Mad Dogs (Colab with Takeda Kusanagi) - Part 1 and 2
Brickstown, Paragon City
Camila grunted with effort and tried in vain to release her arm from the vise-like grip Takeda had on her wrist, but to no avail. He was effortlessly keeping her arm immobilized by bending her hand in a painfully unnatural angle, which forced her to place herself in tiptoes to try to alleviate the pressure the armlock was placing on her shoulder. Unfortunately, that position also put her in a very precarious balance, as she found out when, with the lightest kick on her knee, he sent her sprawling to the floor.
She rolled, trying to break her fall, and fortunately he let go of her arm, allowing her to retain a modicum of dignity. Using the momentum, she fell back to her feet, panting softly, a light coat of perspiration making her bare skin glisten. Despite the fact that she was wearing nothing but light cotton pants and a tight tank top, she was already flustered and feeling hot. She also began to think this combat practice wasn't such a good idea. It wasn't about the bruises and soreness she'd undoubtfully feel in the morning. It was about failing to be good at it. All her life she had been used to excelling in all she did - magic, school, piano, gymnastics - and so, tasting the bittersweetness of humility did sting her.
It had been Takeda's idea: to show how she would overpower a much stronger and physically powerful adversary -- sometimes, magic could fail and he wanted to be sure that she wasn't totally helpless. She had acepted the suggestion, it sounded fun, plus, it would involve close personal contact. She had been right about the second, but not so much about the first. Takeda wasn't even bothering to use his superior strength as a man: he simply caught her arms in painfully perfect locks, trapping her with the ease he would a child. The purpouse, he had explained, was not to beat each other senseless, but rather to see how well she fared against a combat-savy man. The asnwer was: not very well. She dreaded to think what would happen when streetfighting practice he had hinted at would start. She only took confort in the fact that if all else failed she could always kick her assailant in the nuts. After all, the engagement rules for a real fight were "Strike first and strike hard to remove your opponent's ability to attack you back". The problem, however, was that kicking Takeda in the nuts was something she couldn't bring herself to do.
She inhaled quickly a few times trying to fill her blood with as much oxygen as possible and then fell into a defensive stance. Takeda stood calmly in front of her -- from the time they had been together, she had learned he didn't like to waste time talking too much, which suited her fine, because she spoke enough for both him and her -- but she had learned to listen when he did speak. Her gaze fell on his bare chest, and a hint of a smile danced on her lips: she could almost bet that he had chosen to fight naked from his waist up on pupouse to distract her. Her gaze followed the contours of his body -- a thin,trim waist gave way to a powerful back and broad shoulders, and although Takeda lacked the sheer imposing bulk of Mataki (who she fondly dubbed "The Walking Closet"), his habit of walking around covered in several layers of flack jacket and reinforced kevlar had concealed very well a physique she would expect to see in a martial artist or a fighter, not a gun-toting mercenary. Secretly, she always thought that guns freaks used them to compensate for some limp physique or lack of physical strength. He had proved her wrong. His arms were not bulgy but broad and she had to admit she liked to see him flex them, even if just doing a natural movement.
"You're distracted."
His words jolted her back to reality and she was surprised he had even spoke during a practice. Then she realized she had indeed lost her concentration staring at his torso and that he was far closer than she expected: close enough to push her and make her lose her balance. Not wanting to be caught so easily, her hands shot to grab his shoulders, and with a sudden kick she swept him off balance, pulling him down with her as she fell backwards. It was a good move, but he seemed to react faster than she could think he would: he broke his fall with one arm, avoiding that she'd be pinned under him, and his other arm wrapped itself around her waist, trapping her arms in an one-armed embrace. Frustrated, she broke the rules of grappling and her right knee shot upwards, burying deeply into his stomach. Although he didn't show any obvious reaction, she felt him heave and release his breath.
"Ops" she smiled sweetly "my knee slipped."
He gave her no answer, but instead released the arm that was all that was keeping him from squishing her: suddenly, 195-pounds of mercenary fell on her, pinning her to the floor, and cutting her breath. While the close contact between their skins, and feeling his warm breath spreading over her neck sent shivers of delight up her spine, the truth was, it was making it hard for her to breathe, not to mention all the aches she had been accumulating throughout the spar decided to complain all at the same time. Giving him a charming grin, she fluttered her eyelashes and looked up at him, his face mere inches away from hers:
"Okay, so we'll call it a draw...."
