She took a few deep breaths as she stayed in the shadows, gazing unblinkingly at the pub opposite the street she was standing in. The light pollution of this part of the city cast the street into shadow under a murky light that gave it a greenish cast, but the neon lighting of the pub made it seem more lurid. She was thankful of the shadows the two street lamps she was close to because it meant no one noticed her unless they came too close. She did her best not to shiver just standing here. Her bollocks were frozen solid in the mid November air, and it had been raining but the woman had paid it no heed - rain, sleet, ice, frost, she would work in any weather. A few years ago, she would have simply shoved a cigarette into her mouth, taken a few puffs, and relaxed. Not anymore - the training she had undertaken had cut that little joy off, and so had her daughter's birth. And besides, in her profession, it paid to be aware and capable at a moments notice. It had taken her a while to adapt, but she had managed with time…..Oh well, it didn't matter. It had been hard for her to adapt to her new more healthier standard of living, but she'd gotten so much more from it. The only reason she had started smoking in the first place was so then she could be tougher looking than she actually was, sometimes she cursed her physical frame, but there were advantages to being tall and slim. But the smoking had begun as a stress reliever more than anything else. She had always strived to be fit and as healthy as she could, with her smoking, drinking, and eating habits, but now she more stronger, fitter and healthier now she wasn't killing her brain, lungs, body, etc. She had started practicing martial arts, visited the gym more frequently to build up her strength, jogged and swam to build up her stamina. She wasn't trying to outdo any athletes, but she was trying to keep strong and fit for these nights out. She might need to run at a moments notice and didn't need to be bogged down. The only problem was she couldn't be out all night - she had her own life to lead, her own job and work ethic, and so she had to be bright and early. If it wasn't for those reasons, she would be quite happy to come out every night and do this, but it wasn't meant to be.

Plus she had other, more important things in her life than her little night excursions. The night shift was unfortunately sometimes a long one where she would spend hours and hours looking around the streets and still not find the people she wanted, but not tonight because she knew precisely who she was after. The woman had been standing there for half an hour already, half submerged in the shadows so then no one would notice her. If she hadn't someone might have thought she was a prostitute, but her long dark colored coat, dark clothes and black running shoes and her black beanie where all her long hair was crammed in to prevent any genetic evidence linking what she did most nights with her ordinary street was quiet enough. Dark as well despite the street lamps but that was okay. She worked best in the night though sometimes she did occasionally work during the day, though that was mostly doing intelligence gathering and stopping fights, not much but better than nothing - she just had to be prepared for it, that's all. She sniffed lightly, checking out the street. It was like every other street - there were cars parked outside on the curbs on both sides, empty and quiet like their museum exhibit counterparts, shops dark and empty and ready for the next morning, and like all of the city's streets stank like no-one's business. But the quiet gave her time to think, and to stretch her muscles and walk up and down though she made certain that type of physical activity was kept at a minimum unless she wanted to attract attention; the police had been trying to track her down for months since she'd started this two years ago. She'd begun with three successful attacks on unrelated gangs of hooligans (her sister's killer didn't count, that had happened because she had wanted to throw away what had already become nothing more than a joke, plus Tony had needed moral support. Now she worked alone), it was amazing what happened when you were high on booze or drugs, and were stirring up trouble. She had kept her distance at first when she'd approached the first mob. They were harassing this elderly couple whose only crime was being spotted by the hooligans, and the hooligans had started threatening them and making sounds you would more likely find in a zoo if you visited the monkey exhibit. Her arrival had surprised all of them, but that was all she'd needed to strike - she used a Bo staff to attack all of them at once before using one of her knives to slice their necks. The brutal sight had scared the elderly couple, but she had saved them from being injured or worst.

The second mob was more or less the same, only this time they were harassing a girl who looked like she'd spent a long day working and only wanted to get indoors. The vigilante hadn't blamed her. The gang of three had been so engrossed in the woman, and listening to her screaming had made the vigilante furious. She had leaped at them, using two of her knives to slash their throats before dealing with the third. The third man had acted like a horny deprived animal, but he'd been no match for her martial arts expertise before she had used the sickle of her Kusarigama. A traditional Japanese farming tool, which had been used by the Shinobi themselves as a perfect weapon and consisting of a chain with a steel ball at the end of it, and connected to a handle with a sickle blade on it, the vigilante had worked long and hard to learn how the weapon worked and often used it whenever she went out. It was that effective and it was a far cry from the sort of world of weapons where people would have simply grabbed the first available gun to use if they were in her position.

