Damned Death-Dealers

This is a work in progress, and I'm also testing to see if the damn thing will publish without erasing everything I've worked on. Again.

Yes, it may seem ironic that I'm working on a series in which I did not like the sequel. However, I think the elements of the story definitely had potential. Here is my attempt at playing around with them.

Update: There is a distinct lack of the awesomeness that Samuel J would bring to this story. I'm going to have to remedy this soon.

"Hey hey hey! What the hell you doin'? You can't just barge in here! Afro! You hear me? Something's wrong with this chick! She don't even have the Number Two headband, thinks she can just bust in here like...hey! Pay attention when I'm talking to you!"

Afro stood up from his seat as he watched the tall, thin woman slowly walk into the room, carrying nothing more than an umbrella in her hands. Ninja Ninja kept shouting at her, but she seemed to ignore his whining.

"Oh, so you're the legendary Afro Samurai?" The woman asked, "You certainly look the part."

"What do you want?" Afro growled.

"You seem bored, Afro," The woman said, "Every so often, a new Number Two comes to challenge you. And every time so far, you've been able to destroy them, sending many, many warriors to their deaths. Clearly, your skill is unmatched in this world." The woman continued walking until she stood just a few feet away from Afro, "I've come to liberate you from your daily doldrums, to give you a chance at a new life, and show you what might have been if only your story took place within a different world."

"What the hell do you mean, 'liberate' and 'different world'?" Ninja shouted, "She crazy, Afro. Like 'call the white suits with the butterfly nets' crazy."

"You might wonder why I would dare to approach the wearer of the Number One headband? Alone and practically unarmed?" She paused, expecting a response. When Afro did not give her one, she continued, "I am an emissary of a God with many names, but you may refer to her as Lady D. She sent me to get to know you a little better."

"Lady D? What she look like?" Ninja hopped next to Afro, and continued talking, "Hey Afro, I think she's askin' you out on a date! Sure, she's a little crazy, but when's the last time you got any action that didn't involve chopping someone's head off?"

The tall woman opened up her umbrella as Afro's danger senses kicked into gear. He quickly whipped out his sword and tried to cut through the umbrella, only to find that the umbrella was repelling his attacks.

"Daaaaamn!" Ninja commented, "What the hell's that thing made out of? Titanium or some shit like that?" Afro continued trying to cut the umbrella with his sword, but the umbrella kept repelling his attacks. "I mean, I don't think I've ever seen an umbrella do that!"

"I see," the woman spoke from behind the umbrella, "Your time in this place has made you grow soft. It seems you are not quite yet ready to face her. But don't worry, M'Lady has planned for this possibility as well."

Afro tried to strike her with the sword again, except this time the woman thrust her umbrella right into Afro's chest and pushed the handle forward. A small spike protruded from the tip of the umbrella, injecting something into Afro's chest. Afro beat the umbrella back, then prepared to strike again, when his heart abruptly stopped beating. He fell flat on his face in midswing as his sword and sheath clattered to the floor away from him.

"Sweet dreams, Afro Samurai." The woman collapsed her large umbrella, "If you are half the man I believe you are, we will meet again."

Ninja was trying to tell him something, but Afro couldn't quite understand the words as his vision quickly faded into black.

"Hey, Afro-man, wake up!" The young man with a large afro felt Wendell punch his shoulder as he snapped back into consciousness. "The lunch rush is coming, and you're sleepin' in the back when you should be on the line!"

"Ah, lay off me man," the young man groaned as he rubbed his shoulder.

"What's the matter, Afro? I thought those 'kendu' lessons you keep bragging about were gonna toughen you up."

"It's 'kendo.'"

"Does it look like I care? Get back to work! If it weren't for you being the boss's son, I'd have cut your damn hair too!"

"Don't you mess with my afro, Wendell. It's part of who I am." Wendell didn't stick around to listen as he walked out of the stockroom and back into the kitchen. The young man known as Afro put on his large hairnet and walked back into the kitchen. The relatively small, hot, and miserable kitchen was alive with activity from the people cooking the ribs to the folks mixing his father's secret recipe for BBQ sauce. Afro joined the line cooks in fixing up some of the food and tried to lose himself in his work. Eventually, the lunch rush tapered down a bit as Afro began to sweat from the sheer heat in the room. There was only a little ventilation to make sure the whole place didn't just go up in flames, but his father always told him that he had to choose between adding more ventilation or keeping down the prices of his food so more people could afford to eat here. The latter always won out, but Afro couldn't help but think there was something else making his dad miserable.