“That's enough for today.” Takeda careful unlocked his arm and braced his palms on both sides of the young woman's head. Poised above her he pushed off the floor with his feet and up into a handstand. Though his balance was unsteady and the blow to the stomach left him a little tense he remained solid enough to look down at her and frown a little. Her session hadn't been all bad, but he had really hoped she'd refrain from improv until she had at least learned a little more about the basics. Normally starter classes for self-defense involved grappling as way of teaching women how to overpower stronger or larger attackers; grappling seemed like a good place to start considering how he didn't want to take a chance on her accidentally breaking one of his fingers while learning how to break free of an attacker's grip. While he wasn't teaching her how to become a kung-fu master he was certain for now that given her boisterous nature he'd have to be very careful on what he gave her to apply in certain situations; sometimes restraint wasn't everyone's best subject, and even now she had gone from full frontal assault to laid back and a little silly in under a minute. As he looked down at her she had already folded her arms behind her head, smiling up at him as if she had just awakened from a leisurely nap. She had her serious moments, but right now this was hardly one of them. She winked at him, he grunted in response.
“See something you like?”
“I'd move if I were you.”
The look on her face was worth the warning when she realized he meant to come down on her. Coming down off his arms he axeled at the shoulders to bring his full weight down on her, his knee leading the way as if to return the favor to her stomach. Highly motivated and very quickly she rolled to the side just as he made contact with the floor where she was once stretched out. With a solid thud the echoed from the high ceiling of the storage garage he quickly glanced in her direction to see that she had followed his training tips to the letter: get clear of the attack, move away even further to avoid a follow-up strike, then get some extra distance to either reset the bout or to counter with anything that could cover the distance. While it wasn't the most professional display by no means was it the clumiest either; she rolled away of the way and onto her side, then pushed off her shoulder to get to her feet, then from a crouching position she hopped back and landed low. Her fingertips brushed the floor and let him know that she had been paying attention. Good, he thought. If this had been a real fight then he'd automatically be on the defensive with just the flick of her wrist. A minor incantation would be all she needed to merely toss a small and rather effective ball of fire at him. Even if he were able to dodge it in time from that distance all she would need to do is maintain that distance to keep him on the move and running. If he was unable to get to her he was as good as done. He thought about their last go at the arena and how much it took for him to keep up with her the first round though she had beaten him out easily. The second round however he was able to sink a win, but only narrowly. This was enough to convince her that unless she learned a little tactics to her ability to light things up even some guy with no abilities or powers could take her out he he got lucky. That, or if he knew what he was doing. His thoughts continued to go over the things he had experienced since been stationed in Paragon and how every day he had to go the whole nine yards to either keep up or get ahead of the game. From the corner of his mind he could see someone getting lucky and mission going sour, and from the corner of his eye he could see Camila lining up for a counter-offensive even though he had called the session there. He was distracted and she meaned to give him a piece of something to show him she was about to get lucky herself.
“Don't do it, hotness - he's setting you up.”
The sudden appearance of Mataki standing in the doorway made him tense and made Camila gasp - how the hell a man that big could move about so quietly was disturbing. Takeda smirked as if to admit to the truth while she narrowed her eyes and shook a finger at him, more mad at herself for not thinking that he may have let himself open on purpose to trap her; she had seen him do it plenty of times before - kiting is what he called it. He'd set up the trap and then string someone along into an overwhelming and surprising attack that usually ended with a cluster charge of trip mines blowing some poor jerk's boots straight up into his crotch. She never got tired of seeing that and was probably thinking about what kind of trap he might've been setting her up for if she had gone through with her attack. Chances were he wouldn't have tried to pin her in a very compromising position, but then again she was getting around to that eventually. Right now both of their attention was on the man walking towards them with towels on his arms; rather tall, solid build, and looked as if his combed his hair with a hand grenade.
“You spoiled the surprise.” Takeda sat down on the floor and shrugged as Mataki strolled by and tossed one of the towels over his head. Suppressing a cough he handed the other towel to the young lady looking up at his towering form. She seemed uncertain of whether or not she should stand to address him or remain how she was to show she wasn't intimidated by his mass. “I was gonna depants her and tie her ankles up, but NO - you had to show up and tip her off. Thanks a lot, man. No, seriously. I mean it.”
“Bloody hell, was that a joke?” Camila laughed. “Oh my goodness, and you're smiling?”
“There's worse things wandering about than a stray dog. Where we come from, Mataki is it.”