The vigilante had gotten her hands on a number of Japanese ninja weapons, Bo staff and blow guns, shuriken, etc. So many people believed the Japanese ninja and so many other spies and assassins were so 2 dimensional about their choices of weapons, but they weren't. According to factual history of the Shinobi from Iga, the ninja were more guerrillas that improvised as well as used a set type of arsenal. They used mundane farming tools to kill their opponents, though they didn't really fight hand to hand unless they had to, so she didn't believe those lying movies and TV shows with Bruce fucking Lee. Realising that she needed to work with the same mindset had been problematic at first, but with time and practice before she really began her campaign she had learnt how to use things no one else would even consider to use as a weapon. One time she had rescued twins from a pair of pedophiles.

They'd been holed up inside this school over the summer break. It was the perfect place to hide, and who would think to look in a school. It had been a job and a half to find the kids and return them to their families, but she had really lost it with the two sick excuses for humanity. She had thrown a test tube of sulphuric acid she had prepared from the store room of chemicals into the face of one of the men. One of the pedophiles had been fat, and the second one had been fairly fit. It was strange how you could tell a pedophile from a regular person by their manner, though really these two had been as normal in appearance despite their sick interests, but she had problems with the second one. As soon as he'd seen the acid burning his pals face, he had instantly known she wouldn't be a pushover, so he'd attacked her. She had managed to get the kids away during the chaos she'd caused momentarily, knowing the man would have kept them within arms reach as shields. Fighting him had been a joy, but it had quickly become stale. It wasn't until she threw a stool at him to disorientate him that she finally got close enough to kill him. She had returned the twins to their family, and wished them a happier life. As she thought about her weapons, the vigilante felt nothing but pride that she had effective weapons to use despite her use of lethal force. She didn't particularly care if she killed or maimed some of her victims - it was one of the drawbacks of the police, though it was n advantage, really. The coppers in America walked a double edged sword when they used their guns, but all they were doing was attracting more gun crime. But at least here in Britain the gun level wasn't as high as it was in the states, but using a gun had its pros and cons like everything else. She knew she could have simply gone out and gotten her hands on a gun like a pump action shotgun, but she had decided against it. Yeah, she knew speed was the key when it came to her line of work, but guns weren't her style. She had never liked them, they were noisy and they left all kinds of forensic evidence, and the less evidence she left at the scene of one of her murders - she did see herself as a murderer - the better. That was why she used knives, a Bo staff, poison filled needles, a blowgun, shuriken and any other weapon she had on hand like the can of air freshener she carried with her along with a cigarette lighter to make a basic flamethrower.

Already her activities had reached the media's attention - their opinion of what she was doing was divided, too many people were saying she should leave it to the police since they were paid to protect the public. But a large majority talked about police incompetence, how so many senior coppers were more interested in their public image than serving the greater good. The woman didn't care about the opinions of the public, the media, or the police. If she was then she would've have simply stopped and done as they suggested, which would have been to turn herself and her weapons in, and just left the police to do their jobs. But she simply could not do any of that. It wasn't simply because of the fact she had spent so much time and effort working to improve herself, to train herself to become a street fighter. She had been in a funk since her sister had been raped and murdered by a piece of scum the police had been willing to put away, but had simply walked off because the evidence chain had been destroyed. All she cared about was her work. She took the time to make another cursory look up and down the street.

She had spent a long time on it as it was, having to hide her training under wraps from her loved ones. Loved ones. Rachel closed her eyes as she thought about Alison before she returned her gaze towards the pub, trying to push the memory of what had happened to her older sister out of her mind before she took another look down the street. It wasn't just the police she had to keep an eye out for. Ever since she had appeared, a one woman vigilante patrol, others had decided to follow her example. She had met them several times already, and she did not feel pleased by the encounters one little bit. The pub door opened and she pushed those other vigilantes to one side in her head, as a slow smirk drifted across Rachel's face as a rather weedy looking guy stepped out. There he was, and about time as well though she was prepared to be out here all night. He was clad in dark clothes, but she didn't care what he was wearing. She watched him look up and down the street, obviously not happy and she knew why - when he arrived the street was choc a bloc with cars littering each space, and so he'd had to park around the corner. She watched him, mentally going over everything she knew about him from her own observations and from what she had found out from other sources. He was a drug manufacturer, check. He owned a small number of firms to help him distribute the drugs he made, and he was also a murderer and a rapist. Slipping from the alcove of the alley, Rachel hurried after him, moving swiftly down the street, making sure to keep her face averted from any CCTV down the street. All that time she made herself aware of her surroundings even though most of her attention was focused on the target. She saw a cyclist approaching and made sure he didn't see her. Once he'd cycled past, Rachel hurried after her real target. She slipped a hand into her pocket, and her fingers palmed the knife sitting there. She would have to get close to the man to use it, and she was okay with that despite the inherent risks involved.

The weedy man was turning a corner when Rachel finally caught after him. The man had taken out his car keys and was just about to get in, when Rachel thought on her feet. She called out, "Excuse me, can you help me?" The man looked up at her, leered and stepped out of his car. "'Course I'll help you, darling. What's wrong?" Cringing mentally in disgust at his demeanor, Rachel continued with her play. Putting on a coy attitude, she walked up to him, making sure the knife was in her grasp. "Yeah, you can," she bit her lip seductively, leaning in to him.

