Another two chapter instalment of my _Street Fighter_ fan fiction. This 
will be one of the last instalments as there are only a few chapters
left to post. Against, any comments are appreciated.

Chapter 11

There was a long silence after the blond fighter's challenge. Rose,
still a little surprised by the sudden arrival of Ken and the others,
hadn't moved an inch. Her shawl hung limply in her hands and the
exhilaration that had filled her during her sparring with Ryu had leaked
away. Replacing it was a sense of dread and darkness, very much like the
sensation she felt when she thought of the impending confrontation she
would have with the dark.

The tension grew as Ken stepped forward, his hands balled into fists.
His carefree eyes had hardened and the muscles around his eyes and jaw
were taut. Power crackled around his arms and the air became charged,
standing his hair on end. The energy pooled around his hands and
coalesced into a sphere as he brought his hands together. The sphere of
energy grew and grew and grew, its colour bleaching away until it was
nearly white.

Then the moment was dispelled. Ryu groaned and fell forward, holding his
bandaged ribs. Chun and Sakura were with him in an instant. The former
berated him loudly for sparring before he was ready; Sakura was silent.
Ken became aware of this only after a long moment and then he dispersed
the energy and let his hands drop to his sides. And then he ran from the
room.

* * * * *

"This is the place," said Adon, gesturing grandly with a broad sweep of
his arm.

They had arrived at a temple out in the Thai countryside after nearly an
hour of driving. It was secluded, well away from the city and other
signs of modern civilisation. The jungle was all around them and animal
calls filled the air, creating a sort of strange music that was oddly
pleasant, though completely discordant. There were no lights or torches,
but the moon was a bright white disc that illuminated the temple, making
it nearly as bright as day.

"This is a rather strange place to find tournament organisers," Charlie
remarked. "You'd think they'd be in the city, where all the money and
technology is. I've heard that they use some pretty advanced
referees..."

Adon glanced at the American pilot, a suspicious glint in his hard eyes.
"You know an awful lot about the fighting for a guy who said he didn't
know much. It makes me think that maybe you're up to something."

Charlie shook his head and effected as innocent an expression as he
could. "Me? Try anything? Hell no! I just heard a few things here and
there, some rumours--that's all. This is just a little surprising.
Business people just tend to have their headquarters in cities and this
isn't exactly a city, know what I mean? What do they sell, anyway?
Cigarettes?"

Adon looked at Charlie very closely and then, apparently deciding that
he was harmless, the kick boxer laughed and replied, "Something like
that. Anyway, the door's over there. I told them we'd be here in an hour
and we don't want them to wait too long. They don't like that."

Charlie nodded and indicated that Adon should lead the way. The path
that the wiry kick boxer took to get inside the temple was fairly
straight forward, but the path they took once they had entered the
ancient stone structure was difficult, to put it very mildly. There were
twists, turns, false doors and it was all done in minimal lighting. It
was only bright enough that Charlie could see Adon's red hair;
everything else was a dark blur or grey shadow.

"We're here," Adon announced, stopping in front of a greyish panel that
Charlie took to be a door. Flanking the door were two men, both masked,
wearing nondescript uniforms that looked like they had been issued by
the military. Trouble was, Charlie had no idea which one. None of the
markings or rank insignia were familiar, though he guessed that these
two had to be low ranking soldiers to have pulled guard duty.

"Let us in," said Adon to the guard on the right. "He's expecting us."

"We weren't told that there were going to be any visitors," said that
same guard. "You have any proof that you're supposed to be here today?"

Adon punched the guard's stomach in answer, causing him to collapse to
his knees, gagging. The other guard, not wanting any part of the kick
boxer's brand of proof, backed away and opened the door, ushering them
hurriedly into another dark room. It was pitch dark inside and the air
was heavy with the scent of burning incense. In fact, the incense was
the only thing that Charlie could smell. It was so powerful that it
masked everything else, even the odour of his own sweat.

