Challenge Accepted.

Sorry I haven't posted in forever, I owe everyone a long one. So here it is.

I think that in a past life, I was still a goober, but a goober in different time and place. I'm thinking I was in England, in the not-so-very-distant past.

"Bloody fuck!" I said, wiping mud off of my shoe, "I just got these bloody things and they cost me fifty bloody pounds!" "Calm down, Whitney" said my commander, "If you didn't buy such stylish shoes then you wouldn't have to worry about getting them dirty. This is England, you know. It rains. A lot. Get used to it; and I've got an assignment for you."
It had been a while since I had received an assignment, having been stuck behind a desk following an incident of rather epic proportions. I'd really rather not talk about it. "What is it, sir?! Pirates smuggling tea from South America? Drug kingpins staging fights in their favor?" I said. "No, I'm afraid not, dear. Something a bit more drab. You've got to check on Thomas Black. He was a witness to a crime, and all you've got to do is make sure he's not lying on the floor in a puddle of blood. At least not today." "Fine." I said, "Anything to get me out from behind this damned desk!" I picked up my coat, reached for the door, and grabbed for the door knob. "Ah, ah, ah!" my boss tutted. I shot him a look and grabbed an umbrella. "Horrid English weather!" I muttered to myself as I walked out the door.
The walk to Thomas Black's flat was a long one. I didn't mind. Being the daughter of the Chief of Police had it benefits, however, I wasn't fortunate enough to have a vehicle, despite all my best efforts to get one. Women are few and far between in my line of work, and still tend to get the short end of the stick. "Good old reliable Whitney," I thought to myself, "always the yeoman, never the frontman." I reached his building in about ten minutes and stood in front of it. Broken glass littered the pavement around the first floor windows, where downtrodden street dwellers had probably entered to get out of the cold. Only a few lights illuminated the windows facing the street. "Brilliant security system, Black." I mumbled as I pressed the bell to ring his flat. "YOU BLOODY WEED-EATER!" the intercom blared. "I BLOODY TOLD YOU I DON'T WANT THE BLOODY NEWSPAPER ANYMORE! I'M GOING TO COME DOWN THERE AND PUT YOU IN THE BOOT OF ME CAR MESELF!" "Sir, calm down, I'm detective Whitney Kensington, with the UK Police Service. I've been sent here to check up on you. May I come up?" There was a pause, followed by a buzzing noise and the click of a latch. "If you must," the intercom screeched, "but wipe your shoes before you come in." Wipe them where? I thought to myself, gingerly stepping over a broken bottle and banging my shoes on the doorframe.
As I walked up the stairs, I wondered why I had actually been sent here to check on this man. Normally, I could have simply given him a ring to see if he was home, and briefly inquired if he was indeed alright. I sensed immediately that this wasn't going to be a quick pop-in. My commander had been terribly delicate with me after I had nearly gotten my head blown off, and that was alright with me. I was always a bit skittish, and became even more fragile after what had happened. Arriving at the top of the stairs, I knocked on the door. "Mister Black?" I said. A shadow darkened the peephole and I heard a succession of locks being turned. A man's skeptical face peered around the opened door.
Mid twenties, Thomas Black had dark hair, clear green eyes and a few days' stubble. "Police service, eh? Show me your badge then." "Are you serious?!" I exclaimed, and seeing his shoulders tense, I complied, rummaging around in my bag until I found it. "There you go. May I come in now?" I said. Still looking wary, he opened the door all the way and ushered me inside, redoing the locks upon my entry. "Rats." Thomas Black said, with a look of conviction. “Pardon?" I said, unsure of what he was talking about. "Rats, ya know, crafty little buggers, get in and eat all my crisps. That's why I've got the locks. Keep those bastards out." I gave him a half-smile, not sure if he was joking or not. Men, I thought to myself, they're always trying to prove that they're not afraid of anything. "Mister Black, we both know that's not why I'm here. Why don't you tell me why I am here?" Black stood up and crossed the room, drawing the shades down on his sole window. "The MOBB is after me." "The Mob? Sir, I can assure you that there isn't a problem--" "Not the Mob, The MOBB! The Ministry of Black Belts! Those stealthy buggers know I know!" Taken slightly aback, I looked at him to see if he was lying. "Know you know what?" I said. "Know I know! About Kim Chin! And his brains being spattered all over an alley, that's all!" "Wait, wait, wait." I said, "Does my commander know about this?" "Well, they know I saw something, and they found the body, but I wouldn't tell them anything. I was far too afraid. I've even told you too much!" He got up and began to undo the locks. "Sir! Wait!" I exclaimed, now remembering where I knew Black's name from. A few weeks back, there had been a young man named Kim Chin