his drunken demeanor.
"Eh?" Ayame pulls the phone away from her cheek to rub her face a moment in thought before bringing it back to her ear. "Hey, cut that out! The hell are you doing? Did you not listen to a thing I said? This guy is for real, and he's coming after /you/." He talks about the dinner again and Ayame inhales then exhales softly, "There was kind of a war after that, then things got crazy. It doesn't matter. Tell me where you /are/!"
"Oh my god, is this just a veiled attempt to meet me again? You really didn't have to cook up a story about a murderer. I mean... sure, there's someone around who wants to kill me... but... umm... wait, someone didn't, like, ask you where I was, did they?" He suddenly sounds concerned. That's news to Ayame; she wouldn't have known he had serious enemies that wanted his head. But it might be the ammunition she needs!!
Ayame runs her hand down her face then stares into the mirror overlooking her dressor as Roland prattles on, demonstrating impossible levels of denseness. She ughs softly. "What if they did?" she asks back to his more nervous question. "Fine, don't tell me where you are. Just... just stop making a scene of yourself, get off the streets, you have to have some safe place to crash. Go hide there then call me back!!"
"Wh,what's this about... you're acting weird, but sometimes you act weird, and that's part of the act. I know you!!" He can be heard walking down the sidewalk, assumably. Which means he's out in the open in the dead of night. Always a good thing, isn't it? Roland's name isn't unknown, especially if a serial killer kept tabs on 'talent'. Especially given he loves to share the wealth. Yes, Ayame might know about that. He always goes to a bar after an NDP fight, win or lose... and he had one today... with Brett. The Pirate's Cove, if she ever kept tabs on that.
"What's it about? It's about what I just told you, you daft idiot. Someone. Is after you. To kiiiiiilll yoooooooou. I can't say it any plainer than that!" She runs her hand through her hair in exhasperation then moves over to her pile of discarded clothing. The shreaded shirt is tossed away and Ayame begins to rapidly dress, strapping on her weapons in the process. She knows he's left the bar, so maybe he took her advice and is going somewhere safe. Now if she can just get him to stop shouting his name at the top of his lungs. She buckles her belt and slides her staff into the pouch dangling from it. Bending down, she begins to pull on socks and shoes. "Just, find some place to sober up at least, ugh."
"Man... listen, I'll believe you this once. But this is a big deal. I normally wouldn't believe anyone. And you are the last person I probably should. So--Wait a second." The phone is shifted, covered with a hand. "Hey, buddy. Get out of the way." A few moments pass. "I said... get out of the way." There's a drunken nervousness now. Then a muffled curse. The phone briefly spirals through the air, clattering heavily. The sounds of a fight. Violent, brutal. Then a peculiar SHINK sort of noise, followed by a loud cry of pain. Roland's. Wheezing gasps, then another, sudden flash of chi. Something thumps on the ground. Then another something. Quiet. Too quiet. The phone lifts off the ground. "...Your debt is repaid." Freeman. A beep, and the line goes dead.
He was fast. Ayame pulls the phone away from her ear and stares at it as the glow on it flicks off. She's dressed and on her feet, her weapons stowed. She moves to her laptop in the living room and wakes it out of its sleep. A long thought then she types his name into... search-wise.net. His previous appearance in the NDP is mentioned. Her eyes skim the latest NDP venues. There it is again - the date, today.
She backs up a page. A blog? Does he have a /fan/ in the world? Wait, what's with that URL? She makes a face. She'll never forgive him for those pictures! But it seems he's updated it far more recently than when they last encountered each other. She skims pages, looking for patterns, reading quickly, compiling a profile in that rapid, almost computer-like way of hers.
The phone is flicked open, it's been two minutes since the line went dead. 911 picks up. "Someone has been violently attacked on the street near The Pirate's Cove." she states urgently, turning to stride toward the door. She'll be on her way there, but an ambulance will likely get there faster. This late hour, the streets will be mostly clear, and she's stuck moving on foot. She stays on the phone long enough to be assured EMTs were dispatched then flicks it off, already on the stairs out of the warehouse.
Over and over, the haunting words echo in her mind. That whispered voice. 'Your debt is repaid.' If only, she thinks to herself as she steps out onto the street. It seems her debts are just about to skyrocket...
COMBATSYS: Ayame has ended the fight here.
Log created on 01:54:49 05/25/2012 by Freeman, and last modified on 16:17:14 05/28/2012.