Author's Warning: Roland isn't mine, he belongs to Showstopper. So does the fictitious city of New Wales. What isn't mine is someone else's. And racism is wrong, I do not endorse anything this fictional racist group the New Pilgrims does. ENJOY!

It was a hot day, as Bobby Yicola Kokare Ai’a’ive walked down the upper sidewalk of St. Laurent Boulevard in Montreal. Bobby was a real mix, part Ai’a’ive, or winged human, and part Ya’a Naomi, a race resembling a cross between the human and the raccoon. As a result, he had both feathery wings and a tail, and his body was covered in fur. He was very happy, he was going to meet his friend Robert-Creaig Sami Nuanua-Jackson. They would be going to England to have a wonderful summer. This was the best present he had ever gotten. He stopped to look at himself in a reflection off a mirror in a furniture store. He was covered in fur that was brown, except for some white on his face (around his nose and his mouth) and black rings around his eyes. He had a raccoon-like face, and was wearing a white baggy Roots shirt on his chest and a grey and blue laari (or sarong, or wrap-around skirt if you will) around his waist. He was eighteen years old, and he had nice muscles on his arms. He wasn’t wearing any shoes, not like there were any shoes that could accommodate his feet with their five equal toes anyways. He was carrying a brown duffel bag with him.

Montreal, and the rest of the planet, for that matter, had radically changed in just over twenty years. Now it was known that there was life on other planets, in fact a few cities, most notably Montreal, Chicago, London, and several others had state of the art space-ports with all the equipment needed for handling the largest spaceships. Bobby’s father, a Ya’a Naomi, first came to the Earth before the Earth was so open. Now things were so different that seeing people with fur or odd skin or sometimes even a different number of limbs wasn’t so unusual. Automatic messages on trains and busses with automatic doors told everyone to keep their bags, hair, wings, and tails clear of the closing doors. It was now possible to obtain food, vehicles, electronics, clothing, furniture, and art from around the galaxy, and several different dimensions.

That wasn’t all that changed. For one thing, the actual "street" that is St. Laurent is about three stories lower than it used to be. The sidewalks are still there, but with railings. Below at the new "street-level" there were also other sidewalks and other doors, some alternate entrances to the places above, some not. Addresses on such streets would have an "S" or an "I" added, meaning "Superior" or "Inferior". The Inferior level, needless to say, was also where garage entrances for some establishments were. On the Superior level, where Bobby was walking, there was a viaduct over the middle of the street that had three train tracks. Local trains that were in effect above-ground subways, commuter trains, and inter-city trains all used the trackage. Above the trackage was overhead wire or catenary. For the benefit of those who could fly, such as Bobby, there were orange poles that extended just above the catenary wire to indicate the "zapping" range and a platform was on top of the catenary wire. Bobby was walking to one of the stations on this line, up in the north end, where Robert-Creaig was waiting. Another change to Montreal, besides the "two floors and a viaduct" deal on St. Laurent, and a couple of other major streets, was the names that changed. A street that ran through the upper-class neighborhood of Westmount simply called "The Boulevard" was now "Ai’a’ive Boulevard", but still called by its old name by those who couldn’t pronounce "Ai’a’ive." Of course, Bobby could pronounce this name, as it was his last name. Also, the boulevard was renamed in honor of two very specific Ai’a’ive, his father Yafala Sekola Ai’a’ive (né Kokare) who was a Ya’a Naomi, and his mother Sara Vaosa Ai’a’ive (née Iafe’ea), who was originally a normal human, but just happened to have Ai’a’ive blood in her, and through a bunch of interesting quests became a real Ai’a’ive. If you have not figured it out by now, it should be noted that the most common last name for the winged Ai’a’ive is "Ai’a’ive."

Bobby arrived at the station, and immediately spotted his friend Robert-Creaig. Robert-Creaig had black hair that he tied in a ponytail and slightly tanned skin. He had pointed ears that indicated that he was not a human but a Nuanua, actually he was only half Nuanua as his father, Todd "Kerenge" Jackson, was a human.

"Yo, what’s up?" asked Robert-Creaig.

"Hey, nothin’ much, except that we are about to go on the COOLEST trip ever!" replied Bobby. "And we’re gonna see the new King of the Fighters, Roland, who just happens to be our ace of base!"

