Fighting Chance Vol 2 #15

Sweat ran down his forehead as he ran, a full sprint after rooftop runs already a lot. Concrete slapped loud under his sneakers, a heavy beat that was still too goddamn slow to outrun those words hammering inside his skull.

Weapon.

Expendable.

Kid's not irreplaceable.

The words just kept echoing, chasing him faster than his feet could move, and he was burning it, eating up these dark piss-smelling blocks cause what else was he supposed to do? Stand there? Go back?

Useful. Just... useful.

Fuck.

He'd bought it. Like a fuckin’ idiot, he swallowed that whole "simple math" speech like it was gospel, looked at all those pictures of traffickers and terrorist shit Stick had shoved in his face week after week and thought yeah, this makes sense, this is right.

He’d bought everything. You ain't no soldier. You a whole-ass fool, bruh. A clown.

He ignored Colleen for this. He hung up on the person that had his back all this time; deleted her texts, ignored her calls, lied about where he was going.

For what? For that old blind bastard? For the stupid fucking mission?

He had just wanted to get strong enough to keep the evil ninja he pissed off from cutting his head off out of nowhere. Somewhere in the middle of that, he’d gotten caught up in trying to take them on like he was a tiny Black Bruce Bond or some shit.

Stupid. So stupid.

Hell, he could still remember that big dude Stick called Stone, man’s voice like a whole engine rumbling in the back of his head. Him and Stick, calling him expendable, replaceable; calling his survival a bonus.

Zain grit his teeth so hard they almost hurt.

Bonus. Like a Happy Meal toy or some shit.

He wasn't even angry for real, not the real type of hot-angry. Nah, cause that would've been easier, that would've been normal. What he had in his gut was the cold shit, icy anger sitting under his skin his whole life just freezing into something sharp and mean.

His chain rattled against his waist, metal links digging in with each step, but he couldn’t even pay any attention to that. Gotta get to her. Gotta fix this. There wasn’t anything left to do but to go to Sens-

No, he had to go to Colleen with the truth. Need to say sorry. Truth, there was nothing left to do but apologize.

The word almost felt weird, too honest and too real, but it was true. On god, it was true.

I’m fuckin’ done. That was another truth.

He was done with all of this. The fuckin’ shadows, the war, the math that added up to him being replaceable fertilizer for some old Stinkmeaner ass white dude.

Zain grit his teeth again, fingers flexing as he cut through a construction site. A split second later, his feet left the ground as he vaulted a chain-link fence; grip almost ripping the whole thing off the post, metal groaning loud under his fingers. 

Barely a second later, he landed light on gravel, barely a sound.

Rebar and steel poked up at the sky, the whole site surrounded by concrete half-poured and still setting. All of it was just a maze of trailers and scaffolding, the stench of wet dirt and gasoline filling the air. He dodged a stack of plywood, mind still running laps around those words-

HSSSSS—

Even before his brain caught up, Zain dived the second he caught the sound; his body all motion as he tucked and rolled on gravel, rocks digging into his palms.

SHHHINK.

The teenager locked up mid-roll, heart trying to beat its way out through his ribs.

Where his head had been half a second ago—

Zain stared right up at a knife. Black, thin, buried hilt-deep in the corrugated metal side of a trailer.

…yo?

He was already on his feet, scrambling back with wide eyes, before the thought finished forming.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

By the time he stood up straight, they dropped from the scaffolding, from trailer roofs, from everywhere; black pajamas, red cloth wrapped around heads, masks covering faces.

Eight, ten, twelve—nah, they just kept fucking coming. In a few seconds, a whole squad spread out around him in this construction site.

No posing, no talking, no movie villain speech as they all fanned out into a circle, cutting off the chain-link fence, the street beyond, the gap between trailers; all of them blocking every exit he could see and more he probably couldn’t.

This… His breath came faster, matching his heartbeat as his fingers flexed so tight into fists that it hurt. This isn't training. This isn't Stick testing me.

This was it.

The fuckin' Hand.

One of them stepped forward, taking a spot in the middle of the circle. Zain flinched as he took the guy in, something the way the dude stood making his gut twist; different, this one was different. Mr. Different drew two swords from his back; two ninjatos flickering as he pulled them out, oily red light sliding off them like blood mixed with motor oil.

…ki?

Zain felt his eye twitch. First Stick and now this dickhead… He had just gotten the shit a couple weeks ago, how did every asshole who could throw a punch have it now?

“The Eight-Span Oni Chain…” A voice came out of the swordsman; dry, sandpapered, almost like Stick's with a Japanese accent. "Belongs to the Hand."

The red glare on his ninja swords brightened for a split second. "Your death is merely a bonus."

Zain’s eye twitched again, fingers tight as he watched them, the weight of the chain around his waist suddenly even more noticeable.

