The first time I read that line, I imagined the Hunter clearing its throat, waving its hand and grumbling, "Very well..." then halting its chase for a few moments--maybe it came from across the galaxy to kill, maim, and dismember humans for sport, but there's always time for courtesy.Mirage_GSM wrote:Best. Line. Ever. In this chapter.“Sorry,” I called over my shoulder, more from nerves than anything, “but, I gotta take this...”
(I try to avoid exaggeration whenever possible.)
Hisao and Kenji-Concrete Jungle Conclusion Update
Re: Hisao and Kenji-Concrete Jungle Updated 10/10
Re: Hisao and Kenji-Concrete Jungle Updated 10/10
They are pretty much a textbook example of Lawful Evil, so it's (ironically) one of the less absurd things we've done.Helbereth wrote:The first time I read that line, I imagined the Hunter clearing its throat, waving its hand and grumbling, "Very well..." then halting its chase for a few moments--maybe it came from across the galaxy to kill, maim, and dismember humans for sport, but there's always time for courtesy.Mirage_GSM wrote:Best. Line. Ever. In this chapter.“Sorry,” I called over my shoulder, more from nerves than anything, “but, I gotta take this...”
(I try to avoid exaggeration whenever possible.)
"Who are you, that do not know your history?" -Ulysses
Misha Time: United States of Misha Meet the Hakamichis
Awesome, served on the rocks: Hisao and Kenji- Master Detectives! (Check out the Archive for more!)
I wrote a book! Brythain edited it! If you like mystery and history please consider: A Sister's Habit
"You are absolutely insane. And entertaining." -griffon8
Misha Time: United States of Misha Meet the Hakamichis
Awesome, served on the rocks: Hisao and Kenji- Master Detectives! (Check out the Archive for more!)
I wrote a book! Brythain edited it! If you like mystery and history please consider: A Sister's Habit
"You are absolutely insane. And entertaining." -griffon8
Re: Hisao and Kenji-Concrete Jungle Updated 10/10
“The little steamer was already flapping her way eastward of the big crescent of shipping, and the low Essex coast was growing blue and hazy, when a Martian appeared… to starboard, and not a hundred yards from their heeling, pitching boat, a vast iron bulk like the blade of a plough tearing through the water… It was the torpedo ram, Thunder Child, steaming headlong, coming to the rescue of the threatened shipping.” –The Narrator, HG Wells’ The War of the Worlds
Previous Chapter
Chapter Five: Thy Rod and Thy Staff
Expecting I wouldn't like the answer, I sighed and glanced at Jigoro to inquire, “Just what the hell do you think you're doing here?”
Jigoro shifted as he folded his arms, and I could just make out the scabbard of his family katana held tightly in his left hand—which for some reason that would no doubt have delighted Freud, he insisted on carrying everywhere he went. Practically growling, he replied, “You sidelined me once when something was happening, but I don't need anyone else to fight my battles!”
Sighing, Hisao spun around to face his charge and retort, “So, you choose the time I’m not decked out in the latest toys from the bloated American defense budget to make your suicidal stand against an alien that wants to rip out your spine and mount it on his trophy case!?”
“If he wants my spine, he’s going to have to rip it from my cold dead body!” Jigoro barked, sneering down at Hisao.
“He won’t wait for it to get cold!” Hisao sneered back.
“Ahem,” I grunted to grab their attention and surmise, “So, I take it you told him the situation on the way here?”
Hisao turned back to face me and nodded, rolling his eyes as he answered, “Yeah, I kinda had to when he dragged me into his car and we bolted here to ‘help’ you...”
“By making this harder?” I sighed, rubbing my temple; having Jigoro in the same prefecture as the alien was definitely not part of my plan. “So this is what that argument on the phone was about? In the background?”
Hisao nodded and gave a dark glance back at Jigoro as he explained, “Shizune and I were trying to convince him to stay put while one of us went to grab Matthew. Jigoro disagreed, and things escalated from there. Shizune tried playing keep-away with his sword, even...”
“You try that and you lose a hand,” Jigoro snarled.
“Why didn’t you just shoot him with the Tesla?” I asked, drawing a gruff chuckle from Jigoro.
