Confrontation

Bootleg found her with little difficulty. The wires were ablaze with talk about two brutal killings on the Clark street bridge. It would be hours still till the police realized who was responsible, but they would, and Bootleg knew that the siege the police would launch was beyond anything even Mania could weather.

Her official count was one hundred and nine bodies, a gross underestimate. There were even groups of losers online who celebrated milestone killings for her. "Congratulations on 1000, Mania! We love you!" Freaks. She hadn't been in the States for over two years -- the cops claimed she was dead. Never mind similar murders in Belize, Brazil, and Chile. Not the cops' problem.

She was sneaking along the river, unusual for her to be even remotely cautious, but despite her efforts to avoid detection, the moonlight and the fact she was covered head to toe in blood, left her glowing like a taillight.

She had not spotted him. She was alone. No hostages. No innocents getting involved. Now or never.

Two knives to worry about and one random toy of hers. The knives, more like little ten inch triangular tipped spikes, were always with her. Her other weapon varied. Last time it was a chain she strung through little holes in the base of her blades, but there had been others. Better she doesn't get to draw her weapons at all. He double checked his earplugs and cranked up the volume on his headphones. No mercy.

He slid down the bank behind silently and his first blow, a savage elbow to the back of her neck, left Mania tumbling forward to the hard concrete with a satisfying crunch. Without hesitating for a response, he followed up with a cross between a stomp and a kick to her ribs. She covered them with her elbow as the kick came down, but the impact was still clearly felt. She rolled backwards. He came in for another kick, this time to her face, but her knife was in her hand almost instantaneously, and he sprung backwards gracefully just before she sliced his leg.

Shit. Not good. Not good. Not good. Don't die.

She still hadn't gotten much of a look at her assailant, but in anger, she jumped up swinging the blade in her right wildly. Bootleg dodged and blocked with relative ease. Back on the aggressive, he feinted a high hooking punch, and dropped down sweeping out her legs, again sending her sprawling onto the concrete. She hit the ground hard, knocking the wind from her lungs. She'd been fighting blindly, wildly, clueless as to what was happening. She looked up finally seeing her attacker. Her face read fear.

Bootleg dropped down on top of her, pinning her arm holding the knife to the concrete with his knee. Her free arm plucked the second knife from her hair and drove it straight at Bootleg's throat forcing him to again leap back off her, and quickly. The knife that she held in her right had skidded off when he pinned the arm, but she kept the second blade in her left; transferring to her right would be cheating after all.

She squared off finally. "Bootleg. Silly Bootleg." She rambled on but Bootleg heard nothing.

"-- and what you, you you you, don't get, what you don't get, what you don't get, Bootleg, are you listening? Bootleg." She glared at the headphones finally realizing that he heard nothing she'd been saying. "Oh how very rude." She continued on anyways, "I'm probably going to kill you here tonight, I'm not really sure, because --"

Bootleg spoke over her and very loudly, "Mania. What are you scared to fight me without dumb weapons? Know I can kick your ass? First you cheat with your dumb singing. Now you cheat with knives."

He continued on while Mania glared. She tried to interrupt him, "Bootleg, take off the headphones. I just want to talk. I swear. I SOOO swear," but the conversation was somewhat one sided. While he talked, she looked up the bank noticing the conversation of a few young men up the street.

Bootleg continued with his boasting, "--which is also why I'm way more popular--"

She reached into the base of her dress, pulling out a small reel of fishing line and proceeded to thread it through the circular hole at the base of her blade. She tied it off, quite proud of herself, and held it up proudly to show it off to Bootleg. She gestured at the men up above, "I'm going to go talk to them for a sec, I swear I'll be right back." Bootleg heard nothing she said. She pointed and pointed. He shrugged.

She started to move up the hill, but Bootleg, cactching on, siezed the chance and dashed at her, dodging the swipe of her knife as she spun around, and landed a backfist to her face before he was forced to dance out of knife range again. She feinted a few swings at him, and maneuvered herself to pick up her second blade. She screamed, "I WANT TO TALK TO YOU." Bootleg shrugged, and feinting high, again was able to get underneath her guard, knocking her to the ground.

She sprung up quickly, anger gone, replaced with a grin, "Fine, fine. Fiiinneeee." She carelessly twirled about waving her knives idiotically. Bootleg took the bait. He attempted to slide underneath her guard a third time, but she came down with her left blade into his shoulder, following immediately by ramming her knee up into the blade, pulling the knife out the top of his back. He fell back, but didn't falter -- he had endured worse.

She transferred her threaded left blade to her mouth and began attacking closed fist with her left. Bootleg blocked the blows with ease while remaining cautious of feint's from Mania's right. She eventually landed a hooking left to the side of his head, which would have been no problem if she wouldn't have followed it with a hard thrust to his neck with her right. Using both hands, he trapped her right, but only for an instant. She rolled her wrist free of his hold, and the using her free left, pinned Bootleg's hands together.

"Hold this," she rammed the blade in her right through both his pinned hands. Through the pain, he felt his headphones slide off, and "Belmont chair playing violin."

"I'LL BE RIGHT BACK."

Think. Think. She didn't know I've been training for this. I'll be able to see in thirty seconds. Get this knife out. Get my headphones back on. I'm the hero. I can't die here.

Mania had to run to catch up to the men she had spotted. Covered in blood, some of it hers, most of it not, in her sweetest voice, "Can I plleeeeasssseeee borrow two of your phones?"

The three men looked at her and had no idea what to think. They stared at her for a few seconds. She reaked and, well, she was head to toe in blood.

"Are you okay?"

"You want us to call 911 or the cops or something?"

She shifted her weight from left to right impatiently. This was taking too long. She furrowed her brow in thought. "Oh I know!" She pointed at two of the men, "You, call, you."

The men had their phones in their hands but didn't dial -- they just stood confused. Meanwhile, Bootleg, still blind, started bashing his impaled hands into the ground trying to free the knife. Six more seconds.

She screamed, "JUST CALL EACH OTHER."

The men looked at each other confused, but shrugged and complied.

"Okay, so give me your phones."

"What?"

"No."

"Look, we'll call the cops or something for you, but -- "

Inches from the most defiant one's face, she screamed, voice-cracking, "PHONES NOW!!"

"Chill the fuck out."

She did not "Chill the fuck out." Why the men failed to notice the large spike in her left or why they didn't flee immediately when they saw her plastered in blood would be questions they'd answer in another life. She drove the spike through the first's neck, all the way through and out the back, the fishing line dragging behind. She was through the other two's throats before they could take a step.

Bootleg's vision returned to the sight of her tugging on the blade, the line through each man's neck swinging the bodies around wildly until it finally cut its way out, blood erupting out the three like geysers. Bootleg smashed his hands into the concrete hard as he could finally knocking the knife through both and freeing his hands. He screamed in pain.

She nonchalantly picked up the two phones, ripped the blood soaked shirt off one of the men, and walked down the hill. She tossed the shirt and phone to the still struggling to stand Bootleg.

Her face was oddly serious, "I'll be in touch."