"Aw shit, the sheriff's here!" Afro's attention snapped back to the present as one of the cashiers gave the warning. For the past few months, the sheriff had been coming around to this little BBQ joint for an "inspection" every one or two weeks, but Afro never really knew why.

The cacophony of voices that had filled the entire resturant settled down to a murmur as the sheriff walked up to the cashier, flanked by a deputy on each side. The sheriff had chosen to wear his very best combination of sunglasses, cowboy hat and matching boots as if he were upholding the law in some kind of Wild West town.

"Good afternoon, ma'am," The sheriff had a voice that sounded kind of reminiscent of a snake gliding through blades of grass, "I've come for a few things: I would like two orders of ribs, two pulled pork sandwiches with extra sauce on the side, and four orders of your fresh-cut fries to go, if you would be so kind." As the cashier punched in his order, the sheriff continued, "Also, I would very much like to have a chat with your manager."

The cashier finished punching in the order, then responded, "The manager isn't here right now, but if you would like I can..."

"Are you sure he hasn't simply stepped out for a little bit?" The sheriff asked. "You see, me and him, we're on a second-name basis with each other. He calls me Sheriff Justice, I call him Mister Samuels. I'd hate to think that he decided to leave his own fine eating establishment during the lunch rush, it certainly doesn't reflect well on him, or on our professional relationship."

"I told you, he's not here. But I can give him a message, if you want?"

"Certainly, ma'am. After all, they don't pay you enough to listen to the ramblings of a guy like me, do they?" The cashier gasped as the sheriff grabbed her hands, "Hmm, nice hands, considering you're someone who works in a shithole like this." After flashing her a wicked smile, he continued, "Then please inform Mister Samuels that he'll have until midnight to come up with his end of the bargain, and that it would be a damn shame if something were to happen to him. After all, the police can't be everywhere at once, you know?" The cashier gasped as she saw his hand move towards his gun holster, but instead reached behind it and pulled out a money clip. He slapped down $30 on the counter, and said, "Here, treat yourself to something nice tonight, or whatever passes for 'nice' in this district. If you ever need some company, you know where to find me. Just ask for Justice." The sheriff gave her one of his business cards as Wendell dinged the serving bell to indicate the food was ready, all wrapped up to go in plain brown paper bags. The three policemen each took one of the bags, and then slowly walked out of the store.

"Man, fuck that guy!" One of the cooks shouted when he was sure that Justice was out of earshot, "Bastard thinks he can walk in here like he owns the place?"

"Hey, you want to tell him that to his face? You go right ahead." Another one of the cooks said.

"Ain't someone gonna stand up to him?" Afro wondered aloud.

"Last guy who did disappeared. Never seen him again. Best not to try it" the second cook said, "What did your dad do to piss him off, anyway?"

Afro didn't answer. He had no idea why anyone would come after his father. Instead, he simply went back to cooking ribs for the customers who kept trickling through the door.

________________________________

Later, when Afro's shift was over, he called his dad's cell phone number, hoping to get an answer from him, but could only reach his voice mail. He hoped that nothing bad had happened to him. Maybe he was just being overly paranoid. He decided to go back to the Sensei's Dojo and hope that some kendo practice would take his mind off of things, and call him again afterwards to make sure.

The Dojo was one of the few places in this district where he could escape from his troubles in the real world. Somehow, beating people with wooden sticks helped him calm down a little. He could never get why the other students felt like shouting fake-Japanese phrases though. Maybe it made them feel cooler, though Afro thought it made them look stupid.

"Hey there, Afro!" Afro looked up from his belongings to see Jean approaching him. Jean, the half-Japanese kid whose grandpa ran the Dojo. "You know there's a tournament coming up?"

Jinno? Is that you?

"Afro? You okay?"

