Ghetto Sez:

And the Creative team Sez: At retribution the Titanium Insomniac scored the victory for his team and has thus earned a shot at Freya at the first possible time

Hey look, it's the first possible time zounds and zorks that must mean we're having a Bleeder title match on Friction! And not only that, Mac is back and he's on the attack, and he won't be cutting anyone slack, cuz he's the guest ref...Jack.

As for the stipulation, with the Bleeder title involved who knows what'll happen? Except of course that someone will Bleeder and someone will stand victorious in the end, no draws in this division.

This taste is familiar to Titanium Insomniac. It has long been absent from his mouth, but now he allows it to cascade off his lower lip. He spits it across the room and desperate people clamor to get just a little splashed on their clothing.

They'll never wash their cheap tuxes and glittery dresses again. That is, if he'd invited anyone to this party of two. Again absent from the congratulations of his stablemates, The Insomniac rests aboard a private airship destined for their next locale. He takes another deep swallow, this latest tickling his nose as tiny bubbles fizz and pop.

Champagne.

But also victory.

Jeremiah smiles, helping himself to another bottle. He twists open the wire and coaxes the cork to its breaking point, carefully as massaging a soft-bodied companion to her climax and POP!! For a moment the cabin experiences the climax as some bubbly escapes from the bottle and soaks into the plush carpet.

"Now you've proven it to them."

TI takes another sip, easing contently into one of the plane's recliners. "I've one step left to take."

"Indeed you do."

No words exchanged for a few moments while The Sleepless One silently toasts his own accomplishment. Jeremiah also drinks, observing his associate's movements. Is that same arrogance that cost him back-to-back matches present now? Or has he finally learned? Jeremiah is careful, calculating, cold. He rests the base of his goblet against two fingers of his other hand while TI gulps his entire glass.

"Have you thought further about how to deal with Mac Avoy?"

The Sleepless One sets his glass down more forcefully than he cared to allow. Clearly this was an unresolved situation for him. TI stares into the empty crystal before meeting Jeremiah's look of curiosity and concern. "Of course I have. There will be a time and a place for that apart from the sideshow of mobsters and our little bald loverboy. When I'm no longer distracted, I'll give him due cause to erase his memories...or what he thinks he remembers."

"And what of this week?"

"A woman. Sure, it's cheap to pull the misogynist card, but a scrappy, LUCKY woman-"

"Who is friends with Dante."

The Insomniac regards Jeremiah with a coldness reserved for the most daring infractions. "What does Dante have to do with this?"

Jeremiah shrugs. "She's no mere woman."

"Yes she is. All you've added is that she's a mere woman with strong friends. Let me ask you something...alienate pawns from queens, bishops, and knights, and you are left with what?"

"A pawn. Always just a pawn."

"A vulnerable pawn at that. This isn't a tag match. She's got no one." TI reaches for the bottle of champagne and pours himself another glass. The foam runs over his black glove, but he doesn't seem to mind.

"And you have me."

TI stops mid-sip to regard Jeremiah once again. "You're missing the larger point. This has been about fear for months. Not who is friends with whom. It's about individual accomplishment. Strikmore needed help to put me, one man, away. Mac and Supreme couldn't put me, one man, away. Freya, one woman, without Dante or anyone else, is going to have a fucking difficult time putting ME, ONE MAN, away."

"She's put others away on her own."

TI reaches for a fresh bottle and begins untwisting the wire. "No one like me."
_____________________

Freya approaches the front desk at her Paris hotel, allowing her modest bag to drop limply to the tiled floor. Softly sighing, she props her head on her arm and awaits someone's notice. To pass the time, she scans the room. There are two faces she's watching for...one painted silver, the other much less distinguishable...but neither are apparent amidst a scattered clientele.

"Mademoiselle?"

Freya turns back toward the desk and greets a young man in the traditional uniform, softly smiling. She smiles back. "Anglais?"

The man nods. "I am never certain. This hotel attracts a mix of both citizens and tourists. May I help you?"

"Freya Green checking in."

The clerk types a few letters. The screen brightens, as does his face. Smiling even more politely he turns toward Freya once again. "Ah, Ms. Green. We have you on the fifth floor. Room 541." He slides an envelope with her cards and a pamphlet of local eateries across the desk.

"Thank you." Envelope in hand, Freya slings her bag over her shoulder and begins the short trek toward the elevators. For a moment, she is tempted to take the stairs. Perhaps a little extra therapeutic work would be healthy. Should she risk it? This week everything is a risk...

"Oh, and Mademoiselle?"

Freya turns back to the desk. "What?"

"We've placed your gift basket in the room."

"Gift basket?"

"Sent early this morning."

Warily, Freya turns back and continues her walk to the elevators.

Once the doors close, Freya is a little relieved that she's the only one. A riding companion wouldn't have made too much of a difference, but the layoff has cultivated a slight loner tendency within her. She could probably shake it off, but not just yet.

