People Of The Sun +PPV, Climax+

People of the Sun: Part One

In her dreams, she could almost hear them again.  The rustling of the jungle floor, amid fallen leaves and broken branches, as she and her sisters darted through the balmy morning.  The high-pitched peals of laughter shared by the close-knit sisterhood of her youth as they hunted down game.  Atma, being the strongest one of the group, had the unenviable task of hauling the carcass back to her village to be skinned, cooked, and greedily devoured by the woman many believed had the blood of an ancient Incan warrior inside her.  How else, they wondered, could they explain how massive and powerful one among them had gotten?  The Incan gods must have smiled down upon her.  Yet those smiles had turned to frowns, and screams of agony, as in her dreams, Requiem knew what came next.

The dream transmogrified into a cruel nightmare as the events unfolded, Atma unable to stop them, trapped in that massive body hauling her fresh kill towards her village... seeing the trucks pull up... the scores of men piling out, rifles in hand... and the burning... the smell of fire, to this day, still burnt a hole in Atma's soul.

In a language long since forgotten, Atma had demanded her sisters take refuge... she remembered kissing them on the forehead each in turn, and watching one by one as they disappeared into the jungle.  Even in dreams, she could see their faces clearly... most sharply, the face of the littlest one... the one who was never seen again...

Atma alone had returned to what was left of her village... Atma alone stomped through the charred remains of what was once everything she'd truly cherished... and it was Atma alone who stood in front of her people, either tranquilized or outright killed by these agents of destruction, prepared to die just to save what remained.

Regardless of what people might think in the modern day of the massive she-hulk, of her childish and innocent demeanor, her innocence was lost that day so long ago.  No more frolicking in the jungle with her sisters.  No more late night dances with her people around a blazing campfire... now everything had been, at the hands of these people, consumed by blaze.  No more love and respect.  In it's wake, would be a period of near-constant servitude to the man who, in that moment, stood in front of her, and took a long drag of that cigar that always seemed to be close at hand, adjusting those Coke-bottle glasses that Atma was sure, marred the eyes of Satan.

But she'd do it again if she had the chance.  Most of her people had been spared... and although it wasn't right, it was a way to let her people live.  Those words, rolling of the bastard's tongue as his men held their rifles at the ready, were engrained into Atma's skull.  Four little words that sealed the fates of both her and her people.

"This one will do."

Herded like the common beast her tormentors considered her to be, the then raven haired Atma was tossed into the back of a truck, bound with rope shackles she knew she could easily break... but didn't, for fear that in breaking them, she might end up breaking her people as well... and peering through the razor-thin slants at the world she was sure she'd end up leaving behind for good... those shimmering, catlike eyes peering out for one last good look at her past, at her childhood.  The faces of her sisters, hidden deeply within the dense foliage of the jungles she'd tried hardest to burn into her memory, glancing out as if to say goodbye to the massive woman they'd come to love.

The song... the slow, mournful song... it tore at her heart.  The radio blaring from the driver's compartment of the old military truck, a low and mournful requiem.  Requiem in D Minor, to be exact.

Requiem... it would come to be her name... and her curse.

But before she was the living muscle beast Requiem... she was Atma the Savior.

---

The dreams, even the nightmares, always ended in disappointment as Requiem opened her shimmering jade eyes and found herself staring at the ceiling.  She didn't need, as most people did after a complex dream, a minute to let the haze clear.  She knew what she had dreamt about even before she sat up and stared blankly at the opposite wall of her desolate hotel room.

Originally, Requiem and Kikyo-Chan had stayed in the same hotel room.  But, due the problem of Requiem's near-earthshaking snoring and Kikyo's odd hours, the decision was made to keep the two in separate rooms.  She almost wished, however, on nights like these, that she'd have her tiny friend to keep her company when she woke up from the planes of her past.  Of all the people whose lives the sadistic government agent known as Marco Tadakichi had ruined, none had more taken from them than Requiem Atma.

Groggily, Requiem made her way to her still-unpacked suitcase and fished through the contents.  Through several skimpy bodybuilding bikinis, issues of Musclemag and Muscle & Fitness that bore her grinning face plastered over the cover, until she came upon that scrap of paper.  A scrap of paper so important, that at Kikyo's suggestion, Requiem had it laminated in an effort to keep it forever.  To try to keep that moment forever.