The two waited in silence for several long moments. Finally Adon lost
his patience. "Come on out!" he shouted. "I'm tired of waiting."

There was a sound of rustling cloth, silk brushing against silk, and
then a small light came on in the centre of the room. It hung a mere
metre above and slightly behind the head of an immense giant of a man.
He was seated on an unadorned throne on a raised dais. The throne was
made out of stone and it looked like it had been carved right out of the
temple's rocks. His head and body were shrouded in shadows and there was
a cloak draped over his massive shoulders and arms.

"What business do you have here?" asked the giant, his voice rumbling
over the two smaller men like thunder. And yet, for all the force behind
it, the giant's voice was soft, a whisper, and very controlled. He
pronounced each word with great care and deliberateness.

"This is Charlie," said the red headed kick boxer. "He wants to join the
tournament."

There was a long silence and the giant turned his shadowy gaze upon the
American fighter pilot. The gaze raised the fine hairs all along the
back of the pilot's neck and an uncomfortable cold grew in his stomach.
He felt as if the gaze was boring straight through him.

"Is he a warrior?" asked the giant, lifting his gaze away.

Adon shrugged and replied, "He can fight. Don't know much about him
beyond that."

The giant smiled and a great slash of white teeth split his face in two.
He stood up very quickly and Charlie suppressed a small gasp. The giant
was well over seven feet tall and his body was heavily muscled. He moved
down from his throne with the same deliberateness with which he spoke.
Each step suggested power and immense control. The small pit of cold in
Charlie's stomach grew larger and enveloped his body.

"Come," said the giant. "Come and show me if you are indeed a warrior!"

And then he moved, astonishingly quickly for a man of his size. The
giant leapt at Charlie, his cloak billowing out behind him. Charlie
spent a moment staring at the cloak and paid for his mistake as the
giant's sledgehammer sized fists struck him in the chest and face. The
blows rocked Charlie back precious steps that gave him enough time to
duck one of the giant's kicks. Even so, the first series of blows had
down a great deal of damage already, and the blood was rushing in the
pilot's ears and around his eyes. He felt faint and light-headed, as if
he were in a plane and was performing manoeuvres at high speed. Indeed,
his reflexes had slowed and it was all he could do to raise his arms to
deflect the giant's blows as best as he could.

"Come," said the giant, his voice so stern and serious that it didn't
even seem like he was taunting the pilot. "Come and show me your warrior
spirit. How did you expect to enter the tournament as you are, hmm? Did
you think you would be fighting children?"

Charlie shook his head and one of the giant's fists caught his fastened
onto it like a vise. Charlie felt himself being lifted and felt a
tremendous strain on his neck, which was forced to bear all of his
weight. Through a haze of red and pain, he felt the first blow that laid
waste to his chest and stomach.

"You are weak," said the giant, punctuating each word with a punch to
the pilot's gut. "Insignificant pretender," he said, smashing his fist
into the pilot's battered and wounded body, this time with each
syllable. Charlie was at this point beyond the sensation of pain. Each
blow fell on deaf ears, drowned out as they were by the chorus of
shrieks that came from nearly every portion of his anatomy.

"Die."

And the giant dropped him and stepped away from his quivering flesh. The
giant's command was tempting, oh so very tempting. His chest was burning
and at least a third of his ribs were broken and it was completely
possible, judging by the difficulty he was having breathing, that some
of his organs had been punctured. Blood was trickling forth from his
mouth and nostrils and the taste was strong. His eyes were beginning to
swell and soon he wouldn't be able to see. With agonising slowness he
made his decision.

A moment later, the giant spoke. "Is he dead?"

Adon moved to Charlie's fallen body and shook his head. "No; he's dying,
though."

"Very well. Take him to the infirmary. He will be given a bye into the
fourth round."

Adon nodded, his eyes narrowing in resentment.

