Every Story Has A Beginning

Leopard swore profusely, in colorful words. Not all of which were English.

He threw the sniper rifle onto the ground and turned around to face his opponent. The beautiful redhead. Oh, he could feel himself swoon. He had to stay composed, though, act like a cool guy and play it off, like a cool guy would.

"Sweetheart, you've got a nice rack, wanna fuck?" He spat out, before his mind realized that was a lined he could really only use on women. "...I mean you have a nice ass. Same question as before, baby~"

He reached for something, which would have gotten him killing, but he was quick enough about it that in moments it was revealed to be a cigarette.

"So, whaddyou say, let's forget this assassin vs spy shit and go get a round, on the Black Leopard!" He gestured to himself vaguely as he lit his cigarette.

"You disgust me," spat James darkly, keeping his gun aimed at the so-called "Black Leopard's" chest. "I'm not going to have sex with a killer, or an opponent for that matter. You're going to die here--I've been authorized to use lethal force."

He laughed, almost 70% sure that wasn't going to happen.

"Wait, wait, first~" He purred seductively. "At least tell me your name, tiger~ Come on, just your name."

"Agent 277," he replied impatiently. "Put your hands in the air or I shoot your arms."

"No, no!" He insisted, dropping his still burning cigarette onto the ground. "You're real name, sweetheart. If I'm gonna die, what's it gonna huuuurt~?"

He glared seriously. He refused to listen to the words of a murderous ham like this.

"If you tell me who you work for, I may not kill you," he said calmly. "Now tell me."

"Okay, you know what, I'll make you a deal; just let me do you once, or you can tell me your name...then I'll tell you who I work for!" He said cheerily. "Okay, choose one!"

James's nostrils flared with rage; he could feel the disgust and outrage rising within him.

"How dare you even say such a repulsive thing. I should shoot your goddamn jaw off, right now--you have no idea how much I would enjoy that." Despite the heat and venom behind his words, his voice was strangely monotone, his pronunciation clear. "I'll give you one more chance--tell me who you work for before I kill you."

Leopard had never been this close to death, and frankly, it scared him. He figured he had about a 30% chance to live, and that was being generous.

"Chase Bishop!" He exclaimed sheepishly. "That's my name, not who I work for, so, uh, just tell me your name! Please, before, uh, you know, you off me or whatever."

He strained to sound nonchalant and cool about it. "I know, it's a sweet name...~"

James couldn't help it; his hand faltered, and the gun dropped to the floor, sending a bullet into the ceiling above Chase's head.

"...You...you sick fuck!!" he shouted, running at Chase without a gun. He punched him in the face, his own visage twisted with rage.

"Who the fuck told you about him? Who told you?! How dare you use my brother's name!"

Poor Leopard was completely out of his wits. He scrambled to grab the gun, but instead met a fist to the face. He fell into the ledge of the railing, feeling it knock against his back painfully.

"Wh-what?!" He snapped, completely confused. "The fuck is your problem, all I did was tell you my name, are you fucking nuts?!"

"That's not your name!!" he screamed. "You think you can fucking psych me out? Yes, fine--I'm James Bishop, you fucking figured it out! Use my brother's name again and I will kill you with my bare hands!"

Chase swallowed nervously. He didn't understand, really, what was going on. It didn't seem possible this was really happening, and his brain couldn't process it. There was no way this was his brother.

Well, yes, it made perfect sense; the hair, the fact that he was a goddamned spy...

But, he was nothing like James used to be. It couldn't be him.

"...I don't think I'm the one lying, asshole." He said, something akin to anger welling up in his throat. "I don't know how you guys on that side figured it out, but yes I am looking for my brother, and your little overreaction proves to me you aren't him!"

He wrinkled his nose.

"Just because your hair is red doesn't mean I believe your James, you asshole."

James stumbled backward, an expression of complete horror on his face.

"...Bro?" he asked quietly, unsure of what else to say.

Oh. Oh no, it was James.

He felt sick to his stomach. Had he acted cool enough? It was his first thought, and he pasted a cheesy grin onto his face. Yes, he had to act cool for his little brother.

"Hey, little bro, how's it been? Ready to come home?" He grinned widely, reaching to grab his hand. "Man, you're, like, fuckin' taller than me now, or some stupid shit like that? Ooh, I'm glad you kept your hair long though, it's nice."

He moved over to him, moving to pull him into a hug.

"Come on, let's go home."

James sidestepped the embrace, his expression cold.

"...You're a killer, Chase. What happened to you?"

He froze.

"What?" He asked, his temper flaring. He swallowed it back, for now, laughing it off. "Uh, excuse me? You think I could just walk in and get you back? I had to train myself, stupid, which meant...Well, it meant I had to become an assassin, dumbass. Your agency refused me, so I had to find another way to get you back!"

"Yeah, but you didn't find me!" he exclaimed. "I'm here to stop you from killing someone--what has that man ever done to you? Will killing him bring me back? What's wrong with you--you aren't the Chase I remember. My brother doesn't kill people."

He pounced suddenly, snarling. He grabbed his brother by his shirt and shoved him onto the ground.

"What the fuck is your problem?!" He shouted angrily, lip curling. "What the fuck did you expect me to grow up like, when you fucking left me to die on the streets!! You know who took me in? An assassin. Even your stupid, fucking little agency wouldn't take me in because I was 'damaged'!"

He ground his teeth together.

"You've forgotten how cruel the world is, James."

"I left you?!" he shouted, getting up and shoving his brother back. "You let them take me, Chase--you let them take me, and then you spent your time becoming a degenerate killer. You know why I didn't look for you? Do you know the only reason I wasn't busting my ass and tearing the world apart searching for my big brother? Huh?!"

He ground his teeth together, but finally he managed to speak.

"Why." It would have been a question, if not for the fact that his rage overpowered his ability to enunciate words properly.

"They told me you were dead," he said, glaring at his brother. "I heard gunshots, and they told me your brains were on the ground. So I gave up, because I was thirteen years old and my brother was dead." He picked his gun up from the ground, his movements agitated and restrained.

"What's your excuse, Chase?"

"And you believed them?!" He shouted, clenching his fists. "They fucking shot me and you believed that?!"

He spat onto the ground, clenching his fists harder.

"I can't believe you. If this is what you've become, I will desecrate you." He said, snarling.

"I could say the same about you!" he shouted back. "You've become something...something dirty. I want to believe you can be saved, but I'm not sure, brother..."