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***

Author's Note: I know you all are eager to see more of the Blue Bandanna gang and their plans upon the small town of St. George, but there was one more thing we have to cover before that. In the last Extra story revealed a new character into the mix by the name of Russell Black. While I enjoyed receiving the comments everyone had, I will be honest, what I was expecting was completely opposite to what I received. Therefore I have decided to write a sequel story that reveals more about the character and tie in a few more aspects together. Enjoy.

***

My name is Russell Black. My lupine frame has been getting old and bitter over the long passing years. I wasn't always this way though, but when you've been stuck in life as long as I have, you're perceptions change from where they were in the past. This is my story, and I fear that if I don't tell it now, there will be some poor sap out there who will fall under the torrent of mistakes, misgivings, and misunderstandings of my life. I guess when it comes to anything else, a story must be told from the beginning.

I was born in 1963, in New York City. It was a place that was so conflicted, that even from the beginning I was getting screwed over left and right. When I was three years old, my father had abandoned my mother with me to take care of and no job. Because of that I never had a privileged upbringing. There was not much to do in the way of fun or even boring things. That was until I was six years old.

"I win again," said an old patzer in Washington Square Park. It was the first thing I ever remember about the board game of chess. I was playing in the park while waiting for my mother to get off work, when I saw the two rival patzers battling each other out in a battle of wits and speed. Bullet chess was all they knew, throwing it down with minute and a half time limits. I was instantly interested, because I never really fit in with the baseball crowd anyway.

I walked up to them and asked them how to play, and from then, my chess destiny was written in stone forever. To them I was like the next child prodigy, like another young man that had won the US championships at the age of 14, by the name of Bobby Fischer. I learned quickly, at least their way of playing chess. My mother seemed happy that I got into something so stimulating, although she didn't approve of the crowd teaching me.

The following Christmas, I was given a chessboard and my first book to learn with. That made me happy, probably the peak of my childhood innocence. Whenever I came home from my rundown elementary school I would spend countless hours reading my book, playing games with myself until my mother would bother me to clean my room. And when I was at school, when I couldn't get away from my mother with the book, I would start drawing pictures of the pieces, dancing around on the board.

Drawing was another thing I slowly began to do, enjoying passing the time. When I was 8 years old, my second grade teacher had seen my drawings, and liked what she saw. It was then when she handed me my first real sketchpad, and said I should look into practicing harder, and build a technique, because I had real talent as an artist. Despite not having a lot, I was happy, at least for the moment.

But it was not to last.

When I was in 4th grade, I had accidently walked down the wrong sidewalk home. My mother told me to always stick on the path, but I was reading the book, the last chapter that I hadn't memorized, when I stepped down a different path. It was normal at first, but I had quickly realized that I wasn't alone.

"Hey Sykes, look at this fool," I remember hearing, "this lil' boy here thinks he so smart reading a book." A group of neighborhood teenagers had surrounded me. They were an extremist group that was very speciecist toward wolves. These hellcats were not something to mess with, and I was about to learn that the hard way. Their leader snatched the book out of my hand.

"Hey, that's mine," I shouted as I tried to reach it, but he held it up too high. He took a quick read of the title.

"The Basic Fundamentals of Chess," He said, and the others laughed, "what a geek. Don't you know wolves are too stupid to read?" He held the book up and pulled out a lighter. Within seconds my favorite book was disintegrated.

"Hey," I said shorthanded as the rest of the pages turned to ash, "you big jerk." I looked up just as he slugged me in the face. I fell backwards, hitting the ground hard.

"Let me tell you something wuffie," He said as two of his buddies held me up and restrained me, "felines are the superior species on this planet. You're not even worthy of licking the soles of our shoes. Perhaps you need a lesson on respecting your elders. Hey Zeike, you're gay right? Why don't you give this lil' bitch a piece of what he deserves."

"With pleasure," the biggest one said as he began to slide my pants down.

"Hey wuffie," the leader laughed, "if you bark, maybe we'll let you slide."

***

I was too young to fight back, and I could only cry and whimper as that man violated me. Even when I barked in humiliation, they only laughed as they stole my innocence. I made sure from then on to never walk down that pathway again. I was hurting from then on, while physical scars didn't bother me, I was never the same in my head again. That day when my mother came home, she had asked me how school went. There was only one thing that I could say.