Afro shook his head, "Sorry Jean, just been a long day at work."

"Whaddya say about the tournament? I think you're ready for it, and maybe I could convince my dad to let you sign up?"

"Is there a fee?"

"Only a little bit for gas and food, but nothing you can't handle, right Afro?"

"That depends..."

Forgive me, Jinno.

"...what do you mean?"

Afro shook his head again. First the problem with Sheriff Justice, and now he was hearing voices in his head? Something was wrong. "Let's just do some kendo, I'll think about it."

"Might wanna think fast. Otherwise, someone else might take that number two slot from you!"

The Number Two headband, created by the Gods themselves to...

"Afro? Earth to Afro?" Jean snapped his fingers in front of Afro's face, "You sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine, alright? Now let's just get to sparring..." Afro stopped as he heard his cellphone ring. He quickly looked at the caller ID to see that it was his dad calling him back. He flipped open his cell phone and said, "Hello?"

Afro winced as the sound he heard wasn't his father's voice, but a high-pitched laugh, followed by some crazy man taunting. "Awww, trying to call your son, isn't that sweet? Don't you wanna tell your son how much you love him? Oh, go ahead, just tell him how you love him soooooo much!" The man laughed again before speaking directly into the mouthpiece so Afro could hear, "Maybe you'll learn the lesson that your daddy was too stupid to understand: Snitches get stitches little Afro-man, and your daddy's gonna need a whole lot of them after I'm through with him!"

"What the fuck is this shit?" Afro shouted, "Who are you?" Afro heard a gunshot, and then the call simply disconnected. He quickly put all of his clothes back in his gym bag and shoved his cell phone back in his pocket.

"Afro, wait! Where are you going?"

"My dad's in trouble! I have to know what happened!" He ignored any further protestations from Jean and burst out the front doors of the Dojo, not really caring that he was wearing some weird combination of the bottom half of a hakama and an American t-shirt as he ran back home.

...creates a lot of widows and orphans, huh?

Afro shook his head again. Now was not the time to be going crazy!

Afro felt his lungs burning up as he ran about over 12 blocks from the sensei's dojo to his family's own cramped little house. Running on little more than adrenaline and the food he made himself for lunch at his father's restaurant while wearing a Japanese man-skirt over his legs didn't exactly help. Nonetheless, he didn't care about those things as he heard his feet slapping the pavement and saw people of all races and sizes glancing at him, wondering if he'd gone mad.

He raced all the way to his house and saw a pair of cop cars parked outside. A few policemen had already begun roping off the scene with police tape and shoving back the onlookers who wanted to see the dead body. There were only a few of them. Most folks who lived in this place long enough thought of death as just another sideshow hidden in the white noise of life. The first few bodies might be horrifying or entertaining, but with gang violence at an all-time high and at least one person dropping dead per day, most of the residents weren't fazed anymore. Except for the people who came home to find it was their friend or their family member who bit the bullet this time.

As Afro ducked under the tape, the policemen initially tried shoving him back behind the line, but Afro dodged them and ran into the house. Five seconds later, he started to wish that he didn't. He saw the dead body of his father, and started screaming in agony as several cops overpowered him and carried him back out of the house.

____________________

A few hours later and several interviews with policemen who promised to "look into it," the police were slowly packing up their stuff, the bystanders had moved on to more important things, and Afro was left alone with his thoughts.

I was too weak, Afro thought, too weak to save my own father. I should've known something was wrong when he didn't show up for work, why didn't I ask him?

"Oh boohoo, why me? Why he have to die?" Afro looked up, staring daggers at the offending speaker, "Man, you a real bitch."

"Fuck off and die," Afro growled at the man. The man appeared to be old, skinny and had a large white hairdo and sunglasses. Something about him just made Afro incredibly annoyed.

"Ohohohohoho...wouldn't believe how many times I've heard that." The man somehow teleported right behind Afro, though Afro was too shellshocked to react. "People die all the time in this district. You ain't immune from that shit, and neither was your father." Afro shot his hand out, but the man somehow reappeared to his right, "Buddy, you born about 30, 40 years too late to pull that with me. I've been cursed at by better than you. You think you special, you ain't nothin' but a little bitch!"

