Chapter Text
Saint’s Row: Dead or Alive
Chapter 6: Prelude to Round 2
[~][~]
The chimichanga was a gift from heaven. Seriously, Mama Chimi, down the street from the hotel, knew what was up. Juicy pork, just the right amount of spice, and that crispy tortilla… chef’s kiss. I scarfed it down in record time, savoring every last bite. Being Angel de la Muerte, the masked marvel of the Dead or Alive tournament, definitely worked up an appetite. Especially after that… performance against Joshua Birk.
Honestly, that guy was all talk. “I’m gonna use my signature ‘Anti-Vampire combat’!” he’d yelled, striking a pose that looked more like he was trying to hail a cab. His “Anti-Vampire combat” turned out to be a telegraphed right hook slower than a snail in molasses. One solid punch from yours truly, and he was seeing stars. Felt kinda bad, but hey, a win’s a win. Especially when the grand prize is a shot at Raidou, Sensei deserves that much after what that monster did to him.
With lunch demolished, I felt a familiar rumble in my gut. Time for the less glamorous side of being a luchador. I waddled over to the bathroom, the Angel de la Muerte mask perched precariously on the edge of the sink. Gotta be careful with this thing; it’s not exactly easy to replace a custom-made mask in Santo Ileso.
A sigh of relief escaped me as I finally… relieved myself. Let’s just say that chimichanga, as delicious as it was, was making a hasty exit. While I was, ahem, occupied, my mind drifted back to the tournament. Joshua Birk was a joke, but I knew things were going to get tougher. Round two was coming up fast, and I had no idea who I was facing next. Hopefully, it’d be someone with a bit more… oomph than Birk. Someone who’d give me a decent fight. But more importantly, someone who wasn’t standing between me and Raidou.
I finished up, gave the toilet a courtesy flush, and washed my hands. Looking in the mirror, I saw Angel de la Muerte staring back at me. Beneath the mask, though, it was still Mikey, the Boss of the 3rd Street Saints. And Mikey was going to win this tournament, no matter what it took. For Sensei. For the Saints. For Santo Ileso.
Okay, round two. Who was on the docket? I ran through the potential contenders in my head while toweling off. There were some real heavy hitters in this tournament. First, the ninjas. Kasumi and Ayane. Damn. Those two were… striking. Like “carve-a-statue-out-of-ice-with-their-beauty” striking. It wasn’t just physical, either. They carried themselves with this… intensity. Like a finely honed knife, beautiful and deadly all at once. I wouldn’t mind, uh, sparring with them sometime… purely for research purposes, of course. Yeah, research. Gotta know your enemy, right? And, uh, their fighting style. Their fighting style.
Then there was the other ninja… Ryu Hayabusa. That guy was a whole different level of intensity. I’d caught his match against Bayman. Even though Bayman forfeited – which was weird, by the way. What was that about? – the brief exchange before the forfeit was… explosive. Hayabusa moved like a blur, a whirlwind of lethal grace. Just watching him, I could feel the raw power radiating off him. He was like a coiled spring, ready to unleash. If I ended up facing him, it would be a serious uphill battle. He’d be a tough nut to crack, maybe even tougher than Raidou. Just looking at him, you could tell he was a force of nature. A real, honest-to-God badass.
A small part of me, a slightly masochistic part, actually felt… excited at the prospect of fighting Hayabusa. My match against Birk had been a total letdown. Seriously, the guy’s “Anti-Vampire combat” was about as threatening as a wet noodle. Back home, I was used to scrapping with the best Santo Ileso had to offer, and even they were starting to feel… easy. Too easy. I mean, yeah, I enjoyed a good ass-kicking as much as the next guy – as long as I was the one doing the kicking, of course – but lately, the competition had been lacking. Hayabusa, though? He looked like he could deliver a beating that would leave me seeing stars… the kind of stars that weren’t caused by a cheap knockout. The kind of stars you see after a real, down-and-dirty brawl. The kind of stars that make you feel alive.
Of course, Hayabusa wasn’t the only one to watch out for. There was also Jann Lee. I’d seen his match against Leifang. That guy was a whirlwind of fists and feet, a human tornado of martial arts mayhem. He moved with a speed and ferocity that was almost… unsettling. Leifang was no slouch herself, but Jann Lee just overwhelmed her. He was like a force of nature, unstoppable. If I drew him in the next round, I’d have to be on my toes, ready for anything. One wrong move, one tiny slip-up, and I’d be eating canvas.
And then there was Tina Armstrong. Woof. She was… a knockout. Both metaphorically and literally. I mean, damn. She was gorgeous. But she was also a powerhouse. I’d heard she’d even managed to take down her old man, Bass Armstrong. Bass Armstrong! The legendary pro wrestler! That was seriously impressive. Tina knew her way around a ring, and she had the kind of raw strength that could turn a fight on its head in an instant. Facing her would be… interesting. Interesting. I’d have to rely on my speed and agility to try to outmaneuver her. Going toe-to-toe with her in a straight-up strength contest? Yeah, that probably wouldn’t end well for me. Unless… maybe I could use her strength against her? Hmm… something to think about.
Lying on the bed, I started running through different strategies, trying to anticipate who I might face next. Hayabusa? Jann Lee? Tina? Each one presented a unique challenge. I was so engrossed in my thoughts that I almost missed my phone ringing. It was a group call – Eli, Kevin, and Neenah.
"Hey guys!" I answered, a grin spreading across my face.
"Mikey! Congrats on making it to round two!" Eli yelled, his voice booming through the phone.
"Yeah, man! You were a beast out there!" Kevin added.
"No doubt, Boss," Neenah chimed in. "You made Santo Ileso proud."
"Thanks, guys," I chuckled. "Did you think I was gonna lose to that… that… actor?"
"Well…" Kevin admitted sheepishly. "We did have a few… disagreements. A few friendly bets were placed, if you know what I mean."
"Bets?" I raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in my eye. "How much money are we talking about here?"
"A lot," Eli chuckled. "I put down fifty bucks on you, naturally."
"Me too," Kevin said. "Though Neenah seems to think Hayabusa is gonna take it all."
"I wouldn't bet against him," Neenah admitted. "That guy's a machine."
"What about you, Boss?" Eli asked. "Who you got your money on?"
"I'm putting all my chips on myself, obviously," I said with a confident grin. "But if I had to pick someone else… maybe Tina. She's got that raw power that could surprise a lot of people."