She hated doing this, sometimes being seductive or something when you knew the reputation of the target, knew what he had done. But it was necessary if she wanted to get close. The weedy man grinned back at her. He was still grinning though there was a touch of shock and terror when she slashed his throat 3 times. He gurgled and reflexively grabbed onto her, but he was losing his strength, but Rachel switched hands and stabbed him in the chest, this time the blow went right into his stomach and then his heart. Finally he was on the cold, wet ground. His grasp was loose enough on her wrist for her to get free. Standing over the weedy man Rachel let out a satisfied grunt. Martin Hensell. One of the nastiest pieces of slime in Manchester. Arrested and charged 3 times, equals he had always walked 3 times. He had this slick solicitor and he probably had a copper on his payroll, another reason to distrust her former profession. Rachel looked down at the body, wishing that she could find some way to pin something on his friends, but without the main resources of the police she had to rely on what she did have. Besides she knew the police had Moving quickly she checked the body to make sure she had left nothing incriminating behind, and then she walked off quickly. When Rachel returned to her car, she pulled out a piece of paper from the glove compartment. She crossed Martin Hensell's name off the list. 5 down, she counted the other names off, and she had killed 2 just last night. Another 9 to go. Rachel looked down at the list of names on the sheet of paper before she angrily stuffed it back in the glove compartment. Rachel put her face in her hands and sobbed. She hated this. Hated killing people even if they were murders, pedophiles and rapists. It went against everything Rachel had set out to do as a police officer, but she had little choice now.

The journey back to her flat was an easy one. She didn't look one at any police presence she spotted on the roads and the streets, though she kept an eye on every car she passed by to make sure none of them turned and followed her. But none of them did, she had access to the police frequencies so she could listen in on them, and she knew no-one had been sent to the same street she'd killed Martin Hensell. She wasn't surprised - by morning the police were sure to know he was dead, but she was just as sure there would be very few tears. Hensell was linked to more than a few cases, and yet non e of the police involved with trying to arrest him would inevitably become a pile of shambles. Rachel decided she didn't care - even if some of the police didn't care if Hensell died, there would be many who would have liked to see him prosecuted because of their efforts, not her vigilantism. Despite her earlier thoughts towards them, Rachel couldn't tar the rest of the police with the same brush; she had been furious when Alison had died, and nothing really substantial had been done to justify her seemingly iron faith in the police, but when that solid foundation had been cracked she'd learnt that quite a few people agreed with her that Alison's murderer should not be on the streets. Rachel pushed that out of her mind as she concentrated on the road, and tried to keep her mind fully calm and blank on the way home. She'd taken her beanie off and her coat. "How is she?" Rachel asked Tony as she walked into her flat, and out of the corner of her eye she could see Tony's smile as she quietly entered her daughter's bedroom. Rachel smiled back gratefully at Tony, thankful that even though sometimes he and Alison had had issues he was still a good and decent man. But she felt so sorry for him. Her daughter was sleeping, a small smile on her face. Rachel gently stroked the girl's locks of dark brown hair, the exact same shade as her own. Megan was 5 years old, and Rachel wanted to do everything properly in her life.

"She missed you tonight," Tony told her when she'd taken her clothes off and put them into the washing up basket. "How did it go?" Rachel sat down heavily in the armchair in the sitting room. "I got Hensell tonight," she said.

"What did he do?"

"He was a drug manufacturer and a dealer," Rachel replied. "He was also a murderer, a rapist. The police have let him walk enough times already." Tony ground his teeth behind his lips angrily at the word rapist, but said instead, "How many women did he rape?" Rachel knew why her brother in law asked that question. "Officially 6 women, though there could have been more. It's also likely Hensell had someone in the police on his payroll though he definitely had a solicitor." Tony looked away, and Rachel knew he was getting angrier by the moment. Finally, he nodded, though he didn't look once in his sister in laws' direction, so Rachel stood up and sat next to him, pulling him into a gentle hug. It was strictly a platonic hug.

"We both miss her, Tony," Rachel said knowingly. "I know. I just wish what happened hadn't ruined both our lives," Tony replied. "Yeah. But look what we do have. We have Megan, Holly, Callum. That's got to count for something, right?" Tony pulled away and sighed, looking down at his hands. Rachel sighed, she should have known better than to go into details about what she'd been doing, but Tony was family and the only person who probably knew what she was really doing. "I'm glad you stopped me that night, Rachel," he said quietly, and Rachel now groaned inwardly. How many times had she heard this? Too many times to count, but she pushed those irritated thoughts to one side. "I thought you were brave that night," she tried to compliment him. But Tony wasn't having it.