“I tried,” Hisao replied, “but apparently his belt buckle is made of the same metal as those Tesla repellent swords Templars were carrying, so I ended up hitting Shizune instead... That’s gonna cost me a donation and a box of Hanako’s almond cookies.”
“The point is I’m here,” Jigoro declared, rattling his saber—or katana, in this case—both metaphorically and literally, “and I’m not being sidelined this time, so you better find a way to bring that alien here, because I intend to shove my sword down its throat!”
“I’m sure a samurai two hundred years ago thought the same thing,” Hisao remarked, “and I’m sure his skull is planted somewhere next to a Cossack’s and a Zulu tribesman’s...”
“They weren't of Hakamichi stock,” Jigoro seethed, narrowing his already narrow expression toward Hisao.
“Fine,” I conceded, rubbing my temple at the futility, “You’re here, you’re pissed, and you’re not sitting this out. Go ahead, commit metaphorical Seppuku and piss away all the effort we put into protecting you last time—at least it got Hisao some safety. Just don't get yourself killed, or Shizune will probably do something unpleasant with your sword to both me and Hisao.”
“The basic plan hasn’t changed much,” Hisao stated, trying to bring some semblance of order to our latest bout of chaos, “If I can get Matthew before the Hunter turns you two into trophies, we have a decent shot.”
Lowering my hand, I sighed, “Good point, but... why you?”
“Someone has to,” he replied with a weary shrug.
“Well it’s not you,” I declared, “You already fought an alien to a standstill; you’ve done your bit. You get involved here, the next Hunter might come after you.”
Hisao seemed to glare at me for a moment, but eventually he sighed and nodded. “Fine, then how we gonna grab Matthew?”
“Who is Matthew, anyway?” Jigoro asked.
“A sawed off twelve gauge Winchester Model 1912 pump action shotgun,” I replied, “six round mag with a barrel capable of holding any kind of round devised by man... and a few others as well, I imagine.”
“If we load it with high explosive shells,” Hisao added, drawing an incredulous look from Jigoro, “and pump them into the bastard at close range, odds are good our alien problem will be solved.”
“I've heard better plans whispered in elementary school bathrooms,” Jigoro snorted.
Opting for a disdainful eye roll, Hisao ignored Jigoro's discontent as he continued, “The trick is finding it, seeing it, and not getting killed lining up the shot...”
“We've already got a couple points in our favor there,” I mentioned, nodding for emphasis. “One, I’ve fried some of his long range toys—including his plasma caster, and his cloaking field,” I recounted, “Two, I have a pretty good idea where he’s going to wait for me-”
“What do you mean, wait for you?” Hisao asked.
“Oh, this one seems to be after me,” I stated, shrugging lightly as Hisao sighed, “Not sure why, and not too fussed to find out, either, as long as he’s not after the cops or Jigoro for now.“
“The fact you have two of his toys may be a contributing factor,” Hisao quipped, jerking his head at the alien weapons tucked into my belt.
I smirked and chuckled lightly, “All part of the plan. Anyway, if Jigoro and I can grab Matthew from my office, we can go find the Hunter and have this all finished in time to read our kids a bedtime story.”
“You make it sound so simple,” Jigoro remarked.
Turning a confident smirk at the unconvinced Hakamichi patriarch, I retorted, “In my experience, it’s best to plan in broad strokes, then fill in the details as you go.”
“This plan has all the earmarks of a suicide mission,” Hisao intoned, glancing at Jigoro, “especially if you're bringing him along.”
“That's the beauty of it,” I rebuffed, “we'll divide its focus, and turn that to our advantage.”
As long as Jigoro was insisting on butting into our job, we may as well be putting him to good use. Besides, it never hurt to have a burly sword wielding man with a grudge between you and whatever is trying to wreck your shit. Hisao still didn't look convinced, or particularly confident in the plan, but he knew me well enough to trust my judgment.
Slowly, he started nodding, and I took that as enough affirmation to continue, “So, Jigoro and I will head for the office while you lay low somewhere for a while.”
Hisao glared at me for a while, I think, but eventually sighed and gave in, “Fine, I’ll head to the Brass Wok for a while, I guess. You gonna hang onto those alien weapons?”
Shrugging, I replied, “I’ll give them back when I’m done with them. Right now they’re my best motivator for being followed.”
“Good point,” Hisao stated, “Good luck and... don’t die.”