"Hey man, you got the tickets?"

"Do I ever, England won’t be the same when we get there!"

"Word up, Yafala!" using the Naomian word for "friend." They then exchanged hi-fives and slammed their fists. Robert-Creaig was wearing Fubu pants, Voom sneakers (a line of footwear from the planet Urea), and a Montreal Canadiens hockey jersey. He had a green suitcase and a red backpack. The two looked at an electronic notice board at the concourse in the station, and walked to the correct platform, number five, for the express to Mirabel Airport, where they’d fly to England. Their "tickets" were "all inclusive", they had information and validity for the express train, the flight to England, and the Heathrow Express train to downtown London. They boarded a sleek six-car self-propelled electric train that was running to the airport. A conductor in a snazzy Aeroports de Montreal uniform inspected their tickets. The doors closed, with the usual warning, including a reminder to keep any tail or wings that some of the passengers had away from the doors, and then the train made its way out of the station. A droning noise and a whining noise were heard as the electric motors increased their power. On either side of the tracks were the Superior sidewalks and all the stores and restaurants that made St. Laurent so famous. The train picked up speed, and whizzed by other trains and numerous local stations. Soon it was off the island of Montreal and into Laval, and then later than that it left Laval, across another river, onto the North Shore, where it turned a little westward. The train really picked up speed, and soon enough they arrived at Mirabel Airport, briefly reduced to being a glorified cargo terminal, it got to handle passenger flights again when the flights had to be turned away from Dorval airport in order to make room for the star-port facilities. An additional airport also started handling passenger flights, St. Hubert airport south of Montreal.

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John Ezekiel Smith looked out the window of the small apartment that he rented. He noticed a couple of boys walking past the building on the street below. He smiled, because they were white, of the "Master Race" that he believed in. Then he frowned when he noticed that one of them was wearing a sarong, with a distinct Naomian pattern on it. He had to suppress his urge to shout "RACE TRAITOR!" out the window. For now, secrecy was of the essence. He hated that his own kind were starting to adopt ways of the "Outers", or "Extraterrestrials" as the proper term for them was. He was the type who vomited when he saw white teenagers "rapping" or doing anything else traditionally associated with any race other than their own. He was a racist, and he had no shame in being one. In fact, he was the leader of the New Pilgrims, the biggest white supremacist group in existence. It was formed out of the remnants of the KKK and various Skinhead and Neo-Nazi groups. It had emerged only a decade ago, in 2014. He looked in a mirror and admired his blonde hair, blue eyes, and tank-like physique. A perfect Nazi poster-child.

The room he was in was decorated with various posters of racist rock groups, Nazis, KKK, and other racist groups, and a book shelf that had works such as Mein Kampf, and copies of many documents written by Nazis and Klansmen. There was also a collection of flags, including the Confederate and Nazi flags, and the flag Germany used during World War I. He also had a Bible on its own stand. He considered himself a Christian, although he happily ignored such teachings as the "Thou Shalt Not Kill" commandment, believing that the ends always justified the means, by all means necessary. According to him, the United States was intended to be a Christian Republic governed under Puritan principles, of and for the White people. He was adamant that all Outers were ungodly demons, and that slavery of "inferior" races (and eradication of those unfit to be slaves) was mandated in the Bible.

He remembered why he was there. The first big thing his group would be doing since the botched Rail Bombings of 2020 was about to take place. While he narrowly escaped capture, his comrades who were involved with the actual bombs were all arrested and given heavy sentences. Since a couple of them actually shot someone, they’d been sentenced to death. He saw them as martyrs for a noble cause. In those attacks, a New York subway train was gassed with a mixture of sarin and gaseous anthrax. At the same time, an Amtrak train in Philadelphia was hijacked by the New Pilgrims, and a couple of passengers were killed immediately. The New Pilgrims were easily recognized by the Puritan-style hats they wore (A/N those "traffic-cone" shaped hats that the men of the Mayflower wore) and the dark clothing they wore, complete with flak-jackets. Like a monster from a cheesy B-movie, his group refused to die.