Exiting the elevator, Freya scans the room numbers. 541 is only a few rooms down. She appreciates the short walk but loathes the thought of tourists stumbling in after enjoying Parisian nightlife. A combination of training and rest will be key this week.

Upon entering the room, Freya immediately sees what the clerk meant. A large basket sits on the bed, filled with items at first indistinguishable to her. She flips on the hall light and sets down her bag. Upon approaching, things become clearer to her. Among a cushion of tinsel is a knee brace flanked by a bottle of wine and assorted bars of Toblerone. Freya notices a card included as well. She pulls it out of the envelope and reads:

A few things to help you enjoy the romantic French evenings...raised spirits, an indulged sweet tooth, and of course walking the lovely cobblestone streets.

Hoping you'll join me. If that doesn't suit, I'll arrange that it does.

Eternally yours,
T.I.

Freya sighs once again as she tosses the card onto the bed. Everything is a risk this week.

Absolutely everything.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The Insomniac's cane provides a steady beat against the concrete as this mismatched pair makes its way through the city. TI is in high spirits, illustrated by the slightest bounce in his step. He wants to take in everything about this city...the breeze, the smoke wafting from the others around him enjoying the night air, the rich wine, the spectacular views. Even now as he walks, the smallest soundbite of French dialect is like a choir of angels to him.

"This is my city."

Freya does a take, yet keeps pace. "What?"

"First time to Paris. I've dreamed of the chance. I spent some time in Tokyo, but they're all business there. They want to be New York so badly...the lights, the sounds, the commerce. But this place, it's more subtle. It has its reputation, its own chapter in stories of lust and pleasure...but no one wants to hear about that. They just want the Grant-Hepburn types of stories. The other stuff, though...it's all here."

Freya makes a bemused sound in her throat. "I wouldn't have pegged Paris as your city. I would have thought Vegas, New Orleans, Amsterdam, San Francisco..."

TI stops walking, and it takes Freya a few steps to realize it. "What the fuck did you mean by that last one?"

Freya stammers. "Well...it's a...the city has its own...I don't know."

The Sleepless One starts walking again, his glare slowly fading. It takes him a few moments to compose himself. Freya stifles a laugh.

"Anyway..." TI continues, "...those other cities you mentioned...they have their perks. There's plenty of debauchery, nihilism, reckless abandonment of morality and self-awareness...but it's all so out in the open. There's no style to it. It's all so blatant. ‘What happens in Vegas' and all that bullshit. That's for frat boys and pent-up suburbanites. Sure, they're without shame, but they flaunt it. There's a difference between sinning to say you're sinning and sinning because you don't give a damn."

"So you're one of the ‘don't give a damn' types, then."

"Of course. And Paris is the place for not giving a damn. It has culture and panache, but it also has this ‘fuck the world' mentality where it KNOWS who it is and how much better it is than everyone else. So you walk down a back alley or a side street and see a tourist getting robbed and all the while the mugger is saying, ‘I deserve your wallet because we have the Mona Lisa, bitch.'"

Freya doesn't have an answer to that. Her eyes wander to the calm waters of the Seine river. She takes in the crescent moon reflecting off the soft waves. This is her first chance to see this display up close. No picture could do this justice. No video could properly capture the sound of the water lapping against the stones.

"Captivating, isn't it?"

"It really is."

"This is exactly what I mean." The Insomniac sighs in boredom, softly enough that she can't hear. "So...why were you so willing to come out with me tonight?"

"You invited me."

"Really? That's it? A big scary guy who is your opponent in a match for something called the Bleeder title invites you out and you just accept? You must've been a fun date in high school--"

The Insomniac catches Freya's left wrist, smiling. Freya is breathing a little heavier. "You don't know about my high school days. You don't know anything."

TI smirks. "I suppose not. Or you suppose not. Maybe both." TI examines Freya's wrist for a moment. "But I'd be careful who you're swinging this at. It's pretty fragile."

Freya yanks her arm back and TI makes no struggle. "Trust me when I say I'm not fragile."

TI begins walking again. "I've seen much more durable models, that's for sure."

Freya still hasn't moved to catch up. She stands, her hands on her hips, making it a point to look away from the Seine this time. She doesn't want a gorgeous sight to be tainted by current experience. Everything has tightened within her. Maybe this was a mistake...

TI notices that he hasn't been followed and turns back toward his fuming companion. "Oh, come on...was this that much worse than the ‘San Francisco' bit?"

Freya still hasn't moved. His cracks are like a twisting of the knife to her.

The Sleepless One rolls his eyes. "Well...I guess all the whimsy just got sucked out of the evening. Good. I was getting tired of pretending that a mutual friend really wants to see us hook up. Now, if you purport to be tougher than your little twig of an arm suggests, pick up the pace and let's go."

Freya's eyes well up with contempt. She'd known of his mode of operation, but to experience it firsthand was something altogether different. She can still feel where he'd grabbed her.

Meanwhile, TI grows more impatient. "You came because I invited you. Now you don't want to see it through. Maybe if I called one of your buddies and asked him to come down you'd feel more comfortable."

