let's play hide and seek - M

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No name...

No serial number...

No address...

No past...

Does not exist.


Or does he?


"Come out, come out, where ever you are..."</center>

The clang of steel meeting steel could be heard throughout the building, the sound bouncing off the expensive tile that covered the floors and through the open archways. Styled in the Arabian theme from Earth That Was, exotic tapestries covered the walls and luxurious chaise lounges with silk covered pillows were strategically placed about the room. Oil lamps hung from the ceiling and the air was hazy from the incense burning continuously. It was a palace fit for a king -- or rather, a sultan.

Another clang of steel and a low grunt escaped before the sound of masculine laughter, husky with a smugness that was hard to miss, could be heard.

"You're getting old, T. I could have run you through that time," boasted a tan-skinned man as he circled his opponent, sword held at the ready. In another time he could have been a pirate with those sharp features and strong limbs refined from hours spent practicing with the sword and strength-training. A fine sheen of sweat coated his brow and made his skin gleam, but his breathing pattern was slow and easy, as if he were merely lounging about instead of engaged in a rigorous duel.

The rustle of silk could be heard while the other man pushed up his sleeve to check his arm, having hastily shifted to the side in order to deflect the blow aimed for his stomach. He was bleeding - but it was shallow and so he pushed down his sleeve once more and settled back into a battle ready position. Truly, even if it had been gushing blood, he would have gone back to the fight. We do not surrender, do not accept defeat. We fight until there is nothing left of us, or of our opponent. The old lesson played in his mind while he circled the dark-eyed man, smirking slightly. "To do that you would have to be a little faster, M. I saw you coming from miles away," taunting with a shark's smile. As dark as his companion was fair, they were complete opposites, except for the blackness in both of their hearts.

Yelling a challenge, M threw himself into the battle once more, navigating the intricate movements and patterns they had learned in their youth with a masculine grace that was strong and fluid. Clang, clang, clang --

Beep, beep, beep.

The sound of an incoming message was loud enough to be heard over the din of the sword fight and instantly the exotic palace disappeared, revealing sterile white wars and floors. Indeed, even the furniture - modern in design and meant to be functional, not aesthetically pleasing - was white. Cold and clinical, just like its owner.

"Urgent call received from Osiris." The computer announced over the loudspeakers.

Breathing heavily, both men lowered their weapons and turned to eye the screen. The darker man wiped off his brow before bowing. "I'll go clean up." Smoothly excusing himself so as to not interrupt, he swept out of the room and down the hallway.

M bowed and watched him leave before turning back to the large screen hanging on the far wall.

"Proceed."

"Agent M," greeted an older gentleman with hawkish brown eyes and thinning hair.

"Senator," he replied while bowing. "How can I be of service?" If there was a twitch of a mocking smile, it was too small to be seen by the senator.

"I am sending you the file of an unfriendly we would like to have taken care of. We ask that it be done swiftly and quietly."

"But of course." Sharply with a tigerish smile.

"Agent." Nodding his farewell, the senator terminated the signal.

"Anything interesting?" asked T as he re-entered the room.

"It seems the Alliance has misplaced one of their toys..." he said while paging through the file that had been delivered.

"Aw, the poor dears." Clucking his tongue in mock sympathy.

"Indeed." M flashed a grin over his shoulder towards the man before looking down at the picture once more. Belladonna - my, my.

"Don't worry little girl, I'll return you to your owners.."

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<font color="#FFFFFF" size="1">[ December 30, 2005 09:39 PM: Message edited by: drift away ]</font>

[taken from live play.]

