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"Mai,
King, sorry to have kept you waiting.
So let's have some fun."
A baseball field on the outskirts
of Southtown.
Although the baseball season has
already ended, the double "A" league
is playing a tournament to appeal
to the local baseball fanatics.
The one who has asked Mai Shiranui
and King here is none other than
Mary Ryan. She's a female agent who's
known for her considerable talent
in the field.
"Both of you have no objections to
a dog and some suds, do you? The
hot dogs here are legendary."
"You sure are all worked up today,
Mary."
"So what's with those clothes? Are
you planning to play catch in the
stands or something?"
King and Mai are mutually impressed.
Looking around the stadium, it's
questionable whether there are even
a thousand or so fans in attendance.
So it's close to a miracle that a
hot dog stand is open for business.
And Mary is no slacker either, decked
out in her usual leather jacket,
baseball cap, and even a broken-in
glove in her left hand.
"Oh, this thing? It's to snag those
home runs. Hey, some hot dogs over
here please."
There are no seats in the outfield
of the ballpark but a well groomed
lawn instead. The fans sit her on
sheets laid out to their liking.
Among them are some who have removed
their shirts, enjoying a bronzing
session along with the ballgame.
It's well into autumn, but today
is a paragon of an Indian summer
day.
Mai loses no time sinking her teeth
into her hot dog.
"Wow, this is really good - just
the right amount of onions."
"I told you so. These are the perfect
accompaniment to a tall glass of
beer."
"By the way, Mary, although I do
know my pool, baseball's all Greek
to me."
"Don't worry about it. It's fun enough
just watching the players throw,
hit, and run the bases."
"Hmm, I guess so. How many points
do you get for a homerun?"
"Uh..."
"All I know is battledore and shuttlecock,
myself, so, come on, teach us the
rules. How many points for an out?"
"Uh...Oh, don't sweat the details now.
Watch and learn"
The batter smacks a fly ball, high
and deep.
The white sphere shoots into the
serenely blue Southtown sky, but
the centerfielder snags it with barely
a move. It's the third out and the
sides change. King tries to strike
up another conversation once the
play comes to a halt.
"By the way, Mary."
"That was an out. You don't get points
for that."
"That's not what I was trying to
say..."
"We're surrounded."
Mai seems to be aware of the situation
too. There aren't too many of them.
But some clearly well-conditioned
individuals around the stairs to
the seats, in the shadows of the
billboards, and behind the light
posts have them encircled and are
gradually closing in.
"Five, no I'd say six. Mai?"
"At least in the immediate area I'd
say so. There may be more waiting
in the wings."
"I'm sorry, looks like I got caught
with my pants down here."
With that remark, Mary shoves the
last bite of her hot dog into her
mouth, washes it down with a swig
of beer, and then licks the ketchup
off her fingers.
The eyes of the three remain on the
action on the field.
"They don't seem too anxious to use
guns. I say we let them move closer
into range, sound good to you?"
"It's your call, Mary."
With the previous change-up the match
completes the top of the third and
the visiting team is now looking
at a man on first with no outs. The
clean-up batter is at the plate.
Crack!
Along with the short bang of the
dry bat smacking the ball, Mai backhands
the nose of the man who has approached
her from behind. She takes his right
hand and it no more than a couple
of seconds she twists it up behind
him.
In a flash King swings her feet along
the ground to trip up the feet of
another man coming to the aid of
Mai's assailant. The man falls flat
on his back onto the grass. King's
heel then lands in a flowing motion
down on his unguarded solar plexus.
The baseball meanwhile bounces into
left center and the runner makes
a beeline towards home.
The small crowd erupts in cheers
and applause for the runner.
"Tish."
Still another man witnesses the unfavorable
series of events unfolding before
his eyes and tut-tuts his accomplices
in spite of himself, then glances
backward.
"What are you doing? Malin!"
"You're busted!"
The moment he lets his guard down,
Mary seizes his arms.
It's a brief and speedy action that
appears as if she shook her arms
up and down just a few times. And
with that, there is a disagreeably
dull snap accompanying the dislocation
of his shoulder.
The final brawl is drowned out by
the cheers for the batter just making
the slide into third base. The home
(visiting?) team has just taken the
lead with a three-base hit. A flashy
display appears on the scoreboard
and the screaming color commentary
of the announcer from a radio of
one of the fans echoes in the area.
No one appears to be aware of the
action taking place in the stands.
"I suppose this is a warning for
me. They're telling me to go home.
But Blue Mary doesn't give in to
threats."
"Damn, no one told me something like
this would happen. So it wasn't just
him?"
"You're not very up on your intel
for someone in your line of work.
Just try pulling something like this
with my pals here. You'll have to
answer to me, Mai Shiranui!"
"And your friendly neighborhood bouncer,
who wishes to remain anonymous."
"?! ...Y-you're those fighter chicks
from KOF, aren't you? Tch, I'm out
of here!"
In spite of the shape of their bodies,
the men retreat in a right quick
and orderly fashion.
"My precious hot dog is ruined!"
Unlike Mary who managed to gulp hers
down in the knick of time, King and
Mai's superlative sausages rest on
the lawn, splotches of ketchup and
mustard color the grass.
The three are not at all fazed by
their predicament, nor are they in
the least afraid or jittery. They
are seasoned fighters, pros who have
survived scuffles more severe than
this.
"I'll go get us some new ones."
Mai gets up and makes her way to
the singular stand that served them
before.
"I'll take two hot dogs (Hmm, Mary
could probably use one more too).
No, make that three."
"Hey, you were just here, weren't
you? You don't need to pay."
"Huh? But why?"
"It's already been covered. Here
you go, three hot dogs."
"Covered? By who?"
"What? Don't you know her? She's
a petite, cute little thing. Her
name was, uh, yeah...it was Maria,
or Mario...no, something like Marie,
maybe? Nah, I think it was Mariko?"
"Do you mean, 'Malin?'"
"Yeah, yeah. That's it! It was 'Malin.'
She left me a message for you, too."
Mary and King immediately sense that
things aren't right with Mai.
"What's up, Mai?"
"It looks like someone already knows
of our plans to enter this year's
KOF."
"So what's the big deal, we're in
it every year? Was she scrounging
for an autograph or something?"
"No, just the opposite. She sprang
for our hot dogs."
"What's all that about!"
"And she left us a message. It reads,
'This competition looks like it's
going to be a blast, so you'll be
seeing more of me later. Your pal,
Malin.'"
"Malin? ...Didn't that bunch of thugs
mention that name?"
"Oh, whatever. We'll find out all
the details once the tourney starts.
Look, another hit!"
The dull roar of the crowd emanates
from the baseball stadium on the
town's outskirts.
And the sun has begun its westward
descent. |
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SNK
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