Generally speaking the nightly schedule is that Musashi and Ayame sleep with each other, and tonight was no different.

The one difference neither of them wanted was the assassin.

Musashi's instincts had made him wake up a few times in his life – and generally when he didn't want them to – but when they woke him this time he knew something was terribly wrong because they'd never woken him up that urgently.

The reason of the activation became evident about as quickly. Musashi sprung to his feet, in a black promotional Aliens T-shirt from 1986 and oddly well-contrasting olive drab BDU pants.

Not 10' away from the bed in the darkened cell was a black-clad man, unarmored and very sleek-looking with what Musashi assumed was the most expensive infiltration technology available.

Techs' cost quickly becomes irrelevant to any situation when it's broken, and so, the assassin knew Musashi was running at him – he could see the young man's silhouette easily – be he couldn't react.

And then he was floored, stumbling to the hallway a few yards behind him against his will.

Musashi pursued and the assassin was on his feet again.

The assassin drew a knife Musashi never really saw and tried to gash Musashi's face with it to find that not only could the boy dodge the finely-tuned, normally-deadly strike, but he could counter it.

Musashi bent backward to dodge the attack, then held that arm away from himself and punched the assassin in his chest as hard as he could. Musashi at least felt four ribs give in to the pressure, sickeningly, but the man gave as well, crumbling impotently backward.

Musashi closed their new gap and front-flipped, tucking a leg in and leaving one out for a groin hit that had made many a sparring partner want to die. Nothing broke from the strike like last time, when it connected, but the man's scream was enough to make it worthwhile sheerly for enjoyment.

Then Musashi rolled, and was on his feet again. The assassin was too, but from a hop. The look in his eyes begged Musashi to let him recover – a genuine look – and while Musashi's fighter side urged him to decline any such requests the human side didn't let him.

"Do you expect me to tell you who sent me?" the assassin asked.

"No, I...expect...you...to...die," Musashi said, feigning extreme pleasure at it.

"To a person who'd make a reference like that, maybe it wouldn't be so bad to die," the assassin said, smiling like Musashi was.

The assassin sprinted at Musashi, a fist leading him.

Musashi wondered why he'd be so obvious, and almost over-thought his response.

When it became too late for the assassin to change his mind, Musashi moved slightly and grabbed the assassin via his outstretched wrist and threw him the way he was headed, kicking him along.

The assassin arose slowly. "I see I've once again underestimated someone."

"Maybe you should, like, not," Musashi said.

He shrugged.

Musashi came at him and unleashed. The assassin sent a punch at Musashi only to have it slapped away, heard. Musashi soon began slamming his fists into the man at unpredictable and nearly unpredictable angles. Every time the man tried to block or dodge or lessen the pain by anticipating it Musashi's fists' destinations would magically change, but the paths they used would remain the same for the entire trip somehow.

"Mushi!" Ayame yelled. At the time, no one noticed how she shortened his name.

"Not now," Musashi said.

An opening.

The assassin kicked Musashi's knee into itself. Musashi saw it too late and couldn't dodge it, though he didn't let it break or fracture. His leg straightened, but nothing else came of it.

The assassin saw another opportunity and kicked straight for Musashi's right arm, then pulled the leg down, hitting his left arm on the way down, then pulling the other leg up, turning himself sideways. The bottom of his foot his Musashi's upper chest.

Musashi went backward, and missed the transition between standing upright and being flat on the floor, irritated by this because he'd been ready for the hit. This, of course, irritated the assassin.

"Baby–" Ayame said, heading toward them.

"This's our fight," he said. He looked to the slowly-approaching assassin, still on the ground. "Please don't involve her. She'll honor what I said."


Musashi went to the side to get up, taking a huge risk. This paid off; the assassin'd never seen someone rise that way. He didn't expect that to rotate into a thousand-pound kick, either, but by the time he recognized the attack he'd been hit on his face and the base of his neck a lot harder than seemed physically possible.

The assassin coughed blood without noticing it, standing again, despising that he was bleeding more than his prey even more than the coppery taste in his mouth. "You suck at being prey." Musashi laughed. "What's your style?"


The assassin smiled. An alarm screeched into activation and the assassin left with it, saying "We'll finish later."

A/N: this is the last chapter I wrote. I'm not going to continue this story, but expect elements from it to arise in other things I do.