"Just the same old mommy," I pushed through a fake smile. I didn't want to worry her, or let her think that I was being pushed around. I mean, a wolf is supposed to be strong right? Or was that reserved for pack mentality.

In my mind, I kept replaying the scenario in my head, and every time I tried to imagine it being different. One time I imagined myself being strong enough to defeat them. Other times I imagined my dad coming to my aid, and saving me from them. At least then I could have thought of my dad in a better light. But every time I imagined this scenario differently, the more I grew to hate them, and while I avoided that alleyway like the plague, I could only wish that something terrible would finally happen to them one day.

That scenario never happened though. When I was in sixth grade, 12 years old, I had read about them in the newspaper about a group killing of a family of humans. History recorded this as the Manhattan Human Massacre of 1975. It was that same gang that killed them, claiming that humans were merely the scum of the earth. I was angered when a political official praised them in public, and ordered medals to be awarded to them.

My childhood never did return to normal after that. I still played chess and did art, but I slowly began looking beyond this evil patch of New York City. There had to be a place better than this, at least a place where everyone got along. When I was 13, my mother decided to help branch me out. I didn't know at first, but I had thought that she wanted me out of this dump as much as I wanted. She had signed me up for my first chess tournament. Those years when I didn't have that book, I would prepare for the tournament by going to the library and reading those books. It was a unique strategy that paid off.

My first tournament had won my family a nice 500 Dollar first prize. It was the first time that I had actually smiled for real in three years. From then, I continued to participate in contests. I would go from anything from chess to various art contests, and that alone was paying the bills in prize money. By the time I graduated from high school in 1981, I was offered a full paid scholarship to any art institute in the country. My mother could not have been more proud of me. Art, Chess, and my mother were the only things that kept my sanity going since my childhood rape case.

Throughout the next year I was continuing my hobbies as a possible career path, finally out of New York City. I had wanted out of there for a long time, and I chose an Art Institute located within the city of San Diego, California. I had encouraged my mother to come with me, but she insisted that she would be fine back in NYC.

"There's nothing for me there anyway," she said when I was ready to leave, "you have your own destiny to pursue, just remember that I love you." And that was that, I had pushed forward through my school. For my whole freshman year, I was fully happy, much like I was eight years prior.

But unfortunately, like last time, it wasn't to last.

That last dialogue up above was the last that I ever heard of my mother's voice. I was celebrating the straight A's I had gotten for my whole freshman year when I had been given the call by the NYPD. Please come to New York, your mother has been murdered. I was devastated, and hurried back as fast as I could. When I had gotten back to my old home, it was a mere haunting shell of what it once was.

Not a single window was unbroken, and every item in the house was either missing or broken. Blood also flooded various rooms, especially the front room, where a message was written in the unholy crimson.

"Dirt under the boots will be cleaned from this planet," It said on one wall, and on the other said another message, "Hellcats was here." Once again, that same gang had destroyed everything that I had come to cherish. This time though, there was no one to stand behind them. They were finally convicted by the court justice system, but even then I felt like they failed. Not only did they fail to save my mother, those hellcats were all given small prison sentences, a mere five years a piece. Anger swelled, even as I saw the ones responsible for stealing my innocence smirk in my face.

It was the point of no return, my whole faith in this godforsaken system had died with my mother. I dropped out of school, vowing never to return, and became a drifter. My chessboard and sketchpad were my only companions. I wasn't a patzer by any means, I never did drugs, alcohol, nor did I ever commit any crime. But I only made enough money to survive, by teaching seasonal art classes, and private chess lessons.

It was a vicious cycle of travelling that lasted all throughout the 80s. It wasn't until 1992 when I was finally offered a permanent position in a place I had never been before. Another wolf, like myself had been the only person to come looking for me. I remember it like it was yesterday, when he knocked on the door of my cheap motel room in Mesquite, Nevada.

"Who are you?" I asked the fellow lupine.

"Greetings Mr. Black," he stated with proper etiquette, "my name is Dr. Martin. May I come in please?" I nodded and did so.

"Why are you here?" I asked him as he took a seat down.