Internally, I was torn. Kasumi and Ayane… damn. They were both incredible fighters. And… well, they were also… distracting like “forget-what-you’re-doing-and-just-stare” distracting. I wouldn’t admit that to the Saints, though. They’d never let me live it down.
"Speaking of surprises," Neenah said, "you should see the online forums. There's a whole contingent of Tina Armstrong fanboys already. They're convinced she's going to win the whole thing."
"Yeah, they're calling her 'The Silent Assassin' or something," Kevin added. "Pretty badass."
"Silent Assassin?" I scoffed. "Tina? Silent? Have they seen her wrestle? She's louder than a demolition derby! An assassin? Please. If I were gonna give her a nickname, it'd be… I don't know… 'The Amazonian Annihilator' or something. Or maybe 'The Blonde Bombshell of Beatdowns.' Something with a little more… oomph."
"What about 'The Cowgirl Crusher'?" Kevin suggested.
"Nah," I replied. "Too… corny. Although… you know what? If we're talking about someone who acts like an assassin, it's gotta be… what's her name… Kasumi? She's all quiet and unassuming, and then BAM! She's hitting you with a thousand lightning-fast strikes before you even know what happened. She could be the 'Silent Assassin.' Or maybe… 'The Whispering Whirlwind.' Yeah, I like that one."
"So," Eli said, changing the subject. "Any idea who you're up against in round two yet?"
"Not a clue," I admitted. "They haven't announced the matchups yet. But I've been running through the possibilities. It could be anyone. Kasumi, Ayane, Ryu Hayabusa, Jann Lee, Tina… the whole roster is stacked. I'm just hoping I don't draw Hayabusa this early. That guy's a final-round boss, not a second-round warm-up."
"Speaking of Hayabusa," Kevin chimed in, "did you see what happened with Bayman? That was weird, right? They barely even throw in a few punches, and then Bayman just… quit?"
"Yeah, that was strange," I agreed. "I mean, Bayman's no slouch. He's a tough dude, for him to just forfeit like that… something must have happened. I wish I knew what. They were just getting started, too. That little exchange they did have was intense. Hayabusa was like a predator circling its prey."
The tone of the call shifted suddenly. "Speaking of weird," Eli said, his voice dropping to a lower register, "we've been digging through those files Douglas gave us. The ones about Raidou."
My ears perked up. "And?"
"We found something," Neenah said. "Something that might be useful."
"Useful how?" I asked, my heart starting to pound a little faster.
"Apparently," Kevin explained, "the arena where you'll face Raidou… it's built on top of an old subterranean weapons manufacturing plant, like an old one. From what we can gather, it was abandoned decades ago, but… well, it's still there. Underground."
"A weapons manufacturing plant?" I muttered, intrigued. "Underground? What kind of weapons are we talking about?"
"Old stuff," Eli replied. "Think Cold War era. They were experimenting with some… nasty things down there. The place is nicknamed 'The Danger Zone.'"
"The Danger Zone?" I chuckled. "Someone was a big Kenny Loggins fan, huh?"
"Yeah, well," Neenah said grimly, "it earned that name for a reason. There were a few… accidents. Explosions, leaks, that sort of thing. They sealed the whole place off, but… well, it's still down there. And, according to these files, that's where you'll be fighting Raidou."
"Wait a minute," I said, piecing it together. "You're saying… the arena is a cargo lift? A closed-in, square cargo lift that goes down into this 'Danger Zone'?"
"Exactly," Kevin confirmed. "They lower the fighters down into the shaft. It's a tight space with no room to run. Perfect for a close-quarters brawl."
A slow grin spread across my face. "So," I said, a dangerous glint in my eye, "you're saying I could use this… 'Danger Zone'… to my advantage?"
"We're just saying," Eli replied, "it could be an opportunity. A way to level the playing field against Raidou. He's powerful, no doubt. But… well, maybe you can use his power against him. Use the environment. Turn the 'Danger Zone' into his danger zone."
"The Danger Zone," I repeated, the name rolling around in my head. "You know," I said, a grin spreading across my face, "this whole 'Danger Zone' thing is making me want to blast some Kenny Loggins. Maybe I'll make it Raidou's… swan song. A little 'Highway to the Danger Zone' as he gets his ass kicked. Think he'd appreciate the irony?"
The Saints chuckled. "Just try not to get too carried away, Boss," Eli said. "Remember, we need you to come back in one piece."
"Yeah," Kevin added. "We've got a lot riding on this. And not just money. You're representing Santo Ileso. You're representing us."
"Don't worry," I said, my voice laced with confidence. "I've got this. Raidou's going down. And the 'Danger Zone' is going to be his final resting place. Metaphorically speaking, of course. Glad we've got Raidou's funeral arrangements sorted. Now, about round two…"
"Good luck, Boss," Neenah said. "We're all rooting for you."
"Take him down, Mikey!" Kevin yelled.
"And bring home the gold!" Eli added.
"Will do," I replied. "I won't let you down."
We said our goodbyes and ended the call. I leaned back on the bed, my mind racing. So, the Danger Zone… was something to think about. A closed-in space, underground… it could be a trap, but it could also be a weapon. It all depended on how I played it. But first, I had to get through round two. Who would it be? Kasumi? Ayane? Hayabusa? Jann Lee? Tina? Each one was a wild card, a completely different challenge. I closed my eyes, trying to visualize each of them, running through potential scenarios, strategizing… The anticipation was building, a mix of excitement and nervous energy bubbling in my gut. Whoever it was, I’d be ready. I had to be. This wasn’t just about winning a tournament anymore. This was about settling a score. This was about Sensei. This was about the Saints. This was about Santo Ileso.
A sudden prickling sensation on the back of my neck made me sit up. It felt like… someone was watching me. Or, more specifically, like someone was at the door. I could feel it, a subtle shift in the air, a sense of… presence. I grabbed my mask from the nightstand quickly slipping it on. Angel de la Muerte was back in business. I padded silently towards the door, my senses on high alert. I reached the handle and paused for a moment, listening intently. Nothing. Just the quiet hum of the hotel air conditioning. Still, that feeling… it lingered. I took a deep breath and threw the door open.
Nothing.