The drawing on the paper wasn't in any manner articulate.  But the meaning in those scrawny stick figures tore at the she-hulk's heart.  The three figures scrawled on the old paper... the one on the far left far larger than the other three.  Obviously, that was meant to be her.  The one holding what was supposed to be a fish, was her elder sister Whist.  Whist had always been more of a fisher than a hunter, but still grudgingly accompanied Atma on her hunts, if nothing but in a show of solidarity.  And the tiny one in the corner... staring at her, and knowing that this budding little artist was probably buried in the cold, damp ground of her past was what finally brought Atma to tears.

Atma, Whist, and Cola.  The three had been the closest of sisters, deepest of friends, back in Peru.  Now Whist was running the tribe, Requiem Atma was in the states trying to chase someone else's dream in someone else's name, and Cola...

Requiem didn't deal with "alone" all that well.  So, regardless of it being two-and-some-change in the morning, Atma slid on the "WBL Studios 2006: Year of the Corpse" shirt she'd received at the party last week over the plain bra-and-panties set that showed off all 225 pounds of her musclebound physique and made the short walk from her own hotel room, to the adjoining room belonging to her tiny manager, and personal savior.

Luckily, unlike the response one would expect coming from someone woken up at two in the morning, a cute little grin appeared across the face of the cute little girl in the cute little Yu-Gi-Oh pajamas who opened the door.  Having managed Jo Phoenix, who partied and drank all night, Ellis Davis, who only came out at night, and Koji-Chan, who was a ninja, Kikyo-Chan had gotten used to the night life.  With her polite bow, Kikyo invited the massive she-hulk in, and closed the door behind the two.

"What's wrong?", were the first words out of Kikyo's mouth as she noticed the ubiquitous toothy grin she'd come to love from Requiem wasn't there in the least.

"I ain't interrupting tiny friend, am I?"

"Oh, of course not.  I'd finished my work pretty early, so I was just watching a couple of movies.  You're welcome to watch with me", the tiny prodigy chirped out, in an attempt to ease whatever was on the massive Peruvian's mind.  "I'll make us something to eat, if you want."

Food sounded good at a time like this... of course, it always sounded good to a 225 pound mountain of feminine muscle who needed to fuel that powerful machine.  So Kikyo, more bright and cheerful at two in the morning that most people were all day, went through her own things and began to prepare a bowl full of rice as Requiem took notice of the paused movie Kikyo-chan had been watching on a laptop with sharper picture quality than most HD-ready televisions.

"Tiny friend, is yer computer working okay?  It's all black and white, but it don't look like an old movie."

"Oh?  No, don't worry.  It's a new movie, but it was filmed in black and white.  They do that on occasion.  I don't know if you'd like it, though, it's kind of one of those intellectual movies.  You see, it's about a time in America when..."

"I had the dream again."

A soft, gentle sigh came from the 16 year old prodigy as she carried the small tray of steamed rice over to her musclebound friend.  "I'm sorry... I know just what a bad person Marco Tadakichi is.  He's been chasing me down for the last year, from federation to federation, but I can't even imagine what he did to  you and your people."

"Well, I ain't gotta imagine, 'cause I keep seeing it whenever I go ta sleep."

"I know, Requiem... but think about it.  Most of your family survived, and you broke free of that jerk Marco.  Plus, you're not alone anymore... you've got me, and my friends at the Studios on your side.  You've got your people back home cheering you on.  And if you ever need anything, or anyone, just ask, alright?  You're doing just great here in America.  You've got a match with that Tommy Osborne character for chance at the Heavyweight title."

"And what if I lose, tiny friend?"

"Then I'll still be proud of you."

The grin, slowly, returned to the massive she-hulk's face as she began wolfing down her rice, much to the delight of her tiny companion.  If only Ellis could have been satiated this easily, Kikyo-chan thought, then maybe she'd still be alive today... she could still remember the blood flowing from those wrists...

"So... what's this movie, tiny friend?"

"Well, it's called 'Good Night, and Good Luck'.  Basically, it's about a period in American history when a senator named Joseph McCartney was accusing people of communism for his own personal gain, and a newscaster named Edward R. Murrow who had the guts to stand up to him.  It's about the power of public opinion and the birth of television mired against governmental corruption."

"Uh... what?"

"... I've got Monty Python and the Holy Grail."

"BRING ME A SHRUBBERY!"