"I'm here to talk to you in the stead of someone you know," he began, but I interrupted.

"I know no one."

"Not even your own father?" He asked me, I frowned and faced him.

"My father abandoned my mother and I when I was very little," he said, "I could care less what happens to him now."

"He's no longer alive," Dr. Martin stated, "he passed away about 7 years ago."

"He could join the club then," I told him, "maybe my mother has given him a piece of his mind. Now if there is nothing else you wish to waste my time with I suggest you leave."

"I'm merely here to carry out his last wish," he said, "he wanted me to make sure you have a safe niche in life, as a way of apologizing for not being there for you."

"And what the hell do you mean by that?" he asked, "it's way too late for him to try to make amends."

"Well," Dr. Martin began, "I had read in the New York chess archives that you are quite talented in two fields, and that you've been freelance teaching for a long time now."

"So what if I have?" I asked.

"Then perhaps you'd like it if someone offered a secure, permanent position doing that, with a set salary stronger than you are at now. Not to mention it's in a town with one of the lowest crime rates in the country."

"I'm listening," I said slowly.

"Very good..." he began, "now listen carefully."

***

After that fateful meeting I was moved into a new town in a state that I had only been in at the more apparent cities, the state of Utah. I was stationed in a small building of a college in the Southwest section of the state, in a small town called St. George. It was actually a nice place to be at. It was quiet, small, and nothing really happened. And I was making a nice living to.

Throughout all this time, I had never really thought about not living alone. I had only been by myself for nearly 11 years by this point. And for the next three years that was to continue. Although on the day of September 21, 1995, I was going to meet someone who I didn't know then, would one day change my life forever.

It was the first time I actually met a human in person. Various hate crimes in the world combined with religious extremist's propositions have left the human population in a shaky position for the past several centuries. She was a very nice lady though, and for a while she had reminded me a bit of my own mother.

"So what can I do you for Mrs. Lewis?" I asked her.

"I was wondering if you can play my son in a game of chess," she explained, "he likes to play the game and I think he has a talent, and I was hoping you can help him along." I took a good long look at the child in question. He had clenched to his mom's leg the whole time, not much taller than her waist was. He had short brown hair, with dark brown eyes to match.

"Mommy," he said in a high voice, "do I have to?"

"It will only be for a couple hours Ryan," she said, "It will be alright." She kissed him on the forehead and left him with me.

"It's nice to meet you Ryan," I said softly, "why don't we get started? Have a seat please."

***

This child reminded me of myself; the more we got to talking. He was shy at first, but after a few sessions of play he seemed to warm up to me. It started out as chess dialect, but it soon branched out to other things. He was quick to tell me about his own life. His father had abandoned him too when he was three years old, much like myself. Not that much later, his father had died. He also said sometimes he would be teased at school because he was human. The humanoid hatred wasn't nearly as bad as the 60s and 70s but it was still evident even at that date. It wouldn't be until four years beyond that date when full human rights would become law in the United States.

My own past hatred had molded into jealousy when it came to Ryan though. When it came to chess, he showed a talent that I had never seen in a child before. I was better than him by no doubt, but he improved at an alarming rate, even with no teacher, and showed the promise of one day surpassing me. I think it was then when I started to hate him. I didn't let it know though, but I did try to indirectly impede his progress.

Ryan was not afraid to challenge authority though. Every time I asked him a question pertaining to a principle, he would respond by asking another question. He would continue to insist when he was confident about an answer that it was the right move, even if it completely ignored what I was trying to show him. Sometimes, he would get frustrating like that.

His mother wanted to get Ryan to participate in tournaments, and get into the full experience, and even Dr. Martin agreed. But I didn't, and told them he should wait a few years until he gets better. They believed it then, and it worked, but another man would move in soon to threaten my position.

***

"I'd like you to meet Grandmaster Igor Ivanov," Dr. Martin introduced him to me. This guy was one hell of a timber wolf. He was tall, rugged, and strong. He had the pinnacle sign of his Russian heritage in him. There was no way my chess strengths matched him. When I played him at a friendly set of matches, I didn't even get one win against him. I did get a draw once, but it didn't change the fact that I was vastly outmatched.