The giant met the kick boxer's gaze evenly and after a while the smaller
man turned away, his face flushing in the dark. "Someday, Sagat, I will
be strong enough to beat you."

"I am waiting, Adon. I am waiting. For now, go and found a quiet, safe
place and train. When you are ready, return to me and show me if you
have a warrior spirit."

"Like Ryu, maybe...?" asked Adon, the resentment giving way to a sly
grin.

Sagat fingered his chest unconsciously, his hand tracing the great scar
that ran from his abdomen to his left shoulder. "I misjudged the boy. I
won't make the same mistake again when we next meet. But you, Adon... I
know what you are capable of. You cannot surprise me."

"Maybe. Maybe not. I've learned a few things, _Sensei,_" said Adon.
Then, before Sagat could reply, the red headed kick boxer took the
unconscious pilot into his arms and left the dark chamber. Adon gone,
Sagat resumed his seat on his throne, his fingers once again tracing the
great scar that would forever mark him as one of Ryu's greatest
victories. "I misjudged you, boy," he said aloud, his voice echoing
hollowly in the empty chamber. "I misjudged you..."

* * * * *

Charlie awoke to find himself lying on a thin cot in a small, dimly lit
room. Strangely enough he didn't feel injured, though he knew that he'd
been right on death's threshold when he had lapsed into unconsciousness.
Curious, the pilot swung his legs off the bed and stood up slowly,
testing his body's condition. He felt a little light-headed, and a
little weak, but that wasn't unusual after a lot of sleep. He could feel
no broken bones or bruises, and he could find no cuts, either.
"Strange," he thought to himself. He wondered how long he had been
unconscious.

At that moment the door swung open and Adon came in, followed by a woman
Charlie didn't recognise. Adon fumbled around in the dim light and
flicked on a light switch. An incandescent light bulb came on overhead.
The bright light was painfully bright and it hurt the pilot's eyes, as
if they hadn't been exposed to light in a long while.

"You're up and awake," said Adon. "We wondering if you'd ever wake up."

Charlie nodded, sitting down, the short time he'd spent standing proving
too exhausting. The woman, a short blond with her hair done in a long
braid, put a tray laden with food down on the table beside him and
stepped back, crossing her arms over her chest. She wasn't native to
Thailand, Charlie was sure. Her skin was milky white and her blond hair
looked natural, not dyed. Her big blue eyes, too, had their roots
outside of Asia. He noticed then that she had a long scar on her right
cheek that trailed down to the corner of her jaw. She was wearing a dark
turquoise jump suit that resembled army fatigues. An inverted red
triangle with a skull and wings decorated her left breast. He recognised
the symbol.

"How long have I been unconscious?" he asked, turning his attention back
to Adon.

"A week and a half," answered the kick boxer. "You were a long time
recovering, Charlie. He nearly killed you."

The pilot nodded, needing no reminder. The memory of the brief, brief
fight was still fresh on his mind. So too was the knowledge of how
severe his wounds had been. In fact, now that he was thinking about it,
he realised that unless they had rushed him to a modern American
hospital in record time, in say, under 30 minutes, that he should be
dead. They were obviously hiding some very advanced medical technology
somewhere deep inside the temple. The question was how and why they had
it.

"So, am I in the tournament?"

Adon nodded. "Yeah, you made it in the hard way. Not too many people
survive a beating like that," said the kick boxer, a healthy respect in
his tone. "I didn't think that they made Americans that tough. Anyway,
you'll want to get your strength back, so eat. Your gear's in the
corner, by the way, in case you were wondering. I'm going to leave Cammy
here to watch you. She can answer any other questions that you might
have."