Freya's hands ball up into fists and she can feel the blood rushing to her face.

TI smirks. "Are you afraid?"

"Are you afraid?"..."Then prove it."

Keeping her adrenaline at bay, Freya walks toward The Insomniac now much more suspicious of the evening. She ventures another look toward the Seine, but what once was serene has now taken on a sinister quality. It's as if just below the tepid surface lurks something threatening, deadly, destructive.
_______________________

A few blocks away, another black-clad figure is getting on a bus. His cellphone might as well be glued to his ear if one has been watching him for the past half hour. He has taken several breaks only to dial another number and begin again. While the Seine paints one picture, he is quite another. With every call made, the level of disquiet rises.

"When did that happen?" Jeremiah slides into a seat, switching the phone to his other ear to allow for blood flow. "Why wasn't I...why weren't we told sooner?"

Jeremiah rubs his brow, closing his eyes. "All right...no...shut up. This changes things, but only in our favor. Removing a witness, claiming a position of recognition, all in one night, that only helps my cause."

Jeremiah chuckles at some objection or another from the other end. "It helps him, too. Of course. But once he claims this spot, who's going to be there to point him at his next target? I pointed him at his first, and he's been ever so grateful."

He waves off a question. "I told him that he would liberate all those set in front of him. Who do you think helps do that? He can do this on his own, but he's only benefited from my added direction. He'll benefit even more tonight after I tell him. And I need to do just that. I'll call later and you can fill me in on your own conquests."

Jeremiah presses a button, checks his phone's screen, and then dials another. He waits for a few moments before someone picks up.

"Hello."

"Insomniac."

"Yes."

"I just got some news that you're going to want to hear."

"What?"

"Mac Avoy is your guest referee."

There is silence on the other end for a few moments. Jeremiah cocks an eyebrow in anticipation. "Insomniac?"

"How long have you known?"

"I just found out a few minutes ago. This is my first chance to tell you."

Another silence. "Do you think it'll make a difference?"

"Not any more than he was last week."

"Last week was different. There's more power involved now."

"Well, if we need to, we'll lean on him. It's not like he was much of a factor last week, anyway. Let's focus on tonight. Is she with you?"

"Of course."

"Well then...better get started."
_____________________

"I think so." The Insomniac clicks his cellphone shut and looks toward a much more subdued Freya. They haven't exchanged any words the past few blocks. TI smiles to himself, satisfied with what he's already accomplished in a short amount of time. Freya, meanwhile, is concentrating on her surroundings. Since the mood changed, she's made it a point to be more alert to The Insomniac's movements.

"Where are we going?"

"It's not too much further, my dear."

"Don't call me that."

TI feigns offense. "So I guess we'll skip stopping for fudge, then."

There is silence for another block or so. There's a chill in the air, even apart from the iciness between the pair. Freya shivers slightly, but resigns herself to a rigid composure. TI, meanwhile, has taken to tapping his cane once again. This is only to Freya's growing irritation. The Insomniac senses this, and makes no effort to stop.

"You didn't happen to bring that bottle of wine I sent you, did you?"

Freya glares up at her taller opponent and responds flatly. "No."

"Damn. I was hoping for a nip tonight. Mind if I make a stop?"

"Whatever."

TI locates a wine store close by. "Stay right here and I'll be right back." The Sleepless One disappears inside for a few minutes before emerging with a bottle of deep red cabernet. The two begin walking once again.

"So how much longer is this little walk?"

"We're here." TI gestures to a bus.

"You brought me to a bus stop?"

"It's where the bus goes that matters."

"I'm starting to think this is just a wild goose chase."

"It would have been, but I couldn't find the right goose. Get on the bus."

A moment later, Freya plops down into a seat unceremoniously. TI sits across from her and begins inserting a corkscrew into the top of the bottle. "You know...I'm beginning to think that you aren't enjoying this as much as you were back by the river. And that's fine, because I think you've finally figured out that this isn't a very friendly week. I offered a little about myself, told you about the true nature of Paris and how it appeals to me...but for some reason, you're much more reticent to open up about yourself. That's fine. What's yours is yours and it needs to be offered freely. But where we're going, you'll need to change your attitude toward keeping secrets."

"I'll be the judge of what secrets I keep and why."

"I know." TI takes a deep swig of the wine as the bus slows at its next stop. A few seats ahead, the only other passenger on the bus, a man in a black dress coat, gets off. Freya regards the man with a certain amount of recognition, but can't get a long enough view of him to figure it out.

The two are now alone with the driver as the bus starts up again. TI holds the bottle out to Freya, who refuses.

TI insists. "Come on...it's a token of trust."

Freya grabs the bottle. Maybe just a sip. The taste is strong and she can't take too much at once. TI makes a gesture of encouragement, and she takes another. She hands the bottle back over and TI leans back in his seat. "See? It's pretty good isn't it?"

The bus makes a right turn that is more sharp than Freya would have liked. TI glances out the window. "Almost."

