Just a few minor revisions. Nothing big.
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Yaukza. Triads. They're no better than any other sort of scum on the
face of the planet. They sell dope, they run numbers, they pimp whores,
everything other organized crime syndicates are famous for. People here just
pretend not to notice.
I watch from the shadows, watch as their street-level thugs roam the
city. I watch as a haggard-looking salaryman motions to an ordinary-looking
guy, clasping hands as if in greeting, which doesn't draw the attention that
it should. None of the wage slaves on the sidewalk seem to notice as a tiny
white vial is exchanged for a roll of yen. The two exchange a few words and
go about their business, one peddling poison and another headed home with
his fix.
I've watched shit like this for years. I watched as they killed the
kid's mother. I watched as they torched his home, as they beat him for
confronting them. I watched as his pop told him that it didn't happen, and
that it had all been an "unfortunate accident".
A couple years back, I got tired of watching.
That night, ten years ago, was my birth, my baptism by fire. I guess
you could call me the kid's release valve. By himself, he wouldn't have a
chance in hell of seeing justice done. That's why he has me.
I glance at the luminous face of the watch, one I filched from a
pusher a few weeks back. I'm sure he would have wanted me to have it. Twenty
minutes, more than enough time. I release the button, the face of the watch
going dark as I prepare to spring.
Time seems to stand still as I sail through the air, the people
below going about their business as I hang weightless in space. After an
eternity of seconds, my feet hit the rooftop across the way. I don't even
stop to breathe before sprinting to the next leap. It's time for the hunt to
begin.
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The moon rises in the infinte darkness above, a pale sliver in the
night sky. Some of the streetlamps are busted, what few left struggling to
hold the night at bay. This is one of the more destitute sections of the
city, one of the places you don't see or hear about. Urbanization wasn't all
it was cracked up to be, and everyone seems to deny it.
The street guys have more freedom here, and it's easy to see why.
The buildings are much less pretty in this part of town, almost crying out
for an overhaul, or a wrecking ball. Cops won't even come here, probably
because this is the end of the local gumi's turf. Another narawabi shares a
border right close by, and fights break out all the time. It's not a real
nice place to live, as if the people here really had a choice.
It's a place where you'll find dope more easily scored, hookers more
blatant in peddling their wares, and violent crimes more frequent. It's also
where I'm gonna find my next targets.
I lovingly stroke the cold metal of the Benelli M39 pump-action
sawed-off I keep tucked away. This thing's a monster at close range, and I
intend to get very close. The leaf blades are strapped to my stomach beneath
the coat, with an entire arsenal of other blades and spare ammo for the
shotgun and Sig tucked away in the sleeves. That hidden weapons trick the
kid picked up in China turned out to be right handy, even if the guy he
learned it from was a bit daft.
The upstairs lights are on, filtered through the filthy windows of
the dingy yellow two story house in front of me. The acrid stench hit me
three blocks off, and got worse the closer I came. The whole thing is so
amateurish, it's almost laughable. Almost.
Cloaked in the shadows behind the building, I spot the doorman
hanging around out back, cracking his knuckes as he glares at things he
can't see. He's high as a kite, from the way his bloodshot eyes keep passing
over me.
Sloppy, buddy, real sloppy. If his superiors ever found out about
this, they'd skin him alive. People aren't staffed around drugs because they
use them. The bigger fish in the pond don't like it when employees get high
off their supply.
He stops for a moment to light a cigarette, and I have to fight down
the urge to laugh. His night vision just got shot down the tubes from that
match. It'll take his eyes forever to readjust. Guess that's my cue.
The sound of his neck breaking fills my ears as his rigid body goes
limp in my arms. Even if he hadn't been blinded and stoned, he wouldn't have
had a chance. I let him slip to the ground before I readjust the mask. The
damn thing itches from the sweat built up beneath it, but I have to wear
it. Wouldn't do to have anyone see my face, after all.
The door opens silently, darkness greeting my eyes as I step in.
Nobody's in the shadowed utility room, the muted noise from upstairs helping
mask my presence. They don't know I'm here, and that suits me fine. The
longer I can go without breaking out the Benelli, the better. I never liked
running gun battles, having survived my fair share of them. Besides,
homegrown meth labs tend to explode when sparks hit the air.
I ready two throwing knives as the sound of footsteps begin to close
in. I melt into the shadows, holding the gleaming blades out of sight. If
they don't come into the small utility room, then I won't kill them. I don't
waste my time on needless battles.
The footfalls pass by, soon fading back into silence as I replace
the knives. Time's getting short, and I have to move. I dart up the stairs
as quickly as I dare, not wanting a creaking board to give me away.
Not that I should worry. The music's getting louder, thrumming
through the walls as I climb. I could probably squeeze off a shot right now
and they wouldn't hear a thing.