"No," he disagreed, "I'm not brave. I worked long and hard to be strong, but in the end I couldn't pull that trigger. You stopped me from slitting that bastard's throat. And you walked away from your career because you'd become dismayed by the lack of progress." Rachel swallowed and looked away.

"Leaving the police," she began, pausing to try to control the flow of emotions threatening to spin her out of her control, "was one of the most difficult things I've ever had to do. But it was the right thing to do. Yeah, I wanted to be a detective, but what would it have gotten me? I've heard stories of famous coppers; they were great with nicking people and keeping the peace, but when they retired what did they have to show for their lives? A load of medals, newspaper articles rotting away in archives, no family unless they'd been farsighted enough. When Alison…..died, murdered, I was let down."

"We both were, but you were let down the worst," Tony said.

"You're right," Rachel replied, then asked, "Tony, how are Callum and Holly?" Rachel inwardly winced that she was changing the subject, but she welcomed the change. So did Tony. "Listen," he said before he was about to leave, "do you think you can talk to Holly some time tomorrow?"

"Why, what's up?" Tony sighed. "She's acting moody, and I looked it up online, and my search told me puberty was setting in."

"Yeah, of course," Rachel said quickly as she let her mind race trying to find a decent suggestion of when she could actually speak to her niece. This was one of those times where helping Tony raise two kids was problematic, but she had sworn to help him since they were all she had left of Alison. "I'll be in the office tomorrow, but I'll try to speak to her in the morning or early lunchtime. But don't let her go out until then, it could be embarrassing if she walked down the streets and bled down there and didn't know what to do about it." Tony nodded, blushing red. Why was it men got so flustered about this subject? Oh well. "Sure, I'll try to keep her inside," Tony said. Rachel bade him a goodnight and just walked into the bathroom to get ready for bed. After giving her daughter a small kiss on the cheek, she went to bed and was asleep within seconds.

Working as the manager for a cleaning company wasn't what Rachel had had in mind when she left the police, but she'd realised quickly that she would need to have a job or own a business of her own. She'd found that she enjoyed the business. It was easy, straight forward and very profitable. Rachel had started it as a small little business at first, just working on her own for a bit and gaining work from there, eventually making enough cash to live on and to employ more people, and so on and so on, working long and hard trying to make a living despite the competition and eventually rising above it. There were some rivalries that went with the job, of course but then there was politics in virtually every industry, and if she hadn't left the police and had risen through the ranks she would've been bogged down by the politics.

Rachel had seen more than one Superintendent plot to raise themselves higher up not just in the police, but also in society. Rachel had worked hard for the last decade trying to rebuild the mess her life as well as Tony's, Callum's, Holly's had become since Alison had died and things had gone wrong. But she had wanted to help people for a long time. When she had the time to take a lunch break after meeting a very hacked off Holly, Rachel had reflected that in another few years she would help Megan when she hit her own puberty. It wasn't just cleaning Rachel made her money from. Once she had started making a lot of cash with her cleaning business Rachel had gone into dry cleaning and then started a small ice cream firm before entering the world of real estate. She had needed to juggle her life a lot managing different branches of her business, learning how to be a vigilante, helping Tony with Callum and Holly before Megan was born.

After going through the daily chores and interviewing a few people for jobs - her company was always hiring people whenever they could, but since she had decided to expand the business into including other branches of cleaning, she needed all the help she could get. Still the work and the long night shifts she sometimes took tried her patience. Rachel spent most of the day supervising some of the other sites that really needed it. Her employees were always glad she or one of her other managers were out since it meant they were looking out for them, but truthfully Rachel preferred getting out to watch everyone work. She had never been one of those sit behind a desk types, and she hated not knowing what was happening around her. She needed to be in the thick of things. Today her schedule was supervising one of a dozen house cleans. Rachel had offered a contract with a letting firm a year before to clean up flats and houses, and they had snapped it up at once. Her returns were fair enough for them, and the firm itself had had a very dissatisfactory contract already, so they were happy to give Rachel's own cleaning company a chance. The former company had made a list of things - they had simply not bothered to come, they left the place in a far worse state than before, and the complaints had gotten too much.

Rachel had made sure along with the other managers no one played this contract - her company relied heavily on good feedback, it was the only way for them to build themselves up. She also made it a point to check out the other contracts they had - it was a usual company policy, but Rachel took it seriously and often did it by herself. After spending most of the afternoon doing this, she returned to the office. "There's a parcel on the desk for you, Rachel," one of her managers told her. "Okay, thanks," Rachel replied, "did you sign for it?" "Sure," Neal replied. "Cheers, I'll pay yer back." "Don't worry about it," Neal replied, heading back to his desk.