Freya blinks. For a moment, the world seemed like she was viewing it through a convex lens. Another sharp turn, and Freya lurches toward the window.

TI smirks. Freya notices this. "What?"

"There's something you should know about me, my dear..."

"I said, don't call me that."

"...my tokens of trust tend not to be worth much."

Freya blinks again. She feels no fatigue, but is aware that something in her has changed.

TI smiles even bigger. "Funny what can happen when one's chemical makeup alters in the right ways...inhibition lowers, instincts heighten. It's a wild world, Freya. A world where you have to choose what you're truly afraid of and why. Whether your accepting my invitation was bravery or stupidity or naiveté, we'll soon know. I'm betting on naiveté, but I'm also betting that it'll disappear when this is all said and done."

Freya covers her ears as TI's voice seems to boom ever louder. The bus lurches to a sudden stop. The Insomniac stands and tosses the bottle to the back, where it begins rolling forward. The contents form a puddle under a seat.

"I'll see you again soon, my dear. Welcome to the ride of your life. Please stow away your fears for the remainder of the trip. It's the only way to get off. Thanks and good luck."

TI bounds to the front of the bus as the driver makes a few adjustments to the steering controls. He takes one last look before he gets off. "I really am one of the ‘don't give a damn' types, you know. Time to be liberated."

The bus starts rolling forward, and Freya tries to stand. Everything seems closer to her, so when the bus begins to pick up speed it's as if an extra ten miles have been added. She stumbles forward and is amazed at how alert she is. The engine seems louder, the lights seem brighter, and the river in front of her seems much wetter, much less tepid, and getting much closer.

Freya looked out of the window, hoping that the view would give any sort of landmark that would give her sketchy mental map of the city a point of reference. It didn't, and the view rushing past made her feel sick. She slumped down and put her head between her knees. The bus swung around another corner, making her stomach lurch. She was alone, as usual, no one to back her up, no one to rush in last minute to help. TI had been wrong when he said it was naiveté that brought her out to meet him, she had been stupid. She knew what Infinity members were like, and although this wasn't a bottle to the head, or being thrown into a post box, this was just another game to knock her down before their match.

The bus seemed to be getting faster, but Freya wasn't sure if that was just because she was starting to feel worse. The bus changed direction suddenly to a chorus of car horns, and Freya felt her stomach heave.

"Maybe if I called one of your buddies and asked him to come down you'd feel more comfortable."

What had he meant by that? Who did he have in mind to call? She sure as hell couldn't think of anyone; she hadn't seen Dante since they were randomly teamed up, the GhettoGrass kids were busy with their own thing, Alexxx's new boyfriend seemed to be taking all her time, and Deadzone? It was unlikely he would even give her the time of day after how she acted last time they bumped into each other. She groaned as the bus went over a speed bump far too fast. How had she gotten into this mess?

"You'll be safe here, you'll be able to stay out of trouble."

The comforting words of Adam Wilson rang around her head, the words that he said as she signed her 411fed/ECF contract. Freya was sure he had meant them, but that hadn't been the case; from the run up to her first match she had been attacked, from her opponents to the unknown. She shivered; she never liked to think about the Eradicators, or whatever might have happened to Vindicator who disappeared after their match. She'd never been that safe, and her current predicament just reminded her how much trouble she could get into.

You've always been alone though.

It was her voice, and it spoke the truth. She had always been alone, even when she was at school. She remembered her mother comforting her because the other children in the village wouldn't let her join in.

"It's ok, my darling," she said kissing little Freya on the head, "you're very special. My little Lonewolf."

The memory of simpler times made Freya smile, although it quickly disappeared as the bus took another corner too sharp.

**

The man with the silver face walked down the brightly lit boulevards of Paris, thoroughly enjoying the atmosphere. He could have done with some company, Jeremiah had gone off on his own business and his previous companion was currently ‘indisposed'. Ahead of him he saw a familiar figure talking to one of Paris's ladies of negotiable virtue.

"Highone," he called when he was closer. Highone was shaking his head and came away quickly.

"Dude, will you look at this place, it's fantastic." TI chuckled, his younger stable members enthusiasm enlivened his own.

They walked until they found a bar that suited them.

"So where is David this evening?" Highone's face fell a little.

"Him and Leela have gone sight seeing, they mentioned something about the Eiffel tower."

TI nodded.

"It's beautiful up there this evening," he said, swirling the pale red wine he had ordered, allowing to breath. "I was up there earlier with our current Bleeder Champion." Highone raised an eyebrow.

"And where have you left her now?"

"She had trouble holding her wine," the Sleepless One chuckled. "But don't worry about her, you have your own problems to deal with."

"Tell me about it," Highone replied, gulping down his wine.

Titanium Insomniac sits, his legs crossed, leaning back in his chair and slowly stroking the stem of his glass. His merlot is as dark as the night, and it's a dilemma for him as to which he loves drinking more.

Highone sits across from him, preferring a light chardonnay. He actually can't recall the last time the two had spent together apart from the others, at least not since he'd made the deal to bring TI in. The air about him is no different...what might he do once he feels we're no longer useful? What might we do if he proves the same?