I can feel the blood surging through my veins, the bloodlust
carrying me forward as I advance. This must be what the tiger feels when
stalking its prey, the anticipation of the kill. I gotta admit, it's sort of
addicting. The kid might not like it, but that's the way it is.
Harsh light spills out from the gap at the bottom of the doorframe,
the sound of voices and thundering music sounding like a twisted beehive.
They make their toxins in their, mixing chemicals in a haphazard lab to
create the drug known as crystal meth, another form of cocaine. Why anyone
would want that shit up their noses is beyond me, but that's not important.
The important thing is to get in there and shut it down.
The door is the only way in, with maybe five people beyond. I can
take them out in one go, before they even realize the danger. I just hope
none of those morons tries to fire a gun in there. The last thing I need is
to get blown into wet chunks.
The door explodes off its hinges with a well-placed kick, the frame
splintering with a loud crack. Five people, each of them looking up in dumb
shock as I throw my arms outward. Each blade is tipped with a quick, and
lethal, poison, guranteed to put them down quick and hard. The thin knives
find their marks, embedding themselves into the soft flesh of the targets.
Within seconds, every one of them is on the floor, either dead or quickly
dying. On a table is an open briefcase stuffed with yen. Time to make a
withdrawal and...
After only a few steps into the room, I feel the eyes on my back.
Looks like I didn't get them all. The knife leaves my hand as I spin,
hitting the remaining man square in the throat. That oughtta.... oh, FUCK!
I dive behind a table, knocking it over to form a shield before
landing. The report of the small handgun is lost in the roar of the
flammable chemicals bursting into violent flames. Friggin' idiot just HAD to
use a piece, didn't he? Well, street thugs were known for brawn, not brains.
The cloying smoke is starting to burn my eyes as the heat keeps
rising. It won't be long before the whole damn building becomes a huge barbecue.
"SHIT!" Must be one of the guys from downstairs.
Another one shouts, "SAVE THE MONEY!" I agree. I leap out from
behind the table, charging toward the toppled case. I see the shadow of a
man running toward me, and a backhand puts him out cold. No need to waste
him, the fire'll take care of that.
Some yen spilled out of the black briefcase, but that doesn't
matter. I can live without a few measly bills. I snap the case close, the
smoke is really starting to bother me, and make a dash for the nearest
window. Time to beat a hasty retreat.
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The house is burning quite well now, the harsh glare of the leaping
flames banishing the night for nearly a block. The fire trucks have arrived,
spraying jets of water in an attempt to extinguish the blaze before other
buildings are endangered. A wasted effort, if you ask me. Burning this
hellhole to the ground would only increase the property value.
I haven't bothered to count the spoils of this little war, I'll have
time for that later. Now, I just need to stash all this crap and get some
sleep. The kid's got a test tomorrow, and he's gonna feel bad enough as it is.
The battle over, I turn and head for home. I'm confident in the
knowledge that, for me at least, crime pays.
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Nobody ever comes down here anymore, one of the main reasons I chose
this place to hide my weapons. The old sewer tunnel had been abandoned since
the fifties, blocked off as the system had been steadily improved. Despite
its disuse, the smell still lingers in the air. I'll have to clean this
suit pretty soon.
I hang the bodysuit on the hook I screwed into the wall, just a
black shirt and jeans, really. I haven't been able to score any kevlar yet.
Next comes the coat and sash of leaf blades.
I take off the wrist gauntlet which houses my Sig and place it in
the inside pocket of the coat. I can stash ammo, but for some reason I can't
use the Hidden Weapons techniqe on firearms. Maybe it's because I didn't
have time to really master the trick. I hide the shotgun next to the
bangstick in the corner of the abandoned tool closet. I haven't had the
cause to use that yet, and I hope I don't. I was lucky enough to find the
punk who packed the Sig, much less another with a shotgun. Finding
ammunition for that monster is next to impossible. I have to save it for
when I REALLY need it.
I look up, and I see her face looking down at me. Her smiling gaze
is filled with love mixed with an iron resolve, but for a fleeting second,
it's almost as if there's something less pleasant there. I felt her eyes
staring into me, as if trying to tell me something...
I tear my eyes away, hardening my heart once more. We can be only
what we are, no more and no less. This is what I am, period. I don't care
what she thinks of me, but I do hope she doesn't condemn the kid. He isn't
doing all this, I am.
I close the door, locking it and checking the booby traps in the
area. I'd sooner destroy all this shit and start over than give someone a
link back to either of us. Wouldn't be the first time.
I start the trip back home, having spent more time that I wanted to
here. The kid hasn't studied for that test, but that's not my problem. If he
flunks, it's his fault, not mine.
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