It had occurred to Bella, once or twice or many times, that this was not a normal life. It was not a life of choosing, it was not a life meant for most children. No, none of her schoolmates seemed to be there by choice, and yet no one complained or question. Except her. Why was that? Why was she the only one that didn't seem to like their manner of dress, the food they were given, the tasks they were assigned? Which was not to say it was all bad. Training she adored, learning to use the weaponry, hand-to-hand combat, the rush she felt after a fresh kill. Granted, there hadn't been many of those - not yet, anyway. She was only 16! Students were expected to complete hits once they reached 15, but these were limited, and fairly small on the scale, for they were considered to be nothing more than apart of training. It wasn't until the would-be operatives were 18 that they would be fully released into the world, living, breathing weapons serving the Greater Good. Earth That Was had failed, but the Alliance would not. Only two years, just think! Soon she would be out there, cleansing the world of that which would threaten the peace. The idea filled her with excitement and ... something else. Something she couldn't identify, or understand. Or maybe she just didn't want to. Not yet, anyway. The Center [none of the students knew the proper name for the place, at least not that she was aware of - The Center, just like The Order existed simply and quietly, beneath the watchful eyes of the rest of the world] was a strangely cold place. Nothing but white as far as the eyes could see. White floors, white walls, white furniture. The only color added was that from the computer screens and the flesh of the other children running around. "Students of Union Cane please report to the dojo." A metallic voice echoed over the loudspeaker. That meant her, and a handful of others. Dropping what she was doing - which was not much, considering she was simply drinking a glass of water, waiting for her next task - she jogged lightly to the Dojo, where all the combat lessons were held. The glass doors slid open upon her arrival, and in she strolled, dressed just like all the other girls - a tight black catsuit, with black lace-up boots. The boys wore blue. That was just the way it was. "Bella Donna, present." The instructor nodded, assuring her he knew of her arrival, and then off she went, moving to the far side of the room and sitting crossed-legged on the floor until the rest of the class arrived.

M -- or Malcolm, as we must call him, for at this time in his life he was not blessed with his Alliance call sign -- did not question the life they led the way Bella used. Or at least, he did not question the whys or the hows, but how to use it to his advantage. The son of a politician, the skill of turning every situation to his advantage had been inherited along with the genes that made him taller then the rest of the boys in his year and colored his hair that glossy chestnut color. It was a pity that his place in the Alliance would not be the Senate floor, where he could argue and make speeches until his voice cracked and tongue could not form another word. It was a noble profession - but there was a greater glory in the stars for him. Or so he believed..and since he always got his way, then it would happen. "And that is why Companions s--" His words were cut off abruptly when the instructions were broadcasted over the loudspeakers, causing his audience of lads to lean back with a groan. Being the ripe old age of sixteen, he had been given a weekend with a Companion -- the best Companion available, no less -- for his birthday to "make him a man." Which meant he had to boast and brag to all of the other boys in the lodging house. "Sorry lads, have to run." An apologetic smile and he turned to head out of the room and jog across the complex to the dojo. "Malcolm Kane, present."

The girls were not allowed to have such introductions, which seemed rather rude to Bella Donna [and yes, that was her real name - her parents had had a strange sense of humor, or so she had been told]. But then, when she really thought about it, it sort of made sense. Having a bunch of pregnant teenage assassins running around wasn't really the greatest of plans, whereas the boys could sleep with whomever they wanted, and simply ignore the illegitimate offspring. When Malcolm Kane walked in, however, the room had dropped from a respectful hush to a dead quiet. All the girls thought he was simply to die for, the most handsome thing in all of The Center. And the boys? Well, they all wanted to be him. He was the strongest, the smartest, the fastest. Bella, for a long time, had agreed with them. He was cute. Though they weren't friends, the two had seemed to notice one another. Small, flirtatious smiles were occasionally shared, but that was pretty much it. That all changed, however, as they got older. Suddenly Malcolm was the top of their class. The problem? So was Bella. They were in direct competition with each other, the teachers and students always trying to get them to best one another, to improve, to prove once and for all who was best. And so whatever little teenage crush had begun to develop, it died away just as quickly, taken over by the needed to survive in a cutthroat world. The need to be the best. To be The One that outshined all others. When he sat down next to her [actually, he was three spaces down from her, but still] she nodded in his direction. Short, polite. Hell, she even tried to smile. Maybe with a smile they could be friends--- "Donna, Kane, on the floor." All hope died within that once sentence. They were being onto the mat. Which meant, of course, that they were to spar. Again. The other students cheered, each picking a favorite, betting against the others about who would win. The teachers smiled, eager to see who would come out victorious this time. As they took their place, facing one another, Bella sighed. Although it was silent, for she would have never allowed such weakness to show - part of the reason for her being at the top with Malcolm!