“Why does everyone keep saying that?” I asked, “I’ve been not dying for years now.”
“So, keep at it,” Hisao retorted.
“Do I get a say in any of this?” Jigoro growled.
“Sure,” I replied. “You can follow me and not die, or you can follow Hisao and drink in a dive bar, because no one is going home until this Hunter is dead and gift wrapped with all its toys for its alien buddies to pick up on their next visit.”
Jigoro glowered silently for a few moments, then humphed and uncrossed his arms. “Fine, then,” he snarled, “Let’s stop wasting time making ourselves targets, and get to work!”
“That’s the spirit!” I declared. To Hisao, I added, “Get going, man; we’ll keep the Hunter on its toes.”
Hisao chuckled, “I don’t doubt it. Good luck, man.”
Hisao took a step forward, but stopped and turned around. He took off his jacket and slowly pulled off the holster holding the Anaconda Colt he had taken with him. When he had removed the holster, he turned around and handed it and the held revolver to Jigoro.
“Here, take Revy,” he said, “That way you both have a gun, just in case.”
Jigoro eyed the holster and the revolver for a second, then nodded and deftly strapped it on under his shirt, somehow.
“Thanks,” he grunted.
“I’m gonna want her back,” Hisao declared, “And be careful; she has a hair trigger. Good luck.”
Once again Hisao jogged off into the night, only this time he kept going. When he was out of sight I glanced at Jigoro, who seemed resolute and steady, though he always seemed like that. I was doing my best to appear the same, but I was definitely on edge, and even a little twitchy.
“Well, let’s get moving,” I announced, turning to head out.
“Is leading this thing to your office a good idea?” Jigoro asked.
Honestly, I wasn't sure, so I shrugged and replied, “Probably not... but it’s our best option.”
Jigoro grunted, but said nothing. With nothing more needing to be said, I checked the rooftops around us as best I could. They seemed to be clear, so I checked the street and sidewalk, which also appeared clear—admittedly, that just meant I didn't see anything moving. With one last resigned sigh, I bolted from the alley, motioning for Jigoro to follow. Once I was clear of the alley, I heard thundering steps behind me, and we were off—the half-blind leading the half-crazed.
There were actually a few ways to get back to my office on foot: either by street or back alley; that was one of the reasons I had chosen it as my new location. The route I decided on was a balance between circuitous and direct, in that it didn’t backtrack but did zig-zag. I wasn’t entirely sure why I had selected that route, except that I was unwilling to go straight back to the office, even if the alien would more than likely follow us there eventually, no matter which route we took.
Sure enough, we hadn’t gotten far when I started hearing thudding, clunky footsteps on a nearby rooftop. The echoes made identifying its source difficult, and we were moving too fast for me to focus, but it didn't sound like it was very far away. From the quick shifts in the way he was facing, I could tell Jigoro was trying to pick a shadow out of the rooftops, but I knew that was probably futile—it wouldn't follow close enough to be seen with its cloak disabled.
“I think it found us,” I quipped.
“Sounds that way,” Jigoro concurred, giving up his futile searching, “That part of your plan?”
“Of course,” I remarked, trying to sound confident.
Granted my plan had more holes than the Schlieffen Plan after Chief Moltke and General von Kluck had picked at it, but, under the circumstances, things were going swimmingly. So of course shit was about to hit the fan, and in the worst way possible. Jigoro and I rounded onto an abandoned side street, roughly halfway back to the office, and were just entering the next alley when I felt a chill work its way down my spine and ripple through my spleen.
A moment later, something large, green and angry landed several meters in front of us, and we both skidded to a halt. The Hunter had apparently decided it was done following us around, and now stood in the middle of the alley, its hulking, dark green form blocking our way. I didn’t doubt for a moment that if we tried to run he'd cut us down in no time, which meant we had no choice but to fight.
Thinking quickly, I reached into my pocket for a Tesla grenade, but paused when I felt a large hand placed on my shoulder. Surprised, I glanced up behind me and saw Jigoro standing there, his face fixed on the Hunter as his other hand held his sheathed sword tightly—my spleen immediately didn't like where things were going.
“Get to the office,” he growled, “I’ll handle this.”
“No fuckin' way!” I snapped, “The entire point of this was to keep you safe, not throw you into harm's way.”
