InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 8: Vendetta ❯ Reversal of Fortune ( Chapter 2 )

~~Chapter 2~~

~Reversal of Fortune~

 

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~October 31, 2070~

~Chicago, Illinois~

 

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Opening her bag, Samantha pulled her gear out to check it, arranging it on the light tan bedspread that looked just like every other bedspread in every other run down motel that she'd checked into during her course of time as a hunter. The room was cleaner than some of them she'd rented before, though the smells that always seemed to linger in places such as this still whispered in the back of her mind—base odors that she could recognize and that she'd learned to ignore a long time ago.

 

Shuriken—one of the weapons that she'd painstakingly trained with—etched with her father's seal—her subtle reminder of the family that she was fighting for . . . The wicked-looking twin daggers that she used in hand-to-hand combat . . . Forged from the fangs of her grandfathers, Cain and InuYasha, and great uncle, Sesshoumaru, they were just as formidable as the men's swords, but it had been decided that she was too small to wield a sword, too, and to that end, her uncle, Ryomaru had spent hours upon hours upon hours, training her how to fight with the knives, instead . . . Her gun—she'd already stopped off to buy ammunition . . . She'd never actually used the weapon in a fight, but if she'd opted to leave it behind . . .

 

Wrinkling her nose, she shook her head, checking the gun to make sure that it was loaded and ready. To her knowledge, she was the only hunter who carried one—even Cain's hunter, Cartham, who was a notorious gun enthusiast, didn't carry one on the job. To him, they were toys though he did show them the utmost respect. Still, it grated on her nerves that she was constantly admonished to carry hers . . .

 

Shaking her head as she pulled her leather coat from the confines of her luggage, she shook it out and pulled it on, scooping the length of her hair out of the collar before flipping back the collar. She hadn't bargained on the chill in the air. Even Maine hadn't been this cold when she'd gotten onto the plane earlier in the day. One of the men she'd overheard in the airport upon arrival had said something about a blast of arctic air that had moved down from Canada. Add to that the looming threat of a heavy rain, and, at least in her estimation, they were in for a heck of a ride from dear old Mother Nature.

 

Letting out a deep breath, Samantha reached for the slim-file. She spared a cursory glance at the shoddy photo of the youkai in question before tapping the touch screen to open the file that contained pictures—images of the children that had been killed for no other reason than because they were human—children who didn't realize that their lives were going to be so short, who didn't deserve what had happened to them, in the first place.

 

She'd already memorized every line of Benoit's face, knew them by heart. No, she wanted to remember the faces of those that Benoit had cut down without thought and without caring that they meant something to someone. Those faces would give her the strength—the will—to see this mission through.

 

She took her time, scrolling through the images. A golden haired girl with bright blue eyes and rosy, rounded, chubby cheeks with deep dimples as she smiled at the camera . . . a little boy no older than four, holding onto the limp arm of a much-loved teddy bear . . . another girl, this one with deep brown eyes and her thumb in her mouth . . . Just babies, they were . . . babies who shouldn't have known or ever had to feel that sort of fear . . .

 

Snapping the file closed, Samantha set it aside and reached for the throwing stars, stowing them carefully in the inside pocket of her coat. The knives fit snuggly into holsters that hung on her hips within easy reach, and the gun was strapped to the small of her back. A couple extra cartridges of bullets fit into her left side pocket, and she ticked off the inventory in her head before reaching for the small black beret and heading for the door.

 

The late afternoon sunshine outside the motel was dull and watery, diluted by thin, filmy clouds that seemed more of a high fog than clouds. It reminded her of the haze of smog that tended to linger over Tokyo, though she'd been told often enough that the smog was much better these days than they had been in years gone by. Still, there that many people gathered, it was an inevitable thing, and while Chicago was no where near the size of Tokyo, it was certainly large enough.