He left the place and walked along the street. He felt like swearing when he passed a travel agency. It had a large ad for the Ai’a’ive Islands, a large archipelago arranged into three rings of islands, that appeared years ago because of the "Seven Sisters." He felt like yelling "Damn Harpies," but he didn’t want to attract attention to himself. Harpy was a derogatory term for the Ai’a’ive, a race that resembled the human except that they had large feathery wings. They were also sometimes called Herpes, to have the double effect of meaning both the monster and the disease. He wondered why couldn’t they have advertised Japan? Japan, despite technically not being white, was still "pure" in his mind. It was a country that was both heavily industrialized and very "un-integrated", meaning it was among those countries that wasn’t very friendly towards the Outers. While the last laws prohibiting them from entering (with fines to any airline or shipping line that sells tickets to them) were officially repealed, as they had to as a condition to being granted part of the Ai’a’ive Archipelago, the place wasn’t friendly towards the non-humans at all, with the exception of the Nuanua and the "White Skinned", because they so closely resembled the human, and one of the White-Skinned (a literal translation of the Japanese term for them) was a big wrestler in woman’s wrestling over there. He wished the United States was like that. That was his mission. To make the United States, and then the rest of the world, into the White Christian Republic that the Puritans had intended.

He sighed as he walked up to an enormous monument built at the center of one of Boston’s irregular intersections. It was kept underneath a large canopy and had lights for night-time use, and it was painted in graffiti-resistant paint. It was entitled "The Women of Power", and was a ring of about thirty statues of women, all arranged in a circle looking outwards, all holding hands. He rather loathed the monument. Only a handful of them looked good to him in any way, and he was looking at one of them, Susan B. Anthony. Despite being anti-slavery, he still had an admiration towards her, because she was white. He shuddered, though, when he saw who she was holding hands with. Harriet Tubman to her left, and Sara Ai’a’ive to her right. He hated both of them royally. He smiled, dreaming of a world without Ai’a’ive.

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Bobby and Robert-Creaig took their seats in the first-class section of the enormous aircraft that they were on, a Boeing-Murgool-9000 "Flying Castle." Aircraft had changed much in the past fourteen years. This aircraft, using a mixture of technology from several different planets, took off vertically and accelerated smoothly. Although there were seatbelts on hand, they were almost never used, except by those who had been frequent fliers for decades who found old habits hard to break. This plane had three decks, and was roughly twice as long as a 747 and twice as wide. In addition to plenty of seats, there was also a couple of lounges, a large kitchen (more like the kitchen of an upscale restaurant than the "galleys" that planes in the past had), a couple of bars (set up to resemble British Pubs, even given names, the Knight and Elephant, and the Maiden and Dragon), a games room, a couple of "hang-out" areas for teenagers, and, in the first class section, sleeping accommodations…the seats converted into beds, and curtains mounted on overhead metal rails ensured privacy.

The two dined on a surf-and-turf dish of scampi and star-rat, it could hardly be called "airline food", except that it was served on a vehicle that was technically on an aircraft (more like a spaceship built for "local" travel) that was owned by an airline. After that they had cake and pie with ice cream a la mode, and then they looked out the window at the passing clouds.

"I’m sure Roland will be happy to see us!" said Bobby. "Besides, the finals at Picadilly Circus in London are almost on, and he needs all the support he can get!"

"I know!" said Robert, "And he’s been feeling depressed, ever since that alchie crashed into Uncle Ian and Auntie Tammy…"

"Yes, we need not the details!" said Bobby, "I remember everything all the friends of our parents tried doing to heal them. Muguri bone-setters, healers of Oava’ia’i and Le Nuanua, Sara’s tears of life, I could go on forever…but they weren’t able to restore their walking, none of the procedures, spells, conventional medicine, unconventional medicine, or anything worked! Their nerves were so fucked up that bionic limbs were out of the question! The muscles were messed up worse than a Picasso painting!"

"Well, at least that Nuanua doctor was able to stop the pain in their legs, before that they were taking so many drugs that they put Kurt Cobain to shame. And the team of Ai’a’ive and Muguri limb specialists was able to get their legs at least looking normal, and now they can fit into the Enabler Gyro-Hoverchairs without difficulty."

"AND NOW FOR SOMETHING COMPLETELY DIFFERENT!" announced Bobby. Robert nodded his head, knowing what that actually meant. "I heard my sister’s going to be there as well!"