“And what's so friggin' special about a Mataki?” She was pushing her luck as always, and though she hadn't gotten totally use to Mataki being about she was at least trying to give him a warm welcome. Takeda noted their exchanges and had decided weeks ago that the two of them being under one rough wasn't going to be such a bad thing after all. Well, maybe between the two of them they'd give him hell, but at least they were getting along well enough. Camila's specialty was magic, and while he remembered her session in the notebook about how magic users were treated for various reasons it was clear to her that she and Mataki had a few things in common from the word go. Though he knew nothing at all about magic to save his life, one thing he did have down was people fearing him. At least that was back when everything made since and he had things under control. Right now he was getting better, but since he first came to Paragon he had been struggling to regain command of what was swimming around in his blood. Little Ms. Millie hadn't wanted to say anything at first about his sick friend, but after seeing how well they'd mesh Takeda came clean to her and confirmed her suspicions about Mataki. Maybe it had something to do with her gift, but she swore she smelled something in his skin when she first shook his hand that day roughly a month and a half ago: she smelled ash in his blood. Not the kind of smell from a chain smoker or anything like that; no, this was something else, and it was still burning.
“P'nthuwah banch tomo wah?” Mataki nodded to Camila.
“Ch'n banchu oolo nan.” She flashed a beaming smile in response.
“What the hell is that?” Takeda got to his feet. “Hey, no hidden messages!”
“Oorate' nthuul gichewan!” Camila pointed an accusing finger at him and grinned.
“Do not make me come over there young lady!”
Mataki held up a hand in her defense. “I asked her if she got to smell you yet.”
“Dude, seriously!”
“She said you were either being shy or being a prude I think; I dunno. Lost that in translation.”
He studied them for a moment to see which one would crack first. Takeda put his money on Millie and focused his gaze on her. It took a moment but it wasn't long before she threw up her hands and admitted that they were screwing with him. Mataki shrugged, Camila laughed, and Takeda just pulled the towel over his head and sighed. “If you want her to adopt your bad habits, be my guest jackass.”
“Hell naw! If I adopt her then that means I can't--”
“Dude!”
Camila wrapped her towel around her shoulders and sashayed her way passed Mataki, poking him in the ribs as she slinked her way towards Takeda. Clutching her breasts with her hands she pushed them together and made with the pouty lips and an extremely heavy accent. “Br't dole odo m'thuul z'tha, kenagra - yotoran bruch! Muahahahahahaha!” Jabbing a nail into his bare chest she gave him a wink and then blew a kiss over her shoulder towards Mataki before leaving the garage for the showers.
“Shall I translate?” Mataki asked.
Takeda shook his head. “Wouldn't matter anyway; I'm still locking my door at night.” The only other shower was in the next lot that Mr. Merrievetti owned. It was either that or the makeshift one he had pieced together back before Millie moved in. It had it's own hot water heater, but the curtains were the old, dull yellow protective ones used for arc welding and with a woman around he thought to be a little more modest. The owners weren't around after hours and neither were any of the guys who helped him with the metal salvage so it would've been fine, but there were still things about Millie he was getting used to. The things he came to know so far about her were enough though, like sometimes having a roof over your head didn't necessarily make the place a home. Given her dive over across the way he was surprised she'd want even come and hang out in a place not far from the Zigg, let alone crash there. And until Mataki was back to full strength there was only so many people he could count on to have his back right now and only so many of them were even in Paragon. It was going to take some time, but he knew it wouldn't be long before he had to go out again. And like any other time...
“She's fun. I like her.”
“What?” Takeda shook himself from his haze. “Oh, yeah.”
“So,” Mataki laughed on his way to the storage closet, “we still got some rooms open, yeah?”
“Yeah. The owners don't mind us crashing here as long as we provide some 'security' for the place.”
“Fine fine, yeah yeah; cool cool. I was just wondering if maybe you heard from--”
“No, I haven't.”
“Just thought I'd ask.”
“I know, it's cool.”
“You guys are done in here, right? I figured I'd keep my stuff quick and work on a few rounds, you know?” Mataki effortlessly hauled out the body bag and hung it from the chain welded to the steel beam above. “It's like you said: Don't wait for back up because either it's not coming or it'll get here too late. If you're gonna make a move, then move. Don't worry about it, dude. You're gonna be fine.”
“And you know this how?”
Mataki started with a few jabs into the bag. “I got your back.”
“Yeah, thanks.” Takeda started towards the next lot.
“Well, I'd cover your front,” Mataki called after him, “but looks like Millie wanted to--”
“Dude!”
Mataki's laughed boomed across the garage as Takeda. While he wasn't sure if it was the building or not, he was almost certain without a doubt that he could smell it too now: ash.
