Well, it seems this topic is lonely.
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"Hello, Mark." The voice came from a man, around Mark's age. His face was obscured by the darkness in the warehouse.
Without even flinching, Mark sneered. "I knew that message from Jean was a fake."
"You knew, but yet you came." The man stepped forward, revealing a face clearly of Japanese origin, with sharp facial features. He reached for the right side of his body, and pulled out a sword from his right. Holding the sword with two hands, he walks towards Mark, until the blade was merely inches away from Mark's throat.
"This means I get to finish you off myself." The man's eyes blazed brilliantly.
Mark held up his hands in surrender, though the look on his face clearly contradicted the motion. "I thought you were an honorable warrior. But yet," he tilts his head, and continues in a very mocking voice, "you would kill an unarmed man, Kage-san?" He shook his head in disapproval.
At this, Kage looked very amused. "Don't make me laugh. I know you have knives concealed in your sleeves. And also...you have a pistol hidden in your left shoulder holster.
"Oh, a pistol, you say? Sadly, you are mistaken." Mark's hand quickly dove into his coat, and before Kage can strike, Mark brought out a sleek video recorder. "Say, cheese!" Mark mocked, then pressed the button. The recorder spewed a rich cloud of smoke in Kage's face.
"You bastard!" Kage lunged and swung his sword down...but only met air. The smoke cleared. Wasting not even a second, he listening intently, to find out where Mark was. Then, he heard it. The faint sound of breathing.
Like a bolt running on the ground, Kage charged towards that direction. He swung, and was met with a knife.
Mark stood up, correcting his position. He clenched his teeth, then pushed the knife forward. Kage jumped backwards, then made another strike, but Mark blocked it with his knife again. However, this time Kage locked the knife into his swing, then threw the knife out of his hands.
"Damn it!" Mark thought. He silently put his left hand in his pocket, then pressed 3 on the cell phone he was carrying. "3...Jean's speed dial." Turning the volume down to silent, he took his left hand out of his pocket. Smiling, he then, like a flash, took out two knives, his face a mask to his inside.
Still keeping his composure, he said. "Let's have an honest 1 on 1, shall we?" Then he charged.