Author's Note: It's been said that revenge is the oldest motivation known to man. For anyone who had been wronged, or lost a loved one, and is angry enough, and motivated enough to desire retribution, revenge can drive a normally rational person to the depths of obsession and beyond. More often than not, these solitary vendettas tragically end in violence, bloodshed, and, in some cases, death. Readers of my stories have already seen that drama acted out in "To Live And Die In Tokyo" as Sailor Mercury, driven insane from grief and rage after the death of a friend sought revenge against the men responsible for her fate. In the story you're about to read, the positions here are reversed as Sailor Venus becomes the target of one man's madness and his bottomless thirst for revenge. How far will he go to gain retribution? And how far will Venus go to stop her old enemy? The answers may surprise you, perhaps even shock you. This story will also bring to light aspects of Mina's sad romantic past, the pain she carries in her heart from a doomed relationship, her intense longing to love and be loved, and how that longing will affect her friendship with Lita. The following chapter you're about to read represents my own interpretation of Sailor V's final mission in England and how it ultimately shapes the story. Sailor Moon and all related characters are the property of Takeuchi Naoko, Toei Animation and DIC. So, please, don't sue me because I haven't any money. I do this strictly for entertainment purposes, not copyright infringement.

The Vengeance Factor
by Jeffrey C. Branch
Chapter One: Comings And Goings
Rating: PG-13

The East End of London:

The dilapidated warehouse, closed and shuttered for a decade was a hotbed of frenetic activity on a cold, cloudy January afternoon.

Police cars ringed the entire structure while fire trucks stood at the ready in front of the building's main entrance. Vans bearing logos of the ITV and the BBC were nearby as news crews had their cameras trained on the building while grim faced reporters advised viewers watching at home of the proceedings. Above the building, police and news helicopters jockeyed for the choicest portion of airspace while, back on the ground, crowds of curious people stood behind hastily erected yellow sawhorses over a hundred feet away.

"Chaos," muttered Inspector Katrina Howell, a tall, willowy and beautiful brown haired woman smartly dressed in a navy blue London Police uniform, a matching pillbox hat and low heeled black pumps. She turned to a burly, bearded man in black body armor, a Heckler-Koch MP5 submachine gun at his side. "Captain Baker, how goes the dispersal of your tactical unit?"

"Everyone's in position, including snipers on the nearby rooftops," Baker replied gruffly. He wasn't fond of taking orders from Katrina, even if she was Interpol's liaison with the police and thus, in charge of the operation as the target was wanted by the international crimefighting organization. "If Duncan tries anything funny, we can blow his murdering arse all the way back to Ulster."

"I'm hoping it doesn't come to that, Captain. I'd like to take him alive," said Katrina as she studied the building. She sensed Baker's animosity but paid it no heed. She had more important things on her mind than a Neanderthal's wounded pride at being bossed around by a woman. "As a top lieutenant for the Irish Republican Army, Seamus Duncan has valuable information that can help us track down other cells operating in the city."

"It's doubtful he'll talk, Kat. Duncan's as loyal, and as fanatical as they come," said a man who stood a few feet away. Alan James was tall and handsome with dark hair and blue eyes set into a youthful face. Clipped to the lapel of his blazer was a badge that identified him as a reporter for the London Times. "He'll off himself before he rats on his friends."

Katrina turned to him and shrugged. Yet, her heart beat faster whenever she saw him. And that made her feel horribly guilty. "I know, Alan. But we have to try. Duncan's cell has been responsible for nearly a dozen bombings over the last fourteen months, half by his own hand alone. Capturing him will give us a major leg up on Interpol's counterattack against the IRA."

"I still say we shouldn't waste time waiting," Baker grumbled. "We've got the bastard cornered in there. And he's wounded. We should flush him out before he finds a way to escape."

Katrina shook her head. She had listened to Baker's argument non-stop for the last hour and it wore on her patience. "For the tenth time, Captain, we can't take the chance. Sure, Duncan's wounded, but he's also armed with enough explosives to blow up that building. Do you want that to happen with your men inside? Relax. Help is on the way."

Baker snorted from all too open disgust. "Oh, yeah. The vigilante."

Alan and Katrina glanced at each other, knowing the reason for his disgust. Then, almost as if one cue, a loud cheer went up as a brightly colorful figure appeared on the roof of a store across the street. The figure casually leaped off the roof, thirty feet high easily, touched down lightly on the sidewalk and trotted up to the trio.