"No shit, you mean Sarona, the Blue Tiger? She’s in THAT league as well? And she made it?"

"Yes, and they even flew her in a private jet. But it’s probably an older plane, so I can laugh at that!"

"You sure can!" replied Robert-Creaig. He was thinking about Sarona. Sarona Natasha Ranai Kokare Ai’a’ive was her full name. She had her fur dyed red, and had dark blue wings and bright blue eyes. There wasn’t any white on her face, as the female Ya’a Naomi don’t have that. Her nom de combat was Blue Tiger, and it fit her well. At one time he was slightly infatuated with her. But he just wasn’t her type. He then wondered how Roland, also known as the Crimson Storm, would fare against her, if they both made it to the grand finals.

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John smiled as he headed towards the section of the airport reserved for private and corporate jets. He had a fake passport and other fake ID. He had just drove for about four hours, and it was late at night. But he had to do this, he believed that he must. He growled on his way there every time he passed a sign advertising anything owned by Outers, or for that matter if he ever came across a billboard promoting Amtrak’s Downeaster service. Sure, it was quicker, but he wanted complete privacy in case he received any important secret messages. And he hated sitting in a train car filled with people of different skin colors, religions, ethnicities, value systems, and now even species. In a similar vein, he and about a hundred "associates" of his "company", which supposedly sold memorabilia and antiques from America’s Colonial, post-Revolutionary and Civil War eras, would be flying on a "long-jet" variant of the Bombardier Learjet, even though not as comfortable as newer aircraft, at least he was sure that this one was built by a White company, or at least it was when the jet was built. Their destination was London’s Stanstead Airport. Heathrow and Gatwick were too crowded, not to mention a little too "diverse." Now that he thought about it Gatwick didn’t even see that many normal planes anymore, since it was designated London’s Starport. He was smiling. He was about to commit his first terrorist act outside of American soil. He was joining the big leagues. He was going to re-introduce fear on an enormous scale. Shortly after "The Opening", or as he liked to call it, "The Insult", the largest terrorist groups, mostly in the Middle East, were shattered. America’s "Operation Restoration of Freedom", in concert with efforts launched by a myriad of countries and even a few "Outer" governments, had helped to end them. Then there was another group, the Golden Glocks, not a terrorist faction per se, but they were certainly better armed than most of them. They controlled billions of dollars and much weaponry, and they even had de facto control of a few countries in South America and Africa. But thanks to a group of heroes, the Posse, the Glocks were shut down. A once mighty empire of crime, more powerful than all the drug cartels and Mafia families combined, was reduced to nothing. But he benefited. A few breakaway factions in parts of the Southern US joined the New Pilgrims, and gave him access to all the money and weapons they could get their hands on. His group was going to re-define terrorism.

He greeted his "colleagues", who all boarded the jet at the same time. Unlike commercial flights, there wasn’t the intense scrutiny by security, nor were there any exit passport checks. He smiled when he thought about the details of what would be happening. There was a fighting championship happening in a few days in London. He wanted to be there. One of the competitors was a daughter of Sekola and Sara. How he hated those names. It was their fault that the Earth became "opened" in the first place. He intended to kidnap her, and then make a list of heavy demands. He’d have all of the imprisoned New Pilgrims free, along with anyone else in a white supremacist group. He was looking forward to humiliating Sarona, maybe even killing her. "I want me a nice coon-skin cap!" he yelled out, safetly in the company of his own colleagues, and far enough from the cockpit that the "Black-Box" wouldn’t record that. The term Coon, once a derogatory term for Blacks, had since become an insult towards Ya’a Naomi.

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Sarona assumed a fighting stance and then blocked a series of one-two punches. She then kicked her opponent, who grabbed the leg. Sarona whipped her tail, and then spun around with her hands flailing. She called this the Trick of the Tail.