 

Striding through the nearly abandoned parking lot as she maneuvered between a couple rows of parked cars, she stepped onto the sidewalk, letting the crowd encompass her as she moved along the tired old streets. She'd purposefully found a motel on the seedier side of town. The last bit of intelligence they'd gotten had placed Benoit in this neighborhood, and from what she'd been told, the youkai seemed to have taken a liking to a particular bar a couple streets over. That was her destination now, and while she didn't try to delude herself into thinking that she'd actually find him tonight, she couldn't help but hope that maybe she'd get lucky, anyway . . .

 

 

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

 

 

The incessant drone of the electronic alarm clock rattled through the silent room with a vengeance. Uttering a low growl, an arm reached out from beneath a thin pillow, swinging wildly in the general direction of the clock without actually hitting it.

 

With a frustrated grunt, Kurt Drevin rolled over and sat up, smacking the offending timepiece with a balled up fist before swinging his legs off the bed and slumping forward, elbows on his knees. Rubbing his bloodshot eyes, he slipped a hand around the back of his neck, rubbing hard in an effort to alleviate the stiffness that had set in during the forty-five minute nap he'd allowed himself.

 

“Shit,” he muttered, shaking his head vigorously to dispel the lingering haze that fogged his brain.

 

It didn't help.

 

Heaving a sigh, he stumbled to his feet and shuffled across the cramped room to the dingy kitchenette and shook his head. He could have sworn that he'd set the coffee maker to brew before he'd grudgingly stretched out, but no, he hadn't.

 

He turned on the tap, letting the water flow for a few seconds to force out the orange-tinted water that always retained the pervasive metallic tinge of rust before filling the carafe to start a pot of coffee.

 

He didn't pay much attention as he scooped grounds into the filter basket and pushed it closed. That done, Kurt shuffled over to the backpack sitting on the grungy table and checked over his equipment. Night vision goggles—fairly pricey but well worth the investment since he tended to prefer to take care of business under the cover of darkness whenever possible—a fresh roll of duct tape . . . the talismans that he hoped he'd need . . . Pushing all that stuff aside, he dug out the reel of sturdy steel rope—not nearly as thick as the old fashioned hemp, but a lot more dependable, and it didn't take up nearly as much space, which, in his estimation, was a good enough reason to use it, in the first place. He had to stop earlier to buy more of it since he'd ended up having to cut the old one the night before while he was out.

 

Setting the wire and the retractor on the table, he plugged in the soldering iron, then moved back to the counter to pour a cup of coffee.

 

Scowling into the mud brown mug and deciding against taking the time necessary to wash it out with soap, Kurt blew into it, called it good, then dumped coffee into it and slugged down half of it despite the scalding heat as he strode over to the window.

 

The late afternoon sunshine was patchy and thin as he stared out over the washed out gray buildings that made up the skyline of Chicago. He hated the city—really hated it. It had always been a strange thing to him. People in larger cities seemed to see less of what was directly in front of them than small town folks did. `Then again,' he thought, the right side of his upper lip curling up in a derisive sort of grimace, `maybe they just don't want to see what's around them . . .'

 

He supposed it was something of a defense mechanism. Living so close to so many strangers conditioned people to guard what little privacy they had by summarily ignoring things that intruded on that sense of forced solitude, and it didn't matter if he were in New York City, Los Angeles, or here in Chicago. None of those places were considered his home, if he considered them at all. No, they were merely hunting grounds, at best.

 

He didn't really call anywhere `home'. There was too much of a sense of familiarity about that sort of thing. It made it too easy to fall victim of the misplaced sense of complacency that was so easy to lose. Nothing was forever, and he knew it better than anyone.

 

Turning away from the window, he trudged back to the kitchenette to refill his coffee mug before he got to work again. He had to finish checking his gear and solder the wire rope around the pulley that he wore on his belt, check his equipment, and sharpen the knife that he'd had to use to cut the other wire free last night. Evening wasn't far away, and he had a job to do.

 

 

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

 

 

“Target acquired.”

 

“Good. Where are you?”

 

Sparing a surreptitious glance around the crowded bar buried deep in the Chicago slums, Samantha narrowed her gaze as she homed in on the youkai she'd tracked to the kami-forsaken dive. Grimacing and shaking her head in abject disgust, she uttered a terse growl then sighed. “He's barely concealed,” she reported quietly. “It's almost as if he wants to be seen.”