H1 looks up from his drink and finds TI studying his face. "What?"

"It's been a while, hasn't it?"

"Heh. I was just thinking about that." H1 takes a sip, breaking eye contact for a moment.

"Really? What did you think about it?"

H1 does a take. It's a question 90 degrees out from anything he'd expected. Par for the course. "Not much, really. It's just...the last time we had a conversation I forked over a huge pile of money."

"And it's been money well spent, no?"

H1 nods enthusiastically. "Sure. Yeah. You're freaking Titanium Insomniac. It was like one of those big Yankee trades where everybody else groans."

"I fucking hate the Yankees."

"Everyone does. Except the Yankees themselves. I thought it was an apt comparison to our thing. We're successful, so others are gonna come after us. I don't know how much you realize how marked we all are. We get shit on in match deals...screwed out of title clauses...one of our own turned on us...Dante and Darkness..."

"You know what...I'm sick of hearing about Dante and Darkness. I did the black trenchcoat thing before them, and I'm original enough to do it without being The Goth Guy. Everyone is so fucking terrified of them, when I was striking terror into every earnest blue-collar ‘gee wiz just wanna wrestle' jackass who came down the pike-"

"You really want that Strikmore win back, don't you?"

TI stumbles for a moment. "Y...yeah. But that's beside the fucking point. I'm one victory away from the fear factor again, and it's against a girl who's stuck on a bus probably in the Seine by now. If she knows what's good for her, she'll make good use of her...heightened awareness. ‘What can flesh do to me?'"

H1's cellphone rings. TI takes a long undignified swig of his wine before his own phone rings as well. Both become lost in their own matters...

"What do you mean, she's still on the damn bus?"

"Are you serious?"

"Has she made any sort of move?"

"It wasn't because of Hardy, was it?"

"Where is it now?"

"So where does that leave me?"

"Control was given to her, and she has relinquished it. That is her own undoing."

"Now I'm in control. Sweet."

Both hang up simultaneously. TI grumbles as he pours himself another glass. H1, meanwhile, is beaming. The Insomniac notices this and instinctively wants to ruin it somehow. "What the hell are you so happy about?"

H1 leans forward, resting his arms on the table. "What if I told you that any second thoughts you had about this match, any anxieties about returning to your former place, are about to evaporate?"

"Intriguing. No second thoughts, but intriguing. Tell me more."

H1 can't stop grinning. Soon, TI won't be able to stop either. That is, until he remembers how failed his earlier experiment turned out to be. Then the scowl will return with extra punch, and that extra punch will need a target.
________________________

Freya is rocked into a seat as the bus takes another turn. She is easily back on her feet again, but can't quite discern between dizziness and a sense of amplified focus that has overwhelmed her senses. "What did he give me?" She wonders aloud to no one but herself, but still desires an answer that may somehow aid her in this situation.

Whether it is the concoction of drugs that has infiltrated her system or purely her own thoughts, she begins to question the true nature of this scene. If the purpose of this ride is merely to rough her up, why hasn't she hit something yet? Why wasn't she tied up, gagged, knocked out? Surely someone like the Insomniac would take such measures to ensure his opponent's demise. He didn't strike her as the type to forget small details.

The bus feels like it tips over on two wheels as yet another turn is made. Maybe the dizziness she feels is basic nausea. Freya catches glimpses of curious and startled onlookers, but it is only the briefest of moments when she can make out any facial expressions. For the most part, they whiz by, forming a blended mass of fleshy colors reminiscent of Monet's best work. When she can see faces, they are incredibly clear as if every line had been drawn with a fine brush, all to be noticed. They all matter somehow.

Freya focuses on this once again. The clear faces, the jerk of the bus, the loud hum of the engine...she's aware of all of it, as if she can feel it under her skin. What was all of this supposed to mean?

And then it all stops.

Freya tumbles down the center aisle until she encounters a pair of black boots. The shine of the lights off the leather is almost blinding. Looking up, she finds the stark borders of silver and black glaring down at her. She makes no further movement, hoping that the light will dim and the sound will dissipate.

"Ladies and gentlemen, your resourceful, aggressive Bleeder champion." The words boom in her ears, jarring her brain. Gloved hands yank her to her feet and toss her like a rag doll into a seat. The silver and black borders are much larger now as the mask comes within inches of her.

"I expected more from you, Ms. Green. You had all the tools to stop this bus yourself, to stop this ride, even to exact revenge. I handed them all to you. You squander them like a child. If you think that this was all for my benefit, you were sadly mistaken." Somewhere within her, Freya realizes that The Sleepless One may even be whispering, but it makes no difference. He's yelling just the same.

The mask pulls back, allowing more light to hit her corneas. "'Discretion is the better part of valor.' That's all fine and good, but I didn't realize you were going to lay on the discretion so thick."

Freya pulls herself to a sitting position. "What did you do to me?"