"Good work Sarona!" said her sparring mate, Julio Ramirez. "Now, rest for a couple of minutes, and we’ll have an all-out brawl, and then call it a night!" Julio was tall and muscular, and had a tanned complexion. He had dark hair, and a dark goatee to go with it. He was dressed in blue jeans and a leather jacket. Sarona sat down on a bench. She was thankful that the London Underground permitted her and her "gang" (her sparring mates, coach, and trainer) to use a collection of passageways and platforms no longer in use. The Jubilee line platforms were last used in 1999, when the route was diverted and extended. The platforms, passages and even escalator-shafts were good places to fight. She was nearing the end of her fifth – and last – "Marathon" session before the big fight. This entailed eight hours of drills, exercises, sparring, brawling, and more fighting. She was sweating, even though it takes longer and tougher conditions to get a Ya’a Naomi (or half-Ya’a Naomi, as she is) to sweat, it does happen. She remembered everything she was told about the opponents she’d be facing. The Crimson Storm sounded like the toughest. However, he was very handsome. But she had plenty of time to think about that once the fight was over. She had something that was both an advantage and a disadvantage, her tail and her wings. They weren’t a guaranteed advantage, as the opponent could figure out ways to use them to their advantage. But her Trick of the Tail was quite good, and she even figured out a couple of counters for counters that could be used against it. Supposedly the world record for countering counters (where an opponent’s move was "countered" into one that was to your advantage, as opposed to "blocking" – and yes, a counter could be countered) was twelve, and it was brutal when the final move happened. She looked in a curved mirror that was attached to the curved wall. She was wearing her choice of ring attire. It was formed out of a large blue sarong that had black stripes (fitting in with her nickname), and it was wrapped around her body, and short enough so that she could move her legs freely. In a break with Naomian and Ai’a’ive tradition, part of the material was passed between her legs, both for modesty, and to ensure that she could forward kick with minimal difficulty. In effect, it vaguely resembled a swimsuit, although baggier. She breathed, and then got ready for the last fight, a brawl with her four sparring mates and her coach. The idea was that by being good enough to take on many experienced fighters at once, the "Street-Fighter" style one-on-one would be even less difficult. She knew what to do, always be ready, and keep tail and wings folded when not in use, because they were easy targets for anything from behind. She was able to sense everything around her, partly because of her training, and partly because of her ears. She did a two-way punch to stop Julio and Enrique (Julio’s brother) from attacking at the same time, and then dashed into a passageway, where she was ambushed by Chin Chan, the toughest of the sparring mates Sarona used. He vaguely resembled Bruce Lee, and could fight way better than him. Sarona blocked a few quick Kung Fu punches, and then countered with a few White Crane kicks (where one is balanced on one leg, and then quickly kicks it and shifts to the other leg, a la Karate Kid), and then she took a high kick to the face. She sprawled backwards, but whipped out her wings to act as a buffer against the Ramirez brothers, who were right behind her. Her coach, Jean-Claude Darien, surprised her from the side with a judo hold, and prepared to throw her over, but, using her wings as leverage, pushed over him and reversed the hold. However, at the last moment he was able to trip her as he went down, and he held a fist in the right spot so she’d take a hit as she went down. She got back up and fought some more, mostly being successful, but Jean-Claude had one more move, a combination of the Ear Clap and the Push-The-Monkey-Away (A/N this is an advanced Tai Chi move…done more quickly it’s effective), and then followed up with a special kick known as a Tiger Stopper. And it sure stopped the Blue Tiger. After being told what she did wrong, she went with her entourage, picked up all the equipment they used (mostly mats for some exercises, and a tape recorder with Japanese "fighting" music), and they walked through the gate which they locked. Since the station wasn’t even supposed to be open, none of the escalators were running. But Sarona, quite energetic, even if it was late and she had been doing a "marathon", was able to quickly run up one of them. They hailed a taxi and went to a nearby hotel.

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Bobby and Robert-Creaig rung a doorbell outside a large stately Gothic manor. They had presents their parents wanted to give to Ian and Tammy. A few moments later an old Indian woman answered the door.

"Hi Parvati, are Ian and Tammy here?" asked Robert-Creaig.

"Yes they are, Sammy, they just finished their morning baths. I’ll tell them you’re here." Robert-Creaig remembered how Parvati Rukmani always referred to him by his middle name.

The two walked into the foyer, and waited. A few moments later a distinct hum was heard, something that resembled a cross between a flying car from the Jetsons and the moan of a subway motor. A pair of "Enabler Gyro" brand hoverchairs zoomed forward, with Ian and Tammy sitting in them.