The figure was a slim teenage girl with straight, golden blond hair that fell below her waist with a red bow high on the back of her head. Her costume was a white and red sailor styled tunic that fell to just above her waist, exposing her midriff along with a blue collar, white epaulets on her shoulders, and a red bow with a gold brooch on her bodice. Completing her outfit were white gloves with orange trim at the elbows, a white choker with a gold crescent moon emblem, a short, pleated blue skirt and matching high heeled ankle strap pumps. The final touch was a red mask that hid her eyes. Katrina and James smiled at seeing the girl while Baker scowled, contempt etched deeply on his face.

"Sorry I was late, Kat, but I was busy rounding up the last of Duncan's goons near Picadilly Circus." Sailor V told Katrina, her close friend and confidant. The colorfully dressed girl gave James a fond, loving smile that he weakly returned. V then stared at the warehouse "So, our boy is in there, huh?"

Katrina caught the smile the girl gave Alan and that made her heart ache. The older woman didn't want to think about how close she was to betraying her young friend regarding Alan. Katrina loved the girl behind the bright red mask like a sister, but she loved Alan more. Katrina put those thoughts out of her mind and focused on business. "Right as rain, Sailor V. Duncan's alone, and wounded from the shoot-out at Picadilly. We think he's got a bomb."

Like the one we found in the Parliament building?" V asked.

Katrina nodded. "Possibly. We don't know for sure."

V scowled. "Great. He could bring down that dump like a house of cards."

"I'm afraid so."

V, arms akimbo took a deep breath. "Then it's up to me to bring him out. We can't let that lunatic escape to kill more innocents. Any idea where he might be holed up?"

"Snipers spotted him towards the back," Alan replied, his face visibly lined from concern. He too was aware of V's secret identity, and the deep feelings she had for him. Feelings he could never return. "Going in there is risky business, love. Duncan hates you with a passion after you bollixed his scheme to kill the Royals six months ago. And he's certifiable. He's likely to blow himself to kingdom come if he thinks he can take you with him."

"A gorgeous girl like me? He'd have to be crazy to do that!" joked V, attempting to lighten the mood. She then became deadly serious. "Well, I'd better get going. It's time I put that animal away, once and for all."

"We'd better get going. I'm coming with you," said Katrina, her face set.

V's eyes widened. "No way, Kat! It's too dangerous!"

"Don't give me that! 'm not the child here, V! Besides, I'm trained to de-fuse bombs! You're not!" Katrina shot back, her tone harsher than she intended. Thoughts of Alan were making her irrational. "And I want Duncan just as badly as you! Now, are we going in, or do we stand here and argue?"

V shrugged. She tried not to let Katrina's harsh comment about her age bother her. But on the inside, those words hurt. "Fine. Suit yourself."

"Be careful, vigilante," growled Baker. "We don't want anyone hurt."

"Except me," V replied crossly. She was well aware that the Police and Scotland Yard openly despised the costumed heroine whom they saw as a law-bending, glory grabbing vigilante who bent or broke the law for the sake of her private crusade against crime. V suspected there would be a great deal of private, if not public elation among law enforcement officials if she were ever killed. Forcing herself to smile, V put those grim thoughts out of her head and nodded to Katrina. "C'mon, let's go!"

Seamus Duncan was tired, in pain and furious.

Lying against the wall of what used to be an office, Duncan, a wiry, 30 year old with bush cut red hair and pockmarked skin grimaced as he tightened the homemade bandage on his left thigh. The wound he got was a glancing blow from a laser beam fired at him by Sailor V during the firefight between her and his gang at Picadilly Circus. Duncan fumed at the thought of her.

"Lousy blonde cunt!" he spat between clenched teeth. "If I ever see that bitch again, I'll rip her freakin' heart out!"

Duncan's words rang hollow as he heard the sound of choppers hovering overhead while he knew that London Police SWAT squads surrounded the warehouse he crawled into after he crashed his car two blocks away. With his free hand, Duncan fingered the only weapon he had, a crudely made bomb made of five sticks of dynamite wrapped together with duct tape with electrical running connected to a nine volt battery and hooked up to a pressure switch and a digital watch. He was prepared to use the device if he had to.

