Power Trip - Act 1
“To destroy the enemy who assails you, you must first destroy the illusions he creates,” the master sat serenely on the floor in the corner of his training room, “and the illusions you create.” In the yogic position, his back arched and his legs overlapped, the master sported a thin white Fu Manchu and his eyes remained closed as he spoke. “Illusions are created by desires and they are the source of all suffering.”
Niki’s fist struck the punching bag with a hard thump, driving it into Pearce’s supporting arms. The vampire was listening only intermittently to the martial arts master he had hired for the Slayer’s training, since he was under a constant barrage of hits from behind the punching bag. Thump, thump, thump.
“You must learn to see through the things which only exist in your mind: Only then will you see your true target.” The master was speaking calmly, yet his voice carried over the thumping of Niki’s warm-up. “Violence does not destroy illusions, but reinforces them, and weakens you.” Without a change in his breathing or tone of voice, the master stood. “Before you commit to the way of force, you must know your enemy fully.” The master approached the punching bag and drew a long black cloth from his robes, handing it to Pearce. “To know your enemy fully, you must learn to fight where only the truth of your enemy exists: in the dark.”
Pearce pulled the blindfold snugly across Niki’s face and tied it securely behind her head. With a reassuring pat on her shoulder, he backed away and stood where, a moment ago, the master had been sitting.
“You don’t expect me to fight without being able to see?” the Slayer stood with a sardonic shrug and cavalier slouch.
“Not at all,” the master said calmly. “I forbid you to fight back.” Without a second’s hesitation and in a fluid motion, he drove his old but hardened knuckles into her gut.
The Slayer grunted and doubled over, stumbling back. “Wh– what the hell is this?” Just as she stood up again the same fist connected firmly with her jaw and sent her staggering into the back wall. As soon as she had recovered her balance, she leapt forward, directing punches into the air with no clear direction. The master, who was far from her strike zone, crossed his arms and shook his head.
“What is it that you hope to accomplish?” he asked, bringing her attention in his direction. Before speaking again, he silently walked to the opposite side of the room. Within seconds, the Slayer was swinging wildly where he had been standing. “You cannot attack what you have not yet come to see.”
Niki crouched low, spinning around to the new direction of her invisible attacker. She carefully made her way towards the voice, keeping her center of gravity low and her fists ready.
“You are blind in the dark; you cannot win,” the master assured, stepping aside when he had said this and allowing the Slayer to creep past him. With less than the sound of a breath, he brought his leg in a high arc through the air and caught the back of her skull, sending her face-first onto the floor.
“Fuck,” she moaned, rolling over. Still, she didn’t remove the blindfold. “What kind of training is this?”
“To whom do you curse?” the master asked, walking thoughtfully away from the Slayer on the floor. “You have no allies here. You but betray your condition to your enemies.”
Niki leapt to her feet and assumed a defensive stance, deciding not to advance in the deceptive direction of the voice. With a small bow, the master recognized the lesson that had been learned. Then with a rustling as of wind, he rushed her and drove his knee into her stomach and his elbow into the back of her neck.
With a stifled cry of pain, she fell to her hands and knees at his feet. Without knowing where he had gotten to, she stood again, assuming the same position, but with her arms now guarding slightly lower. The master smiled.
“Excellent. You are learning to see in the dark.” And with a merciless swing, he brought his elbow into her ear, sending her sprawling sideways with an involuntary cry of pain.
Two and a half hours later, the Slayer shuffled stiffly out of the master’s training room and onto the dark street. Pearce followed after, carrying the blindfold she had been instructed to practice with.
“That wasn’t so bad,” the vampire grinned. “He thinks you’re improving.” Niki was silent for a long, stiff minute.
“Pearce...” she began, trying to be tactful through the ache. “I.... I’m never going back there again.”
“What are you talking about?” The vampire pleaded. “Master Aizawa is the best kenjutso trainer in all of New York — probably all of America! So he wasn’t cheap!”
