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Mary Ryan looked like hell and felt like hell because everything sucked and everything hurt and she was dying… kind of.
Maybe.
Not really, because, truth be told, she felt like she was already dead, killed in her losing skirmish in the Fatal Fury bracket of the King of Fighters tournament just two days prior. Obviously, she wasn’t, though, as dead people didn’t ride elevators while transporting cartons of berry smoothies, but whatever… it didn’t matter. What did matter was her destination: a corner-unit apartment a little ways down the dimly lit corridor the lift had just let her off at. She walked with some difficulty, as her stiff muscles felt like they were on fire, but it was a short trek and, once inside, she would be able to sit down and maybe take some (more) painkillers.
…If her friend would have her, anyway, since the private investigator was — maybe against her better judgment — about to knock on the other woman’s door unannounced, a beat-up surprise for her beat-up bestie, who had also entered the King of Fighters tournament… and lost her second-round match in the Art of Fighting bracket. It wasn’t to say that the woman called King wasn’t a formidable fighter; she was, but her dreams of winning the prize money were snuffed out by, as Mary had been informed, a ninja with fishnets and bad hair. She didn’t know how poorly her friend’s bout had gone; she just knew that she had taken quite a beating and probably needed some cheering up. Unfortunately, Mary didn’t feel all that cheerful either; she was actually pretty upset at the whole damn world because of what happened to her at the hands of that… never mind. Either way, misery loved company, and she knew that King was just as miserable as she was (if not more so).
Frustratingly enough, it took longer than it should have for the PI to reach the dwelling since her injuries wouldn’t allow her to move at her normal pace. Once in front of the door, she rang the bell and waited until she heard the unmistakable sounds of the locks on the other side being released before trying her best to put on a friendly smile. Swiftly, the entrance was pulled open, revealing King in all her battered — and somewhat puzzled — glory. All at once shocked and saddened by the sight in front of her, Mary’s smile quickly faded as an almost animalistic desire to find and pummel the ninja wormed its way into the back of her mind. She opened her mouth to speak but was instantly stopped by King, who was looking at her with an expression of pure horror.
“One: what the fuck happened to you; two, are you okay; and three, what are you even doing here?!”
“Hi. I’m bringing you the gift of cold drinks and shitty company,” Mary replied with a grimace as she walked past King, who had stepped aside to let her in.
“Hi, and why would your company be shitty?”
“You’re asking a lot of questions,” the detective pointed out while placing the drinks on the table.
“Well, yes, because I have a lot of them.”
“Fair. Anyway, one, my opponent was a beast, two, not really, and three, I wanted to try to cheer you up.”
“From the looks of it you’re the one who needs cheering up,” King commented.
Mary made a face as she shrugged out of her bomber jacket, exposing scraped and bandaged skin while really looking at her friend, who had shut the door and was rushing over to her as quickly as she could given that her left ankle was wrapped with a thick Ace bandage. Her right knee was bruised while the rest of her leg was covered with several Band-Aids of varying sizes, and her face, which was twisted with concern, was decorated with small cuts, the deepest one, which was on her chin, being held together with a Steri-Strip. The look was completed by a dark bruise that covered the area from her right temple to just under her eye.
“Okay but you look just as bad as I do,” Mary stated.
“Who cares?! What. Happened ?!”
“I already told you I lost my match? Bb, I’m —”
“Don’t you dare even try to deflect,” King warned while crossing her arms over her chest.
“I’m not trying to deflect,” Mary protested, though, truth be told, she probably would have tried had she not been interrupted (but only a little, and only out of habit).
“Need I remind you about our no bullshit policy?”
The detective turned away from King and draped her outerwear over the back of a nearby chair, all too aware of the other woman's quiet gasp as she must have taken in the sight of her severely bruised and scraped-up back, which was adorned with many large bandages that didn’t entirely cover all of the nasty abrasions that peeked out of the back of her shirt. Despite her sour mood, she couldn’t keep her lips from curling upward, as she knew exactly the expression King was wearing. She coolly said without looking, “Don’t make that face.”