The parcel was fairly large. One look at it and the Japanese characters printed on it told her where it had come from, and she suppressed a smile. Yes! At last. She'd waited for this for a long while. Six weeks ago she had taken Megan with her on a small trip to Japan. Megan had loved it, but Rachel had had a practical reason for going out there in the first place. Ever since she had started working with ninjutsu, Rachel had wondered whether some of what she was learning was even remotely genuine.

It didn't really matter if you looked at the results, but Rachel had wanted to learn more about the ninja and their history, and where better than Japan where it originated? Okay, technically ninjutsu was a collection of disciplines collected over Asia before ending up in China, but still the ninja were Japanese and you were more likely to find anything on. While Megan was having fun and had stuffed half of her room with the souvenirs, Rachel was busy. She also studied the Samurai warriors; it amazed her that for a bunch of soldiers who acted like gentlemen like the stuffed toffs in her home country who always obeyed a set of 'rules' whilst boxing, had actually become ninja themselves, using their knowledge of warfare and combat in a completely different way. Granted, learning about the Samurai from Japanese people was much easier than the ninja's unique history. It wasn't until she actually travelled to the Iga province where ninjutsu had been practiced that she made any head way. True, finding someone who understood English and knew of the ninja wasn't easy, but Rachel had persevered, and it wasn't until she met the man who, like the character in Kill Bill Volume 1, had named himself as Hattori Hanzo, one of the greatest ninjas ever, that she realised she had caught someone else's attention.

Rachel never found out Hattori's actual name. She had found it difficult to trust him, but there was little she could do. He wasn't one of those paranoid types who felt the government or whoever was looking over his shoulder and had the social life of a pea, but he refused to tell her the reasons why he hid behind a different name. She had wondered if he was running from someone, but he hadn't shown any kind of sign he was running from anything. Anyway, trust issues aside, Rachel - and Megan, though that was more because she couldn't leave her child behind anywhere in Japan - had stayed with Hattori. He had found out quickly what she was doing in the UK and, instead of condemning her for spitting on the image of the ninja, he had in fact congratulated her; so many people, far too many, looked at the ninja shown by the media and believed it to be a fact. It might be understandable given the lack of real knowledge about them, but Hattori had been pleased Rachel had been thorough enough with her initial research. He had taught her as much as he could before she'd returned to Britain and Manchester, but he had given her a gift. He designed and made under her supervision a genuine Japanese short sword of the type the ninja commonly used, along with a few other things.

When Rachel returned home to her flat, she opened the box. It had spent the rest of the working day in the boot of her car, and she had looked forwards to opening it and seeing everything Hattori had made for her and then sent off in the post. Using a penknife Rachel cut open the thick tape holding the box sealed. The box was filled with small clumps of polystyrene but Rachel impatiently fished everything out of the box. She found the sword and gently pulled it out of its scabbard. She grinned as she held it up to the light, admiring the gleam of the beautiful weapon. She had held this sword before just before Hattori had sent it off to Britain, but that had been a brief moment but one she would remember fondly.

Traditional Japanese swords like Katanas were made from several layers of Japanese steel with different carbon concentrations. Hattori had explained to her that in the past there would be dozens of people involved in the forging of a sword from the blacksmith who would make the basic shape, an apprentice to work with the metal, a polisher and so on, but Hattori worked alone and he was a master. While this sword was definitely metal, there was a modern twist to it - Hattori had layered ceramic into the mix to make it lighter and more durable, not to mention easy to smuggle past customs. The black ceramic was something Hattori had been inspired by thanks to modern knives, and he had made smaller traditional weapons using the same technique, so he wasn't unskilled when it had come to forging her sword. Grinning at the black blade, Rachel placed it back in the scabbard - she'd practice with it later, but right now she was interested in what else was in the box. She pulled out a long black coat, knowing what it was. It was a shield for her to use to hide her sword. The sword would be placed in a special holder inside the coat, so when she wanted it to make an appearance, all Rachel would need to do was simply reach inside the coat and pull it out. Hattori had thoughtfully added a few extra coats in case one of them became too badly damaged to hide. Rachel checked her watch. She'd told Tony she'd pick Megan up and wouldn't go out tonight, which meant she had some girl time with her kid. Part of her wondered about inviting Holly round for tea but she quickly decided against it - Megan and Holly had seen each other often enough recently, and though the two girls mutually enjoyed each other's company it could get boring and dull very quickly. Rachel didn't want that and in any case Megan had plenty of friends already, and sometimes Rachel allowed her to go on sleepovers. The only problem was she couldn't work whenever her daughter invited a few of her friends round. "Somewhere my sister's laughing," Rachel grumbled to herself as she thought about it, and a picture of her older sister laughing filled her mind. It made Rachel grumble even more.

One of the disadvantages of having a child was not really being able to go out and be the vigilante. Rachel was used to it after a few years but it didn't mean it didn't become frustrating. One night always made a difference in her mind, it was a philosophy she had learnt as a copper before Alison died and it had taken root from there. Rachel adored Megan and hated going out whenever she felt it was necessary, but she had little choice. She knew it was impossible to completely stop crime and violence but if she could at least do something then she would be happy.