The hallway was empty. No one lurking in the shadows, no sign of anyone having been there at all. Just the beige walls, the patterned carpet, and the closed doors of the other hotel rooms. I scanned the hallway, my eyes searching for anything out of the ordinary. But there was nothing. Just… emptiness. Had I imagined it? Was it just nerves, the pressure of the upcoming matches getting to me? I stood there for a moment longer, trying to shake off the feeling. Finally, I shrugged and closed the door, locking it behind me. Maybe it was just my imagination. But… I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being watched.
[~]
Kasumi sat in quiet meditation, her breath slow and even. The scent of incense filled the small room, a calming balm to her restless spirit. Raidou. The name echoed in the silent corners of her mind, a dark promise of vengeance. He was so close now, almost within her grasp. Just one more hurdle. Round two. Once she cleared that, she would finally have her chance. Her chance to avenge Hayate.
Images flashed through her mind: Hayate, her brother, so strong, so full of life, now lying broken and unresponsive, a victim of Raidou’s brutal attack. The memory fueled the fire in her heart, a cold, burning rage that had simmered for so long. She remembered the day Raidou returned to the village, a shadow from their past, seeking the Torn Sky Blast, the sacred ninpo technique of their clan's leaders. He had cut a swath through their defenses, defeating even the prodigious Ayane with terrifying ease. And then, he had turned his attention to Hayate. She had been away on a mission, unaware of the horror that was unfolding. When she returned, she found Hayate… like this. Comatose, paralyzed, his spirit trapped within his broken body.
For so long, she had been kept in the dark. No one would tell her what had happened. They spoke in hushed whispers, their faces etched with fear and grief. She had thrown herself into her training, desperate to find some solace, some escape from the pain. Shiden, seeing Hayate’s condition and the unlikelihood of his recovery, had chosen her, Kasumi, to become the eighteenth master of the clan. The weight of the responsibility had been crushing, her grief for Hayate a constant ache in her heart. Her training had suffered, and her mind clouded with worry. But she had persevered, driven by an inner strength she hadn't known she possessed. She had mastered the Torn Sky Blast, the very technique Raidou had sought.
Finally, she had learned the truth. Ayane, believing Kasumi was too consumed by her brother’s fate to become a proper leader, had revealed the name of their tormentor: Raidou. The truth had hit her like a physical blow. Raidou. Her uncle. The man who had shattered her world. Driven by a desperate need for vengeance, Kasumi had left the village without permission, embarking on a path that would make her a nukenin, a rogue ninja hunted by her clan. She knew the risks, the consequences. But she didn't care. Revenge was all that mattered.
Ayane had tried to stop her, of course. Loyal to the clan, she had been ordered by Master Genra to bring Kasumi back or to kill her. They had clashed on the bridge, the familiar sting of betrayal twisting in Kasumi’s gut. But then, a figure from the shadows had intervened. Christie. A woman she had never met appeared out of nowhere, a helicopter descending from the sky, gunfire shattering the tense standoff. Kasumi, desperate, had seized the opportunity, leaping aboard the helicopter and escaping Ayane's grasp. She didn’t know why Christie had helped her, but she was grateful. It was a chance, a slim sliver of hope in the darkness that had enveloped her life. A chance to reach Raidou. A chance to make him pay.
The revelation struck Kasumi like a physical blow. Ryu’s words confirmed what she had suspected, what she had feared. He knew. He knew what Raidou had done. And now, he was here, fulfilling his promise to Hayate. Protecting her. But from what? From whom? From Raidou? Or from herself?
She understood his intentions. She understood the bond between him and Hayate. But understanding didn’t mean she agreed. Her gaze hardened, the softness replaced by a steely resolve.
"I appreciate your concern, Master Ryu," she said, her voice firm, unwavering. "But my path is set. I will not waver. I will not falter. Raidou will pay for what he has done. For Hayate. For our clan. For everything he has taken from us."
She paused, her voice softening slightly, but the determination in her eyes remained undimmed. "I know I can never return to the village," she continued, the words laced with a hint of sadness. "I know I am now a nukenin, a rogue. But my duty is clear. My vengeance is my penance. And I will not rest until Raidou is brought to justice."
Kasumi’s words hung in the air, sharp and resolute. She had made her choice. There was no turning back. She had come too far and sacrificed too much. Her path was etched in blood and fueled by a burning desire for retribution.
Ryu regarded her, his expression unreadable. He saw the fire in her eyes, the unwavering determination that mirrored his own. He understood her pain, her need for vengeance. He knew that trying to dissuade her would be futile.
"I will not try to change your mind, Kasumi," he said finally, his voice low and steady. "Your path is your own to choose. But know this… you are not the only one seeking Raidou’s head."
Kasumi’s eyes narrowed slightly. She assumed he was referring to Ayane. "Ayane… I know she seeks revenge on Raidou as much as me.”
Ryu shook his head. "Not only her. There is another. Angel de la Muerte."
The name landed like a thunderclap. Kasumi’s eyes widened in surprise. "Angel de la Muerte?" The luchador? She remembered him. Back at the Freedom Survivor tournament, she had witnessed his confrontation with Raidou. He had stared at him, his voice laced with an icy animosity, and asked him if he could fight with one arm tied behind his back. The challenge had been clear, the intent unmistakable. Now, it was clear. Angel de la Muerte also sought vengeance against Raidou. But… why? What connection did he have to their shared enemy? The question hung heavy in the air, another mystery in the tangled web of their intertwined fates.
The revelation of Angel de la Muerte’s intentions added another layer of complexity to the situation. Kasumi’s resolve remained firm. Raidou was hers. Her vengeance was a sacred duty, a debt that only she could repay. If Angel de la Muerte stood in her way, then… she would have to deal with him. The thought wasn’t pleasant. She had, surprisingly, found herself enjoying their brief conversations about the other fighters. His insights into their techniques, their strengths and weaknesses, were surprisingly astute. She had learned a great deal from him, even in their short exchanges.
A flicker of surprise crossed her face. She had also noticed Ayane talking with Angel de la Muerte. Ayane? It was… unexpected. Given the animosity between them and the bitterness that lingered after their clash on the bridge, she wouldn’t have thought Ayane would engage in any sort of friendly conversation with him around her. Perhaps… perhaps they had found some common ground. Or perhaps Ayane, ever the pragmatist, was simply gathering information. Whatever the reason, it was another piece of the puzzle that Kasumi couldn't quite place. She pushed the thought aside. Raidou was her focus. Everything else was secondary.