"Fuck you, I don't gotta take this shit." Afro stood up and tried to walk away.

"What's the matter, Afro? Am I too real for you?" Afro stopped as the old man suddenly hang right in front of him from a street sign, "Too in-your-face? I've seen everything, I can even help you find your father's killer."

Afro was about to let out a string of cursewords as the man finished his last sentence. Instead he said, "Who is he? Where is he? Show me!"

The old man wagged his finger, "ah ah ah, it don't work that way Afro. You're gonna need weapons, and you're gonna need the balls of steel to face your foes head on. If you don't have both of these things, then you gonna be joining your father sooner than you think."

"I can get them, that's not a problem."

"But you don't have them, and that is a problem."

"Who the hell are you? And how do you know so much about me?"

"Let's just say...I'm a friend you never knew you had. I can give you some advice, but the way you choose to use that advice is up to you. I can't give you any more help than that. Get yourself a good weapon, and the courage to use it. Then you can start hunting down the killer."

"You didn't answer my question. Who are you?"

"Let's see, cool name, cool name..." the man's head swung to and fro before he finally settled his sights back on Afro, "Call me Felix. I write obituaries for the local paper. You want to kill people, it means more business for me. We both win."

"I'm not a murderer."

"Hey, believe what you want. I'm just telling it like I see it. But let's say you do meet the killer, or the Number One who controls him? What are you gonna do? Settle it over a game of dice? Buy him a peace offering? Someone's going to die, and that someone could very well be you if you're not careful."

Afro wanted to ask Felix more questions, but the man disappeared from view. Nonetheless, Afro thought about it long and hard. He wasn't a violent man, and the kendo lessons were a way for him to release stress. But where was he going to get a weapon quickly enough? He didn't want to be indebted to one of the gangs in the area, and getting a gun legally would take too much time.

Later, he walked over to Wendell's house and begged him for a place to stay for the night. After changing into a fresh pair of clothes that he still had with him from his gym bag, Afro tried to get himself some rest, but the image of his father lying dead on the floor continued to haunt him. Finally, in the twilight hours of the morning, he finally decided to get himself a weapon. If he couldn't get a gun on short notice, he'd have to take the next best thing. With a renewed sense of purpose, he started walking back towards the dojo. He knew sensei kept a real sword somewhere in there, so maybe he could borrow it for awhile.

_________________

The dojo was dark as Afro used the ultra-stealthy method of throwing a rock through the rear window of the dojo and using his arm to reach through and unlock the door on the other side. Surprisingly, the alarm didn't go off. Maybe the sensei didn't think anyone would steal from the place and didn't think to put one in there.

Afro decided to keep the lights off and felt his way around until he reached the stockroom. Opening the door, Afro turned the lights on and saw a few rows stocked with kendo equipment. At the opposite end of the stockroom, however, was a black display stand holding a katana in a reddish sheath. Afro walked up to the sword and pulled it out of its sheath, feeling a strange sort of energy flow through him.

"I'm disappointed, Afro."

Afro turned his head around to see the smaller, bearded man standing with his arms folded at the entrance to the stockroom. "Sensei?"

"I have heard what happened to your father, young man. And I do sympathize with your loss. But you cannot solve your problems this way."

"I'm sorry, Sensei." Afro said, putting the sword back in its sheath and lifting it off the pedestal. "I know this is yours, but I need a weapon now, and I need to confront the ones who killed my father."

"You know that you are about to walk the Path of Demons, Afro?"

"Path of Demons?" Afro chuckled, "You make it sound like some stupid Japanese cartoon."

The sensei grumbled a curseword at Afro before continuing, "The sword you hold was given to a man in a similar situation many years ago. His father was struck down simply because he had something that many men wished for. He hoped that he could end his father's suffering by destroying all those who stood in his way. But all he did was prolong it, having to kill, and kill, and kill until he himself was finally defeated. Afro, put the sword back now, and learn to forgive those who lash out. Karma will ensure they get their just rewards in the next life."

