Hi everybody!
  I'm Mark, a short time subscriber, first-time poster.  What follows is the 
teaser/prologue/initial stuff of an original anime-style story I'm working 
on (and off... ^-^), which I hope manages to fit into the forum here.  C&C 
is welcome... amount of feedback will probably determine whether or not I 
continue with this.
  Well, enough of that.  We now present our feature presentation.

  Author's note: This is an original work.  All characters contained within 
are the property, and product of the author.  The author *would*, however, 
like to note influence from the following sources:
  >the voices in my head
  >White Wolf Games (specifically Demon Hunter X, and Werewolf: The 
Apocolypse... the demon hunter character, and Boundry concept are loosely 
based on characters and concepts from those worthy games)
  >Buffy the Vampire Slayer -a shoujo style show if I ever saw one
  >and various anime, and manga, with out whose influence, I'd have no idea 
how to write this.  ^-^
  Lastly, the following story contains violent action sequences, and adult 
language, and situations, and may not not be suitable for some readers.  
Reader discretion is advised.

  *Hong Kong*

  Wen Li sighed, and closed the ledger.  Profits were down, and the small 
curio shop was just barely breaking even.  Business had been in a steady 
decline, ever since the Takeover, and it didn't look to be leveling off 
soon.  Now he almost regretted taking the business off of his uncle's 
hands... and occaisionaly wondered if the old wretch had planned this.  Or 
cursed him.
  While he didn't put much belief in the 'mystical' properties of his 
merchandise, the old man had.  Enough that the old man had marked certain 
objects off in the thick, dusty manifest he kept, saying that they could 
not, under any circumstances be sold.
  Wen had smiled, and complied with the old man at first.  After all... it 
didn't cost him anything, and there were only a few objects.  He did note, 
upon actualy examining them, that they might fetch a more than decent price 
on the market, but the old man had been adamnant, and well, his uncle wasn't 
easy to ignore.
  Then, as business suddenly started to dip, Wen's resolve began to faulter. 
  It was only the presence of his elderly uncle, and his wrath, that kept 
him in check.  Then, last month, the old man had died.
  Wen resisted the urge at first... then sold off one of the pieces, 
rationalizing that it was just one, and he desperately needed the money.  
The second piece was sold for much the same reason... then the third, and 
fourth.  Finally, he sold just about all of it, but even with the boosts the 
rarities brought in, it was looking grim.
  A soft noise behind him drew his attention from the battered cover of the 
accounting ledger.  He turned in his chair, expecting the see Wang, his 
assistant.
  The figure that stood hidden in the shadows outside the illumination of 
his desk lamp didn't resemble the short, potbellied Wang at all.  The 
stranger was tall, and built like a rail.  While his face was obscured by 
the darkness, Wen could see he ws wearing a long coat, and a ratty stocking 
cap.  Long hair hung in thin strands from under the cap, further hiding the 
man's features.
  "Who are you?" Wen asked, rising angrily to his feet, one hand reaching 
into his desk for the small revolver he used for protection.
  "Where's Kung Li Ho?" the stranger said, his speech seeded with an accent 
Wen couldn't identify.
  "My uncle?" Wen replied, surprised.  "He died a month ago."
  The stranger didn't move, but somehow, he seemed to swell, filling the 
room with an overpowering presence.  Wen shivered, as a sliver of ice split 
his spine, and his hand closed reflexively over the grip of the pistol, but 
he didn't pull it out just yet.
  "And he put you in charge of the store?" the stranger asked, the 
overwhelming pressure fading slightly.
  "I bought it from  him, yes," Wen said, narrowing his eyes.  He released 
the gun, and reached for the desk lamp he'd been reading by.
  "Then you're the one who's been selling those cursed items," the stranger 
said, and the presence swelled again, this time with a shading of anger that 
stopped Wen, his hand almost at the lamp.
  "Items?" he said, collecting himself.  "Oh, please-"
  The stranger moved so quickly that Wen didn't even see him move.  All he 
knew was one moment, he was standing, the next he was sitting in his chair.  
The stranger was holding him pinned with one hand at his throat.  Despite 
his thin figure, the hand was like an iron vice.  Wen clawed helplessly, 
trying to gasp air around the grip.
  "There was a statue, about three feet tall, of buhdda, made of red clay.  
What happened to it?"
  "Guk?"  Dark spots were floating in Wen's vision, as the grip loosened 
enough for air to pass more freely.  He gulped a few breaths.
  "Who are you?" he rasped, the words hurting his throat, which he was sure 
was bruised.
  "The statue.  What happened to it?"  The grip tightened again.
  "S-sold it..."
  "To who?"
  "F-f-foreign collector... needed the... needed the... the... money..."
  "Who?"  The question wasn't spoken above converstational tones, actually a 
bit lower, but the force of will behind the word struck Wen like a physical 
blow.
  "D-don't... know... private... c-c..."  He couldn't get the last word out. 
  The room was starting to swirl, darkening around the edges.
  Then the grip was gone, and air rushed into his lungs like a cool, searing 
breeze.  He choked, gasped, then coughed.  He leaned forward onto his desk 
realizing that his attacker had moved.  One hand started to reach for his 
pistol.
  Tunk.
  A blade nearly an inch across appeared just between his middle and ring 
finger.  He followed it up to the hilt of a well tended gim, which was held 
by the stranger, who was standing on the other side of his desk.  Wen looked 
back down at his hand, and realized the sword was sunk half way into the 
hard oak of the desk.  Either the sword was razor sharp, or the stranger was 
incredibly stong.
  Or both.
  Either way, he forgot about the gun, and worried more about how he was 
going to remove the stain from his trousers.
  "Who?" The question was in the same tone as it was  before.  Wen shivered, 
and tried to stop his hand from trembling so close to the sword's blade.
  "A-a private company made the deal, as a proxy for a foreign collector..." 
  His voice trailed off, as the stranger stood motionless, staring at him.
  "What's the name of the company?"
  "Uh... I don't recall... but I've got the bill around here somewhere..."  
Wen withdrew his hand, and started shuffling through the papers on his desk, 
before finally holding one up.  "Ah here we-"
  The stranger reached out and took the paper with one hand, the other 
pulling the sword out of the desk.  It slid out smoothly, with a quiet hiss 
that meant it had been a clean cut.  The blade was difinitely sharp.
  "What-?" the stanger said suddenly.  Wen, who'd been watching the sword, 
jerked his gaze up towards the stranger's face.  Although he couldn't see 
the features, he could hear the surprise in the man's voice.
  "Is something wrong?" he asked softly.
  The stranger's gaze shifted, and focused on him.  Slowly, the tip of the 
sword drifted in the air until it was pointed directly at Wen's throat.
  "If I find out you've sold anymore of those items, I'll be back to speak 
with you.  You've caused enough damage as it is.  Do we have an 
understanding?"
  Wen nodded, not trusting his voice.
  "Good, now-"  The stranger stopped in mid sentence, and was staring behind 
Wen's shoulder, the sword snapping back, and away.  Wen whirled reflexively, 
but saw nothing.  When he turned back, the stranger was gone.
  Wen put both hands on the desk, and tried to breath deep, calming breaths. 
  Deep calming breaths.  It was some time before he managed to calm himself 
down.
  It was even longer before he realized the stanger had taken the strong box 
with his week's sales in it.

  ***


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