Charlie nodded and Adon went out of the room. Cammy shut the door behind
the kick boxer and resumed her place against the wall. "Eat, and regain
your strength," she said. Cammy had an English accent, though it was
very slight. He thought he could hear a slight Scottish burr, though he
was no linguistics expert and could not be certain. Nodding, Charlie
uncovered the tray and its wholesome treasures. The rich aroma of hot
coffee hit him first, and then it was joined and mingled with the scent
of fresh baked bread, eggs, and sausage. Charlie realised that he was
very, very hungry and his concerns about the tournament organisers
dissolved in the face of his powerful, all consuming appetite.

"Do you have any questions?" she asked, when he had finished wolfing
down the last crumbs of his breakfast.

His hunger abated, Charlie's thoughts returned to his mission. "That
giant--the one who beat me into a bloody pulp--who is he?"

"His name is Sagat. He is the former Street Fighter champion."

"That's Sagat?" asked Charlie. In his briefings, he had been given a
description of Sagat. Up until now he had not connected the description
in his notes--the cold, clinical numbers--with the giant that had nearly
killed him. He had expected great strength, yes, and even a little
speed, but Sagat had surpassed every expectation he had and it had
nearly cost him his life. To be told that there was a man somewhere in
the world who could meet the mountain of muscle known as Sagat and fight
him on even terms and win... Well, that was just incredible. "Someone
actually beat that guy?"

"Yes, Sagat is no longer undefeated."

"Who's the guy who beat him?"

Cammy hesitated for a fraction of a second before answering. "A Japanese
fighter named Ryu."

Charlie caught the hesitation and wondered what the reason for it was.
The name Ryu was familiar; he thought he'd seen it somewhere in his
notes. Perhaps he was one of the people that Agent Li was with...? Could
that be it? How common a name was Ryu, anyway? He understood that it
meant dragon or something in Japanese, and that the names of several of
the main characters in his favourite video games were named Ryu, but
surely it wasn't really that popular a name. And besides, what were the
chances that Chun Li had latched onto that particular Ryu? And why was
he important?

"Is he in the tournament?" asked Charlie, wanting to be sure.

Cammy nodded, her head dipping down once.

'So," he thought to himself. "Li is with this Ryu. That's a good thing,
I guess. She can keep an eye on him.'

"Do you have any further questions?" she asked him.

'Plenty,' he thought. 'Like what other things do they have here?
Missiles, maybe?'

He replied, "No. That's about it, I guess."

Cammy nodded and left. When he was certain that she was gone and that he
wouldn't be disturbed, Charlie reached for his gear and checked through
it. Charlie felt a little sick. Someone had looked through his bag and
not made any attempt to hide it. So _they _knew who he was. The
woman--Cammy--she was a Shadowlaw agent and a look through his papers
confirmed it. The skull and wings insignia she had worn on her breast
was Shadowlaw, all right.

So Shadowlaw was definitely involved with the tournament, and they'd
made significant investments in technology, and they knew who he was. He
wondered briefly why they hadn't killed him straight away. Then,
counting his blessings, he decided that it didn't matter. What mattered
was that he was in the tournament.

* * * * *

"You're an idiot, Ryu," said Chun again, as she helped remove the
bandages around his chest and ribs. They had made a quick, tense trip to
a hospital on the mainland after the fighter's collapse. X-rays had
shown that his ribs were nearly whole, which was good. The rest of the
doctor's examination showed that he had strained several of his muscles,
which was bad. A week had passed and now the bandages were coming off.
Ken had already gone off with the others to fight his fourth round
match. She had volunteered to stay behind and look after Ryu. She shook
her head. "If you hadn't taken her up on her challenge, Ryu, you would
have been healthy sooner."

Ryu was silent. The fighter was sitting cross-legged on the _tatami,
_deep in thought, while the Chinese inspector pulled away the last of
the bandages. "There," she said, patting him lightly. "Good as new." She
frowned when he didn't reply. Since Rose's arrival Ryu had been quiet,
more so than usual, and he often fell into deep silences that he was
reluctant to leave. "Ryu?" she said again, tapping him lightly on his
shoulder. "Are you listening to me?"