"What do you think of Angel de la Muerte, Master Ryu?" Kasumi asked, her voice cutting through the silence.
Ryu considered the question for a moment. "I did not learn much from his match against Joshua Birk," he admitted. "His so-called 'Anti-Vampire Combat' was… underwhelming. Especially considering…" He trailed off, the unspoken words hanging in the air.
Kasumi knew what he meant. Hayate had told her stories of Ryu’s legendary exploits, tales of battles against demons and… creatures of the night. Every shinobi village knew of them. Ryu Hayabusa was a ninja above all others, and his skills honed to a razor’s edge. If he found Birk’s “combat” lacking, then it truly was.
She also knew about Birk’s… advances towards Ayane. She had heard whispers from the other fighters, crude jokes, and lewd comments. She and Ayane were estranged, their relationship fractured by betrayal and duty. But that didn’t mean she didn’t care about her. She may never be able to salvage their strained relationship, but she still cares for her well-being.
Ryu shifted his focus back to Angel de la Muerte. "Birk was outmatched," he said. "But Angel… there was something more. His finishing move… it provided some insight."
Kasumi nodded. She had seen it, too. The punch. It wasn't just a knockout; it was a demonstration of raw, untamed power. Birk had been sent flying, not just out of the ring but through the observation deck, crashing against a wall with such force that it left a crater. The other fighters had scoffed, dismissing Angel’s claim that he had been holding back. But Kasumi had seen the look in his eyes, the almost… restrained power.
Ryu continued, "I believe him. That was not his full strength. I felt it. There was something… held back. Controlled." He paused, his gaze thoughtful. "I have a feeling… Angel de la Muerte might be… if not equal, then close to my level."
Kasumi was stunned. Ryu’s words resonated with her observations. If Ryu, a ninja of unparalleled skill and experience, sensed a similar power in Angel de la Muerte, then it was a truth to be reckoned with. The implications were staggering. Who was this masked luchador? What was his story? What drove him? And what was his connection to Raidou? The questions swirled in her mind, adding another layer of mystery to an already complex situation. She could sense the same restrained power in Angel as Ryu did. It was unnerving. She had sensed it when he spoke to Raidou at the Freedom Survivor. It was clear that he wasn't someone to be trifled with. The thought of having to face him in combat if their paths were to cross sent a shiver down her spine. She hoped it wouldn't come to that. She needed to focus on Raidou. He was her target. Her sole purpose. But the presence of Angel de la Muerte, his power, his hidden motives, made her uneasy. He was an unknown factor, a wild card in a game where the stakes were already impossibly high.
[~]
Unseen, unheard, Ayane perched silently on the balcony, a shadow amongst the shadows. She had arrived just as Ryu had begun to speak, her movements as fluid and noiseless as a whisper of wind. She had remained hidden, her senses on high alert, listening intently to the conversation between Kasumi and Ryu. Every word, every nuance, was absorbed and processed, adding another piece to the intricate puzzle that was unfolding before her. She had known that Kasumi would not be deterred from her path of vengeance. She knew her resolve, her unwavering focus on Raidou. But Ryu’s presence, his revelation about Angel de la Muerte, had added a new dimension to the situation. She had also noticed the way Angel de la Muerte looked at Raidou at the Freedom Survivor. It was clear that he was going to be a problem. She had also noted how Kasumi had been talking to Angel. She hated how Kasumi was so friendly with him. She wanted to be the one talking to him. She didn't know why. She just did.
She frowned slightly. Kasumi’s interactions with Angel de la Muerte had been… unsettling. She had seen them talking and observed the easy camaraderie between them. It grated on her nerves. She couldn’t explain why, but the sight of them together filled her with a strange, unfamiliar emotion. It wasn’t jealousy, not exactly. Perhaps it was… resentment? Resentment that Kasumi, who had abandoned their clan, whom she was supposed to hunt down, had found a connection with someone she was trying to understand. She had also talked to Angel. She didn't know why. She just felt drawn to him. She wanted to know more about him. She wanted to know his motives. She wanted to know… him. But she would never admit that to Kasumi. Their relationship was too strained, too fractured by duty and betrayal. The thought of them being friendly with Angel made her blood boil. She didn't know why. She just did.
Ayane’s mind drifted back to the events that had led her to this point. Raidou. The name was a curse, a brand seared into her memory. He had returned to the Mugen Tenshin village like a plague, a harbinger of chaos and destruction. His purpose: to steal the Torn Sky Blast, the signature ninpo technique passed down through generations of their clan’s leaders. She had faced him then, confident in her skills, ready to defend her clan. But she had been no match for his brutal power. He had defeated her easily, leaving her bruised and humiliated.
His rampage had left a devastating mark on their village. Hayate, the rightful heir to the Mugen Tenshin clan, had been left grievously injured, his body broken, his spirit trapped in a comatose state. The clan had been thrown into disarray, their future uncertain. With Hayate incapacitated, Shiden had chosen Kasumi, much to Ayane’s bitter resentment, to become the next heir, the eighteenth master of the clan. Kasumi kept in the dark about the true nature of Hayate’s injuries, had struggled with the weight of her new responsibilities. It was Ayane, impatient and resentful, who had finally revealed the truth: Raidou was the one who had broken Hayate, who had stolen his future.
The revelation had ignited a fire in Kasumi’s heart, a burning need for vengeance. She had left the village without permission, embarking on a path that would make her a nukenin, a traitor to their clan. Genra, ever mindful of the clan’s secrets, had ordered Ayane to track her down and eliminate her. It was an opportunity she eagerly took to let out years of resentment of being treated like an outcast while Kasumi was treated like a princess.
She had caught up to Kasumi on the bridge, just outside the village. They had clashed, their blades meeting in a flurry of anger and grief. But before Ayane could deliver the killing blow, two outsiders had intervened. A helicopter, appearing out of nowhere, had descended from the sky, gunfire erupting, separating them. Kasumi had escaped, whisked away by strangers. Ayane had been left fuming, her mission thwarted.
A few days later, she had found herself on the Freedom Survivor, the stage for the first Dead or Alive World Combat Championship. She, too, had received an invitation, a twisted opportunity to fulfill her duty. Kill Kasumi. Kill Raidou. Avenge Hayate. The tournament was a trap, a game orchestrated by Fame Douglas, the enigmatic head of DOATEC. Raidou was working for him. When Ayane had tried to attack Raidou, he had brushed her aside like an insect. He was too strong, too powerful. Douglas had intervened, offering them a twisted bargain: if they wanted to face Raidou, they would have to earn their chance. They would have to survive the tournament. They would have to reach the final round.
