Sorcerers.

I hate sorcerers.

Thieves, thugs, pimps, drug dealers, street gangs, homicidal maniacs, suicide bombers, mooks, even your occasional abomination…these are things I can handle. Hell, they're what I was *trained* to handle. Okay, maybe not the abomination, but the rest of them, anyway.

Sorcery, I just don't get.

When a gun can be ripped from your hand by someone twenty feet away with the flick of a pinky and then bullets bounce off his chest like he's Superman.

Or when you put not one, but *two* bullets into a guy's back, like McBain did to that frippy eunuch in AD69, and the only reaction he gives is one slightly faltered step and a wince, then sprouts wings and flies away….

Let's just say that I nearly shit my pants on both occasions.

Outclassed and outgunned, I ordered a retreat for the Dragons under my care both times. We should have been broiled, or turned into frogs, or something even more horrific. But they let us go.

Now, I don't know about you, but that particular fact frightens the dickens out of me more than getting killed. Arrogant, cocky sons of bitches. How does a cop from LA fight crap like this?

It all reminded me of a time long ago, when I was a kid, a little younger than Jake is now. A wisp of a child, bright, and in one of the poorer districts of the Los Angeles public school system was where I met my master, setting me on the path I trod today.

There, too, I felt a overwhelming feeling of helplessness. Me, the lone gringo among rival gangs of Latinos and blacks. I didn't fit in anywhere and as I had no means with which to defend myself, I resigned myself to frequent harassment and beatings. My feet were my only friends. Being somewhat clever, I managed to get myself out of some tough spots as a kid, but then I managed to get myself in trouble just as often.

My master walked by the alley I was trapped in during one such incident. The situation looked pretty grim for the home team. Five to one odds, and I had pissed the leader of this particular Latino sect off enough for him to pull a knife. The details aren't important. I don't even remember the name of the gang. The important part was that I was about to get my ass kicked in a very serious, very bloody manner.

Two of the thugs-to-be pinned me against a wall while I furiously squirmed in an attempt to free myself. The leader approached with a malicious gleam in his eye, faint light glinting off the short blade he held.

A feeling of utter despair came over me, then a soft, Chinese-accented voice drifted over from the entrance to the alley.

"Shouldn't you children be in school?" the voice queried.

All five of the gang members turned to see a robed silhouette standing just within the alley.

The kid with the knife snarled, "Thees ees none of your beesness, greengo. Get your skeeny ass out of here!"

I held my breath as I watched the man step further into the alley. As he passed a thin shaft of light, I could see him much more clearly. Short-cropped black hair with streaks of gray framed his thin Chinese face, wise black eyes taking in the situation at a glance. He wore a simple, white linen robe, belted at the waist by a cord of rope. His hands were clasped behind his back. I had seen him on the streets of the neighborhood before. Quiet and unassuming, he could often be seen carrying groceries and the like. Despite all of the violence of the neighborhood, nobody ever seemed to mess with him.

"That's far enough, man! I don' want no trouble!" the kid yelled. His compatriots looked at one another, unsure.

He stopped and his eyes passed over each of us, as if weighing our souls. Our gazes locked and I felt hope and something else…something I hadn't felt since I was a very young child. Peace.

"Let the boy go," he said.

The kid laughed harshly.

"I don' theenk you understand the seetuation, mon…"

Faster than lightning, the man swept a foot out, slapping the knife out of his hand and into the air. With a deft move, he snagged it by the hilt and held it out in front of him.

A look of shock passed across the gang leader's face. I stood there, jaw open. Suddenly I realized that I wasn't being held anymore. The thugs-in-training were edging their way around the small man as he critically inspected the knife. Then they broke, running like scared rabbits. The leader stared at the man in white for a moment, then he too started to slide his way past. As he realized that the man took no more notice of him, he threw me a look that said "I'll get you yet.", then took off after his buddies.

With a snort, the man in white slid the knife into his robe. I continued to stare at him in astonishment.

"How…how did you do that?" I stammered.

Then his eyes were on me again and they weighed me as they had before. The faintest of smiles touched his lips.

"What is your name, young one?"

Blinking, I glanced at the ground. "Alex McLeod, sir."

"Well then, Alex McLeod, if you wish to know how I did that, then you must follow me."

Little did I know at the time how many meanings that statement held, or that it would alter the course of my life. Right then and there a scared kid vowed he'd never feel helpless again. And he hadn't. Until now.

I fingered the medallion beneath my shirt, the memories of that time bringing a slight smile to my face, and again I felt hope as I recalled my master's face that day in the alley.

There were still things that could be done. Things that could slow and thwart these damn sorcerers. Hell, the universe could still be saved. Just not by a frontal assault, that's all. I guess I had gotten cocky in my few years on the force. I made another vow: I wasn't going to give up. Not now, not ever. Closing my eyes and settling into a light meditative state, I channeled all of the despair and hopelessness that I had felt into purpose filled with determination and felt the burden lifting from my shoulders.

With a final breath I opened my eyes and smiled. They had left me and my friends alive. Their mistake. Now it was time to show them how costly that mistake was going to be.