He started and blinked a few times, looking at her as if he had just
noticed that she was kneeling there beside him. "Oh, I'm sorry, Chun. I
wasn't paying attention. What did you say?"

"Nothing much," she said, her expression stony. "Look, the bandages are
all off and it looks like you'll be able to fight soon."

He nodded as if he had only vaguely heard her words and she realised
that most of his attention was still not with her. Her expression became
hard. Chun knelt in front of her dark haired friend and placed her hands
on his shoulders. "Ryu," she said, shaking him a little. "You are going
to pay attention to me. Is that clear?" she asked, shaking him harder
for emphasis.

Ryu nodded, his attention finally on her. "Yes, what is it, Chun?"

"You've been very quiet, Ryu. Ever since Rose arrived you've shut
yourself up alone in your room and when you weren't there you were here
in the _dojo,_ just sitting quietly on the floor alone. Is there
something wrong, Ryu?"

"I've been thinking about what Rose said..."

Chun Li sighed. "Do you really believe her, Ryu? I mean, it's a very far
fetched story, fantasy, really."

Ryu answered by raising his right hand. He brought it up before her eyes
and motioned for her to watch, and very carefully. He concentrated for a
moment and a small blue spark appeared in the centre of his palm. The
spark danced before her eyes, leaping from finger to finger, growing
each instant until it was a small ball roughly the size of a cantaloupe
just sitting in his palm.

"Touch it," he said.

Trembling, she reached forward and touched the ball, her hand tentative
and shy. When her finger touched the ball she reacted as if she had just
been shocked, her eyes squeezing shut, but the truth was she felt only
heat exuding from the surface and nothing at all that was harmful.
Opening her eyes, she pushed her hand into the ball until it was
completely engulfed in the blue fire.

"I can do this," said Ryu. "Can you explain it away?"

"I must be delusional," she said, but it was clear that she believed.
Her thoughts flitted to Gouken's sacrifice and she knew that she
couldn't explain what had happened there, either. She knew only that it
had happened. "No," she said at last, withdrawing her hand. "I can't
explain how you do that, but I don't know what this has to do with you.
You've a tournament to win and I've a case to solve and criminals to
arrest."

"There's more to it than that, Chun," he said, with a shake of his head.

"Maybe, but do we have to concern ourselves with it? I mean, who says
that you're really this champion that Rose has been looking for?"

Then Ryu sighed and she knew that that was precisely the question that
he had spent so much time pondering. "I don't know," he said. "I
couldn't defeat my own demon--how am I supposed to deal with this great
evil that Rose seems to think I'm destined to meet?"

 "Ryu," she said gently, "you don't have to do it alone. Besides, what
if Rose is wrong? All I know is that there's a criminal organisation
using this tournament to achieve their goals and I want to stop them.
Are you with me?"

Ryu was silent for a moment. Then, nodding, he answered, "Yes. I'm with
you."

Chun Li smiled.

Chapter 12

Ken ducked beneath the punch and felt the rapid displacement of air
above his head. In almost the same motion, the blond martial artist
stepped to the side in time to evade the next strike meant for his
kidneys and then a blow aimed at his ribs. Ken adroitly dodged all the
attacks and flipped backwards a ways to give himself a chance to
recuperate. He was sweating and his hair was plastered to his scalp in a
sodden blond mass. Droplets of sweat ran from his scalp, collecting into
small tributaries that wound their way down the sides of his face, down
his jaw.

He was fighting his fourth round match in an arena packed close to
capacity with a roaring crowd of fans. The tournament match had been
tacked onto the end of a wrestling card as a surprise special bonus.
Wrestler against martial artist, the announcer had proclaimed, in a
loud, booming voice that scarcely needed the black microphone he held in
his thick fingered hands. The crowd, already excited to the breaking
point by the main event of the evening, had exploded to the next level
of stimulation by the titillating news of a bonus match. The vendors did
a brisk business, selling their candy, their popcorn, and their beer and
the crowd split very readily into factions: about half of them were
firmly behind the blond _karate_ master and the other half endorsed his
opponent.