TI leans his head back as if to ask the gods why he's been cursed so. "I tried to remove your inhibition, your second guesses, your fear. Surely that isn't all there is to a woman so violently secretive of her past. This can't be what my experiment was meant to show. Because if it is, I promise you that any sort of physicality between us is going to see you coming up short."

Freya leans forward, wanting so badly for normal decibels to return.

"You'll need more than a willingness to blindly take walks with and accept drinks from tall, dark, asshole strangers, my dear. Especially now that my associate Highone is our referee."

Freya's head jerks up and she locks eyes with her tormentor.

TI nods, not with amusement, but almost as the bearer of bad news. "Yes. Now...are you ready to let go and do what you need to do? The effects should be wearing off soon. And then what?"

The Insomniac turns, takes a few steps down the steps, and stops again. "I'm all for you handing everything to me on a platter. It's what used to happen all the time and I'd be glad to get back into such habits. This is about fear, Ms. Green. And if it's all you have, then I've already won."

Freya can hear the footsteps fading. She is now alone with an increasingly comfortable amount of light and sound returning to her. She takes a deep breath, trying to shake off the evening and yet pondering what its continuance might bring.

"Enough."

Freya stood in the open doorway of the bus, Titanium Insomniac walking away from her to join Highone further up the road. As she spoke TI stopped and turned to face her, an amused smile playing on his lips.

"This stops here," she said.

Her voice was lower than usual. TI's smile widened.

"Decided to play now have we, my dear?"

His voice sounded normal, the light was normal, even her footsteps as she stepped off the bus were normal. She felt anger welling up inside her as he said ‘my dear'. She hated the phrase, its connotations and the condescending tone that always came with it. She hated TI. She was the Bleeder Champion, but he thought of her as a regular little girl, one that he didn't think of as his equal, someone just to be tricked and toyed with to meet his own ends. He was every guy in this fed that had thought they could just push her out the way as they tried to climb over each other to the top. He was bottle smashing, cane wielding DeSean; Kermit's free-thinking henchmen; rampaging Tweeder; arrogant, prodigal Jack Frost; hijinx-happy Highone and all the others.

He was every guy who had thought her defenceless and tried to go too far, mug her or any other unwise decision they might have made.

He was each of her brothers, the tormentors of her childhood and teens. For a second she saw Bronson's face and not the silver and black mask. He had been the worst; he had taken pleasure in everything he did to her. He enjoyed scaring away the few friends she could keep hold of, destroying anything she loved. Even when they fought it was only just so he could have the satisfaction of letting her know she was just a weaker, slower, pathetic little girl.

Freya's fists clenched as the memories raced passed. In front of her stood a man who was happy to do all the things she hated and he wouldn't give her a second thought.

"Yes, now we play."

Highone was stood a little way from his stablemate, he hadn't noticed when or why TI had stopped. He looked from his companion to Freya; the pair's eyes were locked. Freya started towards them, but something about her had changed, she wasn't the same girl that he had previously faced, she looked the same but something had changed.

Freya stood in front of TI, but she didn't notice the difference in size this time. She threw her right fist towards the silver face, but it was caught easily.

"I warned you to be careful who you swing this at," he chided.

Freya's left first suddenly buried itself into his gut, the larger man didn't even have time to react before being thrown back past Highone with a force that shocked him. He managed to get to his feet quickly, although a little breathless, just in time to receive a roundhouse to the head. Highone attempted to restrain Freya, but she wrenched her arm free and spun around. He looked into her eyes and it looked like they reflect a full moon, but the one hanging in the Parisian sky was still crescent shaped. He paused too long, and failed to stop the palm strike that hit him in the chin. He fell backwards, but Freya still had one of his wrists in her grasp and pulled him back towards her when his arm was fully extended, throwing him passed her to land unceremoniously in a heap

The men were shocked. Even though she had taken Highone to the limit in the past it had never been like this. This was her gift. This was her heritage. This was the form her anger took...and it had claws.

The Sleepless One was still on the floor, stunned. He was just trying to sit up when Freya pushed him back down. She dropped her bag by his head, remembering the last thing she'd grabbed before she left her room, and knelt down beside him, one knee on his neck. She reached into the bag and produced the bottle of wine he had sent her; which had miraculously survived the ordeal on the bus.

"You know when I said I didn't bring the wine? I lied."

A look of confusion passed across his face.

"Now I'm willing to bet that this bottle contains the same stuff that you put into the bottle we shared earlier."

She took the bottle in both hands and snapped the neck. Glass cut into her hands, and the Titanium Insomniac boggled and the cuts healed in front of his very eyes. She dug her thumb and fingers into the fallen mans jaw, forcing his mouth open.

"I changed my mind about sharing," she said as she poured the rich liquid into his mouth, "gifts from men like you come with too big a hidden cost. I thought shop brought wine would be ok, but I was wrong."

She lifted her knee a bit to allow him to swallow and to stop him choking. Behind her she heard Highone get up and leave, she could smell his fear; the sight of a little girl pinning down his bigger colleague was obviously worrying for him.

