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The following is a work of fiction. Any statements regarding any person, place, or other entity (real or imaginary) is the sole responibility of the author of this work of fiction. Fan Works Inc. takes no responsibility for the content of user submitted stories. All stories based on real people are works of fiction and do not necessarily reflect on the nature of the individuals featured. All stories based on other copyrighted works are written with authors knowing that these works violate copyright laws.

Please see the Terms of Service for more information.

 

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Dancing With Death
By The Dude Slayer

 

Dancing With Death
The Dude Slayer
No Tomorrow Productions





An ancient castle in western Germany. Numerous limousines, of various
lengths, makes, and colors, pull up to the front doors allowing their
passengers access via the red carpet provided. Among the countless staff and
guests a single figure is overlooked as it enters the castle.




The ballroom was situated three floors from the ground. The ballroom
held a beautiful medieval feel to it. Chandeliers hung from the high,
vaulted ceiling, lit with candles, providing a sensual feel. Every table
held a candelabrum that held five tapered, snow-white candles. The tables
themselves were covered with white tablecloths with ice blue place mats. The
chairs at each table were beautiful, lacquered oak and maple chairs with seat
cushions of ice blue. The entire room was designed to look as if it had
snowed inside the ballroom.

A string orchestra took residence against the left wall, their music
filling the room with a classical perception. Men of power and wealth
mingled with each other. Trophy wives and professional escorts gossiped in
small groups. A few couples even chose to spend their time with each other
on the dance floor.


A striking woman in a back-less sapphire dress stood atop the staircase
leading to the room. Her pale skin and ivory hair provided a striking
contrast to her eye-catching dress. Poised and graceful, the young woman
seemingly floated down the stairs; her ever-watchful eyes taking in the
room's many occupants.
Numerous men caught her eye, many of which graced the covers of Forbes,
The Wall Street Journal, and other money related magazines. As she crossed
the room a familiar voice grabbed the woman and drew her attention. "So then
I take all my tournament winnings and went to Vegas." The woman shuddered as
she turned to see Zack chatting it up with a group of middle aged men in
expensive tuxedos.
The Muay Thai fighter stood out like a sore thumb, in more ways than
one. The tall dark skinned man was easily noticeable in the group of pale,
overweight, balding, white men. But the most notable fact was the twenty
centimeter high, orange mohawk that took its place on his otherwise hairless
head.
The woman carefully maneuvered away from Zack and into the crowd to
insure there was little chance of her being noticed. With a causality that
reflected her grace and possible upscale raising the woman entered a group of
men that looked to be straight from the winter edition of International Male.



As the night drew on the music changed from casual and energetic to
slightly more somber and relaxed songs. During a more sober song the door
above the stairs opened to reveal a man of impressive build. Shoulders
squared and held high under his expensively tailored jacket the man stepped
into the room, casting a cautious eye over the wide ranging group of people.
With the stealth of a jungle predator the large man stalked off towards
the dance floor, all the while taking in the room and it's occupants. 'One
exit and the balcony. Not in my favor.'
As he passed a rather packed table the man noticed a gangly, pale
skinned man with glasses talking animatedly with a group of similar people.
"And the next Windows release will even carry a new tech support system. It
will allow our support team complete access to the user's systems." The
large man glared as he passed the table. 'Note to self, switch to Unix-based
OS. ASAP.'
Ignoring the blithering, idiotic, excrement being spewed forth from
Bill Gates the man continued his tour of the room. A flash of blonde hair
and generous cleavage caught his eye. In the corner farthest from the
orchestra stood a group of women talking and drinking. In the group of
aristocratic women one stood out. A low cut silver dress, a necklace of
pearls and diamonds, and a blue diamond studded tiara forced people to take
notice of the woman. 'The Armstrong woman? Nyet.' The man gave a slight
shake of his head before turning his attention elsewhere.


