GI Joe Fan Fiction Written by: Princess Kitana email: zehra@ameritech.net **************************************************************** Author's notes: Okay, here's my story. Please bear in mind that this was NOT supposed to be a fanfic by itself; it was meant to be part of the beginning of a larger work. After I wrote it, I realized that I did not remember enough about GI Joe to write a complete fanfic. All constructive suggestions, opinions or criticism will be eagerly welcomed. Any information that anyone can offer about the characters and background would also be helpful. Before anyone brings it up, yes, this part of my story WAS based off of a scene from an episode that I vaguely remember. I liked the idea so much that I decided to use it. Finally, these are not my characters. They belong to Marvel/Sunblom, and I'm using them without permission. So, without further adieu. . . ***************************************************************** "Dad?" Shana O' Hara's voice seemed to evaporate as soon as the words had left her lips, absorbed into the heavily-padded expanse of the dojo where she had spent most of her childhood. She called out again, taking a private comfort in something so mundane and familiar as the sound-absorbing quality of the dojo's main room. Adjusting the strap of her duffel bag, Shana strode into the room and took in the few changes since her last visit. There were more punching bags dangling from the ceiling, and a new weapons rack proudly displayed a wide assortment of gleaming blades and polished wood. Among them, Shana noticed a new addition. It was a sword, sleek and slender and almost too delicate for use in battle. But its serrated edges glittered with a cold, hard light that no ceremonial sword could manage. She lifted it, testing its weight and balance, and finding them to be nearly as perfect in her grip as the sword's construction. It was as if the weapon had been made exclusively for her. "It's yours, if you can use it," a familiar voice confirmed. With that warning, the lights went out. Even in the heavy silence, Shana could hear the metallic slither of swords being pulled from their sheaths. She considered facing her opponents unarmed, but decided against it; using the sword would be more of a challenge. A muted whistle alerted her to the sound of a weapon slicing through the air. She ducked, not even flinching as the blade missed her face by mere inches and dug into her duffel bag. She sensed her assailant's confusion as his weapon connected with the soft fabric and used his momentary lapse to strike; even in the dark, Shana's fingers instantly seized the man's wrist in a nerve-shattering grip. His fingers flew open and his sword clattered noiselessly against the floor. She released her hold and, before he could react, landed a swift kick to his chest, sending him tumbling backwards. The next two assailants, more wary after the defeat of their comrade, attempted to hem her in from both sides. Although they moved with practiced stealth, Shana's own training and the adrenaline surging through her veins heightened her perceptions; she was relying purely on instinct now. She dropped to the floor, pivoting her body around one leg, while flailing the other one in a circle around herself. The second attacker was knocked off his feet; while he struggled to regain his bearings, she swept her foot back in a single, fluid motion and knocked him down. The third opponent changed tactics; he charged at her in a full frontal attack. She jumped up, drawing her knees to her chest, and somersaulted over his head. In midair, she twisted, planted her feet on his back and used it as a springboard to push him down, while propelling herself into a backflip. She landed neatly in a fighting stance as her assailant crumbled to the padded floor. "Good." The same, familiar voice that had spoken before sounded approving, even in the sound-dampened dojo. "But you'd better plan on using that sword." Shana's strained ears couldn't locate the source of that disembodied voice, but the intuition she had relied on earlier warned her to spin around. She raised her sword, blocking a hit from the fourth and final attacker. Mildly surprised that her narrow blade didn't snap under the initial impact, Shana retaliated. Her opponent's wider sword easily obstructed her blow, but she noticed that it took more effort to swing the heavy weapon. Her own sword, almost ridiculously light and maneuverable, made it look clumsy by comparison. Those two deciding qualities, she realized, amid the shrill crashing of metal blades, reflected her own slight physique, and were what allowed her sword to conform so well to her fighting style. Again, Shana suspected that the weapon had been tailored for her. They continued to fight for several minutes, striking and countering without any real progress or a clear victor. Shana knew that she had the advantage; even without the weapon, she could fight like a specter, solidifying only long enough to deliver a blow and fading away before her enemy could reciprocate. Still, she recognized that she might not get another opportunity to become familiar with the sword, and, as her father would say, she needed all the experience she could get in her line of work. And even though no practice could prepare her for actual warfare, he did have a point. So Shana fought dutifully, reminded of the monotonous drilling in the early stages of her training, until she knew that even the most demanding *sensei* would consider her proficient with the weapon. At her opponent's next blow, Shana decided to strike. She ducked beneath his sword, feeling the rush of cold air as it screamed over her head. Before he could attempt to kick her away, she positioned one of her feet behind his knees and pulled it towards her, knocking him down. Within an instant, the keen edge of her sword rested lightly against his throat. "Thanks for the sword," she said, lifting the weapon, "Dad." Even in the darkness, she thought she could sense the smile on his face. Without warning, the lights blazed to life. Before Shana's eyes had fully adjusted to the sudden brightness, her father's arms were around her in an enthusiastic hug. "What can I say, Princess? You earned it." He squeezed her tighter for a moment, his only indication that he hadn't expected to see her again. "You keep getting better every time I see you." "Does that mean that you're not going to lecture me about practicing, this time?" she teased, returning the hug. He snorted. "Don't count on it. I can only spoil you so much, you know." "Yeah," chorused Mike, her eldest brother. "We wouldn't want army life to make you soft." He trousled red her hair playfully. She backed away, raising the sword in a mock threat. Another sibling, Dave, grimaced. "Or sneaky. That was a dirty trick to play with the duffel bag. I thought that I cut you in half!" "Not so easy, big brother. Cobra's tried to do much worse, and I *always* come back!" Just as if the sun had slipped behind a cloud, the entire atmosphere of the room seemed to darken at Shana's words. The creases on her father's forehead deepened, and his eyes turned inward. Something in his demeanor brought his childrens' banter to an abrupt halt. The silence that followed was more profound than anything the sound- absorbing dojo had produced. After a long, uncomfortable moment, Shawn O' Hara finally turned to his daughter and said, "That's what your mother used to say." "Dad! What happened to Mom isn't going to happen to me!" "She didn't plan on dying, Shana. She thought she was going one last routine mission before she retired." His tone was uncharacteristically stern, the closest he ever came to a reprimand. "Your mother thought that she would always beat the odds. She never considered there'd be a day when she wasn't so lucky. You've got to rely on skill, Shana, not luck. Especially in your line of work. Got it?" She opened her mouth to protest, but quickly shut it as she took in his expression of deadly earnest and nodded. Satisfied, he relaxed slightly. His face converted into a more familiar expression, but the remnants of shadows still haunted his eyes. "Good. Come on, dinner's ready. We'll practice some more after we eat."