Camila grunted with effort and tried in vain to release her arm from the vise-like grip Takeda had on her wrist, but to no avail. He was effortlessly keeping her arm immobilized by bending her hand in a painfully unnatural angle, which forced her to place herself in tiptoes to try to alleviate the pressure the armlock was placing on her shoulder. Unfortunately, that position also put her in a very precarious balance, as she found out when, with the lightest kick on her knee, he sent her sprawling to the floor.
She rolled, trying to break her fall, and fortunately he let go of her arm, allowing her to retain a modicum of dignity. Using the momentum, she fell back to her feet, panting softly, a light coat of perspiration making her bare skin glisten. Despite the fact that she was wearing nothing but light cotton pants and a tight tank top, she was already flustered and feeling hot. She also began to think this combat practice wasn't such a good idea. It wasn't about the bruises and soreness she'd undoubtfully feel in the morning. It was about failing to be good at it. All her life she had been used to excelling in all she did - magic, school, piano, gymnastics - and so, tasting the bittersweetness of humility did sting her.
It had been Takeda's idea: to show how she would overpower a much stronger and physically powerful adversary -- sometimes, magic could fail and he wanted to be sure that she wasn't totally helpless. She had acepted the suggestion, it sounded fun, plus, it would involve close personal contact. She had been right about the second, but not so much about the first. Takeda wasn't even bothering to use his superior strength as a man: he simply caught her arms in painfully perfect locks, trapping her with the ease he would a child. The purpouse, he had explained, was not to beat each other senseless, but rather to see how well she fared against a combat-savy man. The asnwer was: not very well. She dreaded to think what would happen when streetfighting practice he had hinted at would start. She only took confort in the fact that if all else failed she could always kick her assailant in the nuts. After all, the engagement rules for a real fight were "Strike first and strike hard to remove your opponent's ability to attack you back". The problem, however, was that kicking Takeda in the nuts was something she couldn't bring herself to do.
She inhaled quickly a few times trying to fill her blood with as much oxygen as possible and then fell into a defensive stance. Takeda stood calmly in front of her -- from the time they had been together, she had learned he didn't like to waste time talking too much, which suited her fine, because she spoke enough for both him and her -- but she had learned to listen when he did speak. Her gaze fell on his bare chest, and a hint of a smile danced on her lips: she could almost bet that he had chosen to fight naked from his waist up on pupouse to distract her. Her gaze followed the contours of his body -- a thin,trim waist gave way to a powerful back and broad shoulders, and although Takeda lacked the sheer imposing bulk of Mataki (who she fondly dubbed "The Walking Closet"), his habit of walking around covered in several layers of flack jacket and reinforced kevlar had concealed very well a physique she would expect to see in a martial artist or a fighter, not a gun-toting mercenary. Secretly, she always thought that guns freaks used them to compensate for some limp physique or lack of physical strength. He had proved her wrong. His arms were not bulgy but broad and she had to admit she liked to see him flex them, even if just doing a natural movement.
"You're distracted."
His words jolted her back to reality and she was surprised he had even spoke during a practice. Then she realized she had indeed lost her concentration staring at his torso and that he was far closer than she expected: close enough to push her and make her lose her balance. Not wanting to be caught so easily, her hands shot to grab his shoulders, and with a sudden kick she swept him off balance, pulling him down with her as she fell backwards. It was a good move, but he seemed to react faster than she could think he would: he broke his fall with one arm, avoiding that she'd be pinned under him, and his other arm wrapped itself around her waist, trapping her arms in an one-armed embrace. Frustrated, she broke the rules of grappling and her right knee shot upwards, burying deeply into his stomach. Although he didn't show any obvious reaction, she felt him heave and release his breath.
"Ops" she smiled sweetly "my knee slipped."
He gave her no answer, but instead released the arm that was all that was keeping him from squishing her: suddenly, 195-pounds of mercenary fell on her, pinning her to the floor, and cutting her breath. While the close contact between their skins, and feeling his warm breath spreading over her neck sent shivers of delight up her spine, the truth was, it was making it hard for her to breathe, not to mention all the aches she had been accumulating throughout the spar decided to complain all at the same time. Giving him a charming grin, she fluttered her eyelashes and looked up at him, his face mere inches away from hers:
"Okay, so we'll call it a draw...."