The large man's usually correct assumptions were, this time, wrong.
Tina tilted her head back and giggled along with the other women in her group
at the horrible joke one of them had told. The glass of champagne in her
hand was not strong enough for the wrestler recently turned actress's tastes.
Tina's attention turned to a young man in his mid-twenties talking to a group
of official looking men; a wicked smile crossed the former model's pristine
face. "Excuse me, I see someone I need to speak with." With that Ms.
Armstrong took her leave of the group and made her way to a possible man to
spend her night with.


Christie took a long glance over the room. It was obvious that her
target had not arrived yet. She had received word from her employer that her
chosen target would be making an appearance at this ball. Helena had gone
missing after the unofficial Dead or Alive tournament on Zack Island a few
short months ago, but the opera singer was slated to make some kind of
appearance this night.
Deciding to find a more entertaining venue to enjoy the ball, the
assassin lifted a corner of her dress slightly and made her way to the
balcony. The bright, full moon shone down outside illuminating the stone and
mortar outcropping of the castle. With a silence born from years of caution
Christie stepped out of the ballroom and into the night, her heeled slippers
made no sound as she walked.
The balcony was devoid of any people, it's wide-open stone floor
inviting anyone to take residence on it. Christie chose to do just that. A
large stone railing wrapped around the outer edge of the balcony, providing a
delicate artwork to the building's stone facade and a wonderful place to
stand and enjoy the lush, green gardens directly below. In the peace of the
night and the gentle music of Mozart filling the air, Christie allowed her
guard to falter slightly.


Bayman watched as a familiar form sauntered out the balcony door. 'She
is here? This is an unexpected development, but not an unwelcome one. Next,
I will probably be seeing those damned ninjas.' The Russian assassin steeled
himself as he followed his English counterpart outside; he stopped in the
doorway to watch a strange transformation take place before his eyes.
Christie, leaning against the railing, silhouetted in the moonlight,
the female assassin was a vision of beauty that the large Russian was
unaccustomed to. Cautiously, and with a healthy amount of fear, Bayman
crossed the few feet between himself and Christie, his nerve growing with
each step. Covertly the large assassin wrapped his arms around the woman
standing before him, and was rewarded with a surprise.

Christie flinched, her natural instinct to stab the person that had
just touched her, as the arms wrapped around her waist. Angrily the woman
spun on her heel, a small silver stiletto in her hand aimed at the stomach of
her "assailant." Christie's hand stopped its forward momentum as her eyes
fell upon the familiar face of another assassin. "Bayman." she said his name
with caution and a slight reverence as she reached up to run her hand down
his cheek.
"Christie." Bayman's deep voice was enhanced by his thick, natural
Russian accent.
The attractive woman tilted her head back and glanced up at her
companion, her eyes catching his. "What brings you to Germany, Comrade?"
"Business. You?" His response was stilted and direct.
"Business as well. Are you here alone, or do you have a date."
Bayman removed his strong arms from around Christie's small waist,
ignorant of the slightly disappointed look on her face. "I came alone. It
is not often that you find a woman willing to take part in such operations."
Christie's retort was cut short by the beginning of another song and a
hush falling over the crowd indoors. Curiously she looked past Bayman to the
ballroom and was rewarded with the sight of the new head of DOATEC, Donavan;
standing inside the ballroom's doors, at his side was Helena.
The opera singer was dressed elegantly; a reflection of her place in
society, in a diamond studded off-blue evening gown. Her long blonde hair
was tied up in an elegant bun at the back of her head, with curls framing
both sides of her face; the rest was left to flow freely down her courtly
backside.
Christie glared at the woman as she entered the room, not taking notice
of the unhappy look on Helena's immaculate face.

Bayman gazed casually down to the woman before him, taking note that
their conversation no longer kept the assassin's attention. He also took
notice that from his vantage Christie's dress provided him with a generous
view of her cleavage, though his attention was quickly drawn to Donovan and
Helena.
The large Russian turned on his heel and watched as the duo glided down
the stairs. He did not notice that Christie had moved from behind him to his
side. Bayman did notice when his companion made a move towards the pair.