 

“Wouldn't put it past him. MacDonnough let him get away with his shit for a little too long, if you ask me,” Bas Zelig said. “You sure you're up for this?”

 

Rolling her eyes at the discernable hesitation in her darling cousin-slash-uncle's voice, she shook her head. “I'll earn my pay, thanks,” she retorted mildly, a hint of her native Japanese accent seeping into her words.

 

Bas sighed. “Just be careful, damn it. Uncle will have my head if something happens to you.”

 

“Uncle,” she replied in reference to her father, “knows very well that I can handle myself, thank you very much—and since when do you call Papa `uncle'?”

 

“Since he's your father, and that kind of outweighs the `brother-in-law' aspect in this given situation, don't you think?” Bas retorted mildly. “Anyway, I've got to run. Got a lead on that youkai rumored to be hiding out in Nevada. Give Sydnie a call when you've silenced the target.”

 

“Will do. Tell Sydnie to take it easy. She's pregnant,” she reminded him then clicked off her cell phone.

 

Pausing long enough to drop a couple crumpled dollars onto the dingy bar, Samantha slipped through the rough crowd and headed toward the doors.

 

The laughter of children was the first thing that she made note of. Halloween was a holiday that she thoroughly enjoyed. Seeing the children all dressed up with bright and shining faces as they rushed here and there, collecting all their sugary loot . . . It was something that Samantha loved. Her first year in the States, she'd had the night off work, and she'd absolutely reveled in passing out candy to her callers. She'd even gone as far as to dress up for the occasion, donning a goofy clown costume, complete with the bulbous red nose . . .

 

Smiling to herself at the fleeting memory, she indulged herself a moment before turning her attention back to the task at hand. There'd be time enough to revel in the children after her work was finished.

 

She had to rely more on her ability to sense the target's youki since there were too many people about. At this time of day, the general population was either coming or going from work or out to play, and with the holiday to add to the confusion, it took her a minute to hone in on the one she was following. He seemed to be in a hurry, though she didn't think he had a clue that he was being followed. Men like him tended to be in a constant state of rushing, and they always looked over their shoulders—a lesson she'd learned long ago, as well.

 

Quickening her pace enough to keep a steady distance between herself and her target but not enough to close in on him, Samantha bit her lip and frowned. There were just too many people out and about for her comfort—too many humans in front of a monster who loathed them.

 

He turned down a narrow alley. Sam stopped at the corner of the building and leaned against it, counting to twenty before she carefully peered around the side. The youkai strode around the corner at the far end, taking the left passage without looking back.

 

Sparing a moment to glance around, to make sure that no one else was going to take note, Samantha slipped into the alley, sticking as close to the shadows as she possibly could.

 

To be completely honest, she was surprised at the luck she'd had thus far. The damned bastard wasn't even trying to hide, prowling about in the open as though he were thumbing his nose at the North American tai-youkai . . .

 

Stopping when the vibration of her cell phone erupted against her hip, she made a face but dug out the device. She didn't recognize the number, but it wasn't entirely surprising. As a rule, everyone involved in the special crimes office as well as Cain Zelig's normal hunters switched phones frequently, so it was a good guess that the call was work-related.

 

“Hello?” she answered, peeking around the corner at the end of the alley.

 

“Sam, it's Larry. Zelig told me you were sent out after Benoit.”

 

“Yeah, I'm following him right now.”

 

Larry grunted. “Listen, I finished up what I was sent to do, so the boss told me to fly on in. I'll be there in the morning. I can take care of him then.”

 

A flash of righteous indignation forced her to grit her teeth as she stepped into the pathway and cautiously kept moving. “Not necessary,” she replied tightly. “I'll have him silenced within the hour.”

 

There was a very pregnant pause on the other end of the line, and Samantha nearly rolled her eyes since she knew—just knew—that the man was about to try to pull rank on her. “I've got it under control,” she stated.