“What face?”
“That one.”
“The face I’m making isn’t important! Mare, who did this to you?!”
“A lunatic ,” Mary answered, unable to keep her high-pitched voice from dropping almost an entire octave (a vocal quirk that only manifested when she was pissed ) as her opponent’s horrible face briefly flashed in her mind.
“Tell me everything!”
“You, first,” the detective said as she freed a smoothie from its cardboard prison and handed it to the bartender, who stared at her in disbelief.
“I already told you on the phone: a fucking ninja carved me up like a Thanksgiving turkey but who cares because, Mare, you look like you got run over by a train ! Who did this and where can I find them?!”
“Oh, bb —” Mary sighed, strangely self-conscious about the marks all over her — “you know damn well you’re in no condition to go after anyone on my behalf so please just stand down and drink that, you hot-headed dork.”
King pressed her lips together in a thin line and narrowed her eyes, but removed the paper cover from her straw and did as she was told. She then gestured toward the sofa on the other side of the open area, which the detective went to; she sat down and winced as her sore body made contact with the plush cushions. She leaned forward to put her drink on the coffee table, where a large bottle of ibuprofen sat.
“Can I have some of that?”
“Of course,” King answered as she lowered herself onto the other side of the couch.
Mary thanked her before opening the bottle and pouring four pills into her hand, not caring that the standard dosage was only one. She popped all of them at once and washed them down with her smoothie while King watched her very carefully. She supposed it was time to trade war stories.
“Who talks first?” The detective queried. “Do you talk first? Do I? What are we doing?”
“I already talked on the phone.”
“Well yeah, but —”
“No buts,” King told Mary firmly. “Talk.”
“...Fine.”
Mary let out a pained expletive as the very first blow from her opponent sent her tumbling to her backside. As she eyed the dirt at her feet, his shadow loomed closer, footsteps treading slowly, with no sense of urgency. She momentarily stared at a pair of well-polished black shoes before her eyes panned up to take in the black slacks that housed two tree trunks for legs that were connected to a broad torso that stood out in a skin-tight dark gray t-shirt. One incredibly muscular arm hung by his side while the other remained suspiciously tucked in his right pocket — as if he wasn’t in a highly-touted fistfight.
Ryuji Yamazaki’s stature was towering compared to hers, but somehow that wasn’t the most unsettling thing about him; what creeped her out the most was his eerily calm, almost dismissive body language. With that one hand in his pocket and an impish grin on his face, the Yakuza enforcer she was investigating looked less than combat-focused. Hell, he seemed to not even care about the situation he was in.
That meant one of two things: he either really didn’t give a shit… or he was just plain crazy.
Rather than exhaust her mind figuring out which one it was, Mary sprang back to her feet and focused on her objective: clobbering this bastard. She stepped in with a wide left but kept her body too on the center line, and Yamazaki made her pay for it again: an extension of his foot connected sole-first with her stomach, and his superior strength pushed her back to a skidding reunion with the ground. Mary had to scramble fast, as the man was coming in hot and intended to kick her while she was down. However, she used his attempted follow-up to her advantage: Timing his leg as it arrived, she caught it and seized him tight. Now he was on the retreat, hopping backward while she relentlessly clung to him, imposing her grappling will.
This was her world now.
The private eye swung with the momentum, using Yamazaki’s weight against him, and he crashed to the ground, unable to maintain footing. She quickly tried to pass to mount but could only clear one leg, as the large man started moving with a purpose. She knew she couldn’t hold him down for long, so she went for broke: Bringing her leg up to waist-level, she used that spot as a base to plant her foot, grab hold of his exposed arm, and violently jerk it northwards before bending the joint over her own arm into a painful wing: a keylock. He didn’t want to use his right hand? She’d tear off his left.