Christie stepped around and beside the assassin beside her. Bayman, in
her opinion, would make a great human shield, but that wasn't what she needed
at the moment. Christie's distaste of other assassins was put aside as she
moved forward to dispose of her target, only to be stopped by a weight being
pushed down on her shoulders.
Christie turned her head to the side to find Bayman's eyes narrowed and
the large Russian glaring at Donavan. "Remove your hand."
Bayman's eyes traveled down to his hand then to Christie's dark eyes.
"No. To attack now would be foolish. Wait. Allow them to relax. The woman
is expecting you to attack now, if you give her time she will drop her guard
and she will become an easier target."
Christie looked questioningly at her companion. That had to be the
most she had ever heard Bayman say at one time. Quickly her mind ran over
the idea, and what she came up with was that Bayman was right, and she hated
that. "You're right. I'll wait."
Bayman nodded as he turned back to the ballroom. "Would you like a
glass of champagne. I overheard the waiters mention that Donovan had broken
out the Dom for this event."
Christie was silent for a moment as she debated the thought. Dom was
an excellent champagne, and quite expensive, but Christie also knew she
needed to keep her wits about herself. After another few seconds of debating
she came to her decision, to find a waiter standing before herself and
Bayman. The Russian assassin was ordering for them.
"Ein glas Dom f?r die dame, und den besten bourbon f?r mich." The
waiter nodded once before disappearing back into the crowds.
"Impressive."
Bayman looked down at his companion. "You're surprised? I assume you
too are fluent in other languages."
The waiter reappeared with two glasses on his tray. A single champagne
flute filled with a transparent amber liquid, which Christie selected. The
warm snifter filled partly with dark maroon liquid was taken into Bayman's
gloved hands, the stem sliding between his middle and third fingers. "Vielen
Dank." Bayman said, slipping the young man a single bill. The waiter
accepted the cash with a smile and a nod before returning to the main room.

Christie smiled devilishly from behind her champagne flute. "I see you
tip the help."
Bayman flinched slightly. "Not badly enough it seems. This is nowhere
near warm enough." The Russian sipped his liquor again before smirking.
"I'm glad that was a counterfeit, or else I'd be pissed." Casually he
reached into his pocket and withdrew a lighter, with which he used to heat
the glass holding his liquor.
Christie tittered slightly as she imagined the look on the waiter's
face when he realized what happened. "He'll be happy to learn that."
Bayman shrugged, his well-cut jacket rising with his large shoulders.
"I could care less. He should have taken his time and warmed this properly,
and I might have actually tipped him." With that said he replaced the
lighter and tasted his drink once more.

The haunting melody of a bow running across the strings of a single
cello echoed off the castle's great walls. A pair of well tuned and
immaculately played violins accompanied the cello. The quick pace of a
viola, to create the opening chords of Pachelbel's Kanon D-dur, joined the
beautiful and haunting music.
Bayman placed his glass down on the stone railing and held out his
hand. "Sorge zu tanzen, meine dame?" With a sweep, Bayman's left leg slid
behind his right as be bowed low at the waist.

Christie was slightly taken back by Bayman's actions. This was a man
that she had seen in combat break Jann Lee's leg just to advance to the next
round of the tournament, and now he was bowing before her like a prince. The
albino woman reached out and took the Russian's hand; her small, feminine
hand was engulfed in Bayman's. "Ja, guter Herr. Ich w?rde liebe zu."
Bayman nodded as he pulled the lithe woman close to his large chest and
began to waltz with her. Bayman quickly took the lead, not giving Christie
any time to do anything but follow, an action that Christie was not fond of.
"Your German is excellent, where did you learn?"
Christie smirked as she was spun around on her heels to the quickening
pace of the violins. "Berlin. I spent a year there."
Bayman nodded as he side stepped taking his partner with him. The pair
danced and twirled to a pair of violins. Bayman's lead keeping pace with the
slowing and quickening of the stringed instruments. The moonlight shining
down on the pair acted like a spotlight, illuminating just them as the rest
of the world disappeared.
The midpoint of the song drew the viola out into the open allowing it
to outshine its fellow strings before fading to the back with the cello. The
violins returned stronger than before. The instruments' pace slowed allowing
dancers a moment of closeness before the tempo rose once more. Christie did
not allow this moment to pass her by as she moved closer to Bayman, wrapping
her arms around his muscular back, his hands slid down to find a place at her
petite waist.
The orchestra continued to strive forward, note after note, chord after
angelic chord, partygoers and dancers moved and flowed to the rhythm of the
music. Sorrowful and mourning the orchestra drew the song out, wrenching
emotions from those in the room.
Out on the balcony a waltz continued with a pair most odd. Bayman spun
Christie 360 degrees once, before pulling her close and sidestepping, leading
to a back step and the pair twirling together. Bayman held close to the
woman in his arms, who in turn held close to him. The zenith of the music
struck with the cello releasing a haunting tune that drew the dancers closer
together.