"Now, don't you feel better?"

Freya poured the last of the wine into TI's mouth, although a lot of it had run down his cheeks, giving the silver a reddish colour. It must have started to have some sort of effect, his eyes widened as he noticed how sharp Freya's canines looked and she smiled broadly. She got up and picked up her now much lighter bag. She gave the fallen man a quick kick to his side, not enough to break ribs, just enough to be painful, enough for the effects of the drug to intensify and focus on.

Freya walked to where Highone had been laying. She walked for fifteen minutes, his fear lead towards a park - Paris was apparently full of them - and off the main path. She wasn't sure where it went off to but she wasn't in the mood to go traipsing after him. Someone else was here though, somewhere close. She couldn't place it, but there was something in it, something unpleasant. A hand landed on her shoulder, she swung around, fist leading. Deadzone looked up from where he'd been knocked back, his hand gingerly touching his bleeding lip. The blood filled her nostrils, it made her mouth water.

"What the hell was that for, Toots?"

"I..I.."

She couldn't say anything. The part of her that had given her the strength to beat up The Titanium Insomniac, a man with over a foot of height advantage, had suddenly returned to it's normal dormant state. She felt drained, small, and deeply ashamed.

Deadzone struggled back to his feet, pushing away Freya's offer for help. He looked hurt, not just from the sore jaw, but from where the injury came from.

"I'm really sorry, Deadzone, I am. I don't know what came over me."

"Don't worry about it." His voice was quiet. Freya started to well up, tears blurring her vision as Deadzone walked away.

The Insomniac sits up, coughing. Struggling to a kneeling position, he bends over, begging gravity to aid him in forcing the liquid back out of his lungs. With every heave, every gag, the floor and seats and windows imitate him; return his guttural clamoring back to him. Nothing is kind. Nothing is on his side.

Finally free from the hands that choked him from the inside, he stares. His eyes match the paint on his face as his pupils dilate to alarming size. He is illuminated beyond florescence...would Sharon come to meet him...?

The Sleepless One laughs it off. It begins as a soft chuckle, but it is like an auditorium has come to watch his one-man show. He enjoys it...it fuels him, comforts him. Oh, ladies and gentlemen, thank you so much. It is my humble and lofty goal to entertain you. Please...encourage me further that I may be further convinced that what I am doing is right and good.

The laughter swells. How wonderful an audience! I enjoy you as much as you're enjoying me!

Will you care to hear a song? The acoustics here are amazing...

The Insomniac pulls himself to his feet, awestruck by the roar of an idling engine. A French couple stops to regard the strange man on the bus trying to stand and laughing at himself. One whispers a yell to the other, "Que fait-il ?" What is he doing? TI turns toward them, smiles, and takes a bow. They don't risk any further interaction.

TI feels the concrete through his boots. He inhales every footstep, relishes the pebbles stuck in the crevices of his tread.

"Now, don't you feel better?"

Highone is leaning against the wall of a building, rubbing his chin. He spits and curses under his breath before he notices TI. His associate is rigid, contemplating the features of the bricks in front of him. Highone starts toward TI and winces, clutching his side. "Dammit...hey, Insomniac. You okay?"

TI's eardrums ripple with stimulation. A voice the size of this building...

Highone leans against the bus. "You really got to her, didn't you?"

"Did I?"

Highone eyes TI curiously. Was this another riddle? Another word game? "Um...yeah. She caught me on the chin pretty good. I tried to hold her back, but she just went nuts. Whatever was in that wine-"

"Freedom."

Highone spits again. "What?"

The Insomniac can almost see the question pass by, caught in the soft Parisian breeze. "Freedom. Liberation. Release. Emancipation. Deliverance. Liberty. Drink it in. Refuse and lose it forever. Savor the flavor, devour it all, don't share, don't drown. Live, let live, but you can't die. Only they do, because..."

Highone looks on, ever more bewildered by this tirade. "Because what?"

TI jerks his head to the side to face his cohort. "Because...they're afraid."

Best to just go along with this. "Okay man...whatever you say."

The agreement embraces him warmly. "Yes...whatever I say."

The Sleepless One walks purposefully down the sidewalk. Highone keeps a distance between them, literally and figuratively unsure of where this is going. TI briskly grabs a bottle of wine from an outdoor table and takes a deep appreciative drink. The patron, a well-built military man, stands and loudly drops a string of French expletives. Without slowing his step, TI backhands him with the bottle, sending him toppling over the table with a crash.

"I am a weapon. A stick of dynamite, a grenade, a land mine, a mortar, a missile, a twelve-kiloton fat boy of devastation. I explode, I hit restart, I choose another target. Countermeasures measure more than counter. I broke the ruler, I make the rules. My rule is eternal. Eternity is unfathomable. The unfathomable is for people with no imagination." The audience returns to their seats for the second act and the laughter begins to rise once again.

That's when TI turns the corner and decides to skip right to the encore.

Freya takes a defensive crouch. She immediately sees the wine's effects. Is that how she looked?