“That's enough for today.” Takeda careful unlocked his arm and braced his palms on both sides of the young woman's head. Poised above her he pushed off the floor with his feet and up into a handstand. Though his balance was unsteady and the blow to the stomach left him a little tense he remained solid enough to look down at her and frown a little. Her session hadn't been all bad, but he had really hoped she'd refrain from improv until she had at least learned a little more about the basics. Normally starter classes for self-defense involved grappling as way of teaching women how to overpower stronger or larger attackers; grappling seemed like a good place to start considering how he didn't want to take a chance on her accidentally breaking one of his fingers while learning how to break free of an attacker's grip. While he wasn't teaching her how to become a kung-fu master he was certain for now that given her boisterous nature he'd have to be very careful on what he gave her to apply in certain situations; sometimes restraint wasn't everyone's best subject, and even now she had gone from full frontal assault to laid back and a little silly in under a minute. As he looked down at her she had already folded her arms behind her head, smiling up at him as if she had just awakened from a leisurely nap. She had her serious moments, but right now this was hardly one of them. She winked at him, he grunted in response.
“See something you like?”
“I'd move if I were you.”
The look on her face was worth the warning when she realized he meant to come down on her. Coming down off his arms he axeled at the shoulders to bring his full weight down on her, his knee leading the way as if to return the favor to her stomach. Highly motivated and very quickly she rolled to the side just as he made contact with the floor where she was once stretched out. With a solid thud the echoed from the high ceiling of the storage garage he quickly glanced in her direction to see that she had followed his training tips to the letter: get clear of the attack, move away even further to avoid a follow-up strike, then get some extra distance to either reset the bout or to counter with anything that could cover the distance. While it wasn't the most professional display by no means was it the clumiest either; she rolled away of the way and onto her side, then pushed off her shoulder to get to her feet, then from a crouching position she hopped back and landed low. Her fingertips brushed the floor and let him know that she had been paying attention. Good, he thought. If this had been a real fight then he'd automatically be on the defensive with just the flick of her wrist. A minor incantation would be all she needed to merely toss a small and rather effective ball of fire at him. Even if he were able to dodge it in time from that distance all she would need to do is maintain that distance to keep him on the move and running. If he was unable to get to her he was as good as done. He thought about their last go at the arena and how much it took for him to keep up with her the first round though she had beaten him out easily. The second round however he was able to sink a win, but only narrowly. This was enough to convince her that unless she learned a little tactics to her ability to light things up even some guy with no abilities or powers could take her out he he got lucky. That, or if he knew what he was doing. His thoughts continued to go over the things he had experienced since been stationed in Paragon and how every day he had to go the whole nine yards to either keep up or get ahead of the game. From the corner of his mind he could see someone getting lucky and mission going sour, and from the corner of his eye he could see Camila lining up for a counter-offensive even though he had called the session there. He was distracted and she meaned to give him a piece of something to show him she was about to get lucky herself.
“Don't do it, hotness - he's setting you up.”
The sudden appearance of Mataki standing in the doorway made him tense and made Camila gasp - how the hell a man that big could move about so quietly was disturbing. Takeda smirked as if to admit to the truth while she narrowed her eyes and shook a finger at him, more mad at herself for not thinking that he may have let himself open on purpose to trap her; she had seen him do it plenty of times before - kiting is what he called it. He'd set up the trap and then string someone along into an overwhelming and surprising attack that usually ended with a cluster charge of trip mines blowing some poor jerk's boots straight up into his crotch. She never got tired of seeing that and was probably thinking about what kind of trap he might've been setting her up for if she had gone through with her attack. Chances were he wouldn't have tried to pin her in a very compromising position, but then again she was getting around to that eventually. Right now both of their attention was on the man walking towards them with towels on his arms; rather tall, solid build, and looked as if his combed his hair with a hand grenade.
“You spoiled the surprise.” Takeda sat down on the floor and shrugged as Mataki strolled by and tossed one of the towels over his head. Suppressing a cough he handed the other towel to the young lady looking up at his towering form. She seemed uncertain of whether or not she should stand to address him or remain how she was to show she wasn't intimidated by his mass. “I was gonna depants her and tie her ankles up, but NO - you had to show up and tip her off. Thanks a lot, man. No, seriously. I mean it.”
“Bloody hell, was that a joke?” Camila laughed. “Oh my goodness, and you're smiling?”
“There's worse things wandering about than a stray dog. Where we come from, Mataki is it.”