Tonight was one of those nights where she would simply patrol the streets, alternating between going out on foot and using the car to get around and look for trouble. Rachel had access to the police band so knew when things were brewing and she could easily make an appearance, but the problem was she was without the resources of the Met so she could not investigate crimes the way she had dreamt of doing when it became clear to her she wanted to pursue that line of work. But that didn't mean she didn't try - so many people were able to solve crimes without the training practices of the police to back them up - and she'd had a few successes here and there but she couldn't exactly advertise. She'd killed and maimed dozens of people - the CPS would definitely throw the book at her for that and Megan would pay the price. But if she was caught then she knew her brother in law would have the sense to keep quiet and raise Megan along with Holly and Callum.

Rachel made a face at the thought - she had become fond of her sisters' kids over the years when she'd taken a backseat when she'd focused on her career in the police. Now she couldn't imagine what she had been thinking pushing them away like that. Checking her car clock she saw it was nearly midnight. She planned to be back at 12:30 and get some sleep. She'd already been out for over an hour already but she planned on going home soon. She just needed to tone this patrol down and make sure there wasn't anything serious. Rachel was just heading back home when she caught sight of a girl being harassed by a trio of boys. Rachel slowed down and watched for a second before she got out of her car, feeling the reassuring hilt of her sword through her coat, but she doubted she needed it.

As she hollered to the boys to let the girl go, she got a good look at them and saw one of them had been in the process of unzipping his trousers in front of the girl's terrified eyes. Well, that gave her the excuse she needed, and Rachel kicked the boy in the groin. He dropped to the ground as she focused her attack on the others. She saw one of the boys had a knife in his hand and cursed the police's inability to really keep knife crime in check as he slashed the air with it close to her face, but it was easy for her to duck. He had no finesse as she quickly realised when he kept slashing the air, his moves clumsy and telegraphed to her seconds before he actually made his move. When she saw he was going to slash again she ducked away just in time before a sinewy arm wrapped around her neck and grabbed her hair. Rachel choked in surprise as the arm tightened. "Hold still, bitch," the third boy's voice echoed loudly in her ear and she shivered slightly in reflex when she felt his hot breath, but she wasn't going to hold still. She'd just seen the boy with the knife prepare to slash again.

Rachel made her move by biting the arm holding her and then using the boy's scream of pain to grab him with her hands and hurl him around her so he acted like a shield. The boy cried out louder as the knife slashed down his back through his clothes and he dropped to the ground in pain. Not giving herself time to recover from the shock of being surprised and choked Rachel grappled with the other boy, who had been looking down at his mate who was mewling like a baby, focusing on his knife hand but she lashed out and punched him in the stomach. She gave the boys a cursory look. They weren't permanently hurt. Rachel walked tentatively over to the girl knowing from long experience that whenever she helped people they were sometimes a little shocked by how violently she reacted.

Things had changed a great deal in Manchester since she had begun her little one woman crusade against crime - christ she was beginning to sound like Batman - and with how so many people were now either becoming vigilantes themselves or at least taking precautions against thugs like these she only hoped the girl believed she was one of them, or at least someone who wasn't and not a vigilante.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to hurt you," Rachel said as soothingly as she could, studying the girl. She was tall, but not as tall as Rachel herself was. She was quite pretty with her hair done in bunches on her head. The girl's eyes flicked to the three boys laying nearby, moaning and whining in pain after what Rachel had done, and Rachel could see for herself the girl didn't believe her. Why should she? Rachel sighed. "I can get you home if you like," she tried and at last the girl looked relieved but she was still cautious. She was shy when she told Rachel her address. It wasn't a long walk away and so they set off.

"Whats going to happen to those three?" the girl asked. Rachel knew she had to word the reply very carefully. "It's possible they'll be found and it will be taken from there, but considering one of 'em was armed with a really nasty knife whoever finds 'em will think they were attacked by a vigilante gang." The girl frowned. "My mum hates those gangs. She says they give the Police a hard time." Rachel stiffened at the implications of that remark. She was already carrying a lot of excess baggage whenever she heard what those ridiculous gangs were doing because they were usually just people trying to worm their way into the newspapers and get famous by beating anyone dangerous up. She could talk since she spent most of her time killing the criminals she came across. Rachel had never intended or even imagined that the consequences of her actions would be so dramatic. To her it was just a side effect of how wrong things had become since Alison's murder, and she could tell herself she was making some difference, but there were time she wondered if she was fooling herself into thinking she was making a difference. Another facet which worried her was the knowledge Alison would be frowning at her for what she had done with her life.