At least one crisis had been averted, Kikyo-chan thought with a gentle smile as she changed discs.  But there was a minor publicity blitz in the coming days, dedicated to getting in the public eye, a name and face to go with that massive body and powerful undefeated streak that the company seemed to care nothing about.  Sure, they went on and on about people like Depp and Bodom, and easily handed them titles for nothing, but Requiem, who had earned everything in this federation the hard way, it seemed the company didn't give a damn.  Not one single press release, not one poster, not one lick of attention to someone who wasn't part of their inner circle.  Kikyo-chan didn't have the heart, that night at least, to tell her massive client that staying in the HIWA was probably a bad idea, given what the company obviously thought of her.

Requiem didn't need a manager right now, she thought as she and her client watched King Arthur discussing the air-speed velocity of a swallow.  She needed a friend.  And Kikyo was honored to be both.

/////////////////////

People of the Sun: Part Two

A few months ago, a massive, sprawling mecca like New York, with it's cavalcade of flashing lights and violent sounds, would have terrified the massive she-hulk.  But things had changed so much since she'd been taken out of the hands of a man even William Bischoff Law, a man who reportedly had ties to everyone from Shirou Amakusa to Rugal Bernstein, refused to work with again.  Now, comfortably sitting in the passenger's side of the massive company Cruiser as it trudged through the early morning slog of the overcongested city streets, Requiem could comfortably look over this city the way it was meant to be seen... in awe.  Awe, and a slight filter of sleepiness, as the massive women let out a massive yawn, and her tiny driver looked over with a smile.

"Kind of a late night, huh?"

"Yeah..."

"Well, don't worry all too much about it.  After we do the show today, we should have the rest of the day off."

"Tiny friend, why does this guy's show come on so early?  Ain't people supposed to be sleeping?"

The tiny manager chuckled slightly, keeping one eye on her massive companion, and her other eyes on the bustling city streets, keeping an eye out for the proper building.

"Well... not everyone keeps the hours we do, Requiem.  The show comes on about the time normal people are getting ready to go to work, and it gives them something to listen to.  Besides, it's hosted by your new friend, Matt.  Right?"

Kikyo-chan noticed that blush right away... Requiem had a new 'boyfriend'.  Maybe one that could return her affections this time, unlike that Fred Rennings.  Kikyo still felt uneasy about associating with the once-glorious Political Machine, but they were in the only friends Requiem had, at a point.  She still couldn't get over the feeling that they were merely using her for their own gains... gains that had never been realized, thanks to the MWA shutting down.

A flicker on the dashboard caught Kikyo-chan's eye, and her tiny fingers flicked over the side-mounted speaker phone... with all the dangers a traditional cellular phone presented mid-transit, something she could essentially work hands-free was a Godsend.

"Kikyo-Chan here."

"Kikyo?  Hey, it's Matt Money..  You hear the news this morning?"

"Um... we're pulling into the building right now", Kikyo-Chan said with a slight look of confusion, as the cruiser hunted around the parking garage within walking distance of the massive Sirius Satellite Radio building.  "Is it something that can't wait until we get in the building?"

"Well, I'm gonna have to dedicate a pretty big portion of the show today towards it, and push your segment back.  Law's been injured... apparently something happened while he was filming oversees, and he's gonna be out of commission for a while.  Luckily, thanks to our ties with SNK/Playmore, they're gonna let Chizuru Kagura run things until he gets better.  So we're gonna lead off with that, and save your interview until the end, because Chizuru's actually coming on the show today.  Just letting you know you're gonna have a couple hours to wait.  And the video cameras are indeed going to be there, so... look the part, alright?"

"Gotcha.", replied the tiny manager as she flicked off the phone, and the Cruiser, in turn.  She'd known about the deal to bring Matt Money's uncensored semi-political, semi-wrestling related morning show Money Talks, to television.  But the news about WBL, head director of the studios, came as a surprise.  Requiem, of course, was blissfully unaware of the complications as she leapt out of the Cruiser.  If anyone could take the reigns, hopefully temporarily, of the massive talent agency and film company, it would be the Shinto priestess and multiple-time sponsor of the King of Fighters tournament.

Of course, all it meant for the slightly groggy Requiem Atma, was a couple of hours before she went on.  All the more time to prepare for her appearance.  While Kikyo wasn't sure what television station was going to be picking up the broadcast, any publicity was good publicity.  So, change of clothes in hand, Kikyo led Requiem into the massive Sirius building.