Ayane’s thoughts drifted to Ryu Hayabusa. The Dragon Ninja. A legend. An ally. And now, a potential obstacle. She knew that Ryu had made a promise to Hayate, a vow to protect Kasumi. The weight of that promise, the sheer force of Ryu’s unwavering loyalty, was not lost on her. She had fought alongside him and faced unimaginable horrors with him. She knew his strength, his skill, his unwavering dedication. He was a force of nature, a whirlwind of lethal grace. She was under no illusions about her chances against him. She was not his equal. Not even close. She had trained with him and learned from him, but she knew her limits. He was on a different level, a master of his craft. If he stood between her and Kasumi… the thought sent a shiver down her spine. She would have to find a way. There had to be a way.
But Kasumi was not her only target. Raidou. He was the source of her pain, the architect of her suffering. He was the one who had shattered their lives, who had stolen Hayate’s future. He was the one who needed to pay. And she would make him pay. She would make him suffer for what he had done. She would make him regret the day he set foot in their village. Killing Raidou was not just a mission; it was a necessity. It was the only way to silence the screams in her head, the only way to quell the burning rage in her heart. To reach him, she had to navigate the treacherous waters of the Dead or Alive tournament. She had to survive. She had to win. She had to reach the final round. Nothing would stand in her way. Not Kasumi. Not Ryu. Not even Angel de la Muerte, with his enigmatic presence and his unsettling power. Raidou was hers. And she would claim her vengeance, no matter the cost.
Her thoughts drifted to Angel de la Muerte. Ryu’s words echoed in her mind: “…might be, if not equal, then close to my level.” Preposterous. She would have scoffed at the notion. A luchador, a mere wrestler, matching Ryu Hayabusa? Impossible. And yet… a flicker of doubt crept into her mind. She remembered the incident with Joshua Birk. The self-proclaimed “vampire hunter,” a pompous buffoon who had been harassing her with his unwanted advances. She had been ready to put him in his place, her hand already moving in a swift, decisive strike. But then… Angel de la Muerte had appeared. One moment, he had been standing nearby, seemingly disinterested. The next, he was between her and Birk, casually deflecting her attack as if it were a mere annoyance. She had been stunned. It was as if he had teleported. She hadn’t seen him move. All she had registered was the aftermath – Angel standing between them, and her strike blocked effortlessly, Birk sent sprawling. He then, in what seemed like the same instant, flipped Birk out of the way and again blocked her strike as if he knew she was going to attack Birk a second time. She hadn’t seen any of it. She had only seen the result.
The memory sent a shiver down her spine. She had been so focused on Birk, so consumed by her anger, that she hadn’t sensed Angel’s movement. It was… unnerving. To be caught so off guard, to have her attack deflected so casually, was a blow to her pride. She had even felt a flush rise to her cheeks, a mixture of embarrassment and frustration. She had quickly turned away, hoping Angel hadn’t noticed her reaction. She couldn’t let him see her flustered. She had tried to dismiss the incident, telling herself that it was a fluke, that she had simply been distracted. But deep down, she knew there was more to it. There was something about Angel de la Muerte, something… unsettling. His power, his speed, his almost preternatural awareness… it was all too much to ignore. If Ryu Hayabusa, the Dragon Ninja himself, sensed something extraordinary in him, then she couldn’t afford to dismiss him as a mere wrestler. He was a wild card, an unknown factor. And in a tournament where the stakes were life and death, unknown factors could be the most dangerous of all.
Despite the unsettling questions surrounding Angel de la Muerte, Ayane’s resolve remained unbroken. She would not be deterred. She would not be distracted. Her mission was clear, her purpose unwavering. Raidou. He was her target. He was the source of her pain, the embodiment of her past. She would find him. She would confront him. And she would kill him. She had to. For Hayate. For her clan. For herself. Killing Raidou was not just about vengeance; it was about liberation. It was about freeing herself from the shackles of the past, from the memories that haunted her, from the pain that gnawed at her soul. Once Raidou was gone, she could finally breathe. She could finally be free. The thought fueled her determination, hardening her resolve. She would endure whatever challenges lay ahead. She would overcome any obstacle, any opponent. She would reach Raidou. And she would deliver the final, decisive blow. Then, and only then, would she be free.
Ayane remained hidden for a moment longer, absorbing the echoes of the conversation. Then, with a whisper of movement and a flurry of iris petals, she vanished, melting into the shadows as if she had never been there at all. Just as she disappeared, Kasumi stepped out onto the balcony, the cool night air a welcome contrast to the stifling atmosphere of the room. She gazed out at the city lights, her mind still preoccupied with the conversation she had just had with Ryu. The weight of his words, the implications of Angel de la Muerte’s potential power, pressed down on her. She was a ninja, trained to be observant, to perceive what others missed. She had sensed something different about Angel de la Muerte, something… hidden. But she hadn't anticipated that Ryu would consider him a threat. She shivered slightly, a premonition of danger whispering through her senses. The tournament was proving to be far more complex than she had initially imagined. The players were moving, the pieces shifting on the board, and she was still trying to understand the rules of the game.
[~]
The minutes ticked by like tiny, impatient ninjas throwing shurikens at my sanity. Round two. It was almost here. I paced the grounds of the resort, trying to burn off some of the nervous energy that was buzzing through me like a faulty electrical wire. The place was swanky, all manicured lawns and cascading fountains, a stark contrast to the gritty streets of Santo Ileso. But even the fancy landscaping couldn’t distract me. My mind was a whirlwind of potential opponents, strategies, and the ever-present image of Raidou’s snarling face.
