Chapter 3: The Godless
The brisk air moved through the city, forcing maple leaves in dazzling colors off their branches. The fresh sea of color on the grey streets indicated the end of summer and the start of a new, more fickle season.
It was only three in the afternoon, but the dark towering clouds forcing their way across the sky were doing their best to squeeze out the last bit of light. The rays of sun around the edges of the bulbous monsters made the dreary sky look somewhat alluring.
Anyone could see that a storm was on its way.
Despite the obvious weather warning, a certain hospital in the heart of the city struggled to control a group of reporters from various news channels. Traffic was starting to build up, guards were cursing, and the hospital staff was nervously looking out of their windows.
A young reporter tried to work in front of a large camera while her hair kept blowing into her mouth, causing her words to come out somewhat muffled and desperate.
"We still don't know any more about Miss Sasha's condition. The hospital, or Miss Sasha's representatives for that matter, have not informed us on last night's events or her current state yet."
"What could be the reason behind the most famous female boxer Sasha's unfortunate defeat?"
"Is this shocking incident going to be another major blow for the country's boxing world?"
Not only her own country, but boxing communities around the world felt bad for the young female boxer who had once shocked them when a short video clip, in which she professionally beat a twenty-five-year-old man into pulp, went viral.
Many had been impressed by the young girl challenging a man double her size and called her courageous. Some had scorned her for being over-confident, arguing that the man had gone easy on her on purpose. But they all felt slapped in the face when she defeated her opponent on her first national-level match, with thousands of people as her audience.
She had proven herself, and she knew that her dream to become a professional boxer was about to come true.
Her hand, clad in a red boxing glove, was raised high in the sky while heavy beads of sweat dripped down on her other glove. Everyone had felt a sense of unexpected respect for her, and no one could have stopped themselves from becoming a die-hard fan at that point.
The sliver of doubt that still lingered with some critics was soon shrugged off when the legendary former boxer, Mosha, took her in as his disciple.
As time passed by, she got more recognition. The boxing world had gained a combination of incredible skill and an otherworldly kind of beauty. Not only bad boys can make hearts beat faster; bad girls are just as popular.
She reminded her fans of the typical bad girls in a glamorous Hollywood action movie. Her bloodshot eyes, strong posture, and sharp features made her unique within the general beauty standards of cute pouty girls.
When they looked at her, only one word came to mind: darkness.
She didn't talk much, and her dark black hair usually covered most of her face. Her following thought she used her hair to hide her injuries, but those closest to her knew her true face. Her naturally cold attitude and face betrayed no emotion, and it ironically made her stand out.
The more popular you become, the more scandals and rumors will surround you.
Sasha was no exception. She was rumored to be involved in shady and questionable business and scandals relating to heirs and celebrities, who only added to the questions surrounding her.
Just like she had fans and anti-fans, she was burdened with true and false rumors.
This is the price you pay for being a celebrity.
But, by merely being herself, she was slowly changing the opinions of narrow-minded people that didn't appreciate women's participation in violent sports.
Her sudden injury was a significant blow to the sports world. It had soon become apparent that she had suffered a severe fracture in her leg, which could instantly affect her career. Her boxing journey had only started six years ago, and it devastatingly seemed to be time for her to say goodbye already.
The cluster of roads around the hospital was clogging up. The honking of the cars and taxis was deafening and defeated any attempt of the reporters to do their job properly.
Several police cars arrived to add to the chaos. It seemed to get worse at first, until numerous traffic wardens poured out to help the desperate security guards who had been shooing away reporters. In no time, the remarkably diligent traffic wardens managed to clear the road and sent traffic on its way again.
Passers-by were impressed by the scene. Some tried to thank the chief with a smile of gratitude, but they were embarrassed and slightly taken aback when he didn't even take notice of them.
They were utterly wrong to think that the police had rushed over here for their sake.