Mary strained with every muscle as she cranked on his arm, begging for either a tap or to feel a break, but her gamble was short-lived because her opponent was too large; she was simply unable to keep him down. With the use of one leg still, he was able to work in conjunction with his upper strength to force her off of him. She let out a loud, annoyed breath as they each scrambled.
All that work for nothing.
…Back to square one.
Unfortunately, he let her have it when they both returned to their feet: A massive left body kick stunned Mary even as she blocked, and the man slung his left arm in a wide, slapping motion. Even as the hits connected with her arms, they still moved her backward, the discrepancy in their constitution giving her real problems. But he still had one glaring weakness: his right was now completely exposed.
And, so, Mary feinted with a left to get his arm up, then cracked him with a punishing right; as he recoiled, she dug into his midsection with a sharp left, turning with the motion until she was in a rapid spin. As she came back around, her fist flew out like a piston, snapping Yamazaki’s head back hard. What she didn’t expect, however, was for his head to come slingshotting back toward her. Before she could even curse, skull met skull, and her world blurred. All she could do was feel at that point, and her next sensation was her back connecting with the hard ground.
“Fu… fuckin’… jerk…!”
Mary pulled herself up to crawl on hands and knees, turning her back and trying to gain precious distance. She felt her adversary coming up behind her and quickly determined that her best defense was to throw her leg out and repel him with a kick to the knee, which was just enough to stall him until she got back up.
As they faced each other, she noticed he was sporting new makeup: a cut both above and below his lip, with a trickle of blood that had already painted a line to his neck. But she also felt familiar warmth from her forehead, where bone had impacted on bone and rent the flesh all too easily. They both had their crimson cosmetics.
Yamazaki then became a little more animated on his feet, setting up his offense with a push kick. Mary bounced it off her shoulder and charged in but ran headfirst into two sharp, blurring jabs from an uncannily fast left hand. She honestly didn’t know what hit her; it looked like he hadn’t even made a motion!
She shook the sting away and swung a hard one-two. As expected, he blocked the left and took the right straight on his cheek, stumbling back, but she met him at just the right time with a leaping sobat, planting her foot in his chest and giving the vexing man a trip to his own rear. He sprang up quickly and threw a stomping left kick, which she sidestepped, and he came pivoting with a right back kick behind it. Again, she was elusive, and she came barreling in with a sharp calf kick to his stationary leg, stumbling him just enough for her to blast him with a quick body left to a nose-busting straight right.
Now he was really bleeding.
At this point, the private investigator could tell that Yamazaki was becoming agitated, or at least feeling some type of emotion, as his face distorted with what appeared to be absolute mania. One eye squinting, the other eye popping open, his teeth bared with an unnaturally wide grin… she was starting to question if he was on something. Every second in his presence unsettled her more and more; she wanted to be done with this — and fast. But, first, it was time to test him again.
Yamazaki stepped in and unleashed a wild left hook while Mary ducked and dived in on a body lock, her hands interlaced around his waist. She wrenched and tried to get him down… but his feet stayed firm underneath him. Furthermore, he punished her for this grapple attempt by raising his arm high and bringing his elbow down repeatedly on her head until she was forced to let go. Her adversary’s own knee was waiting for her when she stumbled; it flew right into her face, sending her backward onto yet another collision course with the ground.
That one seriously rattled her. It took precious moments to shake off the cobwebs, but he was already back on her, letting loose a sharp punch into her stomach. She whimpered out whatever air remained and threw her body against his in a desperate clinch, slipping her arms around his neck to control his head posture. From here, all it took was one sneaky slip of the foot, behind his calf…!
Just like that, the tables were again turned in her favor. He couldn’t defend a simple trip takedown, as she swept his leg out and toppled him like a domino. As soon as they hit the turf, she wasted no time sliding up above his waist and at last achieving the mount she desperately wanted.
He was freaking toast now!