 

“All right,” he agreed slowly. “Don't push yourself. If you can't get him or if you lose your track, just go back to the hotel, and I'll take him out when I get there.”

 

Shaking her head with an irritated scowl, Samantha clicked off the phone and stashed it away, unable to contain the seething anger that she was still being second-guessed despite the fact that she'd yet to fail at any mission they'd assigned her.

 

It irritated the hell out of her, and damned if she was going to let this one pass. When she got back to Maine, she was going to drive straight out to her grandfather's house and let him know exactly what she thought of his perceived need to `send in help'. She wasn't a child, after all. Benoit wasn't going to be able to harm her as easily as he'd murdered those little ones . . .

 

But the farther she went, the more irritated she grew. She couldn't seem to help it. Everyone in her family underestimated her, didn't they? She knew damn well that it wasn't normal protocol to send in a second hunter without just cause. For kami's sake, she'd just talked to Bas. He knew well enough that she had the situation under control. This, in her opinion, was like a slap in the face—yet another example of her family's inability to reconcile themselves to the truth of the matter, which was that she was fully capable of doing her job, just like anyone else . . .

 

She was so irritated that she didn't notice the strange way and eerie quiet that surrounded her as she turned another corner in Benoit's wake. So focused on the job at hand and proving once and for all that she really was quite capable of doing her job, Samantha kept moving . . .

 

 

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

 

 

`Target sighted . . .'

 

Lowering the long range telescoping binoculars, the violet eyes narrowed as the lone figure atop the roof of the derelict building scanned the area as the demon skulked in the shadows of the night. The sliver of moon faded in and out of view as thick clouds drifted across the sky just minutes after the sun had finally disappeared. It was a perfect night for hunting, providing him with the cover that he needed to carry out his mission.

 

Pushing himself to his feet, he crouched low as he swung himself over the side of the building, repelling down to the filthy alley below and making quick work of unhooking the wire apparatus that he used for such ventures. He slipped on the night vision goggles, creeping toward the street. The hulking creature grunted as it knocked over a trashcan, stumbling over the debris left scattered in its wake. Little more than an inky blob against a slightly paler backdrop, the demon was about mid-way down the section of street that he had already marked off. `That thing isn't one of them, either,' he realized with a slight curling of his lip, the familiar sense of disappointment roiling up inside him. Gritting his teeth, he shook his head once, willing himself to relax. It didn't matter, did it? They'd pay, regardless of whether or not the beast he caught was the one of the ones that he was hunting.

 

Closing his eyes and mumbling the words that would activate the yellow Post-It notes with the scrawled incantations that he'd stuck to the surrounding alleys at precise intervals, he felt the surge of his spiritual power flow out of him, radiating from him in waves of energy. Opening his eyes, he glanced up to check his handiwork.

 

Satisfied that the barrier was in place to prevent his actions from being inadvertently observed, he slipped out of the shadows of the alley only to stop short at the sight that greeted him.

 

A small figure clad in black stood just behind the demon he'd targeted. He couldn't discern much about the intruder aside from the cascade of silvery hair that spilled down its back. Face contorting in an irritated grimace, he drew back into the shadows a little more. He was a creature of habit, and he hated—loathed it, actually—when something forced him to deviate from the set plan he'd constructed.

 

He could sense the new demon's power—easily more power than he'd ever sensed before. In the stillness created by the barrier he'd erected, he could hear the creature's shuffling footsteps. He could hear the soft click as the strange demon shifted its weight.

 

He'd sensed that same aura, hadn't he? After he'd set up the barrier and before his prey had entered the area, as he'd sat, crouched low atop a nearby building, he'd felt it then. What he couldn't reconcile was the realization that the whole of the demon's power belonged to the one before him. It wasn't possible, was it? The figure was too small—just inches over five feet tall. Frowning as he stared at the creature, he shook his head. It wasn't possible . . . it just wasn't possible . . . He'd seen groups of those things over his lifetime, and they hadn't possessed that sort of aura. Just what the hell was it, anyway? That thing in black . . .