The chief looked nervous as he quickly gathered his squad and looked at his watch every few seconds. He had been off duty when he suddenly got a call from his boss to clear the damned hospital roads immediately, for a very specific reason.
The wardens were professionals. They knew what to do without the chief needing to utter a word and lined up at the side of the road. Their chief stood before them, waited precisely one minute, and bowed exactly ninety degrees forward. His men did the same, and all remained bowed forward, completely motionless.
They could hear several cars rushing towards them, getting closer by the second. Nobody moved.
The reporters, hospital staff, and passers-by witnessing this rather strange behavior couldn't help but stare at them. The reputable chief, whom they usually saw on the news, was lowering himself before a seemingly invisible audience.
The sense of awe seemed to spread as though it was contagious. Everyone held their breath to see what would happen. Several cars appeared on the horizon, heading their way.
A black Mercedes Benz shone through a convoy of black, armored cars.
A VIP!
Everyone wondered who had demanded such a magnificent protocol.
That question was soon answered when the cars were near enough to make out the small flag on the bonnet of the black Mercedes. Eyes widened, jaws dropped, and excitement started to spread in the growing crowd of motionless spectators.
It was the prime minister's car.
The prime minister of country A.
Most of them had never even thought they'd ever see the prime minister up close, let alone outside a hospital in the city center, welcomed by a police squad.
Of course, the Mercedes windows were tinted black, and they couldn't even see the driver in the dusky grey light.
Alex was on his way to get rid of reporters, accompanied by several huge, frightening-looking men, clad in black suits with guns at their waists. Rushing out of the revolving hospital doors, they were thrown straight into the scene of the chief and his squad bowing towards the oncoming cars.
Alex signaled his crew to wait and crossed his muscular arms in front of his chest. His hawk-like gaze observed the Mercedes. He wasn't sure about the commotion; nothing seemed that special about the convoy. It was only the prime minister.
He rolled his eyes as he realized they had just wasted precious time over nothing and was about to walk away when his gaze brushed over the number plates of the armored BMW's surrounding the Mercedes.
That crest...
Something changed in his eyes. A fierce glimmer had come over his irises, and a menacing aura was gathering around him. His men saw the crest as well, but they remained unphased.
The crude look on their broad faces openly showed an unnerving kind of hostility as they watched the Mercedes approaching the hospital.
The crowd, admiring the convoy, didn't notice the huge men behind them until an unusual drop in temperature started to spread from the fearsome creatures. Eyes were looking around for the source of this chill. Holding their breaths, people backed away from them and decided that it was time to go home.
The spectacle wasn't quite as fun to observe anymore.
Alex's sharp gaze didn't budge and moved in perfect sync with the black Mercedes.
"Damn it. The bastards." he clicked his tongue and cracked his knuckles.
He only knew one man who would dare to kick Country A's prime minister out of his own car and take it shamelessly. After all, he used everything as though he owned it.
The Godless.
The people who knew about his existence could be counted on one hand. They all called him 'Godless' since no one knew what was his name was. Well, no one knew what he looked like, where he was from, or what he wanted either. He was a mystery that couldn't be solved. They only knew one thing about him:
He should be avoided at all costs.
Alex's eyes fell on that nasty, red eye-shaped crest again, which he despised to his very core. He was shocked because he couldn't believe that the Godless was back in country A, undoubtedly driving that particular Mercedes, with his lackeys as his convoy.
He didn't even want to think about the chaos about to take root.
No matter how much he hated that man, he couldn't deny his courage. Or was it brutality? the Godless had found his way back into a nation from which he was banned, and he had taken the prime minister's car to escort himself to his destination. What more was he capable of?
"That sly fox of a man..." Alex scowled and spat on the ground as he watched the cars vanish in the darkness of the streets. "Looks like America is in for some trouble again." He turned and signaled his men to return.
The guards at the hospital entrance had heard him cursing at the prime minister's car and gaped at Alex in disbelief.
Did they really just hear that?
***
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