Welcome to S.S. 2.0! Now known as BMT.

This rewriting project was something I've been working on for about two years. For those that have been around for a long time, you might remember I actually put up the second book to this series once, and then took it down two years ago. The reason for that was because the writing was... bad. Worse than the usual teenage writing. I didn't know it at the time, but the house I lived at while writing that story was toxic and left my brain with holes. The first nine chapters were fine, and then it got incoherent, shakily paced, with leaps in logic and insane grammar problems. I, to this day, have a difficult time rereading it because of the amount of stuff I need to fix.

When I took it down I looked at this story, my baby, my first fanfiction piece, my outlet from some personal problems I probably will never explain, and while I'm happy with it, I want to rewrite it to fit my older brain. Some of my issues are dumb and personal, I have a friend named Liz now and I don't like the link between her and my character so I'm changing my character's name- It's a one letter difference but I wanted to explain why; while others are because I've changed.

So, hopefully, 2.0 turns out ok. And hopefully, you all still enjoy it.

"Step one, define your opponent. If you're smaller than them, use it to your advantage. Be fast and mobile, don't let them get their hands on you. If you're bigger than them, use it to your advantage and blockade them. Use your size. If you're the same size, intelligence is your friend. Which leads into-

"Step two, define their style. You don't want to defense if they defend, and you don't want to defense an offense when cornered. If you can, always go for the blow and always get them down. You're trying to save people, not do a dance; those people need you and they need you fast, don't dally more than you have too. Watch for talent and skill, because some people will be better than you in certain areas. When you can, make it your game and don't play theirs. Use tactile if they're brute strength, use force if they attack and pull back, use martial arts on quick timers, use close ring boxing for slow movers. If and when you have an opening, go after it.

"Step three, figure out their numbers. When in spaces like an alley or home, it's easier to fight large numbers because the space is small. When in large spaces like an open street or warehouse, more numbers is more danger to you. Figure out if you're up against one person, two people, or more. If you've got more than one person to focus on, you need to be fast and keep eyes on those closest to you. Do not overwhelm yourself, because their numbers can be your end. You can't go to the police or the hospital if you get hurt, so remain calm and remain quick. Don't let their numbers overwhelm you.

"Step four, remember you are alone and you have to remain unknown. You are going to be wanted when you start this path, and once your face is known, you will not be safe. You will not be able to walk in public during the day if your face is on the news, so don't get caught. Your mask is your protector as well as your weapon; at any and all costs do not let it get removed when you are in public. The shadows are your friends and allies, and after I'm gone, you are not going to have many of those, so stick close to your friends.

"Lastly, step five, beware the Foot and avoid the Purple Dragons. Oroku Saki is the leader of the Foot, you'll hear him called the Shredder. He's a multi-millionaire in one of the tallest towers in New York City and has his fingers in a lot of pies. If you get his attention, know he will either kill you or recruit you. Hun is Oroku Saki's third command and leader of the Purple Dragons. He's big, he's dangerous, and he's unknown to the public; he didn't become Shredder's third command by being dumb or slow, and he's the recruiter you need to watch out for.

Be careful, be smart, be brave, and hopefully, I will see you again one day."

The last defining lesson that Hitoshi gave me rang through my ears as I started on my first kill of the night. It was of a man who was hitching his way up the news as a serial rapist, and I'd only caught wind of him because he'd pounced on his supposed-to-be next victim and the victim had let out a shout when attacked.

Step one, define my opponent. A rather sharp-looking man with broad shoulders and sweat-soaked hair. He had half a foot on me, and the strength to boot considering his victims ranged between male and females in their twenties. Two, define his style. He was low slung, arms out, legs close, and was holding a pocket knife comfortably in his left hand. He was clearly used to being the attacker, not one for a fight, and would remain on defense until I moved. Three, define the numbers. He was alone, just a one on one with me, with the twenty year old man against the wall beside us. Four, I poked my tongue out just enough to brush the metal edge of my mask and flexed my arms gently in their sleeves. Five, don't get caught by anyone dangerous.

I moved forward in two quick steps, which the serial man countered with a long swing of the pocket knife. It was what I wanted though, and stepped back out of the swing range. The man stepped forward to follow me on instinct, and I ducked low for his leg. I swung my own leg out and caught his ankle, which topped his balance and toppled him to the ground. I moved forwards while he was still falling, and placed one knee on his chest to hold him down. I placed my other knee on his left wrist to hold his weapon down, and pushed my weight onto my knees so I leaned over him. With quick and practiced movements I reached for his head and wrapped one hand around his jaw and the other around the back of his head. I twisted sideways and up, and the sickening crack rang through the alley.

With that, I let go of him and relaxed my knees on his chest and arm. I sat back on my haunches at looked down at the murder I'd committed. I only permitted myself a few seconds to see the face I'd wiped off the maps. I'd never know what he was like or his aspirations, or even why he did what he did. I'd only know I ended his life to save another.

I unlatched my own little dagger to finish off the job, and set about making a cut big enough to get a little blood out of him. I stood up with the fingers full of blood and moved to the nearest wall that wasn't near the victim. I was able to make it through creating my mark on the wall before the man spoke to me.

"Thank you." He whispered. He sounded more put together than you would think for someone who had almost been harmed. I flicked the last of the blood, or what I could, off to the ground, and then sighed and rubbed it on my pants. The twenty something year old watched me as I did what I did, an unreadable expression on his face. When I was done wiping what I could off, I turned to face the guy.

He looked like someone I'd expect to find on the track team at my nearest high school, which made me wonder if he was even in his twenties. He had shaggy black hair, a farmer's tan around his biceps, and what I thought were green eyes, though I couldn't be sure in the dark.

"You're welcome," I answered, voice a little rustic from disuse. It was still painfully clear I was a female though, and judging off the sudden furrow of his brow he could also tell I was younger than him. I continued, "Are you safe for me to leave you alone?"

His eyes fell to the bloody mark I'd made on the wall, and he nodded shortly. I smiled behind my mask, though he couldn't see it, and tilted my head towards him. With that, I made to leave the alley.

"Who are you?" He asked, and he stepped towards me as I jumped up high enough to get to the fire escape above. I waited until I was safely standing before I answered.

"I'm the Black Mask Terror," I answered with a clear grin in my voice. I turned to continue up the fire escape and left behind whoever I had saved as he gasped in surprise. He knows me, of course, he knows me. Anyone with a TV knows me. I'm the growing killer of New York City. Feared by all, criminals and victims alike. He was going to have a nice story when he got home, assuming if he got home tonight, if the sirens approaching were to be believed. It was possible he might just spend the evening filing a police report and regaling the news of his meeting with me. I would love to hear that news report.