brutally beaten in an alley in a questionable part of town. Reports were released in all of the papers, requesting any information known. Apparently, Thomas Black had shown up, visibly shaken, claiming to have seen the murder. He couldn't name names, remember faces, or recall what was said. After eight grueling hours in the interrogation room, he was released, apparently to be thrown under my impatient watch. "Why me?" I thought. Certainly some of my more brutish counterparts would have been better suited to protect this man than me. "You've already told me more than you've told anyone else. Please go on, it will be alright, I promise." Black hesitated, hand on the doorknob. "Alright, but you've got to promise me that you won't drag anyone else into this. I've had it with your police cohorts and their skullduggery." I looked into his eyes, and seeing apprehension and disdain for my fellow police officers, replied with a quick "yes, sure, fine". The more information I could get from this bloke, the better I could look in front of all of those men, not to mention my father. "Tell me all about it." I said, with a placating smile on my face.
"It all started when I got into gambling." Black began, "At first it was nightly poker games with my mates, you know, friendly like. But soon that wasn't enough. I started to bet on horse races, but even that wasn't enough. I wanted more, something new to spend my money on. Gambling made me feel more alive than anything before. After a particularly disappointing loss, I drank myself silly at a pub close to the track. I stumbled out into the street to go home. I came across a group of lads, all Asian, all wearing red headbands. One of them wasn't wearing shoes. 'No shoes, eh mate!? Can't afford 'em, yeah?!' I slurred. The next thing I remember was waking up chewing on one of my molars. The lad with no shoes had knocked me out clean, with one kick. Now, this made me stop gambling for a few days, being that I was in so much pain, but after that subsided, I was mad. Seething mad. I had been kicked (not punched like in a proper fight) by a kid! I decided I was going out to settle the score." Black's eyes glinted while he recollected, fists clenching and unclenching. "I waited for them in the pub, in a seat by the window. I wasn't sure if I would see them again, but sure enough, around one a.m. they emerged from an underground station, a few of them wiping their bloody noses on their sleeves, others nursing black eyes. 'Be a man, Thomas' I said to myself and stormed into the street. 'Oy! You! The chap with no shoes who kicked me! Me fist would like a word with you!' I looked down and realized none of them were wearing shoes. I decided then and there that I would settle things with words and not with my fists as I intended. 'I...uh...bloody hell...' I stammered. 'I'd like to, erm, organize you.' 'Organize this, you git!' said the tallest one, obviously their leader, as his fist sailed towards my jaw. Without thinking, I ducked and threw my body weight behind an uppercut aimed for his face. Feeling my flesh on his flesh, I realized that I had connected with something. Their leader stumbled backwards and the others caught him, pushing him forward. Knowing I couldn't physically beat him, I decided the next best way would be to talk my way out of it. 'Pounds!' I squealed. "'Pounds sterling! I'll give you part if you let me watch you do...erm... what you do.' 'Not even for...' I dug into my pocket, feeling the bundle of bills I was taking to the track tomorrow. '...one hundred pounds? Just to let me and a few of my mates watch you fight?' Their leader looked at the notes, greed glinting in his eyes. I wondered if he was going to take my offer or beat me up and take my money. His mind seemed to have settled on the former. 'Deal,' he said, spitting when he talked, 'but no more than a few of your mates. Meet us in that tube station at 10 o'clock. Do not be late.' "
Black seemed more relaxed, fingering a hole in his couch and pulling bits of stuffing out. He then went on to explain how he had set up an underground gambling circuit of men who enjoyed watching these young blokes fight. More and more men started coming, and soon it was a major (although illegal) event. Thomas Black was making thousands of pounds each week, and enjoying the good life. "They pitted the weakest against the weakest, the strongest against the strongest, with their Leader, Wing, always coming out on top. I noticed one of the weaker fighters, Kim Chin, moving up the food chain slowly, and after a few months he was face to face with Wing. Wing always enjoyed his success, because it was expected that he would win, as a sign of respect. 'Are you ready to taste the ground?' Wing taunted Kim, dancing around him. 'No!' yelled Kim, and delivered a punishing blow to Wing's chest. Wing, daunted by Kim's sudden move, struggled to get his breath back. 'You had better be careful, Kim san, or I might kill you.' Wing's breath was unsteady yet dripping with ice. I knew then that they were out for blood."