A member of the Irish Republican Army since he was 16, Duncan didn't fight the British for the sake of independence as Gerry Adams and so many of his brethren did, he fought just for the sheer hell of it. Born into a world of bloodshed in Ulster, Duncan adopted violence as his calling. Nothing brought him more joy than inflicting pain onto others, first with his fists, then knives, followed by guns, and, for the last three years, explosives as he became a feared----and, some say, mad----bomber.

Duncan didn't care who he hurt with his bombs, soldiers, civilians, women, children, seniors, everyone was fair game to him as he loved to hear the sound of explosions, followed by the cries of the injured and dying. His latest plan to blow up the Parliament building, with the Prime Minister inside would've rocked the country to it's core. But Sailor V stopped him cold. Thinking of that only made Duncan even more enraged.

Just then, he heard the sound of the huge doors at the front slowly creak open. Breathing hard, feeling himself grow hot inside, Duncan clutched his bomb tighter. Someone was coming in after him. The IRA bomber wished he had a gun, but he left that in the wrecked car in his rush to find shelter. Did the cops think he was unarmed? Would they riddle him with bullets or take him alive. Duncan resigned himself to fate and waited to see what would happen next.

Sailor V and Katrina, the latter hefting a 9mm Walther PPK handgun moved stealthily into the darkened warehouse. The interior was cluttered with crates, mounds of trash and abandoned furniture as the place had become an illegal dumping ground in recent years. The women were careful not to make any noise as they made their way along the dust choked floor.

"Does Duncan have any other weapons?" V asked Katrina in a whisper.

Katrina shook her head. "I don't think so. Eyewitnesses said all he carried in here was a backpack. No doubt he had a bomb in it."

"Do you think he'll use it?"

"Probably. Like Alan said, Duncan's just crazy enough to blow us to bits if he thinks he can't escape." Katrina paused and a look of worry lined her face. "Mina, perhaps you shouldn't have come in here. There's no telling what that lunatic might do."

V shook her head. "Sorry, Kat. I'm staying. Fighting psychos like Duncan is what I'm here for. And I'm not about to let my best friend face him alone."

Katrina gulped, feeling her guilt return full force. She and Mina Spencer, the thirteen year old girl in the colorful sailor suit have been inseparable for over a year. V even trusted Katrina enough to reveal her secret identity to her, thus strengthening their bond of friendship as they fought the forces of evil together. But the policewoman knew that one thing threatened to wreck their relationship beyond all repair: Alan.

When Katrina met Alan during a case she was working on six months ago, she fell in love with him almost immediately, and she sensed that Alan felt the same way about her. But when Alan revealed that Mina was also in love with him, Katrina was horrified. And when Alan added that he didn't feel the same way about Mina because she was twelve years younger and couldn't help but see her as a child, the policewoman was saddened.

The situation then grew more complicated as Katrina and Alan began seeing each other behind Mina's back whenever they could. The couple tried to ignore the growing attraction they had for each other but couldn't. The last straw came eight weeks ago when Alan and Katrina slept together for the first time. Deep down, they both loved Mina as a good friend and knew their deception would break the young girl's heart. Yet, the couple could no longer deny their own powerful feelings each other. Katrina hated herself, and the way her heart controlled her like a puppet.

Katrina's grim musings were interrupted when she and V heard a grunt of pain from ahead. The women knelt behind a crate and peered at Duncan, his back against the wall of an office fifty feet away. In the semi-darkness, the women weren't able to see if the bomber held anything in his hands.

"There he is," V whispered. "Any ideas on how to handle this?"

"I'd like to take Duncan alive," Katrina whispered back. "Making him a martyr will only cause more trouble with the IRA. See if you can sneak around behind him. I'll give you five minutes before I make my move."

"Sounds like a plan to me," V replied. Her face then turned hard and cold. "But if this goes south and Duncan tries anything, I'll kill him on the spot, martyrdom be damned. I mean it, Kat. I won't let that bastard hurt you."

Katrina, unnerved, gulped. She tended to forget that this 'child' as Alan called her possessed superhuman powers which she used to fight alien invaders. The policewoman had seen V dispatch her otherworldly foes with a disturbing relish as the young heroine had no qualms about using lethal force whenever the situation called for it. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that. Get going."

The blond heroine gave Katrina a 'V' sign and a wink before sneaking off.

Duncan, his leg throbbing strained to hear anything since the doors opened, but picked up nothing. He knew someone had come inside, but he didn't know who or how many. Still feeling hot, Duncan clutched his bomb tighter. He wasn't going to let the police take him alive if he could help it. After several minutes of silence, he heard footsteps from just ahead.