"Meine t?dliche Schneeflocke." The words burned Christie's ears as she
felt Bayman's breath on her neck. At the same time she notice that Bayman's
left hand had moved from the small of her back, and had returned holding
something. The item was cold and hard as it pressed into Christie's naked
flesh.
A sly grin overtook the usually stoic woman as she felt the item change
hands. Bayman now held the item in his right hand, and Christie could feel
his strong arms return to holding her close. Casually she leaned closer to
her partner and whispered in his ear. "Desert Eagle."
Bayman gave no response as the orchestra slowed their playing. The
last few notes played echoing through the ballroom. The Russian looked down
at his partner and smiled a gentle and reassuring smile. The large man
leaned forward, taking his partner with him as he lowered her towards the
stone floor. Just as it seemed that he had lost his grip Bayman pulled
Christie back up to stand before him. Gently he leant forward and placed his
lips atop hers, a small surge passing through the pair.
The orchestra played its final note and for a moment the ball was
silent. That silence was not to last, as the orchestra played the first note
to Beethoven's "Ode to Joy," a shot rang out through the open room.

The sound of the gun firing in the expansive ballroom sounded more like
a cannon round being fired. The female attendants soon began to scream and
rush for the door, the men while attempting to retain some semblance of
control they joined their companions in fleeing for their lives. In the
midst of all the chaos, Bayman was a pillar of serenity as he strode
purposefully through the mob.

Christie watched as the Russian assassin casually made his way through
the throng. The man exuded suave and cool as he used his superior strength
to slowly walk through the crowd. With a slight shake of her head the
British woman turned to the center of the ballroom to find a sight that would
appall most people.
Donavan lie on his stomach, a gaping, bleeding hole in the back of his
well-maintained hair through his head, and out his face. A similar wound
appeared in reverse on his date, Helena. The blonde woman was lying on her
back, blood pooling from the missing section of her head.
Christie's smile disappeared and was replaced with an angry scowl. Not
only had Bayman stolen a kiss from her, he had also taken the joy of the kill
from her. And that was unacceptable. From where she was, Christie could
still see Bayman as he turned back to look in her direction. A smug smirk
slithered onto his strong face. The Russian nodded once before turning and
disappearing into the crowd.

The albino woman left standing on the castle balcony glared at the two
dead bodies inside the room. A chilling darkness seemed to form around her
as she watched the blood pool out from the corpses. "I will kill that man."
she whispered to the wind.





All characters property of TECMO and Team Ninja. I don't own anything except
for the story.


German translations:

Ein glas Dom f?r die dame, und den besten bourbon f?r mich
A glass of Dom for the lady, and the best bourbon for me

Vielen Dank
Thank you

Sorge zu tanzen, meine dame?
Care to dance, my lady?

Ja, guter Herr. Ich w?rde liebe zu
Yes, good sir. I would love to

Meine t?dliche Schneeflocke
My deadly snowflake



Any C&C can be sent to redrum124@bigfoot.com

 

The preceeding was a work of fiction. Any statements regarding any person, place, or other entity (real or imaginary) is the sole responibility of the author of this work of fiction. Fan Works Inc. takes no responsibility for the content of user submitted stories. All stories based on real people are works of fiction and do not necessarily reflect on the nature of the individuals featured. All stories based on other copyrighted works are written with authors knowing that these works violate copyright laws.

Please see the Terms of Service for more information.

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