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  . .   . . .    . .    . .    . .
 .   .   .   .  .   .  .   .  .   .       "Crimson Knights: Chapter One"
 .   .   .   .  .   .  .   .  .   .
  . . .  .   .   . . .  . . .  . . .              by Jason Watts


  . . w w w . a n a d a . n e t . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

        Darkness enveloped the city of Porter Bay; the sign for all of its
 nocturnal creatures to come out and play.  Preying on the weak and
 defenseless, they stalked the streets, searching for those who couldn't or
 wouldn't fight them back.  These demons of the night were unable to quench
 their thirst for violence and mayhem, like vampires feeding on precious
 life-blood.  Their reign of terror seized the city in a steely grasp.

        Joseph Woods hurried along the crowded sidewalk, passing hookers and
 drug pushers on every corner, selling perversion or poisons to anyone
 looking for a "good time" or a way to leave this world behind.  Joe knew it
 would only get worse as time passed.  As long as Porter Bay's finest and a
 select few judges and attorneys kept their wallets fat with illegal funds,
 their heads would continue to be turned and Porter Bay would sink into the
 fiery depths of hell.

        As a little boy, Joe knew this city as a booming metropolis with
 commercial and industrial giants carving a path for bright and prosperous
 future.  People from all over the world migrated in, everyone wanting a
 steaming hot piece of the pie.  Instead, all they got was stale bread and
 water.  As the years passed, Porter Bay's bright future slowly diminished,
 drugs and various other criminal elements beginning to spread like a
 disease with no cure in sight.

        Blaring horns, curses, and screams drifted on the warm moist air from
 the traffic infested streets.  The night was already settling in to be a
 long one.  Joe checked his watch.

                7:35

        He had to hurry.  If he was late for work one more time, that prick
 boss of his at the video store would have a shit fit.  He could picture the
 little fat fuck now: staring at his cheap two-dollar watch and tapping his
 stubby little foot against the scratched tile floor.

        Yeah, what a life: low-paying job and living in an apartment that was
 one step away from being homeless.  Things couldn't possibly get much worse.
 Sure, he could be working at his foster father's dojo with his foster
 brothers, but he wasn't.  He left for a reason and he wasn't about to go
 back.

        Joe decided to worry about his failed life no more than possible.
 The fates had already written him off.  He was only twenty-three but knew he
 would never change his ways and his loner spirit.  His foster father,
 Masaki Hashino, had relentlessly reminded him of that fact.  Your life will
 never have meaning if you let your wild spirit control your soul, he often
 said.

        To hell with my soul, Joe thought,  What's my soul any good for.

        "Joseph Woods."

        The soft, almost inaudible voice pierced his thoughts.  Through all
 the noise that surrounded him a whisper, almost silent, muttering his name.
 But where had it come from?  Stepping out of the bustling pedestrian traffic
 and entering a nearby alley, he stared at the passers-by, trying to pin a
 face to the voice.

        Nothing.

        There were too many people.

        It would be impossible to know which one had spoken to him.  The
 hairs on the nape of his neck stood on end, the muscles in his body tensing
 up like a coiled spring.

        "Joseph Woods, I see you."

        The voice came from the dim light behind him and he spun to greet it.
        
        There was no one there.

        He moved into the alley, cautiously surveying the layout and trying
 to pick out anything or anyone lurking in the shadows.  Seemed like the only
 threat that was being posed was the stench from the overfilled garbage cans.
 A chill ran up Joe's spine.  There was something there but it was beyond the
 naked eye.

        "Joseph Woods, Joseph Woods Joseph Woods."

        It was a taunt.  Someone was playing a game with him.  Joe hated
 games.  This time, however, he was able to clarify the voice as a woman's
 and he wasn't actually hearing her.  Somehow the bitch was in his head.  He
 had to get her out of there and quick.

        Joe inched deeper into the alley, expecting a bullet or cold steel to
 slam into him at any given moment.  This whole situation reeked of a set-up.
 Who the fuck could it be.

        That's right.  Anybody that he had ever beat the hell out of.

        What a comforting thought.  There were at least two dozen people out
 there wanting to even up the score.

        "Joseph Woods, son of Jonah Woods. You are going to die."

        His heart skipped a beat on that one.  Joe's parents had been killed
 twelve years before.  The case had never been solved, the murderer never
 found.  The woman in his head had to be responsible for their deaths.  And
 now she was coming after him.  Joe had no idea what to make of it... it was
 all so screwy.

        "Joseph, I'm waiting.  Stop putting off what fate has already
 foretold."

        "Look, bitch," Joe shouted into the darkness.  "I don't have time for
 these sick little head games.  So why don't you crawl out of whatever hole
 you're hiding in and face me."

        "In due time, Joseph.  But for now you have no other choice but to
 entertain me."

        Being the floor show for some head case wasn't at the top of his "to
 do" list.  If the bitch wanted entertainment, there was theater down the
 street.