Well, girls were supposed to wait for their husbands and all that rot - men needed to sow their wild oats and be "real men." Of course, they weren't supposed to leave The Center while training - the government wouldn't want the secret to get out and have the general public learn what the students were really learning here, but Malcolm was a special case and so special arrangements were made. Which made the boys admire him even more, some to the point of jealousy and spawned more then a few wrestling matches in the dorm to prove who truly was king of the mountain as it were. The change from boy to man helped to spark the beginning of roguish grins and flirtatious winks which sent the bright-eyed girls into quite a tizzy when he decided to focus on them. While his adolescent courtship with Ms. Bella involved mainly awkward conversations and a few smiles now and then it all faded away the minute they reached the advanced stages of their training. Now they were competing for positions in the Alliance -- with all of The Order watching their every move. Analyzing. And so Bella lost all girlish appeal in his eyes and became competition - nothing more, nothing less. He greeted her with a polite nod, cool and impartial. Gone was the joking sinner who shared tales in the back room with the lads, now he was Mal - top of the class and best fighter. He nodded when his name was called, pushing to his feet and striding to the mat so as to get there first, offering a roguish grin for all of his fans.

"Showoff." Oh, what was that? Muttered under her breath with a roll of the eyes, the words were kept soft enough so that they were for Malcolm only. Technically, when sparring, they were not supposed to speak, but ever since they'd been forced into this position of competition, things had ... changed. Most students were only allowed to spar with their own gender until the age of 17. And yet, here they were, facing each other on the mat, at the tender age of 16. Why? Because they were The Best. Period. Bella hated it, but it didn't show. She was a good little girl, just like she was supposed to do, and crouched down low on the mat, finding the position a rather comfortable advantage, what with her long legs [she was taller than all the other girls, most of them were only around 5'5]. Kids were cheering, and Mal, the bastard, was soaking it up, wasn't he? Got on her nerves, riled her up. Much as she questioned things, much as she was curious about life outside The Center, much as she may have seemed to hate the fact that they couldn't be friends, or the fact that she was expected to act a certain way when she wanted to be another ... it didn't make her any less efficient at her training. A fact which came as a surprise to many of her teachers. She had excelled from day one, that was true, but none expected her to gain the physical prowess she now possessed. Nor the ruthlessness that took hold of her at moments like these. When the whistle blew, that was that. The cheering grew to a roar, and she was lunging for his legs, wondering where this particular duel would take them today.

He cut a sharp glance to the side, one brow lifting. What was that? HMO. He eyed her for a few more seconds before bowing to the teacher and to the crowd gathered about the mat - for they had all crept closer and circled around it in order to ensure that they could see every move. The duel was a chance for them to observe and learn after all. Their rivalry was a bit unconventional to be sure. Both were bright and talented, and the teachers not only encouraged the competition, they seemed to be going out of their way to ensure it continued. Finally, he bowed to her before settling into a battle position, watching her shoulders for an indication of her next more. For she tended to lean in the direction she was going to strike before doing so -- which she did just then. He saw her shoulders lower and sidestepped quickly before slamming his arm down in a chopping motion. An attempt to catch her back and force her down into the mat.