The uncensored, essentially commercial free Satellite radio service had experienced a massive boom in the last year, with names like Oprah Winfrey and Howard Stern digging their claws in.  So, obviously, the Studios had to get their foot in the door.  Matt Money, while failing as a wrestler, was doing an amazing job as the official radio host for WBL Studios Radio on a station that was mostly j-rock and wrestling updates, and was more than honored to have the most brightly shining star employed by the Studio on his show to promote, what would hopefully be, her greatest triumph.

A few minutes of navigating the early-morning rush, a series of elevator rides and floor changes, finally brought the hulking Peruvian to the proper floor, and more importantly, the proper green room.  One lock of the door later, it was just Kikyo and Requiem, alone in the green room, as Requiem stripped off her shirt and slid on one of her bodybuilding-standard bikini tops, and Kikyo flittered around in the bag for the tanning oil.

"Kikyo-chan, who's Chizuru?"

"Oh, you'll like, her, Requiem.  She's a very nice lady.  Now hold still so we can get ready for your appearance."

Complying, the massive Peruvian bodybuilder held still so her tiny manager could begin applying the tanning oils meant to help accentuate the cuts and striations of her massive muscles... of course, letting out a few harmless yawns in the process.  She had, after her nightmare about her not-so-distant past, been up more or less all night.  And regardless of how much she liked any forum used to show off her hulking body, a body she'd worked her whole life to build up, she was looking forward to the end of the show, when she could finally get some rest.

Several minutes later, Kikyo-chan's work was finished, and Requiem took a long look at herself in the mirror... one of her favorite pastimes, although one wouldn't call her vain.  She was just... proud.  Her ring attire, white denim jeans and a white bikini top, fit her as snugly as a second skin, allowing the contrast to show on her powerful physique as she let loose with a couple of powerful flexes.

"Yeah... looking good!  Right, tiny friend?"

Kikyo-chan bowed in respect, replacing the oil in the bag for a shimmering ivory brush, as she motioned for the massive she-hulk to take a seat.  Her client complied, and Kikyo proceeded to run the fine-toothed brush through the masses of Requiem's crimson locks.  A closer inspection revealed that the roots... black as night... were beginning to show, and reminded herself to touch up Requiem's dye job some time before her match with Osborne.  Her client's looking her best was her job... Requiem's performance was something different.

And indeed, it was something different... the massive she-hulk who'd single-handedly brought the sport of bodybuilding back to the international spotlight, was starting to have the same effect on the wrestling world, a market whose fans had become disenchanted by piss-poor match quality, and vital airtime dedicated to the wrong people.  Requiem was what a powerhouse was supposed to be... a mountain of strength, who still knew how to work the crowd.  Although that part seemed almost second nature... regardless of the complete lack of airtime or support what passed as HIWA management had shown their biggest star going into the main event of their biggest pay-per-view, the fans still had adhered themselves to Requiem.  The world, Kikyo-chan was sure, would soon follow suit.  Requiem had all the makings of an international celebrity, and her main goal had been achieved... Requiem was now at a point where, unlike the screw job in the MWA, she could still be a star without having to step foot into a wrestling ring ever again.

A short look at Kikyo-chan's watch mid-brush told the 16 year old prodigy just what she'd feared... at 5 in the morning, preparing to close out the show with Matt Money rather than open it, Requiem still had a good three hours before she was expected to be at her massive best.  She put away her brush as her loyal client and even more loyal friend stood back up with a grin, admiring her gargantuan physique in the mirror.  225 pounds of solid muscle pulsed and swelled with every passing flex, ending with Requiem's favorite... while she, like the tiny Kikyo, occasionally lamented that she didn't have large breasts like most wrestling 'divas', Requiem's set of huge, hulking pectorals served her just fine as she tensed her powerful chest.

"Awesome!  I'm ready!  When do we get to go on?"

"It's going to be a few hours... so why don't you take a little nap?  I'll get you up and retouch your tanning oil before you get on, alright?  I'm going to go speak with Miss Kagura about what happened with the filming... you just worry about getting a little rest, alright?"

Requiem responded to 'tiny friend' the only way she honored... with a massive, powerful hug that swept the prodigy off her feet, and forced her to hover in the air, pressed closely to that wall of solid muscle, for several seconds.  "Tiny friend is so good to me!  I hope I make you proud today!"

"I'm already proud of you", replied Kikyo as the tiny manager was returned to terra firma, and with a deep and respectful bow, disappeared from the green room, leaving Requiem to recline on the plush Naugahyde couch and fall into sleep...