“And what's so friggin' special about a Mataki?” She was pushing her luck as always, and though she hadn't gotten totally use to Mataki being about she was at least trying to give him a warm welcome. Takeda noted their exchanges and had decided weeks ago that the two of them being under one rough wasn't going to be such a bad thing after all. Well, maybe between the two of them they'd give him hell, but at least they were getting along well enough. Camila's specialty was magic, and while he remembered her session in the notebook about how magic users were treated for various reasons it was clear to her that she and Mataki had a few things in common from the word go. Though he knew nothing at all about magic to save his life, one thing he did have down was people fearing him. At least that was back when everything made since and he had things under control. Right now he was getting better, but since he first came to Paragon he had been struggling to regain command of what was swimming around in his blood. Little Ms. Millie hadn't wanted to say anything at first about his sick friend, but after seeing how well they'd mesh Takeda came clean to her and confirmed her suspicions about Mataki. Maybe it had something to do with her gift, but she swore she smelled something in his skin when she first shook his hand that day roughly a month and a half ago: she smelled ash in his blood. Not the kind of smell from a chain smoker or anything like that; no, this was something else, and it was still burning.
“P'nthuwah banch tomo wah?” Mataki nodded to Camila.
“Ch'n banchu oolo nan.” She flashed a beaming smile in response.
“What the hell is that?” Takeda got to his feet. “Hey, no hidden messages!”
“Oorate' nthuul gichewan!” Camila pointed an accusing finger at him and grinned.
“Do not make me come over there young lady!”
Mataki held up a hand in her defense. “I asked her if she got to smell you yet.”
“Dude, seriously!”
“She said you were either being shy or being a prude I think; I dunno. Lost that in translation.”
He studied them for a moment to see which one would crack first. Takeda put his money on Millie and focused his gaze on her. It took a moment but it wasn't long before she threw up her hands and admitted that they were screwing with him. Mataki shrugged, Camila laughed, and Takeda just pulled the towel over his head and sighed. “If you want her to adopt your bad habits, be my guest jackass.”
“Hell naw! If I adopt her then that means I can't--”
“Dude!”
Camila wrapped her towel around her shoulders and sashayed her way passed Mataki, poking him in the ribs as she slinked her way towards Takeda. Clutching her breasts with her hands she pushed them together and made with the pouty lips and an extremely heavy accent. “Br't dole odo m'thuul z'tha, kenagra - yotoran bruch! Muahahahahahaha!” Jabbing a nail into his bare chest she gave him a wink and then blew a kiss over her shoulder towards Mataki before leaving the garage for the showers.
“Shall I translate?” Mataki asked.
Takeda shook his head. “Wouldn't matter anyway; I'm still locking my door at night.” The only other shower was in the next lot that Mr. Merrievetti owned. It was either that or the makeshift one he had pieced together back before Millie moved in. It had it's own hot water heater, but the curtains were the old, dull yellow protective ones used for arc welding and with a woman around he thought to be a little more modest. The owners weren't around after hours and neither were any of the guys who helped him with the metal salvage so it would've been fine, but there were still things about Millie he was getting used to. The things he came to know so far about her were enough though, like sometimes having a roof over your head didn't necessarily make the place a home. Given her dive over across the way he was surprised she'd want even come and hang out in a place not far from the Zigg, let alone crash there. And until Mataki was back to full strength there was only so many people he could count on to have his back right now and only so many of them were even in Paragon. It was going to take some time, but he knew it wouldn't be long before he had to go out again. And like any other time...
“She's fun. I like her.”
“What?” Takeda shook himself from his haze. “Oh, yeah.”
“So,” Mataki laughed on his way to the storage closet, “we still got some rooms open, yeah?”
“Yeah. The owners don't mind us crashing here as long as we provide some 'security' for the place.”
“Fine fine, yeah yeah; cool cool. I was just wondering if maybe you heard from--”
“No, I haven't.”
“Just thought I'd ask.”
“I know, it's cool.”
“You guys are done in here, right? I figured I'd keep my stuff quick and work on a few rounds, you know?” Mataki effortlessly hauled out the body bag and hung it from the chain welded to the steel beam above. “It's like you said: Don't wait for back up because either it's not coming or it'll get here too late. If you're gonna make a move, then move. Don't worry about it, dude. You're gonna be fine.”
“And you know this how?”
Mataki started with a few jabs into the bag. “I got your back.”
“Yeah, thanks.” Takeda started towards the next lot.
“Well, I'd cover your front,” Mataki called after him, “but looks like Millie wanted to--”
“Dude!”
Mataki's laughed boomed across the garage as Takeda. While he wasn't sure if it was the building or not, he was almost certain without a doubt that he could smell it too now: ash.