The Kyoto Welcoming Committee

He kicked me in the cunt.

The motherfucker kicked me in the cunt!

That was the main thought - aside  from imagining Johnny dying in various sundry ways - that occupied her mind as she staggered away. She was tough. She could take hard hits. She was used to most kinds of pain. But you could never really grow accustomed to taking punishment in that particular area of the body. ”Swear to God,” She muttered as she placed her fist to the concrete and started to push off. ”Gonna rip your fucking balls off, you fucking-”

Makoto had a good threat worked up, but she wasn’t able to spit it out before Johnny’s fists crashed down hard on her back, dropping her to the floor again. This time she went down flat, and that was where she stayed for a moment, before sheer rage gave her enough energy to start pushing back up again.

There was no way she was staying down. Not with him.

As Mako began to stand, Flashy's laughter rose with her, a mirthless guffaw that was as much an omen of bad news as it was an actual expression.

"Ha, couyon..you realllllly thought you had me, didn't you?"

She was tough. That was made plainly evident. But Zombie Johnny was a mean bastard. If she wasn't content with staying down, he'd give her something to make the idea seem just a little more palatable.

As the biker began to get up, Johnny did something simple and cruel if it connected. His knee pulled up towards his stomach.

"Give this bitch a hand!"

The Cajun Caveman lifted up his heel and tried to bring down onto one of Makoto's hands, doing his best to shatter her carpals and metacarpals with the planting of his foot.

From the sidelines, Stone inched forward as Makoto writhed from the pain, clearly considering stepping in. Johnny was tough, tougher than they’d expected, but two-on-one they would be able to thrash him easy enough. If all Makoto wanted to do was record a beatdown, she hardly saw how it mattered.

A quick glare from their leader stopped that cold, though. She’d started this, and she was finishing it. No interference needed or wanted. It was a matter of pride.

She’d only looked away for a moment, but that was too long. It was enough time for Johnny to move in, raise his leg, then bring his foot down hard on her hands, making a sickening crunch as her fingers were sandwiched between the pain. Makoto screamed as hot fire scorched her bones...for a couple of seconds. When they passed, her screech turned into a howl of anger, a roar of rampaging rage. One fist was injured, but she did have a backup, and she knew exactly what to do with it.

She shot her arm in between his legs, then lifted it up fast, looking to swing it upwards, right into his crotch. Fairplay, turnabout, all that shit.

The tide changed so fast. So terribly fast.

One minute, Makoto was on the ground, shrieking with Flashy's heel pressing her knuckles into the asphalt. He figured he might as well make her a one-handed woman in an ass-kicking contest.

"Hand hurts? Well, there's a lot more where tha-GAAHH! YOU DIRTY FUCKER!!!"

The next, he was on his knees, dry heaving, hands holding his sides as the low caustic pain of a shot to the crotch sat heavy in his belly, slowly seeping up in his esophagus and coming out with a rattling, heavy moan. It's a shock that he didn't throw up from the impact. She punched the shit out of him. Full uppercut. Right to the womb shifter.

Flashy fell to his side from his rubber knees like a shot deer before crawling back towards the van at a handicapped snail's pace.

He'd always stashed something under the wheel well, considering it akin to Foghorn Leghorn numbering his feathers for such an occasion. Fail to prepare? Prepare to fail.

One would severely doubt he'd be able to make it before Makoto would be on him like an angry hornet.

Nevertheless, he persisted.

Oh. Of all the many, many men Makoto had struck in the balls over the years, Johnny Flash would always hold a special place in her heart. The way he took the blow, the look on his face, that funny-ass sound he made - God, she was glad this was being recorded - the way he stumbled away.

Perfect. Just perfect.

In fact, if she hadn’t been in so much pain herself, what with her crushed fingers and all, she would’ve been laughing her ass off. Hell, even with it, she still managed a moderate chuckle.

But full laughter would have to wait until after she’d beaten him to a nigh-unconscious bloody pulp. Now it was payback time.

It took her a moment to get back up, what with her barely functional hand and all, but Makoto managed it as Johnny retreated for his van, crawling, as if she was ever going to let him get in there and make an escape. Sure, it sucked to move, and her hand needed serious attention, but she still had three perfectly functional limbs to beat him up with.

She limped over to him and gave him a swift kick in the side, making sure the point of her toe hit his ribs dead-on. ”You going somewhere, fucker?” That same boot was brought up, then dropped hard on his spine. ”Huh? Got something to say, bitch?”

It was funny, the way the Cajun seemed to look his his favorite animal, the American Alligator. Crawling on his belly, and putting one foot and arm in front of the other.

The first shot to his ribs landed. "F-FUCK!" Flash could feel his skeleton going concave on itself, buckling with the pressure of a downward heel fired like a piston, eliciting a harsh, teeth clenched scream. "Nyyaaahh."

He persisted, his mouth tasting of iron. Internal bleeding had to be in the cards, but he would make his way back to that FUCKING VAN.

One foot. One hand. One foot. One-"AAAAHH!!"

Her boot dropped on his spine like a paint can from a second story, hitting him right in the small of his back as he gurgled, staring at the van about an arm's length away.

Flash's hand clawed at the distant van as if it was a skeletal gesture from the grave, the hand of some revenant pouring out of the soil to grasp at light that would not come.

His reptile-smart brain started to measure something, he could really get hospitalized before his first match. This Makato, Mako, w-whatever the fuck...she could make a name for herself on the bones of the Cajun Deathmatch King.

That couldn't happen. Not if he could allow it. Think.

"P-please.."

He said softly, his soft Cajun drawl a plea for mercy.

"..M-mercy..."

Rolling over, under her boot, he looked up at her, small crocodile tears in his eyes as his hands raise as if to beg off.

"..I-I made a mistake. I f-fucked up..."

If she took advantage of his begging and couldn't see through it, he'd grab her ankle and put a foot into her thigh while rolling his hips up.

A monkey flip could potentially send her head and shoulders first into the side of the van.

If he can't use weapons he had stashed IN the van, maybe he could use the van ITSELF.

Otherwise, the pain train continues it's motion.

And now came the begging.

There Makoto was, pinning him to the floor, grinding her heel hard into his back and enjoying the sounds he was making. Torture, anguish, pain, and she’d get to relive it all at her leisure. In high-definition, no less.

If there was a better way to spend her nights, she was having a hard time thinking about it with the searing pain in her hand. But then Johnny-Boy had to go and ruin it all with the begging. The pleading. She sneered the second she heard those mewling words come from his mouth, and it honestly kind of pissed her off even more than all the resistance he’d put up to this point. She could respect someone who fought back, even when the fought back against her. That, she could work with.

But this? Beating up some whiny little bitch? Not the mark she was hoping for.

Thoroughly disgusted, she raised her boot and prepared to smash his skull into the street, giving him the concussion he deserved for ruining her moment. That was the exact second it all went to shit.

Before she could react, Makoto was hurled forward and the top of her skull was introduced to the van, slamming hard against it. She fell to the ground, grasping her head and rolling around in a stupor, as blood began to seep from a fresh gash where metal met skin.

Well, this was better, at least.