Fifteen assassins all for him, each one of them spread out with weapons ready; so many different kinds because of course they came prepared. The teenager’s breath came out slow through his nose, and before he could stop himself, his head tilted back, a short laugh bursting out before he could stop it. "A'ight."

Blue light hissed to life around his fists, Ki flooding hot through his arms and chest and legs; that wild energy making him feel like he could punch clean through a wall coming to life. He locked eyes with the closest ninja, and picked his target.

One hit.

His fist cut air as he launched off the ground, hard packed dirt giving way beneath him.

Way faster than the one in the diner, the ninja’s block came up smooth; arm meeting his punch with a crack that almost shook the dirt under both their feet.

The crack came with a scream, loud and right in his face, as the Hand fighter flew back a good half a dozen feet before he crashed to the ground, arms hanging wrong, bent backwards at the elbows.

But he was one. 

And there were fourteen more.

The rest came at him, not one at a time like some movie shi; all at once.

A storm of steel slashed his way, blades cutting air from every angle; swords and knives and a half dozen other sharp ninja tools coming right at face, his throat, his ribs.

Move move move—

All that drilling from Colleen, every minute of brutal shit from Stick; it all came in clutch as Zain moved, his body weaving, blocking, parrying everything he could see and some he could barely track. Weak points lit up in his eyes, everything going red-tinted as he saw bones, organs, muscle; everything screaming break here, hit here, kill me!

He snapped an elbow up quick, a hard hit catching one right in the face as he felt the mask crunch and the bone underneath crack. 

The ninja went down in a groaning slump, b- Shit!

Another one jumped for him, sword out and swinging fast. Zain’s eyes went wide, moving on instinct as he whipped the chain from his waist, thick iron links singing through air.

“Gkkkk!”

Those same links wrapped tight around a throat and he yanked—

SHI-I-I-ING!

A red flash filled his vision, twin glowing swords coming down in front of him almost faster than he could track. A split second later, the chain in his hand went limp.

Nah, wait, no…

Zain stared, mouth open, as he realized one of the other ninjas just cut his chain, chi-blade going through the metal of it as the broken thing swung back, dead weight hitting his waist.

Nah...

Nah nah nah, not m- He was open, just for half a second, eyes still on the broken chain, and not on the fight; open and unprepared as pain made everything go white.

“Nnnggghhh!!!” Every nerve in his side screamed, eyes going down to see a sword, a short sword, in him. “F-shi-nnnnngghhh!” Right under the ribs, deep, the blade grinding against something inside that wasn't supposed to be touched.

He choked out a gasp, barely able to breathe, only for something else to take his breath away.

SHINK.

Another one almost made his eyes roll back, blood and spit flowing free from his mouth as a knife punched right through his shoulder. “GAAAAHHHHH!” 

Right through his shoulder and into the trailer wall behind him with a hollow thunk that rattled in his bones. Sh-shi-shit!

Pinned. 

No other way to describe it. Pinned right to the metal like a bug in a science projec,t feet barely touching gravel. He tried to hold back another scream through gritted teeth and watery eyes, fighting every instinct he had as the leader walked closer, swords dripping with that greasy red chi.

"You have trained, boy. Impressively, even." Zain twitched at the voice, blood running hot down his arm, down his side, as it dripped slowly from his fingers and onto the dirt and gravel. "But you are nothing agains the many fingers of the Hand."

Bleeding. 

He was bleeding a lot, that wet warmth spreading under his shirt, soaking through denim, pooling in his sneakers. I'm… expendable. 

Weapon.

Useless.

Not irreplaceable.

...A bonus.

Something in his chest went cold, then hot. ...Nah.

"...NAH!"

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

Gotta Hand It To Ya (200 DP)

• Take down five different Hand ninja
  
  

Handing You Your Ass (200 DP)

• Survive while outnumbered by a large number of Hand ninja

ROLL: What’s This Doohickey? (200) [Campione] {Providence}: Ah, supernatural powers. They don’t come with an instruction manual, be it the magic of mortals, the Authorities of Gods or something else entirely, one needs to get their exact limits and improve themselves by trial and error. Well not anymore, this little blessing works to take care of that. Now, you gain an innate knowledge of how to use any new powers you acquire, as well as their limitations and advantages. Doesn’t sound like much until you get a power-up in the middle of a battle and you realize you don’t know how to use it. Embarrassing.                                                                           

ROLL: Rage (200) [Kill 6 Billion Demons] {Destruction}: Like any beast, you can go into a berserker rage. You feel no pain, can take much more punishment, and brutalize your enemies even more than usual. However, when you are out of this rage, all the pain and damage you ignored will come flooding in a single moment.

Dojo Points: 400