They exchanged greetings, and Bobby and Sami presented their gifts. Bobby had brought a couple of bags of smoked meat and bagels from Montreal. Sami had brought a traditional Nuanua blade. Ian had become a bit of a weapons collector, ironically enough, after he was no longer able to do any fighting of his own. Ian and Tammy invited them for some "elevenses", and led them through a long hallway. It was adorned with trophies and medals from various fighting leagues, as well as newspaper articles about Ian, and magazines on which he was on the cover. There was even an ad from 2003 when Ian "The King of the Fighters" Groombridge was promoting, fittingly enough, the 2003 edition of the SNK video game "King of the Fighters."

They sat on an outside patio, where Parvati served them all tea.

"So, how go things?" asked Ian.

"Very well!" replied Bobby.

"Same for me!" added Sami.

"Did you come here to see Roland fight?" asked Tammy, "He’s as good as Ian was, only a little earlier!" Ian did a fake punch towards her, a playful "shut-up."

"Yes we did!" said Bobby. "However, We’re also seeing someone else. It seems that my sister Sarona is also going to be there. Who knows, they’ll both end up in the last round no doubt!"

"This should be interesting!" added Ian. "Sarona was quite the fighter last time I saw her. Does she still also have a penchant for motoring?"

"Yes she does, and she’ll probably be driving on the nearest highway, she sometimes goes for long drives just before major fights. She considers it a form of meditation!"

"I find it hard to imagine how one could meditate on the dreadfully crowded M-25, but she probably figured a way! I’m surprised she hasn’t had a bout of road-rage yet!"

"She saves it all for the ring. There’s only one fighter who has any chance of withstanding her!"

"You don’t mean Crimson Storm, do you?"

"Are you talking about me?" A young adult with blonde hair, blue eyes, and a muscular build walked in. He was 6’1" tall. He was wearing a t-shirt with Japanese characters for "Inner Harmony" on it, and a pair of cargo shorts. "Bobby? Sammy? HOW ARE YOU GUYS?" He gave them a brotherly hug.

"We’re fine, a little jet-lagged, but fine anyway!" replied Robert-Creaig.

"So, you excited about the fight I have in just two more days?"

"Are we ever!" said Bobby, "WE can’t wait for the event. By the way, you heard my sister is going to be there?"

"Which one? Is it Alice Sina Laaya?" he asked.

"No, silly, Sarona. She’s in the tournament!"

"I was only teasing. I just hope that Sarona is prepared. I have learnt from one of the greatest fighters ever!" Ian smiled at that. Even after he was disabled he could still help Roland. When the pain was gone he was able to practice various hand and upper body movements and exercises with his son. However, his son had to find someone else for the rest of the body. But it wasn’t a problem, as his small but growing collection of medals and trophies attested to.

"I know one thing. The best fighter will win!" said Robert-Creaig. Everyone laughed at that.

"Well, I’m glad you’re here, saves me looking for you. I was thinking I’d take you two to my place for a bit. Then you could watch me practice," suggested Roland.

"That would be cool!" said Bobby, "what am I saying about would? You are just cool, period!"

Everyone laughed at that.

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Sarona was cruising around in a rented Jaguar. She had a thing for Jaguars. She liked them. Even though she could use one of the newer hover-cars available, she preferred automobiles to have four rubber-covered wheels. Anything else was just not right in her mind, she found hover-cars a little to sterile and emotionless. But this car, it had feeling. It had soul. And it had been cruising along the M-1 for a few moments now. Her intention was to drive a short distance north, and then turn around and drive back south. Then she’d tour the Hampstead region, and then cruise around London. In the afternoon she intended to do some practice in a gym near Baker Street. Her car was a convertible, and she was enjoying the breeze with the top off. She was now wearing a long green floral yara, or traditional loose Naomian dress, worn without a belt, and of course, a hole in the back for her tail (of course, this yara also had holes for her wings). She suddenly felt that something was wrong. She wasn’t sure what it was, but she felt that she would be better off returning to London earlier. At the next exit, she turned left onto an exit, and then circled around a roundabout, headed across the M-1 on an overpass, circled on another roundabout, and then went onto the southbound lanes. She smiled as she heard her favorite song on the radio – "Eye of the Tiger." She’d sometimes even sing along with it. It was the perfect song to get her into the right mood, the right feel, for fighting.