Mary let loose with her fists, battering him with a barrage of unanswered punches until he finally caught one wrist and started to buck upwards with his hips, creating just enough distance that he was able to roll to his stomach. Mary grinned because that was where she wanted him. Sinking her legs into his abdomen, she wrapped her arms around his neck and seized him in a textbook rear-naked choke; immediately, she began to squeeze like her life depended on it.
And maybe it did.
The body difference, again, proved not in her favour, though, and the brutish man was able to easily get to his knees and begin to work his way up, but Mary wasn’t having that — not just yet. She released the rear naked and instead transitioned smoothly into a back-mounted armbar, flattening him to the ground and stretching out his appendage with her total weight bearing down, belly-first: Russian style. She typically preferred a traditional one, with her on her back and pulling his arm against her, but she took what she could get.
Regrettably, this position was not good for holding him down. His natural advantages allowed him to effortlessly gain elevation, and the next thing she knew she was metaphorically dangling on a hook, the brute now in top position, while she suddenly felt very vulnerable on bottom.
Shit.
Lest she start taking fierce poundings, Mary stayed focused and transitioned from an armbar to a leg triangle. Slipping her legs free of his arm, she instead brought them around his neck in a vice grip and began crushing the avenue that brought oxygen to his brain. This was her only hope… she needed to put this guy to sleep!
There was a tense, almost personal eye level between them, his reddening, vein-protruding face gazing into hers, his teeth clenched so hard she thought they might break against each other. She stared back up at him with strained muscles, her cheeks burning with the intensity of her gritted teeth, silently begging him to go unconscious or tap.
Predictably, the detective wasn’t that lucky; in fact, she was quite the opposite because her opponent, utterly deranged as he seemed, was also apparently much more observant than she had pegged him for, as he swiftly brought his hand over to her head, gripped the helix piercing in her left ear, and ripped it straight out, all but destroying the cartilage the hoop was suspended in.
Mary screamed — a loud, blood-curdling noise she never even thought she was capable of making — as blood began pouring out of her ear. Immediately her body started to tremble, and in that moment she wasn’t entirely sure if it was purely because of the pain, or if it was because, for the first time in a long time, she was legitimately becoming frightened by this person and what he might have been capable of.
She was violently thrown off of him, as she had clearly broken her discipline in the midst of the atrocious thing he had just done…
Back on their feet with blood painting her cheek, cascading down her neck in streams, any sense of professionalism had also bled out of her, and she screamed with a mixture of pain and rage, barreling forward in an attempt to animalistically deal some sort of revenge on him. Wild, uncoordinated, looping punches she tried to throw his way, but his head movement far too simply avoided them. And that smile… that smug, pompous fucking smile…!
Mary gathered up all her hysterical fury into the focal point of her fist, and prayed that she could put his disgusting face to sleep.
…But reality wasn’t that generous.
The knockout punch was pathetically off-track, and a crushing sensation rammed into her stomach at what felt like 100 miles per hour as Yamazaki’s knee buried so deeply it felt like it might come out of her spine. She didn’t even have time to gasp for lost air, as a hand found its way around her neck, and she was easily chokeslammed to the ground. She heard him begin to laugh — a shrill, maniacal sound — while his feet started moving, and felt the hot asphalt rake her back: He was dragging her — like an occupied body bag — and the momentary discomfort of her skin chewed up by the foundation beneath her was her only relief from the sensation of her ear screaming out for the missing flesh it once bore. She felt no control at this point; she was a lifeless puppet, controlled at his whims, as he hoisted her back up to her feet and delivered one last hook straight into her already-disrupted stomach. She felt the remnants of an earlier lunch expel out of her, a final embarrassment before another merciful collision with the earth that signified the end.
The referee had seen enough. To save Mary from herself, he stepped in and swiftly concluded the bout.
“Blue Mary is unable to continue! Winner…YAMAZAKI!”