While we played, he and I talked, and the bulls eye approach he took was nothing short of surprising.

"I want to talk about Ryan Lewis," he began, "you teach him well, but I think you don't let him have full potential. I think you should leave him with me."

"I'm not his teacher," I said bluntly.

"Still, you play him a lot, show him how he needs improvement right?" He asked.

"So what if I do?" I asked plainly. I figured if he would be plain, so would I.

"Words of jealousy," he retorted and moved a piece, "checkmate." I was surprised, he knew instantly.

"What makes you think-"

"I've played chess for 42 years," he explained, "you're letting your jealousy overshadow another young boy's potential. Do you truly plan to hurt him like that?" That question really hurt. Not only in the way that he insults my intelligence, but in the sense that I realized he was right. I knew that as long as he was around, I couldn't continue to teach Ryan, it would lead to too many complications. Therefore, within the following week, I announced to both Ryan's mother Verlene, and Dr. Martin that I would be stepping down as his teacher. But I didn't leave Ryan's life forever. I simply continued teaching my art classes to people, while watching the young man from the shadows.

9 years have passed since that encounter with the Russian grandmaster.

***

The news had struck a huge nerve with the rest of the chess community of St. George, Utah. Igor Ivanov, Ryan's teacher, had passed away suddenly of advance brain cancer. After this news, I tried to take it upon myself to try to further his teaching, but it ended very quickly in disaster. While I still played chess within the shadows of my own small house, I couldn't help but wonder how much he taught Ryan before his entry into high school. How much did he improve? I wanted to find out, so I decided to step out of the shadows and find out.

I returned to Dr. Martin at the turn of the holiday break, and gave him my condolences to Igor's death. It was then when the good doctor told me about the Igor Memorial tournament he'd be hosting, and I didn't hesitate to sign up. I knew Ryan would be eager to play. When I mentioned this, he told me that Ryan would be coming to visit later to play. With that knowledge I decided to stick around and speak with him.

I wasn't disappointed. Almost on time, Ryan eagerly walked in through the door. He had definitely grown. His hair had more definition, and his eyes had shown signs of maturity. He was still skinny though, and wasn't as tall as I thought he would be. He was hanging his coat, wet of snow, as I began to talk with him.

"Ryan Lewis," I said, "been studying your endgame have you."

"I might have," he said, and took a seat opposite of me. Just like before, he challenged me in every step of the way, and while I tried to teach him what I know is right, he disagreed. It seemed age and experience with his old teacher only showed arrogance. His disrespect grew when I saw him text, and when I snatched it out of his hand, I learned of something new about him.

He was gay. The text read "Don't let the mean teach get to you. If something goes wrong, I can give you a little pick me up tonight ;). Who the hell is Morrell?" I was angry, and flashbacks of the past crept back to me. The gay hellcat who raped me had brought an anger I had suppressed for years, and I took it out all on the teenage human. I destroyed his phone, called him a disrespectful fag, someone unfit for existence. I said he was never fit to match my existence. He ran out, shouting that he would prove me wrong.

Little did I know that I would be proven wrong.

The next day I was chastised for berating Ryan. I didn't apologize though, I was still mad, and that anger seethed through the tournament that weekend.

It was easy for me to destroy the competition, even against Ryan himself. I had even gotten a clear advantage against him, for at least the first half of the game. Shortly after though, he had managed to swing himself around, and claim a clear victory over me. My fear from 9 years prior had been right. This 14 year old teenager had finally surpassed me. It was then when I realized the error of my way. I walked out, not even bothering to shake Ryan's hand. That was a choice I regret, even to this very day.

I knew that to respect someone who was rightfully better was worthy of at least a handshake, but my pride of resisting the hellcats had prevented me from doing that.

'Felines are the true superior species, wuffie,' that man's voiced coursed through my head. I had to make up for what I did to Ryan, but what could I do? My pride didn't let me walk back to shake his hand, but my hand simply reached down and picked up my sketch bar. The next day, I snatched my drawing utilities, and went for a walk.

I started drawing, one of Ryan, the one chess opponent that I respected. He was an idol of both chess and the struggle against ignorance, and I idolized that in the drawing. I had nearly finished as I crossed a famous crosswalk, where the human in question happened to be walking. I never bothered to see him turning and notice the picture.

