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Thomas pressed against the wall next to the side of his bedroom door, quiet as a mouse. Someone was on the stairs which led to the second floor hallway, he was absolutely sure of it. He listened carefully for any footsteps that would give away the intruder's location. After many tense seconds the only thing he could hear was the heartbeat in his chest.


No way in hell that’s Alice. She would never hit that step. He mused. And it’s way too convenient for a common burglar to be here after yesterday morning


The next move he made would determine if he survived tonight, so Thomas knew he had to remain calm. Although it was tempting to seize the element of surprise from the intruder, with such little information it was too great a risk. For all he knew there could be more than one person here. And of course, they could be armed.


I can’t get to dad’s gun closet from here safely, since I would need to get into his bedroom down the hall. My only other option is the hunting rifle in the cellar. Thomas realized. 


Whoever was here, if they were experienced would want to clear the building room by room to keep their back secure. If they were on the stairs right now that meant they would pass Alice’s room first on the right, then his own, and finally his sleeping parents at the end of the hallway. So Thomas had until then to keep them safe. It was not much time but it was his best option other than sit and wait behind the bedroom door and pray they came alone. 


Swiftly but silently, Thomas crept across the room towards the window. He opened it and crawled out, careful to close it behind him gently. Years of military training allowed him to effortlessly scale the side of his parent’s house, until he dropped down into the snow-filled gap between his home and the neighbors. 


The first hours of Christmas were cold and dark, which hopefully provided enough cover from anybody who watched the house from a distance and reported to whoever was inside.


How did they get in? Surely Bosco would have heard something and barked… Thomas thought and snuck towards the cellar’s second entrance in the backyard. It was intended to provide an easier way to move heavy lawn equipment in and out of underground storage, since the Evans household did not have a shed per the homeowner’s association standard. 


To keep it secure as it led into the home also through another entrance, the basement was sealed with a top of the line padlock and a heavy duty chain. Fortunately Thomas had the key. He took a knee on the thick sheet of snow which covered the grass and began to fiddle with the old lock, which had not seen much use since the end of summer. Rust had developed, which made it squeak and rattle noisily. 


Whoever that woman was, she has serious connections. I fucked up big time. Best case scenario she just sent someone to beat the crap out of me. Thomas said to himself as the lock finally clicked open and the chain loosened. Worst case they’re here to kill me. Mom and dad too.


Successful, Thomas yanked the chain free to open the cellar door. A short set of stairs led to assorted lawn equipment, some emergency supplies, and Robert’s hunting gear. 


Alright. Now to-!


Just before Thomas took a step into the cellar, he heard the faint crunch of snow just behind him. Immediately he ducked aside as an arm swung through the air, which missed his head by mere inches. The glint of something metal in his attacker’s hand indicated that he was right about them having a weapon. 


He whipped around and snagged the heavy chain from the snow, then swung it like a flail behind him. It missed, but the chain cut through the air like a blade and forced the masked figure to retreat several steps into the center of the backyard away from Thomas. 


The person who had just tried to stab him wielded what appeared to be a syringe of some sort, filled with an amber colored liquid. Their features were disguised by a white hoodie, long winter pants and boots, and a strange fox-like mask. 


You don’t look like some ordinary hitman. Thomas thought and assumed a low-stance. Likewise his opponent prepared themselves, and brandished the needle in their left hand threateningly towards him in an ice-pick grip. And whatever drug that is can’t be good.


The assassin dashed forward across the snow. Thomas raised his guard and blocked the syringe. Intense pain flared around his midsection instead when the hooded figure raised their knee into his unprotected stomach.


Although he was much bigger and heavier than the fox, they somehow hit just like some of his buddies from boot camp. He endured the pain. It was certainly better than the needle. Thomas kept his guard tight and focused simply on defense. His face was still badly messed up from the day prior, but the painkillers he had taken as treatment worked to his advantage. 


He absorbed another blow. Then another even sharper than before. His opponent was a talented striker. They preferred knees and elbow strikes. 


The attacker seemed frustrated by his inaction. They threw a high kick at his skull. Thomas ducked low and dodged. His arms wrapped around the assassin’s legs. With a mighty heave he raised the hooded figure off the ground. With a sickening thud he slammed them into the snow. 