There were mostly boos, as hardly anyone wanted to see a Southtown sweetheart felled by a sketchy foreigner, especially in such a brutal way. The large man took it in stride though, once again smiling before turning to strut away, hand still nestled in his pocket. He showed no concern for Mary’s health, nor a crumb of sportsmanship, which just made her angrier. Emotions that were already running high now started to boil over; she found herself close to making what she knew was a mistake but not caring. Reckless impulse overwhelmed logic, and she sprang back to her feet, cupped her hands, and screamed:
“DESPICABLE SON OF A BITCH!”
He stopped.
Mere seconds after the outburst, she was already cursing herself with regret. Silently praying he would just keep walking, not care… but it was no use: He was turning back around. Her heart plummeted into the depths of her intestines.
No no no no… !
Mary mentally pleaded that this wasn’t happening right now. His footsteps were coming back, drawing nearer… how could she have done something so stupid?!
Yamazaki’s face looked none too enthused, and hers was trying its hardest to maintain a strong facade, even as he came to a stop right before her.
…And that was when she saw the knife.
Oh shit.
Mary couldn’t believe this was happening. This man — this clearly psychotic man — was standing in front of her, the shimmering steel of a blade pointed in her direction, nobody jumping in to help… was she really about to die? Over one silly outburst? One moment of weakness?
She felt her lips move… and a beg was on the very tip of her tongue…
…But it never had to come.
Yamazaki smiled, turned the blade towards himself, and casually stuck it underneath his dirty fingernail. He turned back around and walked off, whistling jauntily. A little shell shocked, Mary slumped back to the floor, as the presence of Death had done a drive-by on her spirit, and rounded a corner into the sunset.
She suddenly became the best loser there was and got the hell out of there.
“And there you have it,” Mary sighed as she took a sip of her drink. “I got lucky enough to go up against the guy I’ve been investigating and he totally kicked my ass.”
“Mon Dieu,” King breathed, wide-eyed. Although not a hugger, she pulled Mary close (she apologized when Mary sucked air in through her teeth) and sighed.
“I want to rip his head off for doing this to you,” she growled out of nowhere.
“He was legitimately batshit ,” the PI started. “I don’t think —”
“Guys like that don’t scare me, and I’m no stranger to big boys who like to play with knives. I’ll find him and shove that blade right through his scrotum.”
Mary couldn’t help giggling as she adjusted herself to rest her head on King’s shoulder.
“My goodness, bb! So violent!”
“What can I say?! Nobody hurts my friend like this,” King exclaimed heatedly.
“Too late, bar wench. I mean, look at me. I look like ground beef under all these bandages.”
“Yeah, because he literally dragged you across the floor! I will kick his entire digestive tract out through his mouth!”
The detective frowned as the gruesome visual popped into her head.
“Ew,” was all she said before falling silent. She became lost in her thoughts then, imagining what Butch would have said had he known about this.
“What are you thinking about?” King asked after a moment.
“I can’t help thinking that Butch would be disappointed in me,” Mary replied sadly.
“What?! Why ?!”
“Because of how badly I let myself get thrashed. He taught me better than that.”
“Mare, don’t,” King said gently. “You’ll drive yourself crazy if you go down this road.”
“Pfft —” Mary sighed as she forced Butch out of her mind — “I’m already crazy, Céc.”
“You’re not crazy. I’m crazy; you just have depression.”
“Bitch, please — we’re both nuts! Just… not as nuts as Yamazaki.”
A pause.
“I hope I never see that bastard again…!” Mary stated.
“Do you think you ever will?”
“I can’t say, but…”
“Well, try not to think about it.”
“A little hard when I still have a job to do.”
“To hell with the job, Mare,” King chided. “Take some time to recover and then worry about it, okay?”
“Fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine.”
A comfortable stillness descended on the pair as they held onto each other. Mary shut her eyes then, feeling better than she had been earlier, and actually smiled as she thought back to a good thing that came out of her encounter with Yamazaki.
“What are you thinking about now ?” King prodded, obviously sensing the subtle change in Mary’s demeanor. The detective let out a quiet chuckle as she pulled away, a lively glint in her pale eyes.
“I met this guy...”