Rachel realised the girl was looking at her with worry and concern. She could see the wheels in the girl's head turning, so she quickly asked what had happened. "I was with some friends, and I was making my own way home. Should've let one of them take me home," the girl added ruefully. "Next thing I know those boys were surrounding me, one of them felt me up whilst another pushed me against that wall and held me there as the third one unzipped his trousers." Rachel rested a hand on her shoulder when she saw the girl begin to get agitated. "Calm down," she whispered, "it's over. Take deep breaths to calm down." "How can I calm down after I was almost raped?" The girl argued but Rachel wasn't going to back down. "Okay, maybe you can't, but you can learn from it so in future you're more careful. It's better than thinking about what could have happened. You were lucky someone, ie me, happened to be nearby to help. Other women aren't so fortunate, and too many rape victims refuse to tell anyone what's happened out of shame. Pull yourself together, we're almost at your house."

As they drew nearer to the house Rachel let the girl jog towards the front door whilst she just stopped close to the gate. She didn't particularly want to deal with the girl's parents, she had dealt with enough people over the years since her little crusade had begun and those were always mixed. All she did was simply help a few people and their families or inlaws simply didn't recognise her because she wasn't a police officer. Those always annoyed Rachel. Why would it matter if she wasn't a copper? Why did they have such a small view of the world?

Still Rachel smiled slightly when she saw the door of the house open and a blond haired woman stood in the doorway. She had an aged kindly face, but she had tough intelligent eyes that seemed to go hand in hand with the seemingly maternal air she presented. Rachel liked her immediately. The girl, who Rachel now knew was called Elise, described what had happened with those lads and what Rachel had done to stop them. Rachel watched Elise's mother carefully even as two other women came to the door, one of them was a woman old enough to be the girl's grandmother and it was confirmed by Elise calling the old woman 'Gran' but the younger girl wrapped her elder sister in a hug. Rachel smiled at the scene reminding herself of the good intentions she'd had for even starting this before other people came and messed things up and made things harder for her to cope with. Elise's mother approached her with tears of gratitude in her eyes.

"Thank you for helping my daughter," she said. "Are those lads still where you left them?" Rachel nodded. "Yeah. I didn't have time to phone anyone since I was concerned for Elise, in hindsight I probably should have called it in."

"They deserved what you gave them," the woman spat angrily, shaking her head. "Christ, what's happening to everyone? 10 years ago that first vigilante appeared, but at least that guy had the sense to be more quiet unlike those gangs running around today, and I probably shouldn't say that 'cause I'm a copper," the woman said. Rachel stiffened but it was clear the woman didn't notice her body language at least she hoped not, it would make the woman ask too many questions she really didn't want to answer.

"I''m Janet Scott by the way," Janet said, holding out her hand. Rachel had to push her reluctance away to just grip the hand. "Rachel Bailey," she replied before inwardly screaming at herself for giving her name away. "Nice to meet you," Janet smiled before her expression turned serious. "I need to report this attack, are you okay with that?" Rachel was reluctant to give too much of herself away in case someone decided to look into her personal life and found out about Megan. If they learnt about her daughter then it could mean scrutiny towards her activities, but truthfully she didn't feel that she had much alternative. "Sure, go ahead."

"I thought you were going out of your way to speak to the police," Tony said the next day while they walked in the park. Megan was in nursery school and Holly and Callum likewise were in school themselves giving Rachel and Tony time to themselves. Rachel nodded, "I am. Hopefully nothing will come of that questioning. It took 20 minutes before I could leave." "What did she ask you?" "She asked me about what I was doing out that late, I told her I was just out for a very long walk after a long day at work. I told her it was normal, which isn't far away from the truth," Rachel said.

"True," Tony said wryly. "Anyway, I made it sound like I was just one of those people who are becoming more and more common on the streets nowadays, people who are prepared to fight to the bitter end to defend themselves. The fact Elise, Janet Scott's daughter, saw me fight them without my ninjutsu weapons was something I had to take into account, and it helped." Rachel's lips pursed. "The good thing was I didn't break any bones. I wanted to, but I knew I could get into trouble by doing it." Suddenly she paused and rubbed her head, she just felt so tired. Tony stopped as well and looked at her in concern. "What's wrong?" he asked. Rachel shook her head, "I'm pregnant. I didn't tell you before because I wasn't sure. Six weeks." "Who's is it?"

"Hattori's. We spent a few nights together before Megan and I left Japan. I found out I was pregnant after I'd gotten back, and before you say a word I was planning on telling you soon. I just needed time to get used to the thought I was gonna be the mummy of another kid."

Tony shrugged. "I'll help of course, but are you still going to work nights?" "Probably not when I really start to show, but if I don't pile on the stress I should be okay. I'm trying to tone it down a little and just focus on detective work here and there. I've already got a collection of cases at home I'd like to see to at some point. I can get cracking on those."