"Seamus Duncan. Can you hear me? This is Inspector Katrina Howell, Interpol Liaison with the London Police," said Katrina in a strong voice. "I'm here to talk to you."

"I don't talk to shadows!" Duncan shouted. "Come out into the light so I can see you!"

Standing up, Katrina smoothed her skirt, took a deep breath and slowly emerged from the shadows. When Katrina came into view, Duncan grinned, exposing yellowed teeth from years of smoking. The policewoman came to a stop ten feet away from Duncan who liked what he saw. "Happy?" she asked.

"Uh-huh! Inspector Howell, you're one fine lookin' piece of ass!" said a grinning Duncan, his Irish accent coarse and thick. "I'd love to see what you look like without that uniform! What color's your underwear? Hot pink? Fire engine red? Personally, I like my whores to wear black. It's so-oooo sexy!"

Katrina's face was stony as she refused to let Duncan's lewd comments get to her. "My lingerie is not the topic under discussion. This warehouse is surrounded by SWAT units. Escape is impossible, and I know you're injured. If you surrender, I promise that you will be treated well."

"Lady, who are you tryin' to con? I've killed too many people and would be better off dead! And you know it!" Duncan growled. "The minute I step outside, one of those trigger happy shooters will pump a bullet in my brain, then say later: 'Oops! So sorry! My finger slipped'! The press will call it an accident and sweep it under rug while I'm left to rot in the freakin' morgue!"

"No! That's not true! Britons aren't butchers!"

Duncan snorted. He was feeling hotter by the minute, but didn't know why. "That's joke! Tell that to all the women, children and hard workin' men in Belfast, Ulster and Dublin who are deader than yesterday's fish thanks to Britons!" Duncan paused to show Katrina his bomb, his finger on the switch. "See this, bitch? If I'm gonna go, I'm gonna go my way! Not yours!"

While Katrina kept Duncan occupied, V quickly and stealthily moved into position above and behind him on the roof of the office. When the heroine saw Duncan become agitated, and finger the switch on the bomb, V moved.

"Duncan! You're finished!" yelled V, leaping off the roof. She targeted the bomb which Duncan held in his right hand. "Sailor V....KICK!"

The heroine executed a spinning wheel kick with superhuman speed. The heel of her right foot struck Duncan's hand squarely, knocking the bomb out of his hand where it was sent clattering on the floor. Without breaking stride, V grabbed Duncan by the lapels of his shirt and slammed him hard against the wall of the office. "Game, set and match, scumbag! You're finished!"

Much to the surprise of V and Katrina, Duncan laughed out loud. "So are you, cunt! That bomb's on a timer! Knockin' it out of my hand started the clock tickin'! You've got thirty seconds before you're playin' a harp!"

"A timer? Oh, Jesus!" cried V. Scrambling, the blond heroine knocked out Duncan with a knife edged blow to the back of his neck, then hoisted him up in a fireman's carry. "We've gotta get the hell out of here! Fast!"

"Wait! I can deactivate the bomb!" said Katrina.

"NO! We don't have time! C'mon!"

The two women made a desperate dash for the exit, nearly one hundred feet away while V silently ticked down the numbers to doomsday in her head. Even as the open doors drew closer, V knew their efforts were ultimately in vain. We're not going to make it, she thought gloomily. I've gotta do something!

Her face set in an iron mask of determination, V used her enhanced strength to hurl Duncan out the door, surprising Katrina. Without pausing, V then hefted the policewoman off her feet like a rag doll.

"Mina! Stop! What are you doing?" she demanded.

"Saving your life, silly!" said V before tossing the Interpol liaison out the door. The heroine then closed the doors so the blast could be contained.

Outside, cops scrambled to get Duncan and Katrina away from the warehouse. Katrina was hysterical because V had stayed inside.

"NO! Sailor V! She's still inside!" she screamed while restrained by Alan. "Let me go! I have to go back! She's still inside!"

A second later, there was a thunderous roar as the bomb went off, shaking the ground for a full block all around and blowing out the broken windows, forcing everyone, police, SWAT teams and onlookers to duck and cover to protect themselves from flying glass and debris. An oily ball of flame shot through the roof like an erupting volcano, forcing all the helicopters hovering above to pull up out of range of the blast before it collapsed inside the building as fire quickly began consuming the interior. Katrina, watching the scene from a safe distance was horrified.