"Sorry sensei...I ain't waitin' for karma to do its job." Afro shifted his legs into a fighting stance and placed one hand on the hilt of the katana, "Now get out of my way. I'm going to kill everyone who had a hand in my father's death. I don't want you to get involved."

"You don't?" The sensei laughed, "You break into my dojo, you steal my sword, you claim that you will take bloody revenge on those who have wronged you...and you say I am not involved?" The sense then spread his legs and arms wide open, "I stand in your path now, Afro Samurai. I will not let you leave with that sword. So you can either kill me or you can heed my words and stand down."

"I don't want to hurt you, sensei."

"Then don't! Leave the sword here and start your life anew! Go to college! Get a better job! But if you wish to walk the Path of Demons, then you must start by killing me! Make your choice, Afro Samurai!"

Afro stood there with his hand on the sword as the sensei stood in the doorway to the stockroom. Finally, Afro dropped the sword on the ground. However, the sensei did not move. Instead, he simply stood with his mouth gaping open. He slowly gasped Afro's name one more time before collapsing to the floor.

"How disappointing," Another man with a light Arabic accent spoke, "Lady D sent me here to observe you, and you can't even muster the strength to kill an old man? Maybe your dream should end here."

Afro picked up the sword and whipped the katana out of its sheath.

"You can call me Mubarak al-Katal, and I am one of the Damned Death-Dealers sent to judge you, though it probably won't make a difference seeing as you are going to die here." A gray-robed man holding a shining sword stepped over the dead sensei's body, "Now fight me, Afro Samurai! Show me the skills of a true killer!"

The man who called himself Mubarak held a small, curved sword in his left hand and slowly walked towards the young Afro.

"You killed him!" Afro shouted, "Why?" He ran towards Mubarak and lashed out with his katana. He was sure he had the man dead-to-rights. But in a split second, he felt a small pressure on the edge of his sword, and then his legs were tripped under him. He fell face-first into the body of the wounded sensei.

"What's the matter? Does the great Afro Samurai now have a conscience? No wonder your swordsmanship is so poor." Mubarak leaped in the air and brought the blade down, but Afro rolled out of the way and got back on his feet. The blade instead plunged into the sensei's belly, letting out whatever life he had left in him.

"Stop it!"

"You show such compassion for a dead man!" Mubarak flicked the blood off his short sword, "Perhaps you should focus on the assassin in front of you!"

Afro struck several times with his own sword, but the assassin simply parried it with his short sword again and again. Afro used the momentum of his last strike to pick up the sheath and smack the assassin across the face. Mubarak stumbled back, but then quickly regained his composure. He parried Afro's next strike, and then punched him in the solar plexus with his off-hand, knocking the wind out of Afro, and followed it up with a knee strike to the face as Afro doubled over in pain, knocking him on his back.

"Come now, Afro! I thought you could fight! You, who fought against enemies large and small and killed several warriors for a mere piece of cloth!"

The Number One headband...

Afro shook his head. The voices were coming back now?

...You either kill, or be killed. You do not get to choose whose blood you spill.

"Too bad you weren't able to live up to that legend. I suppose I shall save Lady D the trouble and kill you now!"

Mubarak gripped his curved short sword tightly and prepared to plunge it into Afro's chest. Part of Afro wanted it to be overwith right now, but some strange instinct entered his body at that moment, something that couldn't quite be explained by mere kendo training. He parried the short sword with the sheath as it came down, and then thrust his foot into Mubarak's face, sending him reeling back again. In one swift move, Afro shifted his weight from his back to his legs and got back on his feet.

"So now you begin to fight back? Finally, I was waiting for this to get interesting!" The assassin played around with his nose a bit, trying to shift it back into place. Afro took advantage of this to attack again. Mubarak tried to block with his short sword, but the katana was too strong and broke it off along with a piece of Mubarak's left arm.

"Gah!" Mubarak shouted, "It seems I underestimated you!" Afro cut off the rest of Mubarak's left hand with his next strike. Mubarak responded by backing up quickly, tripping over the dead body by accident. "I haven't had a worthy opponent like you in years!"

"Shut...your damn...mouth." Afro growled in a much deeper voice than before as he prepared to make a killing strike. As he brought the blade down, he was surprised to find it blocked.

