Chapter One:
I walked around Shinjuku like the ghost I was raised to be. I wove through the large crowd, barely even brushing up against anything as I squeezed through spots many people would push and shove to get through. My eyes were glued on my target, who was walking as if he didn’t have danger stalking him right here, right now.
Sadly for him, that was anything but the case.
I casually fingered my folded knife. It was so thin, I could hold it against my skin, and I could walk around without anyone having not even the slightest indication that I was carrying a knife. In my inner pocket was a hand gun, which I hoped would be the weapon I would use for this kill, if not all of my kills. In fantasies, most people see people wielding blades, and a lot of people still dig that, but they are infatuated with something they don’t quite understand. Well, sure, knives are nice and all, but what about the intimacy of killing someone with a blade? Yes, it could even get sexually intimate, if that’s the way some would like to go at it. Why? Well, one being the sounds one will make when suffering from blade injuries. The other being the blood. Some people couldn’t stand looking at their own hands, or even went to the extreme of cutting their hands off because of the feel of blood on their hands. It isn’t like any other liquid—and I’m not talking about how it feels sticky. You actually acknowledge that there is life spread all over you hands, and the end of yours, for that matter. There was one guy I knew, he decided to get into the bussiness with the slash of a blade—he left the bussiness before anyone could even give him another mission to do. Those slashes we make will either inflict themselves on our souls, or you block it with a wall of merciless, cold, unchalant, and maybe even sadistic emotion. I still did shank people to death, and I was not necessarily haunted by that—it was just the intimacy of it that made everything quite awkward.
I brushed my hair out of my face, actually switching on the nano-sized com-link that was attatched to my coat lapel on.
“Takehiko, reporting.” I said, barely even moving my lips. I waited for my boss and mentor to reply.
“What’s the target’s status?” he inquired.
“Dormant, I would like to say.” I said as said target walked into a soba shop called the Amaterasu.
“When do you plan to go for it?” he asked. “And don’t worry, this line is spotless.”
“Good to know.” I replied. “Ah…” It was a while since I’d had plans including fists.
“What?” asked my boss and mentor sharply—obviously, he thought I was in some sort of trouble.
“Relax.” I advised. The last thing we needed was our leader to get himself hauled off to the hospital because of an ulcer. “I was just thinking about my weapon of choice. The best time to take him out will be when he’s dormant…I’ll lure him out the back, but I need confirmation on if he’s an alcoholic and if he frequents at any soba shops around here.” I wasn’t ready to give out too much information; sure, he said the line was clean, but there were still possibilities.
“He is and does.”
“Perfect.” I said. “I’ll contact you later, Sensei.” I refered to him as sensei because he was, in many senses, my sensei. It was only proper to address him as such. I switched off the com-link, and headed to the shop. I was immediately greeted by a girl with long, straight, black hair with fading blonde streaks in it, and a pretty nice-looking face. However, it was also the face of an innocent, cheerful, and possibly dense girl. I smiled; she was just the type of girl I needed to talk to. Her type was almost always the easiest to charm, in my opinion.
“Konban wa,” she said, bowing. I inclined my head in return, and decided to start the slow seduction of her mind.
“Nice kimono.” I complimented. “It brings out that unique eye color of yours.” She flushed crimson—her type blush at the smallest compliments. It made life so much easier for people in my field.
“D-doomo arigato gozaimasu!” she stuttered, bowing again, her golden—yes, they were seriously golden—eyes looking up at me as she did so. I gave her the best smile I had in my system, and I noticed her female colleagues turning green with envy through the corner of my eye. That was a good thing—the more jealousy, the more information you’ll get when you ask for it. They’d want to impress you, gain your confidence in their knowledge, and rise above the other girls. I nodded, and let her lead me to my table—I insisted on a table in the corner nearest my target, who was currently chugging down enough sake to intoxicate an elephant.
“He should watch himself…” I said to my new admirer. “All of that sake will not be good for his system.” The irony of my words made me want to laugh, but I kept a straight face.
“O-oh, well…he always insists on having a lot,” she replied. That was just what I wanted her to say. Again, women like her made life so easy for people in my field.
“Always? So does that mean he’s a frequent customer?” I asked, feigning innocent curiousity. She nodded.
“He comes here almost every day,” she said.
“Is he really careful about how much he drinks?” I asked. She shook her head.
“He doesn’t care, as long as he has enough to please him,” she said. Great, I had all I needed to know.
“I didn’t catch your name, by the way.” I said. The girl’s face flushed again.
“W-watashi wa Yume desu,” she said.