Black paused, drawing a deep breath. "Wing knew Kim was better than him and he wanted him out. Out of the Ministry of Black Belts, out of London, out of his sight. Wing wanted Kim dead. After the fight was over, and a tired Wing had been made a laughingstock, with happy gamblers counting their notes while Wing walked out in shame."
Black went on to describe how he saw Wing kill Kim, catching him off guard and slamming his head into the cement alley wall. "I couldn't watch," Black said, "So I went back and pretended nothing happened, saying nothing when Wing came in with Kim's blood on his face, passing me without a glance, daring me to say something. Now you know why I can't come forward. Wing is going to kill me." "Don't worry, Mister Black,"I said, "I'll ring for a car and we'll pop into the station so you can give a statement and then we'll set you up in a nice hotel where no one can find you. Let me just ring my commander and let him know we're coming." "No!" Black screamed, "I've got to get to a safe place! What if they don't believe me and Wing is waiting for me when I get out?! Give me your mobile... and your gun. I'll feel safer that way." "That's a terrible idea; I won't be able to defend you or myself if he does come!" I said, knowing that I had another gun strapped to my ankle. Pretending to give in, I unholstered my gun, taking the clip out. "I'll keep this" I said, with a grin. Thomas Black's face faltered. He wanted the bullets. "I'm not going to let you do something irrational, Mister Black, like blow your brains out or anything!" I let out a false laugh. He was acting erratically, only caring about protect himself. I had the feeling that he wouldn't mind me taking a few bullets for him. "Alright, sir, I think that's all I need, thank you so much for your time!" I slipped the clip into my bag, seeing how his eyes followed it as it went. I scrambled to my feet, not even bothering to gather my things, and undid all of the locks on his door. I flung it open and came face to face with a man wearing a red bandana around his dark-hair. I gasped.
This must be Wing. He had the powerful body of a fighter, with a menacing stare. "Step back into the flat, please." He said, face devoid of emotion, with a quiver of rage lacing his request. "Oh, I, erm, I was just leaving, you know, just popped 'round for tea!" I said, desperately trying to formulate a plan. "It's not an option, miss. Kindly sit down." I slowly walked backward, falling into the chair I had just sprung out of. "Wing. Oh god. I..." said Black. He seemed to know that he wasn't going to talk his way out of the situation this time. I tried to figure out a way to get to the gun that was by my ankle without Wing seeing me. I quickly bent over, fumbling with the strap. However, Wing grabbed my hair and made me sit upright. "There'll be none of that, miss," he said. I winced and rubbed my head. He turned to Black, who was sitting on the couch, looking defeated. "You know why I'm here," Wing said, as I slowly inched my hand down my thigh. "You killed my brother." I stopped, dumbstruck. "You killed Kim and now I'm going to kill you." "You killed Kim?!" I yelped, immediately regretting being back in either man's periphery. Black, resigned to his fate, looked at Wing, sighed and said, "Yes. I killed him. He cost me so many pounds I couldn't even count. The underdog is never supposed to win! I lost everything that night, just because Kim had to prove himself." Wing wasn’t going to hear Black’s excuses. He grunted, pulled back his arm and smashed his fist into Black's face. The sound was sickening. He turned to me and said, "Don't move." I sunk deeper into my chair. How was I to get out?! I looked around and slowly moved my hand toward an empty lager bottle. My hand wrapped around it and I hurled it at the window, forgetting the shade was still down. The crash that it made was loud enough to make Wing turn his blood spattered face towards the sound.
I ran for it, out the door and down the stairs, the sound of my heart pumping louder than the thudding of my feet on the stairs. Wishing I had a megaphone to tell someone what I had just witnessed, I ran out and got in the first taxi I saw.

Months later...

I've been sacked. When a witness under your watch suddenly gets pummeled to death and you simply run away, you don't typically get a second chance. I've got a job at a metro station now, making change and giving out information. It's quiet. As I lean over to grab a stack of flyers and put them on the counter, a hand grabs my wrist. I look up and see a pair of brown eyes staring back at me. "Remember me?" Wing hisses. Seeing the fear on my face, he loosens his grip and his expression relaxes. His face turns red and a tear comes to his eye. "His soul is at peace now. My brother's death has been righted." I stare at him, not answering, hoping he'll let go. I don’t know who to believe, who really killed Kim. He walks off, blending in with everyone else. I notice a man leaning against a trash can staring at me. He has clear green eyes, face indiscernible, mangled and hidden under a scarf. He limps off, following Wing into the crowd.

Ok, so it's only a first draft. If you've managed to make it this far, I love you. I really, really love you. Toodeloo!