Ken's opponent was a hulking man of gargantuan proportions. His huge
chest was covered with a coarse mat of dark hair that was a match for
the vertical strip he wore on his otherwise bald head. His arms were
larger than the trunks of most trees and covered in a network of ugly
pink scars that continued across his torso and down the pillars of his
legs. There was even a large welt across his forehead that pulsed in
time with the vein throbbing at his temple.

"American coward," said the man, his English slurred with a heavy
Russian accent. "Stop jumping around and I will pull out your arms like
you were an insect."

"You've got to catch me first," muttered Ken in reply, thinking darkly
that the Russian could probably make good on his threat--if he caught
him. The trouble was the big Russian was surprisingly quick for a man of
his size. That coupled with the unbelievable strength in his massive
frame made the Russian fighter dangerous and a man to be reckoned with,
even if he was a wrestler.
_<P ALIGN="JUSTIFY">"Do not underestimate your opponent for any reason.
All warriors--whether they are trained in our art, _kung fu, boxing,_ or
_wrestling--_are dangerous."
_<P ALIGN="JUSTIFY">The words came back to Ken like an oft-neglected
mantra. That had been one of the first lessons that Gouken had attempted
to drill into his last two students. In Ken, unfortunately, the lesson
had never quite sunken in. The battles and victory had come too easily,
and the praise and adoration that came with winning were constants in
his life that had continued into the professional fighting circuit.
There weren't any other fighters of his calibre in the circuit and the
rules and restrictions, even as loose as they were, could never simulate
the true chaos of battle, as Ken was quickly discovering to his chagrin.

His breath recovered, Ken moved back into the fight very slowly, trying
to guess his opponent's--Zangief's--next move. This wasn't easy. Ken had
never had the opportunity to fight many wrestlers in his life and his
training had included only so much in the way of those specialised
tactics and strategies that were to be employed against a grappler. So
Ken waited, willing his impatience away and hoping for the calm and
insight--or a mistake on the wrestler's part--that would allow him to
win the battle.

Then, displaying his amazing, for his size, speed, Zangief rushed
forward, his left arm extended outwards from his body like a
clothesline. The arm caught Ken just beneath his collarbone, knocking
him off his feet and onto his back. The impact with the ground sent the
air whistling out of the blond fighter's lungs for an instant. Through a
shining haze, Ken saw Zangief's towering form standing above him. The
big Russian was posing for the benefit of the crowd on hand. His beefy
right fist was raised high in the air and he was signalling for the
final blow. Ken saw his chance to change the tide of the match and, not
being one to let an opportunity pass him by, he took it.

 He rose, quick as a shot, to his feet, standing right in front of the
very surprised Russian wrestler. The blond launched a series of punches,
his fists connecting solidly with the side of the wrestler's head and
jaw. Ken swivelled and caught the Russian with a kick beneath his jaw
that whipped the wrestler's head back like a whip. Zangief could do
nothing but absorb the punishment and, following the kick, he had only
enough sense remaining to his embattled faculties to step backwards and
protect his face and chest with his massive arms. The _karate_ master,
sensing his advantage, stepped forward and pressed the assault, his
fists relentlessly doling out punishment. When it was all said and done,
Ken was standing over the fallen wrestler's body, his fists sore and
reddened, but victorious.

"That was so cool how you let him think he was beating you for the match
and then got up and showed him who was boss and put him down on the mat
like that with a _shoryuken_!" said Sakura, her words meshing together
in her haste to get them from her mouth. The three women had been
sitting amongst the crowd of onlookers, watching the battle with varying
degrees of enthusiasm. Rose had watched with an appraising eye, gauging
the blond's fighting ability. Sakura had cheered when Ken was winning
and booed when he was losing. Eliza had watched the proceedings quietly,
her hands clasped in her lap, the knuckles white. They had joined him in
his dressing room afterwards.