        "I don't know what kind of shit you are trying to pull but it ain't
 gonna float.  I'm nobody's puppet.  You wanna kill me, then come and try.
 Otherwise get the fuck out of my head."

        "Now, now, Joseph. Impatience is a weakness."

        Joe clenched and unclenched his fists, beads of sweat forming on his
 forehead.  He had to get her out of his head before she wacked his ass.

        The sound of something being scraped against concrete caught his
 attention.  It was to his right, in the shadows.  The scraping repeated this
 time to the left of him.

        She wasn't alone.

        The odds were against him.  How many were there, lurking in the
 darkness waiting to strike?  He had no way of knowing.  And he hated it.  A
 loud screeching eminated from behind him and he quickly turned to greet the
 attack.  Dead, empty silence swept over him.

        His assailants were on him before he could react.  The blow that
 landed on his jaw had power behind it, dizzing him a little.  Another blow
 to the chest sent him flailing backwards to the concrete.

        Joe was on his feet in an instant, his black clad aggressor inches
 away from him with two cold and souless eyes peering into him from beneath
 the black hood that hid the man's face.  He rubbed his jaw.  It felt like
 the bastard might of knocked a few teeth loose.  "Okay, pal.  You like
 playin' rough?  Bring it."

        Not allowing his attacker a chance to move, Joe acted on impulse,
 swiftly closing in with a driving a powerful kick to the man's abdomen, then
 delivering an uppercut as the man reeled from the blow.  He caught his
 assailant just under the chin, dropping him to the concrete.

        Another of the black clad assailants rushed from the shadows jabbing
 a punch at Joe's face.  Joe blocked the punch easily while striking the
 man's throat with his free hand.  Then with one lightning quick instant he
 sent the hooded figure sailing to the ground with a roundhouse kick that
 connected perfectly with the man's jaw.

        "Anyone else?  You're gonna have to do a hell of a lot better than
 that."

        A pair of python-like arms wrapped around his chest, lifting him off
 the ground.  The strength behind the massive limbs was incredible, almost
 inhuman.  Joe fought hard to break free but it was useless.  The more he
 struggled, the tighter the hold became.  He just had to open his big mouth.

        "Time to die, little man."  The voice was deep and cold.

        Joe could feel the steely grasp around his chest compressing; his
 hold on conciousness slipping.  The air was literally being squeezed from
 his lungs and it hurt like hell.  If he didn't do something soon he'd be
 taking an unwanted ride down the river Styx.

        The young warrior thrust his head backwards, smashing the behemoth's
 nose, warm life blood flowing from the blow.  The hold loosened a little and
 Joe repeated the procedure until he was completely free of the big man's
 grasp.

        As his feet hit the ground he spun to face his opponent.  The guy was
 big.  Real fucking big.  Probably the biggest man Joe had ever seen.  He
 stood, trying to catch his breath and staring at the big man's bloodied
 face.  The two red hot coals that burned bright on either side of the
 behemoth's pulverized nose locked on Joe, and the big man smiled.

        He lurched at Joe, both arms outstretched, two meaty hands attempting
 to have him in their grasp once more.  The young warrior side-stepped and
 snapped a kick to the behemoth's left knee and threw a round punch, landing
 it hard against the side of the big man's head.  But the big bastard was
 faster than Joe had given him credit for.  Before he could react, the
 fucker's iron grip had him again and was clamping a meaty hand around Joe's
 throat.  Pain surged through his body as the big man slammed him against the
 wall, knocking the breath from Joe's lungs.

        Joe struggled to catch his breath, finding it difficult, the
 behemoth's weight and strength overwhelming him.  The decision was made in
 an instant.  He stopped fighting and stared into the brute's eyes, the big
 man's warm, rank breath washing over him.

        "Like I said before.  Time to die," the big man said, deadpan.

        This had gone on long enough.  If Joe didn't react soon, his ass was
 dead.  That wasn't going to happen.  He cupped his hands and slapped them
 over the man's ears.  The grip around his throat loosened and Joe felt his
 feet touch the ground.  The big man staggered backwards, grasping the side
 of his head, the pain evident on his face.

        He was big and dumb, and Joe was thankful for that.  With a powerful
 sidekick to the brute's head, he sent his stunned opponent to ground.  The
 big man showed no signs that he wanted to continue the confrontation.

        "You did better than expected, Joseph.  Your father would have been
 proud, that is if he wasn't already dead.  But don't forget me, I will be
 back for you and your brothers.  The time of the Crimson Awakening is upon
 us, and you and your breatheren will see death before your destinies are at
 full circle."

        And she was gone.

        Joe stood in the alleyway a few moments, trying to piece together
 what had just happened.  But his head was pounding like a bass drum and his
 body ached.  He needed time to rest, but not to heal.  He had to warn his
 foster brothers about what was going down.  He just prayed he wouldn't be
 too late.

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  .           anada 164                by Jason Watts  (c)2000 anada e'zine .
      
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