/////////////////////

In your last hour stand... you'll notice the one you loved in dreams is here among the others... Chase, it's you I want... but if I can't have her... then why should I... spend any time... in a world that's going to end pretty soon...

---

People of the Sun: Part Three

---

The remnants of the massive masonry marvel known as Machu Piccu sprawled out all around the three as they traveled down the roads beaten paths laid out by their imperial ancestors centuries ago.  No glue or mortar to hold the bricks together, they were instead built to interlock into each other.  One could imagine, however, hearing them groaning in strain as against one, laid a massive figure of a woman, itching idly at the coarse cotton fabric of her traditional cotton cushma... a loose tunic stitched up on both sides, and brilliantly decorated with the decorative patterns her baby sister had laid out for them.  The straw hat marring the view of her stony face made her look more ominous than cheerful, but once you saw the wide, goofy grin hidden underneath, you got a completely different impression of the one they called Atma.

There in the distance, far past Machu Piccu and all the ancient secrets it still held, Atma could almost see her village... could almost hear the preparation for the night's dance.  She'd forgotten why they were holding yet another one tonight, and honestly, couldn't care less for such reason.  It was an excuse to party, and half the time, the rowdy Atma didn't even need that.

But there was something on her mind... something only the most perceptible could feel, could see in those shimmering jade eyes.  Luckily, the young woman traveling down the road trodden earlier by the massive Atma was one of those people.  One of the people who really understood, even to this day, the giantess that was Atma.  She was, by all definitions, as utterly gorgeous as her sister was massive.  Long legs, large breasts, lightly tanned skin, and shimmering raven hair framing a face that defied description, save for the word 'beauty'.  And of course, fish, in some form, be it designed across her shimmering blue cushma, or the smoked layers sitting in the ceramic bowl the woman brought up the old, beaten path.  A bowl she placed in front of the semi-hidden face of her massive sister, who gleefully took several massive bites.

"What's on your mind, Atma?"

"Meow... I dunno, Whist.  Things around here are just starting to get kinda... weird, ya know?  I mean... like something's missing."

The slender woman leaning next to Atma, her voice oddly thick with a British accent, rather than her people's traditional Native American accent, tried to sympathize best she could, with what little she had to go on.  "Such as..."

"... such as... even you, Whist.  I mean, ever since you got back from that year you spent far away, you even sound different."

"I learned how to speak English properly.  What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing, I guess... but... it's just weird, ya know?  I mean, everyone's starting to act different... more like those people we meet in the village.  I mean, we're even going to put in something called... plum... bing.  What is this plum-bing?"

Whist sighed, half-annoyed, yet the gentler concerned half taking over for now, seeing the expression on Atma's face as she forwent her own dinner, giving Atma the bowl entirely.  "Trust me, sister, you'll wonder how you ever lived without it."

"Ya keep saying that when something changes, big sister.  The phones, the automobiles, and now the plum-bing.  We did get alone without it, and we got along fine."

"But dear, things are going to be so much better these days with these changes."

"Better than what?"

The frustration was beginning to set in again, and Whist bit her tongue.  She was trying hardest to see where Atma was coming from, but once one has learned about public toilets, one has a problem shitting in the woods.  But that just wasn't it... Atma had put her finger on the pulse of something that even she, in her haste to 'upgrade' her people's way of life, may have missed.  Sure, their father and tribe leader had been holding more traditional dances lately, but the excuses always seemed flimsy.  As if he was, seeing this revolution and change in their people, was trying to cram the old ways down their throats.  Originally, she thought it was merely so he could keep control of his tribe... but maybe he felt the way his massive, powerful daughter did.

Whist's slender, silken arms wrapped around Atma's mammoth frame, consoling her as best she could.  "I'll talk to father about it in the morning", she replied, as soothingly as she could.  "Let's go back to the village, alright?  Father needs your help destroying logs for the fire."

With a slight nod resulting in Atma's thatched straw hat catching the wind and fluttering away, revealing her shimmering black locks matching her sisters', she wrapped her own monstrous arms around her sister, and returned the hug best she could without crushing her elder sister's spine.

It was before the hug could be broken, however, that the two felt a slight interference... a very small interference, in the form of two tiny arms wrapping the two's legs.  Both Atma and Whist stared down at this little interloper... and saw, what could easily have been either of the two at the tender age of ten.  This was the only way Cola, the youngest of the three sisters, could communicate... when she was much younger, she'd seen their grandparents slaughtered by a foreigner seeking refuge while escaping a murder charge, and was so shocked by the terrifying event, that even to this date, she was unable to speak.  So, if no other way than to communicate her little world to the rest of her tribe, their little sister had become a little artist.