‘Talk about formal. Is she from an old-fashioned family..?’ I briefly wondered. “Yume. That’s a nice name.” I commented. I figured I’d give her my alias—she didn’t need to know my real name. She couldn’t, for that matter. “My name is Kazuhiko. Don’t forget it anytime soon.” Actually, I could care less if she did, but hey, I had a façade to keep up. Now, the only question was how to get away from Yume and lure my target out. I had to resort to the classics. I looked at my watch, and widened my eyes. “Augh, how could I forget? Maybe they’ll give me free food at the meeting…” I looked up at Yume. “I’m sorry, but I have to go for a client meeting.” I raced out, but pulled around to wait in the shadows cast by dumpster in the back. I flipped open my temporary cell phone—technically, it was Kazuhiko’s cellphone, but we were the same being. He was just a mask of mine to wear. This phone’s number was untraceable, thank God, so I called my target’s cellphone.
“Moshi moshi?” answered my target, in a drunken swagger.
“Konnichi wa, Ito-san.” I said, modifying my voice just so it would match a “client” he was waiting for.
“Ah! About time you called!” exclaimed Ito. “I was almost about to think you were killed or something. Hahahahahah…”
‘Sorry, buddy, but you’re the one dying.’ I thought. “Ah, yes, well, I am alive.” I replied. “Actually, Ito-san, I, like you, have many enemies. I fear that one of my greatest adversaries will be making attempts on my life, so I have hid. The deal is still in place, though, so if you would like to discuss it with me, go to the back of Amaterasu, the soba shop over by Shinjuku Station.” I heard the sounds of him standing up.
“Ahhhhh, Mito-san, I am already inside of the resteraunt! I will be there in less than five seconds!” he chortled. My story was pretty far-fetched, in my opinion—bussiness men did not hide in shadows of dumpsters, they hid in the shadows of their bodyguards—but this guy was drunk, he would probably buy a story of flying unicorn princesses on Tokyo Tower right now.
“Ah, yes…” I said. “Ito-san, through which way will you be coming? I don’t want to mix you up with an assasin.” ‘Oh, that would be pretty strange, if I got assasinated…but hey, it happens…’ I thought to myself.
“Through the very back entrance! The ladies that work here like me, you see—“ I completely doubted that. “—so they would let me in through anywhere. Hahah, get it?” I sighed.
“Ito-san, are you drunk?” I asked, injecting a bit of disapproval in my voice—honestly, though, I would ask him chug down a few more bottles to make it look convincing.
“Sure as hell I am!” he boasted.
“Ah…drunk enough to forget what we discuss?” I asked, feigning concern.
“Oh, don’t worry about that!” he said, laughing with gusto. “I have excellent memory! I’ll be there in a moment.”
“I’ll be waiting.” I hung up, and watched the door with caution, listening on the other side. Again, the man was drunk, he could get exits mixed up. But he showed his ugly face, literally prancing out the back door—prancing! I couldn’t waste a minute, in case he saw me. I kicked him in the gut, palmed him hard enough to make his heart stop beating in the chest, and kicked him down, with my foot coming down hard on his Adamn’s apple. I took his pulse, and found that he was dead. I threw his coat over him, and urinated all over him—no, I wasn’t doing this to indignify his death. I needed to make him look like a passed out drunk, and urine was a bit of a necessity for the scene. I switched the com-link back on.
“Target’s been taken out. I need a ride.” I said shortly.
“Where are you?” Sensei asked.
“Right behind Amaterasu, the one near Shinjuku Station.” I said quickly. “And quick, because the girls inside will probably be out to check on him soon.”
“I have someone at the corner already,” he said calmly. I loved how everything just worked out like that.
“What does the car look like?” I asked.
“It’s a black Mercades, with flame-like rims,” he informed.
“Arigato gozaimasu, Sensei.” I said, switching off the com-link as my ride came into view. The passenger door swung open, and I got in there as fast as I could, shutting the door, and staring at the dead body through the tinted windows.
“What’s up with you and staring at your kills as you drive away?” asked a voice. I looked to the side, and found myself staring at a farmiliar guy with warm brown eyes and the darkest shade of brown for a hair color I’ve ever seen. He grinned as recognition dawned on my face. “Hey, Takehiko-kun.”
“It’s been a while, Hiroki.” I greeted—he was a friend of mine when we were newbies in the bussiness. We both kind of drifted away from each other after that, and didn’t get to see eachother much. “And I don’t know why I do that, honestly. Just to savor the moment, I guess.”
“I hope you know how twisted that makes you sound, Take,” he said, laughing softly. “So, what was this one like?”
“Drunk, horny, and…just a sad excuse of your every day old bussinessman.” I said. He cringed.
“A drunk, horny old man…ah, hell, I’m not that surprised,” he said. “Old men these days…just can’t get along with their old counterparts, can they?” I decided not to reply—I did NOT want to continue this conversation. It was just sick. “So, why’d you have to kill him?”
“Oh, he had to do with the slaughtering of some family.” I said, shrugging. “It doesn’t matter much to me anymore. I’ve already got my part of the job done.”
“That’s just like you…” he mused. “Does anything but the kill perk your interests?”
“The pay check does.” I said.