 

“You dare to come here?” the intruder spoke, drawing the demon's attention as it swung around. “You disgust me.”

 

`It sounds like . . . a woman?'

 

He scowled as the smaller demon flicked its wrist. The flashes of metal glowed in the night, three tiny objects that whipped through the air. One struck the demon in the knee, bringing it down. One struck it in the chest with a sickening thud. The last one embedded itself between the monster's eyes. Howling in pain, its arms flailing wildly, the beast swung at the intruder. It—the intruder—sauntered toward the creature, drawing a long, thin blade. Without a trace of hesitation, it jerked the knife, silencing the creature's howls in one deft motion. An unearthly rise of a gale wind ripped through the area enclosed by his barrier, and the demon exploded in a flash of purple light and a cloud of dust.

 

The thing bowed its head for a moment before sheathing the knife in the holster on its belt. He slipped out of the shadows, deliberately striding toward the demon. The irritation that it had cost him his target dissipated with the underlying knowledge that the researchers would pay more for this one. It had taken the other one down with minimal effort—a feat he wouldn't have thought possible had he not seen it for himself even if it did possess more strength in its aura than any other single monster he'd run into thus far.

 

If it realized that the barrier would prevent its escape, he wasn't sure. It let out a deep breath, stowing two of the small silver throwing stars in its pocket as it walked slowly, pulling off a pair of leather gloves and stashing them in its other pocket before adjusting the little black beret perched on its silvery hair. It started to reach down, probably to retrieve the third star, but stopped, standing perfectly still, as though it had sensed something.

 

Reaching into the pocket of his black leather coat, he closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the gathering of the energy within him, concentrating it into his palm as he pulled a longer Post-It note out. The text painted onto the page meant nothing to him: silly Japanese kanji that contained the power to seal one of those creatures. He didn't know how or why they worked; he just knew that they did.

 

The energy that he'd forced into his hand seemed to throb just under his skin, and he gritted his teeth, dashed forward, closing in on the beast fast.

 

It started to turn around, and whether it had heard him or sensed him, he didn't know. It was too late, though. Fathomless dark eyes flared wide seconds before he slammed the paper against its chest, and he felt the discharge of energy flow from him into it, creating a crackle in the air like the hum of power lines on a quiet summer's day. It didn't make a sound aside from a whoosh of breath. He landed in a crouch as the monster's form fell to the ground and didn't move.

 

Pushing himself slowly to his feet, he approached the demon with caution. Strangely enough, the aura surrounding it hadn't waned—an odd thing that he'd never encountered before. Crossing his arms over his chest, he stared down at its body. Half-curled on its side it looked harmless enough . . .

 

His lip curled up in a derisive sneer as he nudged its hip with the toe of his boot. It lilted back and forth slightly but didn't stir otherwise.

 

Satisfied that it wasn't going to jump up and attack him, he dug a roll of duct tape out of his coat and hunkered down to work.

 

 

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A/N:

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Reviewers

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MMorg

Knittingknots ------ Jester08 ------ Simonkal of Inuy (That's so sweet! I hope you got a good grade though I don't think it'd be because of me LOL) ------ theblackthorn ------ Sesshomaru4Kagura4ever ------ oblivion-bringr ----- FriskyPixie ------ jessie6491 ------ Starr Stealer ------ OROsan0677 ------ iloveanimecartoons ------ sunshine161820 ------ DarkInuFan ------ AngelsRebellion (In the same way that I have at least two or three or more of the rest of the series' chapters done.) ------ SpikeRulesHell (Depends on whose worst fears you're talking about LOL) ------ BobbyJustGotSheared ------ malitiadixie ------ ko ken kaihaku

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Final Thought from Samantha:

Who … is that …?

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Blanket disclaimer for this fanfic (will apply to this and all other chapters in Vendetta): I do not claim any rights to InuYasha or the characters associated with the anime/manga. Those rights belong to Rumiko Takahashi, et al. I do offer my thanks to her for creating such vivid characters for me to terrorize.

 

~Sue~