“I’m back for more!” The door slams open. Brand new, too. Right off the hinges. A man with a long face, overbite, and horse ears gallops into the restaurant. Bernie’s Burgers recently had a run-in with him only to be deterred by security and a local model. “Lucky me, huh? Those two pain-in-the-asses are coincidentally missing today.”

Horseface had been scouting this place plotting for revenge. Dealing with a 2v1 was above his pay grade. Especially since he was lookin’ to score a free meal and not much else. He had enough bite to get the job done if it’s a bunch of these shmucks, but with someone throwing doors around and the other conjuring flames from their hands, it wasn’t worth the trouble.

He sits down at a table, kicking his feet up. An elderly couple is eating their authentic, American cuisine. Boots on the burgers and he gives ‘em both the stink eye. In shock, they stare.

“Well? Skidaddle.”

They gather their things and head out the now-broken door.

“It’s a good day to be bad.”

---

“How about English?” Antoine swapped tongues. “Any better?”

“Hehe…” Yamamoto shrugged. “Moshi moshi…?”

“You monolingual fu—” He slipped back into Español. A light flickered. And the guest would meet a floating billiard ball with a pool stick inches behind it. Her voice was daggers, but the language barrier proved insurmountable. Who the hell is this?

“A corpse?!” Yamamoto shrieked. “Why does he want to kill me?”

With Antoine’s attention focused on the intruder, Yamamoto shuffled further away into the corner of the room. Antoine repositioned as he tossed another pool ball into the air. His pool stick was now aimed at both targets. He couldn’t shoot simultaneously, but they didn’t need to know that.

“Don’t move.” If he could understand the hostility in her voice then Yamamoto should hear the venom in his. Maybe he’d have better luck with this one. The suit may not have spoken English, but the intruder might.

“I don’t speak Japanese.” He offered the olive branch. “Are you protecting him?”

If all else failed, he’d presume her his bodyguard and deal with her the way he dealt with the lawyer and the boss. Yamamoto would pay for his transgressions.

His grip tightened.

---

They speak English. Antoine lifted another billiard ball, the yellow, striped nine. If his assumptions were correct, the assassin’s abilities were limited to the material that orbited his hands. Now, was the material generated or manipulated? And to what extent could they control it? Range, finesse, etc.

As Antoine released the ball into the air, it stood completely still. There was so much friction on its surface the ball was immovable by the forces of gravity. By targeting the ball instead of the air around it, he could manipulate it at a distance. The plan was to circumvent the defense options used by the assassin.

If necessary, Antoine will ricochet the ball off the air. It will rebound in such a way, multiple times if need be, to target the assassin’s head. Even if the attempt fails, it’ll give him information. The inverse is also true. In exchange, Antoine was giving up information.

The risk was worth it.

He slammed the pool stick against the ball with such precision the recently immobile object shot at speeds physically impossible. Only the slightest amount of friction was applied to its side to keep it on course.

“In Hell.” He spat.

He never wanted this bastard’s name.

---

Japan’s a mess.

He had only been here a week and had seen the cracks in the system. If it wasn’t for the constant reminder no one spoke Español, then he might have thought this was another island in the Caribbean. Strike that. With the infrastructure in place, it resembled the United States. Here’s to hoping the heroes aren’t as corrupt.

“And what can I say? I’m a giver.” Bernard was giving another self-aggrandizing speech. He was a well-spring of opportunity, even in the midst of people’s failures. Somehow, despite Red’s passing, Antoine was given another chance. Beyond that, Bernard cared not for his vigilante streak and promised to keep it under wraps. Under one condition.

Don’t kill anyone he says not to.

Small price to pay for a place to sleep. And once Antoine finds Emile and leaves the country, it’s a promise he won’t have to keep.

A motorcycle speeds by them. Antoine sees the cars about to pass and pulls on his chain before hesitating. Bernard interrupts before he can speak.

“Go, go.” His forked, silver tongue licks his lips. “I want to see The Demon.”

