Another one of those fic's that just HIT me. This fic should go well
with Gary Kleepe's "Lost" and a 'certain' American Manga. I'm not sure
where this is going and I'd kinda like to see if there's any interest
before I write any more on it. C&C is welcomed, cherished and desired.

	Warning: Contains naughty words and mild violence...

OtakuNXS presents...

		Of Bullets and Birds

	"Let's see some ID... homes." The old man looked over his glasses at
his customer, his hand gripping the wooden bat underneath the counter.
He hadn't liked the looks of the guy from the first moment he stepped in
the store. 

	The guy was wearing blue jeans and an old black shirt, tattered and
unkept. His unwashed brown hair draping over a dusty leather trench
coat, and the punks combat boots clopped mud all over the store. Goth
boys, gang bangers, dope fiends and acidheads, they all meant the same
to Jacob; trouble, plain and simple. Still, this was HIS store, and he'd
be damned if anybody intimidated him in his own place.

	"Aw man! Look, I'm twenty... but I got cash, so why don't you just give
me the damn bottle!" The man slammed a wad of cash on the counter.
"Let's not make this too difficult, okay?"

	The old storeowner didn't even give the ball of bills a second glance.
"No ID, no alcohol. That's the rules homes, now either spend some of
that blood money on a Twinkie, or get the hell out of my store."

	The street tough shook his head and made a pleading gesture to the
heavens, martryly. "Why's it always gotta be this way? Son- of- a-
BITCH!" A squishy crack as metal hit flesh punctuated his last word.
Still shaking his head ruefully, the punk aimed at the storekeeper with
a large gun, The one he had just hit him with, in fact. 

	A small dribble of blood made it's way down Jacob's forehead, mingling
with the sweat on his brow. "Jus-just take the money and go." croaked
out the old man, slipping in and out of consciousness.

	<BLAM> The explosion shocked the owner awake as his cash register
exploded into shrapnel, pelting him with hot change from it's insides.
"IF I had wanted the money, I would have taken the money." The young man
bent down beside Jacob, his pose seeming to almost ask for
understanding. 

	"You know, we didn't have to go through all this. You see, I know where
you live. I know which high school your daughter goes to. Hell, I even
know how many damn cats your mother-in-law has. I can snuff you out ANY
time I feel like it. But there's no fun in that, all I am, is thirsty.
Now, I'm gonna take this bottle, leave this cash and walk out that door.
You just sit here quietly and bleed, okay? Oh, and I think I WILL have a
Twinkie, thanks." He smiled and handed the shopkeeper another buck. "See
ya around, homes."

	The young man walked out of the store and held his gun and his bottle
to his shoulder with his elbow as he fought to open the Twinkie wrapper.
Finally tearing it open with his teeth, the miscreant popped the sponge
cake in his mouth while he readjusted his belongings. An opened bottle
in one hand and a Magnum in the other, he munched happily as he turned
into a darkened alley.  Suddenly, he was attacked as something leaped at
him from the shadows. The shape clawed at his face and caused him to
stumble into a few trashcans, falling into a heap. "What the fuck…"

	Seeing that the attack had been halted, the young man pulled his arms
away from his face. The sight of the large black carrion bird, with what
was left of his Twinkie in its mouth caused him to laugh. "Man, you
scared the shit out of me, give me my damn Twinkie back!" He made a
lunge after the bird, missing badly and ending up in another pile of
refuse. When he turned around, he caught a final glimpse of his snack
cake before it disappeared down the bird's throat. "What you do that
for? Now I GOTTA kill ya." The punk smiled as he aimed his gun at his
adversary.

	"It is said, that one crow is a nuisance." A strange voice disturbed
the tough's shot and the bird flew down deeper into the alley. Furrowing
his brows, the young man followed. "That two crows become an
infestation." Two separate caws took him aback as he went still further
into the darkness. "And that three or more, become a murder!" The alley
suddenly opened up into a large side street, populated by old, abandoned
and gray buildings. On most of the buildings, on the various trash cans
and lining rusted catwalks were hundreds of crows, all staring silently
at him. In the middle, another young man sat on a throne of garbage
bags.

	"These your pets? You owe me a Twinkie pal." The punk smiled.

	"I'll take it off your tab.

	"Heh, I don't owe you anything, and don't think all this shit scares
me. A gun in the hand is worth two hundred birds in the slums." Never
dropping his smile, he fired three shots into the young man. When the
cloud of falling trash and smoke disappeared, the he knew something was
wrong. Maybe it was the fact that the gunshots hadn't frightened off any
of the birds. Or maybe it was because his target was getting up, and
moving towards him. 

	"Oh my! You got guns, they got guns, all God's chitlins got guns!" The
figure danced a little gig and then continued his way forward. "You
know, without those little toys, you never would have hurt her. Her
thorns were far to sharp for you boys to handle, typical of the most
precious of all roses." The young man was almost on top of him now. He
wore a dark Chinese robe with huge sleeves, and his black, silky hair
was even longer then the punk's was. Though the guy kept his face
towards the ground, the street tough could tell that it seemed to glow
in the darkness.

	"Look, I don't know what you're talking about, but believe me, you
don't want to get any closer." A bit shaken, he held up his gun towards
the approaching figure.

	Suddenly, the man lifted his face and flashed him a sickly grin. He had
about enough time to realize that his opponent was wearing some kind of
white make up before his gun was sliced neatly in two.  Then the robed
man was pressing him up against the wall, a mime like face inches from
his own, and a slight trickle of blood from the impact with the brick
wall stinging his eyes. The guy hadn't felt this scared since when he
was a boy and his dad would come home with a workday's worth of hell to
inflict on his son. Vaguely, he noticed that it had started to rain,
though they were under an awning.

	His assailant looked back to the cleansing deluge and turned back to
him with a slightly disappointed smile on his face. "The rain in Spain
enters through to my brains, tapping on my veins, I think I'm going
insane!" The robed man dropped him to the ground and sighed wistfully.
"Game called on account of rain, I guess we'll just have to finish this
another time." Then the painted man seemed to see him in a whole new
light. "Why what have we here?" he asked while examining his captive's
head.

	With a flourish, his tormentor reached behind his head and pulled out
three fat, shiny coins. "Tell you what, you can help me. First, I want
you to tell your friends that before the sun has a chance to dry
tonight's rain completely, I shall be coming for them. Second, I want
you to hold these for me." Still with that omnipresent smile, the man
forced the three coins down his throat, denoting each one. "One for her,
one for you and one for me.  There, now we'll all have our fare's ready
when the time comes to get on the ferry. I'll be back to collect them
soon, you just sit here and bleed for awhile."

	With that, the robed figure stepped out from the shelter of the awning
and into the rain. The punk gasped as the man's body suddenly
transformed into dozens of crows, each one seemingly laughing at him as
they disappeared into the stormy night. 

	A trip to America had turned into a trip to hell. This was no longer
the time for hero's, they had been too late in arriving. Now was the
time for the avenger. Vengence would be served where justice had not!