I needed to focus. I needed to strategize. I needed to… something. Pacing wasn’t cutting it. I stopped by one of the fountains, the gentle splash of the water a soothing sound. I glanced at my reflection on the shimmering surface. Angel de la Muerte stared back at me, the mask a stoic mask hiding the turmoil beneath. Underneath the mask, though, it was still me, Mikey, the Boss of the 3rd Street Saints. And Mikey was starting to feel the pressure. This wasn’t just some gang war, some turf dispute. This was a whole different ball game. These fighters… they were on another level. Hayabusa, Jann Lee, Tina, and those damn ninjas… any one of them could be my next opponent. And then there was Raidou…
I sighed, running a hand through my hair. Or at least where my hair should be without the mask. I needed a distraction. Something to take my mind off things for a few minutes. Maybe I’d grab a snack. Or hit the gym. Or maybe just find a quiet corner and try to meditate. Yeah, meditation. That sounded… relaxing. Maybe. Or maybe it would just give my anxiety more time to fester. Great. I was overthinking this. I always overthought things. It was a curse. A highly effective, incredibly annoying curse. I needed to chill. But how? How do you chill when you’re about to step into a ring with some of the most dangerous fighters in the world? How do you chill when you know that the fate of your Sensei, maybe even the fate of Santo Ileso, rests on your shoulders? I didn't have the answers. All I knew was that round two was coming. And I had to be ready. No matter what.
My stomach rumbled in agreement. Food. That was the answer. A quick bite, something to take the edge off. I decided to head back towards the main building; there had to be some kind of snack bar or restaurant open. As I rounded a corner, I nearly bumped into two figures. Jann Lee and Tina Armstrong. Damn. Talk about a stroke of bad luck. Or maybe good luck? I wasn't sure. It was definitely… something. Jann Lee was leaning against a wall, looking as intense as ever, like he was ready to explode into a flurry of fists and feet at any moment. Tina was standing next to him, looking… well, looking like Tina. Gorgeous and intimidating all at once. They were talking quietly, their voices too low for me to hear. I hesitated for a moment, unsure whether to approach them or just slip by unnoticed. But it was too late. They had seen me.
"Hey," I said, offering a casual wave. "Didn't expect to see you two hanging around here. Big fight coming up, right?"
Jann Lee nodded, his eyes burning with an almost manic intensity. "Indeed. The anticipation… it is… stimulating."
Tina gave me a knowing smile. "Just psyching ourselves up," she said. "Gotta be ready for anything."
"So," I asked, trying to sound nonchalant, "what brings you guys to this… extravaganza anyway? Besides the obvious, of course. I mean, what's your motivation? What's driving you?"
Jann Lee straightened up, his gaze fixed on some distant point. "I seek a challenge," he said, his voice low and resonant. "I love to fight. It is… exhilarating. To test my skills, to push myself to the limit… it is the only way to truly know one's strength. I have traveled the world, seeking worthy opponents. This tournament… is a gathering of the strongest fighters. A perfect opportunity to prove myself."
"So, you're like the anti-Bruce Lee?" I chuckled. "He invented Jeet Kune Do because he wanted to avoid fights. You're the opposite. You live for them."
Jann Lee shrugged. "Bruce Lee… his philosophy is his own. Mine is different. I do not seek to avoid conflict. I embrace it. It is through combat that I find my true self." He glanced at me, a flicker of something that might have been respect in his eyes. "You… I have observed your fights. You have a certain… ferocity. A spark. You are one of the few here who might be enough to… ignite my blood."
Jann Lee’s words hung in the air, a challenge and a compliment wrapped in one. He gave a curt nod, and then, with a burst of speed that was almost unsettling, he was gone, disappearing around the corner as quickly as he had appeared. I was left alone with Tina. The air between us crackled with unspoken energy.
"So," I said, turning to Tina, "how's your old man doing? I heard he took a bit of a beating in his last match." It was a standard, polite question, the kind you ask when you’re trying to avoid the real conversation.
Tina shrugged, her expression nonchalant. "He's tough," she said. "He'll be fine. A few bumps and bruises, nothing he can't handle. They've got a pretty good infirmary here, you know. Everyone who gets knocked out ends up there sooner or later."
I nodded, remembering the brief glimpse I’d gotten of the infirmary earlier. It looked more like a high-tech medical facility than a wrestling clinic. "Yeah, I figured. This whole tournament is pretty… intense."
Tina’s gaze softened slightly, a hint of something that might have been sadness flickering in her eyes. "He just… he wants what’s best for me," she said her voice barely a whisper. "He always has."
I knew her story. Everyone did. Tina Armstrong, the daughter of the legendary pro wrestler Bass Armstrong. Raised in the world of wrestling, trained from a young age to follow in her father’s footsteps. Her mother had died when she was young, leaving Bass to raise her alone, instilling in her a love for the ring. But Tina’s dreams extended beyond the wrestling arena. She wanted Hollywood, she wanted fame, she wanted to be a star. The Dead or Alive tournament was her chance, a stepping stone on a bigger stage. But Bass… he didn’t approve. He saw wrestling as her destiny, the path he had carved out for her. Their conflict was a well-known story, a clash of wills between father and daughter.
"Your life is yours to live, Tina," I said, meeting her gaze. "Nobody else gets to decide that for you. Not your father, not anyone. If you want to be a Hollywood star, then go for it. Chase your dreams. Don't let anyone tell you that you can't."
A small smile touched her lips. "Thanks, Angel," she said. "I appreciate that."
"Just… be careful," I added, a note of caution creeping into my voice. "Hollywood… it's a different world. Fame and fortune… they can bring out the worst in people. They can change you. Just… don't lose yourself in the process. Don't forget who you are."
Tina nodded, her expression thoughtful. "I know," she said quietly. "I've seen it happen. I've seen what it can do to people. But… I have to try. I have to see if I can make it. I can't live with the what ifs."
"Just a friendly warning," I said with a shrug. "Consider it free advice from someone who's seen a few things."
Tina gave me a knowing look. "Alright, Mikey," she said. "Fair enough. But now it's my turn to ask. You've been asking everyone else about their reasons for being here. What about you? What brings you to the Dead or Alive tournament?"
I paused, considering my answer. It wasn’t exactly something I broadcasted. My reasons were… complicated. Personal. But Tina had a point. I couldn’t very well go around interrogating everyone else without sharing my motivations.
"It's simple, really," I said finally, meeting her gaze. "I'm here to kill somebody."
Tina’s eyes widened in surprise. "Kill somebody?" she repeated, her voice laced with disbelief.
I shrugged. "Yeah," I said casually. "That's the plan. I mean, it's called the Dead or Alive tournament for a reason, right? It's not exactly a pillow fight."
She stared at me for a moment, her expression unreadable. "You're serious," she said finally.