"SAILOR V! NOOOOOOOOOOOO!" she shrieked at the top of her lungs. "Alan! We've got to get inside and find her!"

"We can't! That place is an inferno!" cried Alan.

"She could be hurt! Or worse! Oh, Alan! We can't leave her in there!"

Standing nearby, Baker, his face impassive keyed his radio. "Team leader to rooftop snipers! Did you see V exit the warehouse? Report!"

"No sign, sir," came one reply.

"That's a negative," came another.

"All clear, Captain," came a third.

"I thought I saw a flash of light, sir, but it was probably just the blast," said a fourth.

"Okay, pack it up. And call the fire department. Our job's over." Baker then turned to Katrina. "I'm sorry, Inspector. Looks like V didn't make it."

Hearing that, Katrina collapsed sobbing in Alan's arms. Her companion, her best friend, was dead. As the realization set in for the nearby onlookers, a pervasive feeling of despair settled over the crowd like a shroud. Some in the crowd began weeping. Sailor V was gone. The city had lost its hero.

"Oh, Alan! This is terrible!" cried an inconsolable Katrina as Alan led her away from the scene and around a corner. She looked at the burning warehouse and felt her heart break. "Mina, she....she sacrificed her life to save me! And she never even knew about us! How can I live like this?"

"Hush, Kat. Don't blame yourself. There's nothing you could've done," said Alan. He felt a twinge of guilt over having allowed the lovesick Mina to think he had similar feelings for her when, in truth, he didn't. And never would.

And now, she's dead, he thought.

"You have to be strong, Kat. Mina would want you to go on," said Alan, holding Katrina close. He then stared deeply into her wet eyes. "She would want us to go on. I love you, Kat. I've loved you from the moment I met you. And I know you love me too."

Katrina tried to push herself away from Alan. "Alan, no. Please. This isn't the time. I've just lost a friend who was like a sister to me."

"You're wrong, Kat! It's the perfect time!" Alan argued. "Don't you see? What just happened made me realize how short life is! I know you're grieving, so am I, Mina was my friend too! But we can't deny our feelings! It's time we reveal them! Because we don't know when we'll get another chance!"

Listening to what Alan had said, Katrina was torn. Her closest friend in the world had just died, yet she couldn't deny what she felt in her heart for Alan, the deep feelings she had for him. With a sob in her throat, Katrina surrendered to those feelings.

In a darkened alley half a block away the burning warehouse, V sat against a wall, barely alive.

Her uniform scorched, tattered and smouldering, her face clearly mirrored the terrible pain she was in after her desperate bid to escape. Seconds before the blast, V used her Crescent Beam to smash through the nearest wall, but the force of the explosion sent her flying across the street where she crashed through the window of a store and slammed hard against a wall.

After limping out of the building and into the alley, trailing blood all the way, V lay against a wall to rest and allow her healing powers to work on a litany of injuries that would have killed an ordinary human twice over. She suffered first degree burns over half her body from the blast and was cut and bleeding from broken glass when she went through the window. Her left arm and collarbone were broken and her right thigh was badly gashed while four of her ribs were also broken, making the simple task of breathing torturous.

V was exhausted from the tremendous amounts of energy used from her lifeforce to heal her wounds which, in her pain filled delirium, seemed to take forever. All she wanted to do was lay down, close her eyes and go to sleep, yet she fought with all her strength to stay awake, knowing that in her dangerously weakened state, she could slip into a coma and die from her injuries.

"This is....no place....for....me....to kick....the farm," said V in a ragged croak. "C'mon....Mina. On....your feet. Gotta let Kat....and Alan know....I'm still....alive."

Taking a deep breath, V struggled to her knees where she paused to rest as her head spun from dizziness. Using the wall as a support, the heroine dragged herself to her feet, wincing from the effort it took. Leaning against the wall, V, feeling her strength slowly return staggered drunkenly towards the mouth of the alley. After covering twenty feet, V stumbled and fell.

"Owww! That hurt!" she growled. "C'mon....girl! Get....up!"

Leaning against the wall, V propped herself up again and slowly continued her snail like trek to the mouth of the alley. When she was teen feet away from the mouth, V stopped short, her eyes widened and her mouth fell open at the sight before her.

Standing across the street in a tender embrace were Alan and Katrina. V could tell right away from their body language that their embrace was that of lovers, not friends. Then, Alan drew Katrina close and pressed his lips on hers. As the stunned V sank to her knees, she saw Katrina wrap her arms around Alan as the kiss lengthened and grew passionate.

