Overview

Pawn's Ninjutsu black belt hung on the wall of his basement dojo next to his Taijutsu black belt, which now sported a second-degree stripe. Other than that, the room looked much the same as it always had. But all was not as it had been.

Soaked with sweat and dressed in only his black gi pants, he beat the living crap out of his heavy bag. The bag rocked and swayed so violently that he had to counter each of his strikes with a follow-up on the opposite side of the bag to keep the whole thing from falling over. He couldn't get his mom's face out of his mind.

"Nice lady," he rasped between breaths.

More strikes.

"Can't have . that ."

His strikes were leaving deep welts on the bag. He shifted to the right.

"Nice lady ."

The base of the bag was a heavy black plastic, filled with sand. Black. The word no longer reminded him of an IRC nick. It reminded him of the suit and tie he had worn to her funeral. Everyone had worn black; it was his least favorite color right now. He turned his torso, chambered a low sidekick, and fired it into the bag's base, punishing it for being the wrong color. The dull thud, punctuated by a muffled crack, told the tale. The base had not been designed to withstand such an impact. It shifted backwards slightly and he slid in to keep it within striking range. He struck it...