"Perhaps I should have told you this before, but I'm not left-handed!" As Afro brought his sword back to try again, Mubarak rolled over his wounded arm and got back on his feet. Strangely enough, Afro didn't see any blood coming from the assassin's severed arm. "This is my prized sword, made of Damascus steel with a technique lost centuries ago. Your pathetic sword will not be able to stand up to this!"

Afro attacked Mubarak with his katana again and again, letting the foreign instincts take over his formal kendo training. Mubarak blocked the first few strikes with his steel and shoved Afro against a wall in the stockroom. Afro brought another powerful overhead strike against Mubarak. As the assassin blocked it, Afro shifted his weight against Mubarak and ran backwards up the wall in an amazing feat of agility that even Afro didn't think was possible to pull off. Afro sprung off the wall and flipped over the assasin's head as Mubarak's sword struck thin air. Just as he was about to counter, Afro thrust his sword blindly behind him, sticking Mubarak through the back and pinning him to the wall.

The assassin wheezed, "There...there was the Afro Samurai I hoped to meet in battle...good job...you passed this test...but be wary, there will be others. Even as you pursue your path of revenge, we will be watching...we will be waiting...for you..." After those words, Mubarak disappeared in a large puff of black smoke, leaving only the sword sticking in the wall. As Afro pulled the sword out, he heard the sound of someone clapping at the entrance.

"Woah, good job killa!" The voice sounded like the man who called himself Felix earlier, "One dead assassin, and all it cost you was the life of your teacher. Maybe you starting to remember your mad sword skills after all!"

"What the hell are you doing here?" Afro asked, "Do you know something about this? Did you send them here?"

Felix pulled out a blunt and began to light it up, "Huh, perhaps I spoke too soon. You're a lot more talkative than the Afro I knew."

"Answer me!"

"What do I know? I know that there's a dead body here, and that you are holding the sword that belonged to said dead body. It don't matter if you killed him, but those facts alone show you could have."

"I didn't..."

"Does it matter, Afro? No, it doesn't. But you chose to walk the Path of Demons. Now you can either see it through, or you can let the folks who killed your father continue killin' in cold blood. Kill or be killed, Afro. There is no third option."

Afro couldn't say anything. This was already too much for him to digest in one morning, especially considering his lack of sleep.

"Oh by the way, you know someone's gonna figure out sooner or later that your sensei ain't showin' up to teach them kids how to swing wooden sticks for fun? Just keep that in mind." Following that sentence, Felix left the stockroom. Afro tried to run out after him, but didn't see him anywhere. After spending almost a minute looking fruitlessly for him, Afro simply decided to run back to Wendell's house and get changed for his job at the BBQ shack.

"Dad!" Afro shouted. "Dad, you're late again!"

"Sorry son, just had some extra business to attend to." Afro's dad said as he wiped the sweat off of his brow.

"Extra business? Dad, we barely see you around the restaurant anymore! What are you doing?"

Afro's dad said nothing. He simply hung up his coat and walked to his bedroom, then slammed the door in Afro's face.

Afro pounded on the door anyways. "C'mon dad! What's going on?"

"Son, let me get dressed first." Afro's dad yelled, though his voice was slightly muffled by the closed door. Afro waited patiently outside the door until it reopened, his dad now wearing more casual clothes. "Look, I'm trying to meet with someone. I think I've found a way to get the sheriff out of this place for good."

"The sheriff?"

"Sheriff Justice." Afro's dad walked down the stairs to the living room, "I don't know where he gets off with that name, but he brings anything but justice to this place. He's been shaking down the whole district for money, our rib shack included. I've been meeting with some folks, and we got a plan to get that Sheriff kicked out of this town."

"Really? How?"

"Like I said, son, I don't want you to get involved. You've got your whole life ahead of you, don't end it before you get a chance to..."

"To what?" Afro's dad stopped talking. The next thing Afro saw, his dad's head exploded in a gory mess, and a figure covered in a dark silhouette stood behind him. Afro gasped at the sight of his dead father as he tried to see the man behind him. The man who killed him. The only thing visible was a vaguely male figure and a hand holding a gun. The figure started calling out to him in a light-hearted voice. "Aaaaffrooooooo? Aaaaffrooooooo?"