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A black unmarked bus left Heathrow airport. Everyone else would assume it was a hotel bus of some sort. Which is what John Smith wanted. They headed towards the Docklands region of London. The Docklands. It was one of the places where the Skinhead movement might have originated, the dress of the earlier skinheads was similar to that of the London dockworkers, back when there was a shipping industry there. Larger boats that couldn’t fit the Thames spelt an end to that. Now the Docklands was an upscale area, and one of the largest developments, Canary Wharf, was owned by a Jewish Canadian family. Now there was an even newer development there, owned by a Ya’a Naomi family, the Muras. More Coons. Well, the Docklands was where his group was meeting. And he grew excited, as D-Day grew nearer and nearer. He and his friends sang racist songs and Nazi slogans, content that no one would hear them over the roar of traffic. "Count your days on your fur-covered wretched left hand, COON!" he shouted.

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Vanessa Deyeog Gigure stretched as she got out of bed. Despite the abundance of bedrooms in this large Victorian-style mansion, she chose a place in the basement, to be close to the machines. It was a hideout. A hideout that Dwayne Wayne was in when he was handed the Pimp Cane. This was when he became part of the world-wide crime-fighting outfit that was using, as its front, PD/DP Productions. She remembered being told tales by Dwayne Wayne, who was a good friend of her parents. This place just happened to be very close to what was the headquarters of the Golden Glocks, once the most powerful criminal organization on the planet. Thanks to Dwayne, and his "Posse", they were shut down. Dwayne technically inherited this mansion when he gained control of PD/DP Productions, as the two leaders, Pimp Daddy and Da Player, were dead. However, since he and his friends moved to Japan, they gladly gave Woo’oof and his family the place. Now he, his wife Mia’aou, his daughter Vanessa, and their longtime friend Loookie Hiare lived there. Vanessa slept in the basement like she did because it was surrounded by two of her interests…science and art. All kinds of advanced science went into building a supercomputer known as Creeper, who also happened to have an attitude problem. And on top of the basement was a building that she considered very beautiful indeed. She looked at herself in a mirror. She was a Pororo, a race that was distinguished by have six limbs and a furry body. She was about the size of a large dog. She was covered in bright-red and pinkish fur. Her face resembled a cross between a cat and a dog, and had golden eyes. Her ears looked like something between a flower and a hand. Her tail was long and at the end almost seemed fish-like in shape. She smiled as she thought about how this would be her last day at her job, she was about to take a well needed vacation. To supposedly pay her college bills (but her parents were rich, so she did it more for a distraction) she had a job as a ticket-seller at the Metropolitan Transportation Authority New Wales State Street station. She had to deal with the "morning hell-shift", which wasn’t so bad now that summer was starting. Most of the year, though, dealing with semi-tired workers and rowdy students who are "trusted" by their parents to take the train alone, and end up being rowdy when their parents don’t see them, was starting to wear on her. However, seeing the various passengers gave her inspiration for her art, so it helped. She also saw herself as a people person, so she liked giving information, even though some of the people she dealt with were clueless. She was once yelled at by some moron who wanted to buy tickets to Florida, she told him to go to the Amtrak desk, he started yelling stuff about an "inefficient system." She also got the occasional racist remarks, but those troublemakers often ended up being shoved by other travellers who don’t like racism. She went to the kitchen to grab herself some bread and orange juice. She’d have more later once the hell-shift ended. She was happy about what she’d be doing the next day. She was flying to the UK, both to watch a couple of her friends in battle, and, earlier in the same day, she’d be unveiling a couple of works of art that actually made it to the Tate Modern. The sun was just beginning to rise as she left the mansion, and walked between golden statues of Homer Simpson and Old Dirty Bastard. The morning walk to the station was always pleasant. She heard stories about how in the past, any female walking on the route she was this early was either armed or dead. Well, the fact that she had four arms to fight with and that she knew of some of the "magic" abilities of her race didn’t hurt.

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While Bobby and Sami were primarily in London to see Roland, this night they stopped by where Sarona was staying, the 5-Star Le Meriden Waldorf, near London’s famous Trafalgar Square.