A few years ago Rachel had met up with a small group of 6 to 7 people who played detective by sorting through cold cases. The groups organiser Laura was 60 years old, a former teacher with a gift for mysteries and had grown it into a hobby for her to puzzle on. Laura had set herself up as a private investigator much like Hettie Wainthropp but her specialty were unsolved crimes dating back 10+ years. When Rachel had first met Laura a few years ago she had been in a depressed mood. She had grown tired of her methods and lack of anything positive, and so she had looked around trying to find something to broaden her horizons and had found the group by chance and joined and despite not being a police trained detective Laura had valued her police expertise and had simply helped to train her. For Rachel, who had always wanted to be a detective before her dreams had been dashed, had jumped up for the chance to do some real good. It was just….such a shame that her hope of becoming a properly trained police detective had been dashed because of her disgust for how evidence against murderers and rapists disappeared, or was simply misplaced, and how rapists who were known for their actions were allowed to walk free. It was just…...sick.

A few days later Rachel stood in the graveyard and looked at the gravestone ahead of her. It was a typical Manchester day - grey clouds, rain drenched pavements and roads, grass with little drops hanging from their tips. It was early morning and she had plenty of time before she had to get into work, but she needed the calm of the graveyard and some time before her sister's gravestone. She rubbed her belly slightly to check on the baby. Alison had always despaired of her never finding the time to bother with a family and settling down whilst working as a copper before her death, but when Alison had died Rachel's choice of action had surprised even her and showed her that family did come first. And look what she had now; she had a better relationship with her nephew and niece, her brother in law was practically the only real close friend she had - the others didn't count since they could never know about her private business, and she owned her own business though she would never be Alan Sugar or Peter Jones or Duncan Bannatyne. Rachel knew if her sister were still alive and saw what was being done because of her she would never forgive Rachel or Tony for helping.

It was amazing how many times Rachel actually spent in the graveyard. The people who tended to it, visited it frequently to pay respects to their departed friends and family members had caught a glimpse of her, but she didn't speak one word to them and they respected her privacy. Rachel didn't want to speak to anybody in the graveyard, but she was grateful that if she ever wanted to then she would have plenty of choice if she changed her mind.

Images came to her mind as she looked at the name of her sister… a woman dying on the hospital bed as doctors and nurses struggled to save her whilst her police officer sister and her husband stood with their faces pressed against the glass, begging her to live… the funeral, a grim and terrible day where friends were crying… Rachel herself sitting in the superintendents office, listening in disbelief as the officer had stopped speaking about irrelevant matters and got to the point, telling her the bastard who had raped and murdered her older sister had been freed because of a lack of evidence when she knew there was overwhelming evidence… seeing the courtroom with the rapist who had gone on to rape another woman, only for the case to be kicked out. She remembered getting up, screaming "No! This bastard raped other women as well, he raped and murdered my sister and you're letting him go?! I joined the police to do good, but good means nothing to you!" Rachel remembered being kicked out of court for contempt. They had the right word for it, but she was contemptuous. Of them….. Her sergeant and super were standing over her, furious. She just sat and ignored them. She was seeing them for what they were in reality. Cowards. Her lack of response made the super suspend her, but she didn't care if she was throwing a promising career away… On her 10th day of suspension she was doing nothing. She was so numb, so angry that she couldn't think of a decent way of expending it. Her flat was a mess. Her brother was gone. Her sister was….dead. The police and the law had betrayed her after she'd put them on a pedestal because they protected people. Now she saw them as they really were, and it was not a pretty picture. She was sick. She wanted to get away from them, but she still wanted to help people. That was when she realised she could, but outside the law. At first she was hesitant because it was against the law, but then she saw it made little difference. But she would need to get ready… The sightless eyes of the bastard who had murdered and raped so many women or injured them to the point where they would die anyway was at last lying on the ground, blood pooling around his body. Rachel idly wondered why the blood pooled like that, why it didn't go further, but she didn't have time to consider anymore. She looked into the tearful eyes of her brother in law as his hands clenched around that gun he was holding shook…..

Back in the present Rachel shook her head out of the memories and focused on the gravestone. "I miss you Ali. I hate the fact you'll never know your nieces - yeah the ones you always wanted - and they'll never meet you, but I'm doing my best to teach Megan, Holly and Callum what you were like." Rachel sighed, "I'm sorry you weren't around to see your kids grow older, begin to becoming interested in adult life and beginning to date, building a life. I hope you're okay up there. I also hope you're slapping some of our family around, berating them for not doing a good job of looking out for us." Rachel was in the graveyard for another hour, just talking to her sister, hoping Alison wasn't judging her for her choices and looking at the way she handled her responsibilities. Finally she finished with the promise she would introduce her new baby to her in the future, much like she had done with Megan, and left. Rachel walked through the yard to where her car was when her eyes caught something that made her instinctively stand behind a tree as she watched.

A man was kneeling before a gravestone, but he had opened a panel in the headstone.