CL Fan Fiction
(This is a work of fiction, there will be a disclaimer at the bottom.)
Ulrich stepped in, cautious but not conspicuous. He looked around, scanned for danger, but made sure he didn't stand out. He saw a customer-filled bar, and a dark-haired bartender in the distance. Ulrich could only see the bartender's back, but he looked familiar for some strange reason.
People greatly-experienced with violence, like Ulrich, seemed to come in three types. The first were mobsters, recently-released prisoners, or some ex-soldiers; people who neither could nor wanted to hide the fact they had lived through and done horrific things. They were the easiest to spot, also were the most populous. The second kind was just as if not even more used to violence as the first, but better at hiding it. Better, but not perfect, that is. They were trained, usually, and were the second most-commonly found group. But, while they would not be seem to present a threat, it was seemingly the absence of presence they gave off that exposed them. On close inspection, they would like an orange splotch on a red canvas; similar, but still different from everyone else. It would seem like they were an image of someone rather than an actual person, given how much they were trying to appear normal and uninteresting.
The third type was the rarest. They were hard for the first two to spot, and nearly impossible for normal people to recognize. They were like ghosts; somebody whom a fellow would pass by, and then forget about in a minute. And that would be all the time they would need to turn around and put a bullet or a knife in the back of said poor fellow. That ghost was Ulrich, and every other operator in the Intelligence Support Activity.
This time was different, though. This time, Ulrich heard an unintelligible screech coming from a familiar voice, just before he felt arms constricting him like a python. He quickly reacted, pinning his attacker to a wall, and then pressing his knuckles on the mystery-man's trachea to cut off airflow. Looking into the man's eyes, Ulrich was astonished by what he saw: Odd Della Robia. He released Odd.
"Damn, man. I was just giving you a hug. Where the hell have you been?" Odd said, coughing as he did so. The dark-haired bartender turned around, and Ulrich recognized him to be William Dunbar. This neighborhood was full of people he went to school with.
"Ulrich? Holy shit!" he said. Ulrich looked around, and saw Nicholas Poliakiff.
Yumi could not describe how delighted she felt to see Hiroki walk into Jeremy and Aelita's apartment. They had called him in Lyon, and now he had come up to Paris to see Yumi. Never before had she been so glad to see her once-annoying little brother. Hiroki, although a twenty-one-year-old university dropout, had made a great deal of money working for a recording company, and the clothes and car to show he was loaded. Yumi wondered how someone so irresponsible could have come so far. Then again, if there was one word to describe her brother, it was tenacious.
Hiroki offered to drive Yumi to Lyon, to see their parents. She accepted immediately. Within an hour, she was gone. Aelita and Jeremy were sad to see her go so soon, but were glad she could spend time with her family now. They did not know what happened to Yumi overseas, but they hoped some time spent with loved ones could help her out. In the meantime, with nothing else to do, Jeremy and Aelita grabbed a laptop, some sound-equipment, and set out for Odd's bar.
"William and I opened up about three months ago, and every week we have some kind of event to attract customers. Tonight's Open-Mic Night," Odd told Ulrich. Ulrich nodded, looking around at his old friend's new establishment.
"You know, I gotta say Odd; you've done good for yourself," Ulrich replied.
"Thanks man. Where've you been? I mean, it's been like
"I told you I was born in America, right?"
"Well, I went back there. And I
Odd heard the door open, and saw Aelita and Jeremy walk in holding two cases of heavy equipment. Ulrich, Aelita, and Jeremys' jaws dropped simultaneously when they saw each other.
"Well, this is turning into one hell of a night," Odd remarked.
Disclaimer: I do not own Code Lyoko or the character Colonel Scott "Hort" Horton. Code Lyoko and its characters are owned by Moonscoop. The character Colonel Scott "Hort" Horton is owned by Barry Eisler. This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of fiction or are used fictitiously.