He grinned. "Yeah, well, it was pretty easy to do," he said, lying
easily. "Still, it was a little tiring, you know? Why don't you ladies
go back to the hotel? I'm going to shower and change and I'll join you
later for dinner."

Eliza managed a thin smile and nodded for the three of them. "We'll see
you later then."

The blond fighter replied with a nod and, with a grin, he watched until
they had left. When they had, Ken slumped to the floor, his sweat slick
back sliding down the metal lockers. His body ached and it was by a
small act of God that he didn't have any broken bones or other, possibly
more serious injuries. Sighing, he folded his legs beneath him and
forced an element of calm into his thoughts. He was in the fifth round
and there were only two more rounds until he would become the champion
and face whatever the evil was that Rose was so worried about.

And he fully intended to be the one to face the evil. The field of
fighters in the tournament had narrowed considerably, and the names were
well known to him. He had fought or seen most of his prospective
opponents and there was not a single one among them that Ryu had not
defeated in combat previously. And if Ryu could beat them so, indeed,
could he. And the final test would be Ryu himself.

And Ken had yet to lose a match to his long time friend and rival.

* * * * *

"I'm supposed to face him?" Dan asked, turning to look at his sponsor.

Sponsor was his word. Oppressor, master, boss, and prospective dictator
probably served Rolento better. Dan preferred boss, but he didn't like
the old bad _kung fu_ connotations that boss carried. Sponsor sounded
much nicer and cleaner; it was certainly more legal.

Rolento's gaze was flinty and Dan wondered for a brief moment if he
would strike him with his baton, which the self-styled general seemed to
be overly fond of doing. Rolento only nodded, the gesture curt and
strained, and said in his soft, precise voice, "Yes, Hibiki. He is to be
your next opponent. I expect you to put some effort into this battle. Do
you understand me?"

Dan nodded quickly, his head bobbing up and down, his short ponytail
lagging behind. The last time he had asked Rolento to repeat his
instructions had resulted in a long day that Dan found himself unable to
remember. That was probably a very good thing, because merely thinking
about it caused Dan's head to ache and his body to tingle in a way that
was most unpleasant. He felt as if ants were crawling all over his body;
or perhaps they were spiders. He really wasn't certain which it
was--insect or arachnid--but he knew that he didn't like it.

"Well, well, well," said Rolento, his eyes narrowing. "It would appear
that your opponent has high placed sponsors as well. He is accompanied
by one of Sagat's cronies and a more obvious Shadowlaw agent."

Shadowlaw was one of Rolento's more popular subjects of conversation. He
mentioned it in conjunction with drugs, armies, and world
domination--often all in the same breath. Dan tried his best to tune out
the general's ranting when the topic of Shadowlaw came up, and he often
paid for it, suffering a few token blows from the stiff baton that
Rolento always carried. Dan figured that was for the best. He didn't
think that he could be arrested if he knew nothing at all about his
sponsor's business and he knew that crazy, maniacal, would-be dictators
were always stopped. That's the way it always happened in television and
the movies, after all.

Dan's attention was caught by the mention of his nemesis, however.
'Maybe if I talk with them I can get closer to Sagat,' thought Dan. But
he was at a loss as to what tact he should take to approach them. How
did you talk with a person about taking revenge against his employer?

"He doesn't look too tough," said Dan, mustering an ounce of bravado
from his ever-flowing reserves. "He has a stupid hair cut, too. Guys
with stupid hair cuts always lose." That was another bit of movie and
television wisdom that the erstwhile martial artist subscribed to.

Rolento held back his comments.

The fight was over in a matter of minutes because Dan's opponent looked
a little rusty and a little unsure of himself. He had gained confidence
with every hit that he landed against Dan, however, and with confidence
he gained skill and sureness. A few well placed punches and kicks later
found Dan lying in a senseless heap on the ground, the mechanical
referee announcing the results of the fourth round fight while Rolento
paced angrily back and forth, his baton snapped neatly into two equal
pieces.