"No. Oh, God. No," V whispered, tears streaming down her cheeks. The pain she felt in her heart at that moment was a thousand times greater than her physical injuries.

When the couple finally broke the kiss, Katrina smiled fondly as she stared into Alan's eyes. Alan returned the smile as he gently brushed back a lock of Katrina's hair. V, looking on was horribly confused. "They....they're....in love? Since when? How could they do this to me?"

Unable to move, her young heart shattered, V barely managed to hear what the couple were saying. Those words further served to agonize her.

"I know it won't be easy, Kat, especially after a nightmare like this, but I promise to spend the rest of my life caring for you and loving you," said Alan.

"And I'll always love you, Alan," Katrina replied. "While a horrible tragedy brought us together, I'm sure that if Mina were here, she'd be happy for us."

"Yes. I know she would too. C'mon, let's go."

V, watching the lovers leave was at first devastated, feeling the sharp and brutal pain of betrayal. Every word she heard the couple say were like knives in her back. Then, rage set in as the heroine wanted nothing more than to kill for hurting her, especially Alan. Struggling to her feet, her fists clenched, V began to go after them, but she stopped short.

"No. I can't. It would be wrong to hurt them," she whispered.

Slumping to her knees, V buried her face in her hands and softly sobbed for fifteen solid minutes, mourning both the loss of her first real love.

"They looked so happy together. If I turn up, it would only cause them both pain, Alan because he knew how I felt about him while Kat would feel guilty for going behind my back," said V. "Even worse, I would enjoy hurting them with my presence. I can't allow them to suffer! I can't let that happen!"

Her face locked in a mask of steely resolve, V climbed to her feet. She then removed her tattered red mask and stared at it in her right hand. The heroine took a deep breath and, her mind made up, did what she had to do. She closed her fist and crumpled the mask before letting it drop to the ground.

"For the sake of my friends whom I dearly love, Sailor V must die."

In a flash of golden light, the heroine changed into her alter ego of school student Mina Spencer. Still in physical pain from her injuries, and emotional pain from her broken heart, she hobbled slowly away.

One month later:

Katrina stared at the picture frame that sat on her living room coffee table. The picture in the frame was of her and Mina, both women wearing mouse ears and goofy grins as they stood outside the main gates of Euro-Disney.

Seated on the sofa, Katrina reached for the frame and picked it up. Her vision swam from tears as she remembered their trip to the park eight months ago. The policewoman fondly remembered how happy Mina was, how innocent and childlike she had been, just another young girl enjoying the fun of an amusement park with her older friend who had her fair share of fun as well.

And now, those good times were over. For ever, Katrina thought.

"I miss her, Alan. I miss Mina so very much," said Katrina, barely able to get the words out as the tears spilled from her eyes and spattered on the glass covered picture. The ache in her heart from her friend's death was not as great as it had been that fateful day, but it was there nonetheless.

A somber Alan, a tall goblet of white wine in each hand sat next to Katrina. He handed one to the woman. "Here. Drink this. You'll feel better."

With a sigh, Katrina took the glass and sipped the wine. It's warmth was faintly soothing. "I can't help but feel guilty, Alan. Do you know there wasn't even a funeral for her? And the press barely mentioned her passing."

"Mina's body was never found, and the press no more wanted to acknowledge the death of a vigilante than they did her life," said Alan, cozying up to Katrina. Instinctively, she laid her head on his shoulder. "Even the tabloids wouldn't give her the time of day. I agree, it was a damn shame, but there's nothing we can do, except to go on living."

"That won't be easy, Alan."

"Nothing in life ever is, darling. But we have to try. Look at it as our way of honoring Mina's memory."

Katrina allowed herself a small smile. "You're right. I love you, Alan."

"I love you too. And I'll always be here for you." The couple then brought their lips together in a long, passionate kiss.

From the rooftop of a twelve story building across the street from Katrina's flat, a young girl with long, flowing blond hair and a large red bow tied at the back of her head stared down at the couple as they kissed through the living room's open window with envious eyes. The short, bright orange skirt she wore fluttered in the stiff evening breeze.

"That should be me in Alan's arms," the girl whispered, her white gloved fists tightly clenched, her voice filled with longing, and resentment. A single tear, signifying the tremendous pain in her heart slid down her cheek and dripped onto the bright blue bow on the bodice of her sailor suit.