"Dead serious," I confirmed. "But don't worry," I added with a wry grin, "it's not you. Or Jann Lee. Or any of the other contenders, for that matter. They’re just… collateral damage, I guess. Necessary steps on the path to my real target."
"And who's that?" Tina asked, her curiosity piqued.
"The guy in the final round," I said, my voice hardening. "That's who I'm here to kill. He's the one I'm after. He's the one who deserves it."
Just then, a booming voice echoed through the resort, announcing that the Dead or Alive fighters should make their way to the arena. Round two was about to begin.
"Well," I said, glancing towards the source of the announcement, "looks like showtime. Gotta go and get ready to rumble." I turned back to Tina, offering a friendly smile. "Good luck out there, Tina. Maybe we'll see each other in the ring. At least if we end up facing each other, it won't be scripted, right?" I chuckled, referencing her wrestling background.
Tina grinned back. "Right," she agreed. "May the best fighter win. And try not to break too many bones."
I watched Tina walk away, her figure a study of grace and power. Even from behind, she was… striking. Damn. She was gorgeous. It was hard to believe she could be so physically intimidating and so… captivating all at once. I shook my head slightly, trying to clear my thoughts. Focus, Mikey. Round two was starting. It was time to get back into character. It was time to become Angel de la Muerte.
As I made my way back to the arena, my thoughts returned to the same question that had been plaguing me all day: who was I going to face in round two? The possibilities swirled in my mind, a chaotic mix of names and fighting styles. Kasumi, the silent and deadly ninja. Ayane is equally lethal and fueled by her inner demons. Ryu Hayabusa is a force of nature in human form. Jann Lee, the human tornado, was driven by an insatiable thirst for combat. Tina Armstrong, the powerhouse wrestler, is a blend of beauty and brutal strength. Each one presented a unique challenge, a different set of obstacles to overcome. I ran through their fighting styles in my head, trying to anticipate their moves, their strengths, and their weaknesses. I needed to be ready for anything. This wasn’t just about winning anymore. This was about survival. This was about proving myself. This was about getting one step closer to Raidou.
My thoughts drifted back to the Danger Zone. The underground weapons facility. The tight, enclosed space of the cargo lift. It was a gamble, a risky proposition, but it could also be my trump card. If I could find a way to use it to my advantage, I might have a chance against Raidou. I had a few… toys… hidden under my hotel room bed. Nothing flashy, just some… persuasive tools… that might come in handy. And I had the master key card. That could open a lot of doors, literally and figuratively. But first, I needed to figure out how to access the Danger Zone. I needed to scout the area and find a way in. There had to be a maintenance access, a back entrance, something. I’d have to be discreet, though. I couldn’t afford to attract any attention. Security in this place was tighter than a drum.
As I walked, my eyes scanned my surroundings, searching for anything that looked out of place, anything that might be a clue. I rounded a corner and stopped abruptly. A door. A plain, unassuming door set into the wall. It looked like maintenance access, the kind you usually find tucked away in less-trafficked areas. My instincts told me this was it. This was my way in.
[~]
Victor Donovan leaned back in his chair, a thin smile playing on his lips. He watched the replay of the first round of the Dead or Alive tournament on the computer monitor in front of him, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. The carnage had been… entertaining. The raw displays of power, the desperate struggles, the inevitable knockouts… it was all so delightfully predictable. He savored the spectacle, the orchestrated chaos, the controlled violence. It was his creation, his grand experiment, and he was thoroughly enjoying the results. He swirled the amber liquid in his glass, the ice clinking softly, his gaze fixed on the screen. He had orchestrated this tournament for a specific purpose, a purpose that went far beyond mere entertainment. He was searching, testing, observing. He was looking for something… special. Something that could further his research and his ambitions. And he had a feeling… a very strong feeling… that he was about to find it.
His gaze lingered on the images of Kasumi and Ayane, the two ninja women from the Mugen Tenshin clan. They were here for one reason, and one reason only: Raidou. He had made sure of it. Their presence was… essential to his plans. The promise of vengeance, the burning desire to avenge their fallen comrade, was incentive enough. They were predictable, driven by primal instincts. He understood them. He understood their motivations. Raidou had proven to be a… successful subject. His body, his skills, his very essence, had been a fertile ground for Donovan's bio-weapon program. He was a testament to the potential of his research, a living, breathing example of what could be achieved with the right… modifications.
Donovan took a sip of his drink, the liquid fire warming his throat. Fame Douglas was a useful tool, for now. But his usefulness was finite. Once he had served his purpose, he would be… removed. And then, Donovan would be free to expand his experiments, to push the boundaries of science, to unlock the secrets of human potential. The final round of this tournament… was more than just a spectacle. It was an opportunity. An opportunity to test the fruits of his labor, the culmination of years of research and experimentation. He did not doubt that Kasumi and Ayane, being of the same clan as Raidou, would provide a… sufficient challenge. Especially if Ryu Hayabusa, the legendary Dragon Ninja, were to make it that far. The clash of these titans… would be a spectacle beyond anything he could have imagined. And Donovan would have a front-row seat.
Donovan’s thoughts then drifted to Angel de la Muerte. His interest, which had been piqued before, was now reaching a fever pitch. He replayed the footage of Angel’s match against Joshua Birk, focusing on the final, devastating punch. He had as little sympathy for the television star as the other fighters; the man had been an annoyance, a stain on the purity of the tournament. But it wasn’t Birk’s fate that held Donovan’s attention. It was the punch. The sheer, raw power of it. And something else… something that had flickered for a fleeting moment, a spark of almost… flame… within Angel’s fist, before it was quickly extinguished. Donovan’s eyes narrowed. He hadn’t missed it. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it was there. And it intrigued him.
He had already dispatched his agents to analyze the psi measurements of the punch, the kinetic energy transferred, and the extent of the damage to Birk’s body. The initial reports were… fascinating. The force of the blow was immense, far beyond what should have been possible for a mere human. And yet, it was clear that Angel had held back. He had deliberately restrained his power. Had he unleashed his full strength… Donovan shuddered to think of the consequences. Birk would have been vaporized.
"Just what are you capable of, Angel de la Muerte?" Donovan murmured to himself, his eyes fixed on the screen. The question hung in the air, heavy with anticipation. He had a feeling… a gut feeling… that Angel was something different. Something… special. And Donovan craved the opportunity to dissect him, to understand the source of his power, to unlock the secrets that lay hidden beneath the mask. He had, of course, taken certain… precautions. His agents had planted surveillance devices in every hotel room, a discreet way to observe the contestants to glean insights into their motivations and strategies. But Angel… Angel had proven to be… resourceful. His people had discovered the destroyed remnants of the bugs, crushed and rendered useless. Someone was paranoid. Or perhaps… simply cautious.