Of course, she much preferred physical communication, and displayed as such as she hugged her older sisters close.  Cola had no reason to be involved in the hug... other than the fact that she loved her sisters.  And that, in her still child-like mind, was all that mattered.

The embrace was broken, and Atma knelt down to come as close to eye-to-eye with her little sister as possible, and gave her that massive, toothy grin that always made the tiny artist smile.  "Did you come all this way yourself?"

The tiny girl nodded.

"You've got to be more careful", Whist reprimanded Cola gently.  "It's easy to get lost here.  You shouldn't come here without one of us, alright?"

"But... she's with both of us right now, right?"

"Oh, you know what I mean.  It's time to get back to the village anyways... get ready for the dance.  Not entirely sure why we're holding one tonight, though... the lunar cycle isn't..."

All of a sudden, Cola's tiny hand shot up... a gesture she learned in one of the schools her village had visited, but never actually enrolled in, to indicate she had something to say.  Atma kept her kneeling glance at her baby sister as she watched Cola reaching into her knapsack, pulling a small piece of coarse paper and a small crayon... both she'd also gotten from the school.

"You know why we're having a dance?", the she-hulk asked, as Cola nodded enthusiastically, and continued with her drawing.  Her stick figures were usually the traditional kind... stick for a body, arms, legs, and a round little head.  But this picture had a circle for a body, and another hastily scrawled figure inside said circle.  Whist caught on immediately.

"So... it's official?  Mother really is pregnant?"

Cola nodded, to which Atma replied with a massive hug that swept her tiny 10-year old sister off the ground for a few seconds longer than Cola would have liked.

"Oh, this is great!  Mom and dad are gonna have another baby!  You're not gonna be the baby anymore!  Ain't that great?  Come on, let's go!  I gotta break up some wood for the dance!"

United again, for what none of them realized would be the final time, the three traveled down the long, winding road back towards their village, the ancient buildings of Machu Piccu being them.  Like the masonry of the ancient buildings, no mortar held the three together.  They... just fit.

"Do you... smell smoke?"

Atma, to this day, couldn't remember which of the two had said that, only the shock and horror as they saw their village in the distance...

...in flames.

"Take Cola and hide", Atma growled in a tone so deep and forceful, that even the intelligent Whist knew there was no arguing with her.  Scooping the tiny Cola in her arms as she waved farewell to Atma... for the last time... and the massive she-hulk stepped towards what was left of her village.

Arrogance... the arrogance of the one she decided was their leader. An elderly man in a blue trenchcoat, his amber-tinged Coke-bottle glasses gleaming in the sun.  The arrogance to look around at the dancing flames of what was once her past, reach into that trenchcoat, and pull out a cigar... and light it with what was once her home.

"What... another one?", she remembered the man saying in an accent she couldn't recognize as Japanese.  "Throw her with the rest.  We're not leaving until we find that gold."

Those who knew her as Requiem these days, thought she was a gentle giant, and in most respects, she was.  But one can only push one so far... like the beasts she hunted down in the jungle for her meals, her large and powerful hands gripped the neck of one of the knife-wielding henchmen of this cigar smoking demon.  However, unlike those hulking beasts, it was easier than easy for the then 'merely' 200 pound mountain of feminine muscle to crush the man's neck.

Of course, going into primitive territory, the cigar smoker hadn't expected his men would need guns.  But Atma, like everyone who met her found out, shattered all expectations at the ends of her fists.  Fists unclenched into hands that broke skulls, snapped necks, and crushed throats.  Finally getting her hands on one of those military-grade knives, Atma became even more of a demon of revenge, cutting down the soldiers who signed on thinking  this was going to be a cakewalk... truly, the blood of Atma's Incan ancestors ran hot through Atma's veins as she cut down ones who were still, even at this time, destroying everything she loved.

That's when she heard the shot.

The cigar smoker, obviously, had come prepared as a pearl-handled revolver glinted in the blistering flames, aimed at the small gang of tribesmen and women... more specifically, the head of what was once the elderly woman who used to cook her sisters smoked fish on weekends to repay them for rebuilding her old hut.  A being that was now, the first and only confirmed casualty of the blaze that consumed Atma's soul.  That gun, pointed at her people, was far more effective than if it'd been pointed at the massive she-hulk herself.  She could almost feel the blood of the Incans freeze cold in her veins, replaced with concern for what this cigar smoking demon would do.