The hotel room was very luxurious, as this was one of the most expensive suites. Purple curtains and a mauve carpet decorated the place, as did an ornate crystal chandelier. The other room of this suite and the suites nearby were for her entourage. A gym mat, a dummy and a speed-bag were set up for some basic practice. Sarona, attired in her ring gear, greeted her brother and their friend.

"Hi Sarona! Good luck, la’u tuafafine (my sister)!" greeted and hoped Bobby.

"Luck? It’s not about luck. It’s about refinement and technique. It’s about working your way up, not taking any no’s from no-one!" she explained. She emphasized this with a high kick to the bag. It was designed to take intense abuse. She then attacked the dummy with a Trick of the Tail.

"So, are you feeling confident about tomorrow?" asked Sami.

"Of course I am!" she replied. "I’ve already gotten a couple of belts, how hard can this championship be?"

"Two words for you sis!" began Bobby, "Crimson Storm!"

"I am the Blue Tiger. I fear none of my opponents. The only thing that matters is the fight in the ring! I’ll thank you for not mentioning his name again until the championship tomorrow! But remember, nobody will de-claw the Tiger!"

"I believe you sis!"

"Now kindly look away while I get into something better for hitting the town. We’re going to eat, I cannot fight on an empty stomach." The two turned away, and heard the sounds of clothing rustling. "Now you may turn around!" She was now wearing a bright red yara. Sami couldn’t help but look in awe. "You like?" she giggled. "Well, let’s get going, I’ll just get my gang and we’ll go eat."

"GANG?" asked Sami.

"Yes, my sparring mates, my coach, my current sensei, about six in total, then there’s me. We know of a few good places near here. So what would you like?"

"Chinese!" suggested Bobby, "for some reason I feel like Chinese!"

"Ah, the land of the dragon, the tiger, the mantis, and the monkey!" mused Sarona. "Well, those are techniques of Kung Fu. I know quite a bit of it. It forms part of my system. For these fights some people stick to one breed of martial arts, and others work out their systems. I am systematic. I see no wrong in opening with a Dragon technique and then linking any counter-attack into a Judo throw!"

The entire group walked to a nearby Chinese restaurant. Bobby and Sami were introduced to her coach, sparring mates and sensei.

"I kind of feel odd, I just happen to know TWO people who are in this championship, and I know both of them will make it to the final fight," said Bobby

"And who is this other one you know?" asked Jean-Claude.

"Roland Groombridge. The Crimson Storm," answered Sami.

Sarona’s gang began laughing. "Listen, he’s a mere amateur, and he’s also not serious enough. It doesn’t matter if his father was the ‘King of the Fighters’, here it doesn’t matter where you’re coming from, it matter where you are going, and Roland is going to the floor of the ring. C’est tres simple!"

"And the choice of teacher also matters!" replied Anna Yagamoto, a grey-haired Japanese woman in her fifties, "I helped Sarona focus her style. I taught her how to use her tail to an advantage. And I’ve seen Crimson Storm’s technique. It is sorely lacking! Granted, it is good, but being second best isn’t good enough."

"MAY THE BEST FIGHTER WIN!" toasted Bobby to everyone. Everyone agreed to that.

Sarona was enjoying this diversion. The next day would be a long one. She had five fights ahead of her, and none of them would be easy. All of the fighters who made it this far were experts in their art. There’d be no mercy and no holding back.

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In a private banquet room, the inner circle of the New Pilgrims was feasting on fillet mignion and caviar. However, there was no alcohol present.

"Surely a little beer wouldn’t hurt guv’ner?" asked one of the local members, a spry young man by the name of Gerald.

"Absolutly not!" replied John Smith, "Tommorow you can drink until your brains are drowning, but now we’ll need total concentration. If Sarona is anything like her parents, we’ll need our wits about us. I won’t have you making a disgrace of the glorious Master Race. I’ll let you drink all you want, AFTER we’ve captured that Coon-Harpy. And we’ll let her know that she won’t be served any young coconut OR star-rat in our facilities!" Everyone laughed at that. Young coconut was to Ai’a’ive and star-rat was to Ya’a Naomi what watermelon and fried chicken once were to another group a couple of decades earlier, when it came to racial stereotypes.

To Be Continued…

And so the next generation begins. The next chapter we'll see just what the New Pilgrims are up to.

~Le Ra'akone