_____________________________________

"Afro? Afro?"

Afro woke up with a start. Seeing someone standing over him, he reflexively rolled over and got in his feet with a couple seconds. Afro slipped into a fighting stance, his sword at the ready, only to discover that he was in the stockroom and Wendell was calling out to him. Sure, Wendell was an asshole, but Afro didn't want to kill him. Right?

"What the hell's going on, Afro?" Wendell spoke in a rather calm tone, "First you disappear in the middle of the night, then you come back here holding a sword, and now I find you sleeping on the job in the stockroom with that same sword. You sure you're okay to work here? I mean, I know Mr. Samuels..."

Afro growled. So it wasn't just something he'd dreamed up. At least, he didn't think so. His father really did die, and there was no changing that.

...head sailing through the air, landing right in front of my feet as Justice took the Number One headband. That...wait, that wasn't it. His father looked nothing like that!

"Well, we both know what happened. Look, if you want to take the day off until you can get your head back on straight, you can go ahead. We'll cover you this time."

Afro nodded, and left without saying a word. He didn't understand these memories that kept appearing in his brain at random times. It felt familiar somehow, but at the same time it seemed like slides from a kung-fu movie. How was that possible? Then again, after that strange battle with the Arabic assassin who simply vanished into thin air, it didn't seem impossible. As he grabbed his backpack full of a day's worth of clothes and what few posessions he owned, he simply walked out the back door, not even saying anything to the other workers at the BBQ joint. The smell of those ribs used to be comforting, but now they seemed to sicken him.

Afro was lost in thought, trying to think who could've been the one to kill his father, and if Justice had anything to do with it. He was practically sleepwalking, and didn't even register where he went until he found himself standing in front of the dojo where he took the katana earlier this morning. Several children, some of whom he recognized as his fellow kendo students, were mumbling to each other. Some were curious, some were afraid, but none of them seemed to know what really happened, at least for now. A brief moment later, Jean emerged from the dojo, his face sullen and gloomy until he spotted Afro. As soon as he did, his fists clenched and his expression changed from one of sadness to one of quiet anger. Afro sighed and began to walk away. He did not want to deal with him now, but Jean walked at a faster pace and caught up with him before slamming him into a nearby wall.

"Why?" He growled at Afro. "Why did you do it, Afro? You couldn't stand the thought of losing your dad so much that you had to kill mine too?"

"I didn't kill your father, Jean."

"Bullshit! He was stabbed through the back with a blade, and the sword was missing from the stockroom, the same one you're carrying now! You couldn't even face him when you stabbed my father? Answer me, dammit!"

Afro put his arms inside and shoved Jean off of him. "Say whatever you want to me Jean, but I did not kill your dad."

"Then why are you carrying his sword?"

"I need it to use against my father's killer!"

"Why this sword? Why my dad? You couldn't just tell the police?"

"No, I think Sheriff Justice was in on it."

"Even if he was, what do you think will happen now that my dad's dead? You think our family can keep the dojo running without him? You think these kids will stick around? No, of course not, because you didn't fucking think about the consequences! It's all about you!"

Afro wanted to correct him again, but realized it would be pointless. What would he say? "Actually, he was killed by some Arabic assassin who appeared out of thin air, somehow pulled a large-ass sword out of his sleeve, then disappeared because he said I had passed some test."

"So you've decided to walk on this path of vengeance, huh Afro?" Jean continued clenching and unclenching his hands, "I guess my dad was foolish to think he could change the tone in this neighborhood. We busted our ass to help these people, and now they take his life over some stupid little blood feud."

"Jean, don't talk like I'm not here."

"Oh, so now you give a shit about what I think, huh Afro? Well then let me tell you this: You had better pray, Afro. You had better pray long and hard that we don't meet again, because if I see even a glimpse of that stupid fucking afro, then I will kill you."

"Jean, don't do this..."

"You should have thought of that before you killed him! I will never forgive you, Afro! Never!"

Afro let out a long sigh. He wasn't sure what to do. He didn't want to fight his friend, but his friend didn't seem to be open to talking any more.