Damni. He moved. He always moved when she lunged for him like that, something she was just beginning to realize, and though she knew it was a good thing to learn, it only served to irritate her further. His arm came down across her back, and with a pained grunt she was slamming down on the mat. It had not been all him, of course - the blow was part of it, but she shouldn't have been so foolish to hold her weight in such a way, and so she fell a bit harder than she would have liked. It had to be said, Bella and Malcolm tended to spar a bit more ... violently than the other students. Sparring was a tool to learn, and so teachers did not allow the children to get too carried away. With these two, however, they looked the other way, as they did with so many things. Was it a commonly known fact that they were given special treatment? Take, for example, Malcolm's weekend with such an exquisite Companion! And Bella, just last month, had been given three days off so that she could enjoy a small vacation on a nearby planet filled with beautiful beaches. These were rewards for being the best, everyone knew it, and so it was no surprise to anyone that the teachers did not intervene with competition turned slightly more heated than perhaps it should have been. Anyway, ignoring the brief moment of pain, she flipped onto her side and swept out a long leg towards Malcolm's feet - he always tended to lose track of her movements when she was on the ground and he was above - before rising to her feet with a surprising amount of grace.

Of course he moved. Bella was a creature of fire and high emotions - she fought based on feel and instinct instead of analysis and strategy. Which is why he would beat her in the end - cool logic beat rash emotionalism every day. He offered his fans a smug smile when Bella hit the mat, listening to the sweet thud and the pained grunt that followed. They did seem to forget that it was supposed to be a simple little spar and not a full out battle! Everytime they seemed to try and outdo each other, add a few more bruises, a few more scrapes. He forgot to watch her once she hit the mat and so the blow to his legs struck home. He landed flat on his back with a low hiss but thankfully the breath was not knocked from his chest. So it took barely a second before he was back on his feet and lunging forward to hopefully tackle her.

Malcolm Kane was dangerous. Bella knew that without a doubt, possibly better than those around her. Of course, had she said that to anyone, they simply would've brushed her off. "Of course he is - we all are. What do you think we're being trained for?" That's what they would tell her if she ever confided in them. But she never did, because that wasn't the point - it didn't matter what they thought, what they were being trained for. Perhaps it was ego, or pride, but she knew most of her classmates would be dead before they hit 30. Malcolm would survive, she knew. And though she may court death, she would, too. Call it gut instinct. Why else would their teachers take such great care to polish these two young people to such a fine point? The others were taught, yes, and trained well. But Kane and Donna were two very, very different subjects. Malcolm was encouraged to be cold, distant, logical. Likewise, the adults strove to make sure Bella never lost her fire, never lost her keen instinct and passion. It was what made them both equals and opposites. it also made for a very entertaining show when they fought. His shoulder caught her in the stomach, forcing a gust of air out of her, and the two went crashing to the ground. Pinned beneath his weight, she paused only a moment to look up at him. "We're a game, aren't we? We're also the future." She left it at that - it was a reference to a conversation they once shared. It was the very same day they realized they had been turned into opponents. It was the last conversation they ever had, still tinged with the desire to perhaps be friends, still tainted with the first blush of a teenage crush. "We're the best," he had told her. "That's why they're doing this. You and I are the future." She had nodded. "But we're a game, too," she had replied. And that had ended it. The next day there were no more smiles, no nods, no conversations. They were enemies. They were operatives. Sometimes she wondered if they were even still students - maybe they were just competing assassins. That would've made sense, given their rivalry, the ease with which they caused each other pain. Anyway, after she whispered to him, that brief little question, she was shifting beneath him, gripping his shoulders in her hands and shoving her left foot up into his stomach. Not to try and crush the wind out of him, but to flip him off of her, and onto his back.

He was dangerous with a capital D. But no less dangerous then anyone else in the place so it really wasn't anything special. This school built skills, but it also taught isolationism - soon they would be out in the world, alone and unable to trust anyone else. So why not teach them to be self-sufficient while in school? They did not need anyone to hold their hand, or hear their secret thoughts. Most of them would die before 30 - it was the mark of the profession. They were special. They would beat the odds. They would be stronger, faster. That one conversation had been the focal point of many of his pondering in the middle of the night when sleep could not be found. "Well, you can also forfeit if it bothers you this much, Bella." He hissed before the sound faded into a grunt when she shoved him off of her with her foot. Pushing to his feet, he prepared waited for her to do the same, mind skimming through options and making plans for his next move.