Every night for three weeks after she fully recovered from her terrible injuries, the girl in the white and orange sailor suit followed Alan and Katrina everywhere, watching them, secretly sharing their lives, their joys, their sorrows, practically everything. Until they went behind closed doors.

That caused the girl the most pain of all.

With a sigh, the girl turned away and was about to head for home when she heard a scream from a nearby alley. Honor bound to her duty, the girl headed off in the direction of the scream.

Staying to the rooftops, the girl saw a greasy looking hoodlum in a t-shirt and jeans with a shaven head wrench a woman's handbag out of her arms. He then struck her with his fist against her jaw and she crumpled to the ground before running off. The girl was furious with what she had seen.

The hoodlum ran like a Olympic sprinter, staying to the alleys and avoiding the main streets as he heard sirens in the distance. But he wasn't worried, he knew the police would never catch him. But someone else did.

Just as the hood neared a ten foot high chain link fence that he would have to climb, he heard something land on the ground behind him. Whirling around, he saw a smallish, female shape with long hair, her features and clothing hidden by the shadows in the pitch black alley. The figure slowly walked towards him, her heels clacking loudly in the stillness.

The hoodlum, openly nervous whipped out a switchblade and flicked it open. "Who the hell are you?"

"Your worst nightmare," growled the shadow shrouded figure. "You like hitting women, huh? Well, why don't try me on for size, you bastard!"

"Don't mind if I do, girlie!" The hoodlum thrust his knife at the figure, but it had already moved with lightning fast speed. He then felt something like a hand clamp on his wrist and he screamed as bones snapped like twigs and he dropped the knife. The pain was so great, the hood was forced to his knees.

"Pathetic," snarled the figure. The hood, hearing the voice was shocked to figure out it was a girl who was roughly hoisted to his feet with disturbing ease and thrown against the fence. Sobbing from his broken wrist, the hood tried to scale the fence, but was stopped short as a foot was driven into the small of his back like a piston and he crumpled to the ground.

The girl again hoisted the hoodlum to his feet and shook him like a rag doll. "Men! You're all fucking alike! You exist only to hurt women! To cause us pain! To lead us on, to trick us into loving you and then break our hearts! I hate you! You hear me! I HATE YOU!"

The hoodlum didn't even have time to be confused by the girl's wild screaming before he was struck by a powerful right cross that sent him flying against the fence as if jet propelled. The hood was already unconscious before he slumped to the ground.

The girl loomed over the fallen hoodlum for several moments, her bright blue eyes blazing with anger and contempt. Then those eyes softened from concern and she knelt by his side and pressed to fingers on his carotid artery. She sighed from relief at feeling a pulse. From there, frustration set in for the girl as she slowly rose to her feet.

"Dammit! This is not going to work!" she muttered disgustedly. "My judgement is shot because I can't get....HIM off my mind! If this keeps up, I'm going to kill someone!"

It was at that moment, standing in the alley over the unconscious hoodlum that the girl in the white and orange sailor suit had an epiphany, a moment of clarity where everything finally came into focus, and she knew what she would have to do in order to find peace, to heal her wounded heart and mend her troubled soul.

"I'll have to leave England," she whispered.

For the last several weeks after the warehouse incident, the girl had been plagued by strange dreams of a past life in a far away place where she was a warrior in the service of a wise, benevolent and powerful Queen, and the loyal guardian to her daughter, a beautiful, vibrant princess. She and three other female warriors had pledged their lives to protect the Queen and her kingdom, and ultimately died for that cause after a titanic battle against the dark forces of evil from another world.

Every night, without fail, the girl had the same dream, and every morning, she would seek to find its meaning, but couldn't. But, over the last week, there was something else. Someone, a young woman her age was calling to her across the gulf from a place she had only heard of, but never been to. The call was a desperate cry for help, and the voice was one she had heard before, in her dreams. It was familiar, yet it wasn't, just like the other females in her vision. She sensed that they were friends, companions, people she was very close to.

With a nod, the girl decided it was time to follow that voice, that cry for help she heard, both in her sleep and in her waking hours. She would go to where that voice originated and do what she faintly remember doing in that past life from her dreams.

She would fight for that person. Even to the death.

Turning on her heel, her mind and heart set on its course, the girl headed to the east. East to Japan. East to her destiny.

NEXT: Friends And Enemies

GO TO CHAPTER 2