***

After a long while after, I packed up my things, and turned in my letter of retirement. With my shame and newfound respect, I left St. George, and journeyed further up north to continue my teachings. My journey led me up to the Utah state capital of Salt Lake City. That was where I would meet another young man. This would be a man who would be Ryan's greatest rival in two months' time. His name was Tony Chen.

"Pleased to meet you Tony," I said, but he said nothing back at first. He was human, much like Ryan, but he seemed to have an aspect about him that was not very friendly. He was very receptive of what I had to teach him, and he was talented. But I knew immediately, that he would not defeat Ryan. He did not possess the qualities that made him someone a true champion. He never once challenged my reasoning, he never asked questions, and he never really cared of any other conversation other than chess. It was a wasted effort, but I stuck to it, hoping that he could show signs of a champion.

It was not to be, and when the High School State Championships came up, Ryan was there, and he showed nothing but signs of further improvement. I didn't bother to say hi, but he knew I was there, when we made eye contact from across the foyer.

His games were well placed, and easily won. Panic was ensuing amongst West High School, the team that was led by the Chen family. As the rounds carried on, I overheard Tony's father and sister talking about Ryan and what to do. It was then when I sensed things were wrong. I didn't think about it at first, but it came back when the seventh round had begun, but Ryan was nowhere to be found.

It was then when I realized what had happened. Mr. Chen had taken it upon himself to cheat his son's way to the top. I couldn't let that happen, not upon the broken promises of both Ryan's father and my father's graves. I thought quickly, and picked the best place where Ryan would be conveniently out of the way, the basement.

I noticed that Ryan's school coach and Dr. Martin were looking to, but they went the completely wrong direction at first. I ran to the basement, where I heard a weak banging noise in an unventilated closet. I used all my strength to break the door open, and rescued Ryan. It didn't take long to bring him back and set things right.

Ryan was still fair when he regained consciousness. He told them to keep his time deduction stable, and continued to play. Even with all this, he still managed to win. Even with the overwhelming evidence, Ryan gave Tony a slim window of opportunity to still win. This just continued to show that Ryan was still champion.

Not only was Ryan better than I was as a player, he was better as a person. This whole time, I was an imperfect monster. He taught me an important lesson. He didn't hate Tony, even after his family tried to force the win out of his hand dishonestly. I should've done the same thing. With the hellcats who murdered my mom, and raped me in my childhood, I should have been the better person, and just moved on. It was then, that I missed my mother, and that made me think of Ryan's mom. She was raising him right, and that warmed my cold heart.

***

When the tournament was all over, I fired Tony as a student. When he asked why, I simply said he just didn't have it in him. I packed my things once again and left. Now I sit here, on a bus, telling you this story. I'm once again a drifter, scrapping a living from place to place. When I wasn't teaching on the fly, I was riding on a bus going who knows where. I would continue to entertain myself by drawing more pictures of Ryan. None of them were beyond a G rating, for these were pictures of upmost respect.

Now, I'm once again on a bus heading to St. George. I had originally planned to just skip over that town, but I now have decided to stop by for one last visit, and give Ryan one last gift. When the bus stopped, I walked down the street toward Ryan's house. It would be the last thing I do with Ryan, before leaving everyone's life forever, to drift forever onwards into the shadows.

***

"Ryan, are you ready for school on Monday?" My mother shouted up to me as I walked to my room.

"Yes mother," I told her, "I have been since the end of school last Thursday." It hadn't been that long since I won the State Championships, and I had decided to relax by myself for just a little longer before school would continue the following day. When I got to my room though, I was quite surprised. The window was open, and a small brown package was strewn across the windowsill. I walked over and grabbed the package before looking out the window. No one was there, but whoever it was had just barely ducked out of sight. I opened the package and was surprised by what I saw.

It was a completely filled sketchpad, filled with pictures of me, sometimes my friends, and even one of me and my boyfriend playing a game of chess together. On the bottom left of every picture was a recognizable signature. It was the signature of Russell Black. I smiled, and said a phrase in Latin that I imagined would fit well with him.

"A infractus pectus pectoris est melded per lux lucis." A broken heart melds with light.