Perhaps that had been her last attempt at normalcy, her last attempt at any sort of connection with him. When he got to his feet, she scrambled to hers, crouching low again, considering her options. But his words had struck something in her, and it must have shown across her face, because some of the other students were suddenly cheering even harder, and the teachers were watching just a little too eagerly. "Are you that much of a coward, Malcolm? That afraid of me?" This time she made no attempt to hide her words, even if speaking was against the rules. "So intimidated that you want to win by forfeit?" Tsk-tsking him. She was taunting him on purpose, absolutely, any regret she may have had about the loss of his almost-friendship utterly and completely obliterated. The room fell silent. Dead silent. Someone even gasped. And then, in a moment of pure heat, she slugged him. Just ... slugged him! No training, no special skill, she just used that fire and passion the teachers were trying so hard to make sure she kept.

"Don't be ridiculous." Sneering. He rocked back with the hit but just used it as momentum to fuel the backhand he lashed her cheek with. The stereotypical strike that all men landed on women when they felt unsettled. But he didn't stop there, oh no. She had started this dance, this all out fight, and he would finish it. Twisting to the side, he settled his weight onto his outer leg so that the inner one could lift and aim a kick towards her stomach. But she had plenty of time to dodge if she was watching for his tells. She had broken the rules by speaking during combat but he would not, choosing to shame her by staying silent. Letting logic work as a shield, while her temper burned and burned. Anger made people foolish, made them forget to be careful. That's what he was counting on, anyways.

The back of his hand carried more force than she expected it to, sent her whipping off to the side, stumbling to keep her balance. It didn't work. Her footing was lost, and she was on the ground, rolling onto her shoulder and hip, struggling to find a good way to get to her feet. ...What the hell was on her bottom lip? A quick swipe of her palm confirmed the fact that he'd drawn blood, and--- she'd gotten careless. His foot caught her in the stomach, threw her off balance even more, until she was flat on her back on the mat, gasping for air. It took a moment - shorter than most would take, but too long for her personal taste - before she was able to regain her composure. Furious with herself, with him, and her teachers. Her anger got her nowhere! So why in the hell did they keep telling her to use it, to never deny her passion? Why didn't they teach her to be like him, so cold and cool and composed? It confused her to no end. And she would have stayed on that ground, thought about it for hours, if it wasn't for that very same instinct. The one that had her gliding to her feet, shaking the confusion away with a toss of her head, and sending a flat palm out in the direction of his throat. It was an unexpected move, she knew that, but she didn't know if it would make contact. He could block, or dodge, surely, but maybe...

"Good morning, Mr. Kane." The crisp voice of one of the nurses in the Infirmary filtered through his mind as his eyelashes flickered and features shifted -- before scrunching in pain and a low groan escaped.

"..Huh?" Grunted while he attempted to open his eyes, before closing them again when the harsh light made it hard to focus.

"You've been out for over an hour." She informed him while he felt a pair of firm hands help him sit up.

"Where -- what happened?" Rubbing at his eyes, he winced when his knuckles found a bruise. Ow.

"You're in the Infirmary. You suffered a rather nasty fall but there doesn't seem to be anything broken."

"Bella --"

"Miss Donna left about a half hour ago. You're cleared to leave when you feel ready."

Damn. He nodded and watched the nurse leave before pushing to his feet, swaying a bit before finding his balance. He felt like he had the worst hangover of his life and it came from taking a shot of Bella Donna - the worst kind of tequila around. Heading for the glass surrounding the room, he saw his reflection and swore softly.

"Just you wait Bella - I'll prove who's the best."

It was a promise, not a threat.

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