Donovan chuckled softly. It didn’t matter. He had other eyes. Cameras. CCTV feeds. He was always watching. He had seen the exchange between Angel and Tina Armstrong. The casual conversation, the undercurrent of tension. He had heard Angel’s words, the thinly veiled threat directed at the final round’s opponent. It was clear. Angel was after Raidou. But why? What was the connection between them? What secrets were they hiding? Donovan’s curiosity burned. He needed to know. He needed to understand. Angel de la Muerte was a puzzle, a complex equation that Donovan was determined to solve. And he had a feeling that the solution would be… explosive.
Donovan reached for the console on his desk, activating a secure communication channel. "Contact," he said, his voice low and commanding.
A voice responded from the other end, crisp and professional. "Yes, sir?"
"The matchups," Donovan said, his gaze still fixed on the monitor, where the images of the fighters flickered across the screen. "I want them… adjusted."
"Of course, sir. As you wish."
"The first match," Donovan continued, "will be Kasumi versus Ayane." He paused a flicker of anticipation in his eyes. "Let them settle their… rivalry. It will be… illuminating."
"Understood, sir."
"The second match," Donovan said, his voice hardening, "will be Ryu Hayabusa versus Angel de la Muerte." He could almost taste the anticipation. He had heard whispers of the Dragon Ninja’s prowess, tales of his legendary battles. He was a force to be reckoned with, a warrior of unparalleled skill. And Donovan was certain that he would push Angel de la Muerte to his limits. He would force him to reveal his true power, then the mask of restraint and unleash the beast within. "This one," Donovan murmured, "will be… fascinating."
"And the third match, sir?"
"Jann Lee versus Tina Armstrong," Donovan replied. "A battle of wills. A clash of styles. Let them entertain us."
"Very good, sir. The matchups will be adjusted accordingly."
"See to it," Donovan said, his voice laced with authority. "And ensure that there are… no further… surprises."
"Of course, sir. It will be done."
Donovan deactivated the communication line, his smile widening. The pieces were falling into place. The stage was set. The games were about to begin. And he, Victor Donovan, would be watching every move, every strike, every flicker of emotion. He would be watching, waiting for the moment when the truth would finally be revealed.
The communication console chimed again, interrupting Donovan’s reverie. He recognized the frequency; it was the assassin he had hired. He tapped the button, activating the line. "Yes?"
"Everything is in place," a gruff voice replied from the other end. "I'm ready. Waiting for your signal."
"Excellent," Donovan purred. "Your preparations have been made, I trust?"
"Of course. The target will never know what hit him."
"I have no doubt," Donovan said. "You have proven… reliable in the past. Your payment will be wired to your account immediately upon completion of the task. Consider it a… bonus for discretion."
"Understood," the assassin replied. "I will await your command."
Donovan deactivated the line, a cold smile spreading across his face. Payment. The assassin was a fool if he believed Donovan would honor their agreement. Loose ends were… problematic. They tended to… unravel. He had no intention of paying the assassin a single buck. Once Douglas was eliminated, the assassin would be… dealt with. It was simply a matter of efficiency. Sentimentality had no place in his world. Only results mattered. And the results he craved were within reach. The pieces were all in play. The tournament was his stage. And the final act was about to begin.
Donovan settled back in his chair, his focus now fully on the monitor. Round two of the Dead or Alive tournament was about to commence. Fame Douglas’s voice echoed through the arena, his amplified tones announcing the first match: Kasumi versus Ayane. Donovan’s smile widened. This was going to be… interesting. He watched as the two ninja women entered the arena, their movements fluid and graceful, their presence radiating an aura of lethal elegance. They faced each other, their eyes locked in a silent battle of wills. The air crackled with tension, the unspoken history between them hanging heavy in the air. Donovan leaned forward, his anticipation building. This was more than just a fight. This was a confrontation, a clash of destinies, a battle between sisters. And Donovan was going to savor every moment.
"Show them you might," Donovan murmured to the screen, his voice laced with anticipation. He watched as Kasumi and Ayane circled each other, their movements a blur of controlled energy. This was more than just entertainment; it was research. Every strike, every block, every flicker of emotion was being meticulously analyzed and recorded. His agents were working tirelessly, sifting through the data, extracting every scrap of information. The Dead or Alive tournament was his laboratory, and these fighters were his subjects. Their skills, their techniques, and their very DNA were all valuable resource tools to be used in his grand experiment. He was collecting a vast library of combat data, a treasure trove of information that would further his understanding of human potential, of the limits of the human body and mind. And he would use this knowledge to create something… extraordinary.
Just as the fight between Kasumi and Ayane reached a fever pitch, Donovan’s console chimed again. He glanced at the display; the number was blocked. Intriguing. He tapped the button, activating the line. "Yes?" he said, his voice carefully neutral.
"Victor," a voice replied, a voice that was both familiar and unexpected.
Donovan’s eyebrows rose slightly. "Well, well," he said, a hint of amusement in his tone. "To what do I owe this… unexpected pleasure?"
"I trust you are enjoying the Dead or Alive tournament as much as I am," the voice said.
"Indeed," Donovan replied smoothly. "It has been… most enlightening. The performances have been… exemplary."
"I agree," the voice said. "And I do not doubt that the final rounds will be even more… spectacular."
"I share your optimism," Donovan said. "And I assure you, my friend, that soon, very soon, I will be in a position to… facilitate our mutual interests. With Douglas out of the picture, DOATEC will be… mine. And as I promised, you will have access to all of its resources. Just… be patient. The time is almost at hand."
"We are… eagerly anticipating the results of your little test with Raidou," the voice said, a hint of steel entering their tone. "You would be well advised to ensure its success, Victor. Failure… will have a price."
Donovan chuckled softly. "Raidou is merely a prototype, my friend," he countered. "A proof of concept. If he emerges victorious in the final round against whoever is unfortunate enough to face him, then he is, as you say, the weapon we have been searching for. But… if someone else can defeat him… then they will be the foundation upon which we build our ultimate fighter. Either way, we win. It is a win-win scenario."
[~][~]