A muffled grunt came from behind the fox mask. Now with the upperhand Thomas snatched the wrist that held the syringe. He won the struggle that ensued via brute force. The assassin used their forearm to block his attempt to turn the weapon against them. 


It quickly became apparent that Thomas was simply stronger. The needle slowly lowered to the assailant’s neck. Their legs pressed deeper into the snow and slipped to the side of his torso. With their legs now free the fox turned their lower body. He felt their legs wrap around his arm. 


Shit, they can fight on the ground too! Thomas grit his teeth as the assassin moved to secure an armbar. His elbow joint was put under pressure. Any more torque and it would break.


Thomas lowered his hips to squat and forced himself to stand. Without the painkillers in his system it might not have been possible. He was perhaps forty or fifty pounds heavier than the assassin, which allowed him to slam them back into the ground. From six feet in the air. The syringe capsule exploded against the snow and the liquid inside immediately began to sizzle. Instantly their grip loosened and Thomas skirted away to a safe distance to recuperate. 


Both fighters returned to their feet, but it took longer for the intruder who glanced at where the syringe had broken. Now without the fear of poison, Thomas went on the offensive and lunged forward. 


The assassin sprang aside and threw a jab. Thomas blocked it. He countered and ripped into their abdomen with a nasty left hook. Before they could retreat he pressed forward. Several more blows like mortar fire smashed against the assassin’s guard. Punches up high were dodged or deflected. His focus turned to shots against the body. Some were avoided but most found their mark. 


Thomas unleashed a flurry of heavy punches. Pent up anger that had built up over the past month unfurled all at once through his fists. His face contorted with rage as once more he dove for a takedown. The assassin sprawled backwards until their back hit the backyard fence. 


“What did you do to my sister?!” Thomas snarled and tried to wrestle them to the ground. No answer. Enraged Thomas shot for the legs again. He scooped the intruder off their feet and dumped them on the ground. “Fucking tell me!” 


In a last desperate act in what had quickly devolved into a losing fight, the fox acquired a handful of snow from the ground. Thomas, consumed by his anger, was too slow to move aside. He received a face full of dirt, snow and ice which temporarily blinded him. A firm knee to the groin sent tidal waves of pain coursing through his body. 


Beneath him the intruder turned their hips and knocked Thomas off their torso, as he held his bruised testicles in pain. On shaky legs the intruder returned to their feet, dazed but still able to walk. Thomas latched onto their ankle but could not keep a grip, and was left to writhe around in the dirt as the failed assassin clambered over the fence and disappeared into the night. 








I underestimated him. 


Tae gripped her bathroom counter. Her clothes law strewn about, and her fox mask cast aside next to the sink. Ugly black and blue bruises adorned her abdomen from breast to pelvis, particularly around her back where she had been slammed into the earth several times. 


She winced as she turned around to diagnose the full extent of her injuries. Now that the adrenaline had worn off, pain coursed through every fiber in her body. One of her ribs was probably fractured. There could be some lasting damage to her spine as well if not treated now. 


I was arrogant. I thought I could waltz into the home of an American soldier who wrestled on a national level throughout high school and take care of him before bedtime with no preparation. Tae thought, ashamed of herself. 


After a few minutes her jacuzzi filled with warm water. Tae grunted in pain and rummaged through her medicine cabinet until she located the right bottle. She squeezed half its contents into the tub, and immediately felt the aroma put her at ease. The water stung her skin where she had been injured, but the pain quickly dissipated and was replaced by a nourishing warmth.


Amrita produced many marvelous concoctions. This particular high-end blend was suited for trauma victims to rapidly recover from accidents, but was also popular amongst professional athletes after a match. Tae leaned back and allowed the soothing waters to work it’s magic on her wounds. She would need the time to recuperate now, before the Christmas party tomorrow.


Now he’ll go to ground and be harder to find, and harder to surprise. I wasted my golden opportunity to get this whole mess finished by the end of the year. Tae thought regretfully. Willpower without strength to match it is meaningless. I’ll need to get back in shape, stop drinking so much…


Tae clenched her fist. When we next meet, I’ll be ready.

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