TI is still, a vindictive blissful kind of grin painted over the black. "Green is the new ivory, because both pretend to be innocent, but they're really disgusting little liars."

The fire returns to Freya's eyes, her hands again balling into tight little weapons.

The audience enjoys this game. Isn't she cute? They sigh with delight. "Fences defending a little too late. Offense offending secondly and sloppily. Only the obvious obviously alleviated. Bunted busses beforehand boast bigger bruises bellowing, now butchered."

Freya remains crouched, unsure of TI's mental state. She lightly shifts weight from one foot to the other, always adjusting, taking her opponent's rambling for instability. A result of a concentrated dose? Rage leads to excess, and she'd played along. She stands her ground. "What are you saying?"

As she asks this, Freya takes a step forward, her rage returning. TI's eyes return to their widened state, his grin returning. The audience gives him a standing ovation, falling over itself in applause. Freya stops, sensing that a frontal attack was only effective the one time.

"Frightening. Frightened. Frightened that she'll be mistaken for a soft flower. Frightened of the chances she didn't take. Frightened of the loud noises...flames...burning flames...the smoke in your nostrils. Was it too stifling? Not after the fact. Not after the ride ended. Not after I called timeout. Not after a rain delay. Not after a five-minute recess. No, then you take control. When nothing is moving. When there is no variable, only hard numbers. But it doesn't count."

Deadzone, remaining in the shadows up to this point, steps back out. "Hey fella...don't talk to the lady like that. You're bein' all creepy."

TI's stares daggers at Deadzone. "The truth is creepy. The truth doesn't care how it talks." The echo isn't as loud now. TI blinks. The glow around the streetlamps begins to dim.

Deadzone stammers for a moment, but is determined to defend a visually upset Freya. "Well, I hear ya talkin', and I care. How about you knock this stuff off?"

Freya places a hand on Deadzone's shoulder. "Don't. Let me."

TI blinks again. The audience is headed for the exits now, the signs returning to a soft pink blush from their earlier burning red. The pain in his side returns to him, and his lips curl at the jolt that it brings.

Deadzone becomes indignant. "But...he was insulting you."

Freya just shakes her head. "I'm not a child, Deadzone."

Freya puts up her arm to deflect a chair. Both look back toward the Insomniac. His grin is staid, without the maniacal tinge. Freya looks at TI and sneers. "The Insomnaic knows that now...doesn't he? Are we feeling better?"

TI can't hide his wincing nearly as well as the effects fade further. He runs his tongue along his front teeth. "Tons."

"Good." Freya steps forward. "Because I was getting tired of your superiority issues."

"Too bad for you, my dear..." TI grabs another chair and hurtles it toward the mismatched pair. "...because what was meant for you is now mine."

"I hate the ‘my dear' stuff, too."

"I know." Another chair flies through the air. "But I'd worry about your fear of me."

"Apparently that drug affected your memory."

"Oh no, I remember everything."

Freya makes no effort to hide a defiant grin. "I bet your ribs do, too. Maybe that's why you're throwing this little temper tantrum."

The Insomniac's glare darkens. If looks could kill, the entire block would be wiped out. He continues through gritted teeth. "I'd be careful with my words, my dear. You won't be able to take them back later."

Freya folds her arms. "I won't need to. You got a taste of your own medicine and now you know I'm not just some girl keeping MY title warm for you. If I have to kick your head off your shoulders to drive that point home, I will."

Now TI returns the sneer. "Wanna know what I remember? I remember a speeding bus and a woman frozen. And then I remember a desperate attack fueled by blind fury. And then I remember my mind becoming incredibly clear after a refreshing drink. And I remember the look in your eyes when I even hinted at your past. Wanna know mine? Here's the short version. I had everything, my friend betrayed me, my wife and kid are dead and buried. Your turn. Oh shit, I forgot. Your past makes you slap-happy. You're afraid of that, too."

Freya takes another couple steps forward. "And you want to know what I remember? I remember how white your eyes got when I cracked open that wine and poured it all down your throat. I remember you struggling against it but failing. I remember you lying there paralyzed by the fact that someone else had forced you down and you too busy choking to beg me to stop. Your past is tragic, but that doesn't entitle you to know about mine. That's not fear, that's privilege, and a privilege you don't have."

A tense silence hangs now hangs in the air. Freya keeps her eyes locked on her adversary. Deadzone wants to continue his insistence, but now realizes the champion's true mettle. Highone follows TI's lead, watching in fascination.

TI simply looks at Freya. "There is nothing more to say, is there?"

Freya shrugs. "Perhaps not."

TI raises an eyebrow. "Not now, anyway. But trust me when I say that I'll have the last word."

"I doubt that."

"Don't."

The Insomniac takes a few steps backwards before turning and motioning to Highone that they're done. Freya watches until TI's trenchcoat has blended completely with the night. She turns back to Deadzone, her confidence having returned. One battle doesn't make the war. Both champion and challenger know that. But something decisive was coming.