"The reports of my death..."
A figure struggles in the shadows of a dark alley - struggles in the arms of two others who hold him fast. There is a flash of silver, reflected streetlight gleaming momentarily on bared steel. A hoarsely whispered warning and the menace of a knife end the captive's struggles, and the other two drag him further into the narrow gap between buildings. It is night in Chinatown, and those who dwell and hunt in the night are out in force.
The two drag their captive to a small group of young men who gather where the alleys intersect. All of the men, save the unfortunate prisoner, wear the colors of one of Chinatown's more notorious gangs. The two women who are present do not wear anything to symbolize their membership, but the attitude they project matches their male counterparts.
A man older than the rest steps out from the others to stand in front of the captive. He has about him an air of leadership, something that sets him apart from the rest. The others' conversations fall silent as the man examines the captive. Their eyes are bright with anticipation.
"We found him hiding out at Chin's," says one of the guards in Chinese. He continues in a more apologetic tone, "The little #^$^@& cut Deng, so we had to rough him up a bit. Sorry, Tran."
The subject of this comment bares his teeth at the gang member and made as if to spit at him. However, the sudden flash of the guard's knife changes his mind.
"Is that the knife?" asks the leader.
The gang member nods, and hands the blade over when his leader motions for it. Tran examines the blade closely. It's a chromed 5" switchblade - the sort of cheap trinket this particular... individual would carry. "This will be most appropriate," he says softly.
"You never were very bright, Jacko" he tells the terrified man in English, "But even you should have more sense than to cheat me. I gave you money for a kilo of the pure stuff, not one kilo of second grade junk. Cheating me costs you your life, but you couldn't just stop there, could you? No, you had to go to the police. That earns you a great deal of pain before I kill you."
"Where are the police now?" he mocks. "They didn't give you any protection did they? Ever wonder why?" Tran smiles evilly, turning the knife to catch and reflect the dim light. "A lot of cash goes through my hands," he continues softly, "And police officers don't make a whole lot of money. Do the math."
The knife flashes forward to prick just slightly into the skin on Jack's neck. He felt it part under the razor edge, and a single drop of blood welled up under the point. Jacko strained backwards to avoid that deadly tip, but his two guardians held him fast.
"And trying to find that... hero, Dragon Fist..." Tran's voice is full of scorn for both Jacko and the superhero. "Didn't you hear? He's dead - VIPER got him a few weeks ago down at Alemeda. I have it on the best authority." Tran's free hand unconsciously pats a suspicious bulge in his waistband as he says this.
"I'm afraid that the reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated," a voice interrupts.
All the gang members whirl to find Dragon Fist standing in the middle of the alley a mere ten feet from them. The hero's weight is balanced forward on the balls of his feet; legs spread shoulder width apart and ready for action. His arms are folded loosely in front of him. "Are we going to do this the easy way or the hard way?" he asks.
Tran curses loudly. "Kill him... quickly!" he orders, sending all his subordinates scrambling for weapons.
"Why do they always choose the hard way?" Dragon Fist muses aloud, then blurs into action. His arms come up to a guard position as he launches himself forward, intent on covering the distance between himself and his opponents, and hopefully getting to Jack, a potential hostage for the gang.
The two guards keep their wits better than most of their compatriots, however. Rather then wasting time fumbling for hidden weapons, they swing their arms back and heave Jacko directly at the onrushing hero.
Dragon Fist is forced to slow and catch the obstacle before he hits Jacko at full speed. His arms flash into action, deftly plucking the man from the air, and swinging him around to gently toss Jacko into a pile of garbage. Although Jacko is now behind him and out of the gang's hands, the act has bought the gang time, and now most have guns out.
A sawed-off shotgun, drawn from beneath a long coat booms as two submachineguns chatter accompaniment. The brick wall behind Dragon Fist explodes in fragments as the rounds pocket it with small craters. None find their mark on the hero, however. Dragon Fist is simply too fast.
Those two haven't drawn yet, he thinks, I'd better take out the three with guns first.
The hero throws himself into a dive between the first two gang members, tucking into a ball and rolling past a surprised Tran. Now between the gunmen and their friends, he is also within range for the finely tuned use of force at which he excels.
Dragon Fist springs up from his crouch, pistoning his fists in a devastating combination that sends the owner of the shotgun to the asphalt. The hero pulls the blows at the last minute, resulting in a cracked rib and bloody nose for his target rather than a collapsed rib cage and shattered skull.
The hero pivots on his feet as the gang members scramble to react to his new position. Faster, much faster than they can believe, he reaches out and grabs an arm just as it swings a submachinegun to face him. Yanking the man off balance, the hero twists and flings his opponent across his body. The gang member crashes into the one remaining gunman with enough force to send them tumbling across the alley.
A sudden impact in the small of his back elicits a grunt form the hero. He reaches back to catch a hand just before it tries to stab him again with a knife. He turns to find one of the women struggling to stab him again.
I should have known better than to assume she was unarmed, he chides himself, But where did she find room to hide it under THAT dress?
Dragon Fist locks her arm straight, then swiftly kicks her square in her unprotected solar plexus. She quickly collapses, fighting for stolen breath. Again though, the surprise move has cost Dragon Fist valuable time. As the woman drops, the hero gets a clearer view of the four remaining gang members.
Tran stands in front of the others, pointing a heavy-looking pistol at Dragon Fist. The two remaining men finish drawing their own pistols - more conventional looking 9mm's. The woman is far behind them, fleeing for the main street. All three fire.
The 9mm rounds go wide to dig more pockets in the brick walls of the alley. Tran's round, however, speeds straight for Dragon Fist's chest. Small pieces of metal flutter off to the sides as a needle-thin dart explodes out from the discarded sabot. The armor piercing round moves faster than even Dragon Fist can react, taking him in the right shoulder as the hero tries to dodge aside. It cuts through his kevlar-lined jacket with ease but flattens against his tough skin. The pain, however, is great.
Dragon Fist grits his teeth against the sharp spiking pain and pushes himself forward. He takes Tran by surprise - evidently the man thought one shot should do for a superhero. Dragon Fist's hands teach him otherwise, pummeling him with a fusillade of blows faster than the man can track with his eyes. Consciousness winks out as Tran bounces off the bricks to land face down on the asphalt ground.
The last two men empty their pistols in vain. Dragon Fist avoids their shots with ease, then sends their weapons flying into the night from suddenly numb hands. First one, then the other drops to the ground too battered to move.
Victorious, Dragon Fist carefully looks at each vanquished opponent, ensuring that none were a threat. He sighs, then turns to catch Jacko as the other tries to sneak away.
"Going somewhere, Jacko?" he asks, lifting. "I believe Tran said something about you buying drugs for him. That means you have connections." The hero looks around at the fallen gang members "... and you owe me."