“Beating the crap out of someone who’s blindfolded. No; not cheap at all.” Niki slowly made her way down the steps to the door of the Biter. Opening it, she found the bar bustling.
Diego had already found a replacement for Hobbs and the neophyte was already well adjusted and wiping down the bar.
The Slayer and the vampire took their usual seats, surreptitiously examining the new barkeep. Diego’s position of never tending bar himself seemed to make a great deal of sense in hindsight, considering the turnover rate of bartenders in this establishment, but this newbie seemed like the last person who would lose a fight.
Standing a full seven feet tall, he was something of a cross between a professional wrestler and a pirate. His bald pate was secured under a black bandana and the left side of his forehead was covered in black, interlocking calligraphy. He had a tuft of black hair on his ample chin and his black canvas jacket hung from his impressive muscles. Niki was hard pressed to call him human and her suspicions were finally confirmed when he looked at the pair, showing his dark red irises. Giving them a smile, he revealed neatly pointed canines – making him almost vampiric in the Slayer’s opinion, but a mere thug-demon in Pearce’s.
“Let me guess,” Pearce thought hard of the line of barkeeps. “Garfield, right?”
The barkeep frowned, a deep and disturbing sight. “Tom,” he answered in a deep voice which suited him perfectly. “And I don’t know who the hell you gyps are, and I don’t give a crap and a half,” his face remained completely serious, his hand leaving the cloth on the bar and finding his piece, “but I know what happened to my predecessors—” Tom set his 9mm Magnum Wiley on the bar with a heavy clunk “—and it ain’t gonna happen to me.”
Niki slowly looked to Pearce who was eying the firearm with envy. The Slayer looked back to the hulk of a man who was glaring pointedly at them. “Okay then, Tom, I’ll have a White Russian.”
Tom’s expression didn’t change from one of utter distrust as he poured the drink, setting the small glass before the woman who already seemed to have bruises forming.
Niki took it and drank, leaning over to Pearce to whisper as covertly as she could. “Why do you think he’s so popular— I mean, why is business so good tonight?”
“All taps are open,” Tom said, his face like a stone carving, “and all tabs are clean.” He said it just loud enough for the cheer to go up again, a general toast to the new barkeep.
Just as all were downing their drinks in Tom’s honor, the door opened and a general growl ensued, followed by a deep silence. Logan took a seat three stools away from Pearce and Niki, frowning sullenly at his reception. He wore his black turtleneck and jeans and his short blond hair was uncombed. He had dark circles under his eyes. If Niki hadn’t looked twice, she might not have recognized him.
Tom lifted his weapon pointedly and clicked the safety off, setting it back behind the bar. The big man then moved down the bar to stand before the hunched lawyer, his entire presence disapproving. “I know who you are,” Tom said in a low voice. The entire bar was on the edge of its seat. Tom wouldn’t need more than his bare hands to crush the sprite of a man sitting before him.
Niki slowly got to her feet. She wasn’t sure of her position, but she was fairly certain she didn’t want to be here for this. It took a little effort, but she pulled the rapt Pearce to his feet and dragged him out of the bar, leaving the money she owed. She never kept a tab.
Tom slowly leaned across the bar which was the only thing separating him from Logan Kilpatrick. “Thanks for opening up this position,” he said quietly. “I’ve had my name on the list for months.”
Niki dropped into bed with a groan. She didn’t care how much master Obi-Wan had cost: She was never training there again. The fact that she had let an old Japanese man mop the floor with her for three hours was almost as aggravating as the fact that he had ended the lesson the first time she had actually blocked a punch combo.
Stretched out on top of her covers, she could see out into the living room where Addison’s suitcase full of weapons had been left behind when her former Watcher had returned to London; a gift, he had said. In case anyone else around here got unruly.
Within minutes, she was fast asleep. Outside, the first snow was falling.
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