Contact.

The pool stick made its mark and knocked the hero unconscious. Credit where credit’s due. He fought desperately to the very end. Their will was so persistent that despite their state of being, their quirk persisted, even if their hostility wavered.

“They’ll live,” Antoine spoke in English. He knew they wouldn’t understand him, but on the off chance, this alien was smarter than it let on, then… “Keep them safe.”

Sirens blared.

The police were nearby. While there wasn’t an immediate threat posed to him, he was a cautious individual. He pressed his pool stick against the ground in front of him and drew a line, reciprocating the boundary.

Antoine’s eyes looked at the pool ball by the man’s skull. Good. Japan should know that someone is here cleaning up their messes. The eight-ball would serve as a symbol that he was here as more than a visitor. Ghouligan would pass his judgment on Japan and everyone in it.

He walked away.

---

Antoine hadn’t recovered.

Before he left the Caribbean, he had tackled a criminal syndicate that had put his father in debt. The payment crippled every facet of his life. He wasted his days at the casino trying to win back the money he owed them. He never knew an honest day’s work.

With dwindling prospects, they decided to take their payment in blood. They’d kill him and harvest his organs. They’d sell what they could on the black market. It was more money than they’d ever see from him in the rest of his pathetic life. They didn’t care about the son he had left behind.

By the book. Antoine did everything by the book. He called the police and reported he was missing. Then he reported he had died. And when they brought in the men responsible, a fall guy took the blame. The rest were set free. Probation at worst. The system let him down. The very system he turned to for stability.

As flawed a man as he was, his father deserved justice. And Antoine served it. His isn’t a story of vengeance but of duty. When you stain your hands with blood you change as a person. And through these murders, he lost parts of his soul.

Antoine hasn’t recovered since.

When he arrived in Japan, looking for his long-lost brother Emile, he ran into Bernard. He owned a restaurant serving America’s Finest Cuisine™ — burgers. Bernard then hired him as security. With the injuries he received as “security,” he could feel himself slowing down. Japan was as broken as any other country. Antoine couldn’t help but get involved in business that wasn’t his.

“Shinjuku?” Antoine asked. “How do I get there?”

“You really need to learn Japanese. There are signs and public transportation everywhere.”

“I won’t be here long.”

“Didn’t you say that a month ago?”

“I’m learning Japanese.”

“Fat American Burger does not count as Japanese.”

“...”

“Here’s a map. They’ll take care of you.”

“How do you know about all these places?”

“I schmooze around, doll.” Bernard winked. “You know what’s important? You getting fixed up. By the sounds of it, you haven’t healed properly. And I don’t want you dying on my watch. You’re my best security guard.”

“I’m going.” Antoine clocks out from Bernie’s Burgers. He looks at the map and does his best tourist impression, matching the symbols on the sheet with what’s around him. After a few trains here and a bit of walking there, Antoine eventually finds the building. He thinks.

Only one way to find out. Antoine knocks on the door. “Mochi mochi.”

---

[attr="class","likedo"]

Not as frail as I thought.

A grave miscalculation. One that would result in his client’s death. The seven was turned to ash and that very ash went sent flying through Red’s head. Antoine expected Red’s body to burst into Ash, too. And for that smoldering soot to bury him whole. But as Red plopped to the ground he was nothing more than a haunting reminder of Antoine’s failure. Perhaps he was innocent, perhaps he wasn’t. Dealings with Bernard were mysterious at best. He barely understood what he had signed up for. He barely understood the monster before him.

There was one objective now: survival. This wasn’t the first time he failed. And he felt set up by the looks of it. But no number of excuses could change the facts of the matter — he needed to get stronger. And dying here wasn’t how he’d do it.

For the entire battle, he kept his distance. He had used his projectiles, from balls to boxes, as a means to understand his opponent. And with Red’s sacrifice an opening appeared. A direct, counteroffensive that would enable his final gambit.

Antoine charged the assassin.

Only an idiot would see what he did and try to make contact with a man who could turn him into ash. But Antoine was betting it all on his lack of flesh. He was not flammable. He was a being of force. There were no feints, there were no tricks. A straightforward, left hook was the misdirection. Every attack he had done had a second or third step to find an opening. Without ash to protect himself, the assassin would block. Then, they’d look for a trick. When nothing came, he’d burn Antoine alive. Except he wouldn’t.

The assassin would find themselves immobile. Not because they couldn’t move but because there was nothing to grab on to. Antoine would slip through his fingers. The assassin would slip to the ground. And no matter how hard he tried he’d never find his footing.

Not until Antoine had been long gone. Not until his chain flashed red. And not until it broke under the strain of maintaining an impossible focus. All for the sake of staying alive.

All he had to do was make contact with this bastard.

---

[attr="class","likedo"]

Antonine used physics against them.

If they wanted to fight, he’d oblige. The harsh reality of the world would seep into their psyche. Antoine would make sure of it. The air beneath his feet would increase in friction, creating a barrier for the alien — it’s as if the air turned to stone. They’d collide into it and knock the hero off. Antoine would target their direction and lariat them, slamming them into the ground afterward.

There wasn’t an intent to kill. And through Antoine’s weakness, the hero might find ways around his tactics. But the truth would inevitably reveal itself. Their naive innocence would fall to a man of pure, unfiltered ambition. A man who has carved their identity in the souls of others. A man who carries the burden of every sin he’s judged.

The hero would feel the weight he carried.

And they’d buckle.

---