Opening my eyes, I find a severe headache waiting for me. I blink twice, scanning my surroundings. I'm propped against a wall, in some sort of office. A thick wooden desk is at the far end of the room, adorned with a heavy brass lamp. I move my arms, to feel someone beside to my right. Gently, I turn my head to see Josh sitting, and staring straight ahead. Following his gaze, I make out a man behind the desk. I note the dark suit and fedora. He looks like a mob boss from the twenties. Seeing that I'm conscious, the man signals to the people on either side of his new hostages. Strong hands pull me up, then push me towards him. The same thing happens to Josh. Neither of us resists this time. Once we're standing in front of Michael Corleone Jr., Josh brakes into a glare. "Hello, Carlos." The boss smirks. "Hello, Groban. You're looking well. Decided to try and beat this time?" He laughs, telling his henchmen to take us to our rooms. I follow a small, but athletic Hispanic girl. She looks about seventeen, with a long, brown ponytail, and eyes just like Carlos'. The back of her neck reads, Bonita, as she guides me down a hallway. Reaching a room at the end of the hall, Bonita shoves me through the opened screen. A short while later, I hear Josh forced into the space across from me. Quickly, I peek down the walkway, and tap on his door. He slides it open, pulling me inside. Careful to whisper, I exclaim,"What the hell is going on?" Josh rubs my forehead, then, lowers himself on the mat provided as a bed. Clearing his throat, he starts. "When I was around twelve years old, my brother and I took a Kung Fu class. Our instructor, Mr. Lyle DeVille, was a young man in his early twenties. Well, one of the boys in my age group-his name was Antonio-had a real knack for the art. I mean, he was the next Bruce Lee, but his father-though not enrolled in any classes-was even better. However, they weren't good people. Lots of crimes had been committed in that family, all of which flew under the police's radar, and hardly anyone in our city had a tolerance for them. Most of all, Mr.DeVille. Lyle and Mr. Sanchez had a history of feuds." Josh takes a breath and continues. "So, our teacher took a few of his promising students, and taught us how to fight. Turns out Lyle was part of a band of ninjas called the Eliminators. They were all Americans who hated the Sanchez's. Now, Carlos Sanchez was in a group of his own. His whole family was. They were El Miedo, and far more advanced than the Eliminators. After joining Lyle's team, my brother and I trained long and hard to be able to fight El Miedo. When I was seventeen years old, the Battle happened. Although we were great, the Sanchez's left most of the Eliminators dead. A few of us escaped, returning to our homes. We had no team now, so we went back to a normal life. But, the time has come. Carlos wants to fight again. He heard about you, and thinks the Eliminators are back." I take it in, while asking,"You're the leader?" Josh chuckles. "No," then regains seriousness. "That's David Foster." Gulping down the lump in my throat, I kiss Josh goodnight. "Get a good rest," he advises, "we begin training in the morning."