Antoine jumps out of the limousine as nothing more than a black silhouette, a being comprised entirely of force giving the impression of a man. Atop his face is a skull littered with red markings. In his hands is a brief case in hand he lands on the side of the car, ignoring the laws of physics.

He crawls to the roof and opens the briefcase. He pulls out a pool stick and aims it at the floating eight-ball in front of him.

Then, she arrives.

“You’re in the w—” A gunshot. A windshield shatters. He launches the eight-ball, breaking the man’s hand as he drops the gun onto the road. While cars begin to swerve and crash, his steed persists. He looks to the woman beside him. “Are you hurt?”

---

Nightfall.

No one should be working at this hour. The janitorial staff have gone home, leaving a cleanliness that evades the morning. The potent scent of castile soap and window cleaner could get you high. But this doesn’t deter the men congregating in an office two corridors past the elevator. In the dark, empty hall the illuminated office was a beacon. A monster lurks in the shadows, its footsteps burdened with the weight of justice.

“Cheers.” Glasses clanked. Three men sit around a table, each holding a bottle of sake. “To your freedom.”

“To the best lawyer I could find.”

“To my freedom!” The man to his left eyes him. “And, er, a kind, thoughtful boss…”

“Better.” He laughs. The lawyer laughs. The employee tepidly joins. “Although, I’d prefer wise.”

The lights go out.

Their heads whip to the switch. An eight-ball is lodged within the wall, penetrating from the outside. Out the door comes a shadow. As its hand reaches the frame, they can see it’s anything but human. Its fingers are ethereal — an impression of a person. They come to see its face, a skull with red markings, as it locks on to the twitchiest person in the room.

“I-is this a surprise?” He desperately looks at the lawyer and then his boss. He knew he had gotten off too easy. “You know I don’t like horror…”

“Not a surprise.” The lawyer moved to stand before being forcefully sat again. “I just wanted to get you a chair, friend. More the merrier.”

“More the merrier!” The boss chimes to no avail.

The figure puts his other hand on the boss’s shoulder before slamming them onto the table. They both fall unconscious as the target scrambles to his feet. He runs as far as he can into the room, the exit blocked by Ghouligan.

“What do you want?” He begs. “I’ll give you all my money. All their money!”

“Tanjiro Yamamoto,” Ghouligan stepped away from the table and toward the entrance. “You are responsible for the deaths of countless innocents. You used your damned machines to sell drugs and weapons to any gang leader offering dinero. Yet you dare plea innocent in court?” He tosses the eight-ball up and down. “There is justice beyond the courts.”

“Eh?” The man was equal parts confused and terrified.

“Right. Japanese.” Ghouligan muttered. “I’m sure in your doki doki you know why I’m here.”

---

A stranger offered help to the native before turning to him. Their name was Auden and while they didn’t speak Español they did speak English. It was better than nothing. With a somewhat thick accent that denoted his Carribean heritage, he offered his thanks.

“Antoine.” Something caught his eye. “Move.”

A loud slam brought the restaurant to a halt as the door flew off its hinges. Antoine grabbed Auden and tossed them out of the way as the door slammed to the side of his head. It wasn’t gonna kill him, but the bloodied temple would hamper his eyesight. He knew this job would be a headache but he didn’t think of it literally. And now it was hard to think at all.

The aggressor was barely human. Humanoid at best. With a long face and an overbite, only a mother could love. Their spite-driven discontent transcended language. Antoine didn’t need to understand them. He lifted the door and slammed it back into them, blindsiding them.

“Don’t hit yourself on the way out.” Antoine chimed in. English. At least someone could appreciate the joke.

“You bloody bastard.” They spoke English, too. Like a proper Brit. “I will tear your throat out and then I will serve it like a beef patty.”

“I’m starting to question whether I know English now.” With everyone watching, he couldn’t go all out. “Why don’t we take this outside?”

“You know, love,” The horse-faced vermin scratched the back of his ears and a long mane erupted from his neck. The over-bite turned into comically large chompers that would dramatically tear you to shreds if you let them. “I’d rather not.”

---