"Fascinating... this one will do.", the man rasped out, looking back to what was left of his men.  "The gold's going to be put on hold for a minute, men.  We're going ahead with Project 21-13.  I believe I've found the perfect specimen."

"Leave my people alone!"

The smoking man turned his attention back to the she-hulk, the two engulfed by the blaze around them, neither seeing anything but their oppressor opposite them.

"Are you... willing to trade your life for theirs?"

Atma didn't have to think twice... and the woman who, just minutes ago, had slaughtered ten of his best men in the name of her people, was as silent as a grave as she was herded like cattle into the back of a military-grade transport truck, shackled around the powerful wrists and thick ankles, chained at her powerful neck, and herded away from the only life she'd even known.  As her people tended to the old fisher woman, Atma looked out the small slants in the gaps between the wooden barriers behind her, to take one final look through the jungle.

And, in the dense foliage, she could see two pairs of eyes...

---

I need you now, more than I ever did... I'll hand myself over for you...

---

Sadness, confusion, heartbreak... all gave way to confusion as Atma opened her shimmering jade, yet still catlike, eyes, and took in the scene of the WBL Radio green room.  Expecting either the dense foliage of her homeland, or the cruel brick walls of her captor and tormentor, Requiem was surprised to see a classy, elegant, yet still simple, lounge-type of room.  Atma... Requiem now, she reminded her self... arched her thick neck over to the two figures standing across from her, and for a minute, thought she was back in her past.  But while she didn't recognize the tall, raven-haired woman dressed elegantly in tight slacks and a white jacket that appeared some combination between a military jacket and a Shinto priestess' robe, she recognized the little bundle of sweetness and light knelt down in front of the reclining she-hulk.

And again, Requiem was back in New York, in the green room of Money Talks, awaiting a radio and television opportunity to talk about her match against Tommy Osborne, a man she neither knew nor cared about... and far removed from her home.

Kikyo-chan held up a small, decorative yellow plastic package of cheese crackers and handed them to Requiem.

"I got your favorite... they're cheese."

"Thank you, tiny friend."

The Peruvian she-hulk dug into the crackers, taking a sip of water provided by the tall, priestess-like woman.  Requiem stood up, immediately out-massing and towering over this elegantly beautiful Oriental woman as Kikyo-chan went quietly around to re-touching Requiem's tanning oil.

"Who is you?"

"Chizuru Kagura", the woman replied with a graceful, almost Geisha-like bow, the graceful motions of which accentuated the woman's loose, bell-bottom-like sleeves.  "I'll be governing things around here for a while, while your friend, Mr. Law, recovers."

"What's wrong with Mr. Movie Director man?"

"Well... apparently, he was editing some footage he'd shot for a potential client, and there was an accident in the editing room, in which a tray of televisions fell over.  The resulting glass shards cut the poor man's arms all to ribbons."

"Owwie.  Well, it's real nice to meet ya... you're very pretty.  But someone messed up yer sleeves.  They're all dangly and stuffs."

"I'll get right on that", Chizuru said with a lilting laugh that seemed to help improve Requiem's mood just the tiniest bit.  Satisfied with her client's appearance, Kikyo-chan placed the tanning oil back in Requiem's gym bag and, with help from a powerful lift from her powerful friend, wiped away the last traces of Requiem's tears.  Somehow, instinctively, Kikyo knew what had happened in the few hours Requiem had been snoring like a jackhammer on crack.

"You're not alone anymore, Requiem... okay?"

Resisting the urge to hug her tiny fiend right then and there, for fear of mussing up the tanning oil across her powerful chest, Requiem merely sat her tiny friend back on the ground, and subsequently took her hand.

"Let's go, tiny friend", Requiem chirped out as best she could.  "We gots a show to do."

And the one once known as Atma the Savior, her own personal savior in hand, made her way down the short hallway, followed by Chizuru Kagura, towards the small oaken desk, and the smartly-dressed stockbroker turned radio host sitting behind it...

---

This com-link's lost it's frequency, and I feel that we're coming home short... here, take me instead... I'd rather not see her off alone...

---

(Lyrics to "Cuts Marked in the March of Men" courtesy of Coheed & Cambria)