“Well, I’d kinda be worried about you if that wasn’t the case…” he said. “The last thing we want is a charitable Takehiko-kun. In fact, that thought itself is pretty scary. It’s like…Barney doing a kid’s show.”
“Doesn’t he?” I asked, confused.
“Yeah, he does, and it’s horrifying,” said Hiroki. “I mean, he looks like a druggy who likes mugging poor, helpless, kids of their lunch money. How twisted can you get?”
“Oh, I can think of a few things…” I said.
“Y’know what, I don’t want to hear them,” he said. He knew how morbid and graphic my thoughts could get. “Hey, why do you always wear that pendant? I always wondered that.” He nodded toward the obsidian around my neck with leviathins whirled around it.
“Oh, it’s just…” I said. “I’m not really sure. I’ve had it since I was an infant, I think. Sensei gave it to me.”
“Aw, how cute,” teasted Hiroki.
“You know, I’m this close to punching you…” I said darkly. He laughed.
“I’m driving, boy, you can’t do s**t to me without getting your a** killed,” he replied smugly. He always had a very large vocabulary, and it was filled to the brim with swears from almost every language known.
“I could use the stearing wheel—we’d only go off course for a few seconds.” I said.
“Who knows what could happen in a few seconds?” he retorted. “Oh, right, I’ve been working on the weirdest job yet.”
“Yeah?” I asked, somewhat interested.
“E’gads, his nonexistant interest has been perked,” he said, amased. “But yeah, it’s about all of our recent deaths. I’m supposed to track the nutcase down and put him in his place.”
“Seriously?” I asked. It was almost impossible for the best detectives to find the man responsible for killing a lot of the best killers in our organization. The only thing he left was a note written in his victim’s blood, saying:
“The last heir to the curse
Is who I seek.
Adhere to his deceased family’s
Unfulfilled wishes,
And alone he shall be left.
But shall he not step up,
These deaths shall continue
Until that very moment.”
It sounded like some weird goth thing you’d hear in a mystery anime or something. I thought the killer was pretty young, 19 at the very most, because not many older people watched anime here. Unless it was a huge otaku—I knew Hiroki would have so much fun slaughtering the nutso if that was the case; he absolutely hated otaku, and considered torturing them until the lost their otakuness. I, however, thought nothing of otaku. They were just people, as was everyone else around me. But if the otaku was going to all-out and actually kill people in some otaku craze, I would seriously think the kid had issues. It would just make things worse if it was an older man—he should know better and know to tame the savage otaku soul, not let it roam around freely, regardless of how ferocious it can get.
“I hope it’s an otaku…” Hiroki muttered—how predictable.
“That’d be one crazed otaku.” I commented. “Did sensei have any suspicions about it?”
“He thinks it’s a male,” said Hiroki. “So do I. The handwriting doesn’t look very feminine.”
“Some females have unneat handwriting…” I mused.
“Yeah, well, I’m keeping that in mind,” he said. “But my bigger assumption is that he’s a guy, and he’s either very emo or just an otaku.” He made me wonder how much he loved lables, sometimes.
“Alright, then…” I replied, finding nothing more to say to him. He sensed the skeptism in my voice.
“Hey, man, you don’t know how far an otaku will go,” said Hiroki.
“Meh,” I replied. Hell, we called them “otaku” for a reason, didn’t we? Silence fell over us like a blanket on a chilled baby.
“I’m dropping you off at your apartment,” informed Hiroki, already pulling up at the complex. I never really stayed anywhere permanately, and usually went somewhere else for missions, so it was pretty amasing I stayed in my apartment this time—I usually went for hotels, and stayed at my apartment only when I wasn’t on a job; which is pretty rare, mind you.
“Arigato gozaimasu,” I said as I opened the door. I heard Hiroki chuckle.
“I would say I’d call you sometime, but I’d find that difficult to do,” he said. He had a point there; I didn’t even keep a home phone, if I had to make a call, I’d use a random pay phone, or—I disliked the method because it was too easy to track electronic devices of any sort—sometimes, prepaid cell phones, and I made sure they were untraceable, and I usually got rid of them as soon as I was done with them. It would be almost impossible for anyone to really get a hold of me, unless I called them, or they contacted sensei.
“Jaa ne,” I replied, closing the door behind me, and walking into my complex. My apartment was on the fourth floor, the third on the left. There was a huge tinted window, almost touching the floor from the ceiling, and had a great view of the courtyard in the back, with the city in the distance. I loved the way the view looked, bathed in the faint light of the moon. I then remembered how it looked about a year ago, when it was bathed in the light of a blood red eclipse—however, that hadn’t happened since then.
I just noticed how tired I was, and practically collapsed on my bed. The image of an unnervingly pale female with long, brownish black hair, wearing a tattered black cloak, with her head down. When she looked up, she let out a loud screech, sending me back to consciousness. I woke up in a cold sweat, my heart beating fast and hard.
That girl seemed farmiliar, somehow…
FallenAngel2346 Community Member 
|
|
Community Member