* * * * *

The night was hot and sticky. The humidity was palpable. It was a solid
wall of moisture that caused flesh to sweat and lapse into lethargy. His
eyelids were heavy with disappointment. He had come so close, so close!
What galled him the most, however, was that he had placed his hopes,
pinned his dreams, on a loser. He was tempted to shoot himself and end
his misery. But he shook his head. There would be other tournaments,
other opportunities, and he would seek them and exploit them to the best
of his ability. He shook his head and tapped his baton with his free
hand. There would be chances, yes. Of that he was certain.

He was startled by a sound behind him. He turned and saw a shadow
advancing towards him in the gloom. A thin line of thread glinted in the
starlight. A figure walked forward, gradually resolving from a mere
shadow into a shape with definite form. She was female, not tall, and
slim. The strand of thread was held loosely between her two hands, the
bottom end of the loop just below the small silver cross she wore on a
chain around her neck. She advanced towards him and he knew that there
would be no further chances.

* * * * *

"That was a fourth round match?" Charlie asked afterwards. It was late
and they had returned to their rooms minus Cammy, who'd gone off alone
to do some private business. It was hot and very humid despite the air
conditioner. The ceiling fan, which should have been a redundant piece
of the decor, was spinning above their heads, its motor whirring
incessantly but quietly. Charlie was seated at the table, a half-filled
glass of water in his hand. The pilot had acquitted himself well in his
match, if it could be considered that. Somehow he had been under the
impression that the competition would be much stiffer.

Adon shrugged. The kick boxer was leaning against the doorframe, his
tanned frame in stark contrast to the white paint that covered the walls
of Charlie's hotel room. "Sometimes a loser gets lucky and manages to
get this far into the tournament. Usually it doesn't happen. Usually."

Charlie blinked, hearing a note in Adon's voice that suggested that the
kick boxer was not telling him everything. The pilot's glasses slid
forward on his slick wet skin and he pushed them back into place with a
finger, his eyes narrowing. "You're not telling me everything. That
guy--Dan--he wasn't up to snuff, at all. Why even let a guy like that
into the tournament in the first place?"

"It wasn't Dan we were interested in," replied Adon. "There were bigger
fish to fry and Dan was just a convenient excuse." And that was all that
the kick boxer would say on the topic, no matter how much Charlie
prodded him. The pilot gave up after several attempts, resigning himself
to doing a little detective work in the morning. Something occurred to
him.

"I'm into the fifth round now. Who's my next opponent going to be? Do
you know yet?"

"I do," said Adon in reply, and that was clearly all he was going to say
on the subject.

Charlie sighed loudly and took a long draught of his water. The lights
went out around him and when he looked up again, Adon was gone. In his
place stood Cammy. She had just entered the room, apparently as Adon had
been leaving, and the door swung shut behind her. The blond Englishwoman
was quiet and returned Charlie's gaze calmly.

"You fought well," she said, in a listless voice.

"Thanks," he answered. "Where did you go?"

Cammy looked away as she replied. "I cannot say. Good night, Charlie."
As she turned, the light from the moon and the stars caught on her
necklace, causing the small cross to light up like a small star in its
own right.

"God keep you," he said.

She paused at the door. "I don't know if I believe in God," she said
finally, turning to look at him over her shoulder. "I can't remember if
I do." And then she left, the door swinging closed again behind her.
Charlie nodded, alone in the dark, a little bemused by her revelation.
He wasn't certain what she'd meant by her words. 'How do you forget your
own religion?' he thought to himself. He did, however, suspect what she
had done on her little side trip. The iron scent of blood had wafted in
with her and it lingered in the hot, humid air.

Regards,

DucThe Truong
DWC @ <http://welcome.to/dwc>
Thinkin' different.