The Hunter growled something, an unnatural, chitinous sound that sent the hairs on my neck standing in primeval fear.
“You wait your turn!” Jigoro barked, which had the surprising effect of stopping the alien's growling. “Rude,” he added, then focused on me, “You, get to the office—finish the plan.”
“If you stay, that thing's gonna kill you,” I stated; Jigoro may have been a retired Yakuza spy who had hacked his way out of the mob, but he was also getting on in years, and hadn’t been in the field for decades.
“Maybe,” Jigoro conceded, “But it sure as hell beats being sidelined again. Go, I’ll hold him off as long as I can, and, maybe, I’ll do your job for you.”
“No. Fucking. Way!” I reiterated.
Jigoro sighed, tensed, and then shoved me out of the alley. I staggered and stumbled, but managed to stay on my feet. As I regained my footing, I sighed and rolled my eyes. Apparently Jigoro was dead set on fighting the Hunter. Unfortunately, I couldn’t shoot Jigoro because of his belt buckle—though if I had to I could’ve kneecapped him—and there was no guarantee I’d be able to stun the Hunter, either. Jigoro’s plan was the best we had at the moment, so I sighed again and turned to bolt for the office.
“Good luck, man!” I called, and started running. “Don't die!”
“You as well,” I heard Jigoro bark behind me.
In my haste, I was only able to look back over my shoulder once before the alley left my limited sight. The last thing I saw before rounding a corner looked like a scene out of a Shogun movie from the seventies. The Hunter paced sideways, holding out its wristblade threateningly as Jigoro mirrored its movements, pointing his unsheathed katana at the creature's head in defiance. For that brief moment, watching them circle before hell broke loose, I deluded myself that Jigoro stood a fighting chance. Either way, I had a job to do; if I couldn’t protect Jigoro, I could at least avenge his murder.
I did wonder who would avenge me when Shizune found out, though.
+++
Next Chapter
Now, really, how could I not resist having a duel between Jigoro and a Predator?
I’m not sure what it says about Kenji’s plan that it took a major component of it failing –protecting Jigoro from the alien –to achieve the second major component –attempt to kill said alien –but there you have it.
Previous Chapter
Chapter Five: Thy Rod and Thy Staff
Expecting I wouldn't like the answer, I sighed and glanced at Jigoro to inquire, “Just what the hell do you think you're doing here?”
Jigoro shifted as he folded his arms, and I could just make out the scabbard of his family katana held tightly in his left hand—which for some reason that would no doubt have delighted Freud, he insisted on carrying everywhere he went. Practically growling, he replied, “You sidelined me once when something was happening, but I don't need anyone else to fight my battles!”
Sighing, Hisao spun around to face his charge and retort, “So, you choose the time I’m not decked out in the latest toys from the bloated American defense budget to make your suicidal stand against an alien that wants to rip out your spine and mount it on his trophy case!?”
“If he wants my spine, he’s going to have to rip it from my cold dead body!” Jigoro barked, sneering down at Hisao.
“He won’t wait for it to get cold!” Hisao sneered back.
“Ahem,” I grunted to grab their attention and surmise, “So, I take it you told him the situation on the way here?”
Hisao turned back to face me and nodded, rolling his eyes as he answered, “Yeah, I kinda had to when he dragged me into his car and we bolted here to ‘help’ you...”
“By making this harder?” I sighed, rubbing my temple; having Jigoro in the same prefecture as the alien was definitely not part of my plan. “So this is what that argument on the phone was about? In the background?”
Hisao nodded and gave a dark glance back at Jigoro as he explained, “Shizune and I were trying to convince him to stay put while one of us went to grab Matthew. Jigoro disagreed, and things escalated from there. Shizune tried playing keep-away with his sword, even...”
“You try that and you lose a hand,” Jigoro snarled.
“Why didn’t you just shoot him with the Tesla?” I asked, drawing a gruff chuckle from Jigoro.
“I tried,” Hisao replied, “but apparently his belt buckle is made of the same metal as those Tesla repellent swords Templars were carrying, so I ended up hitting Shizune instead... That’s gonna cost me a donation and a box of Hanako’s almond cookies.”
“The point is I’m here,” Jigoro declared, rattling his saber—or katana, in this case—both metaphorically and literally, “and I’m not being sidelined this time, so you better find a way to bring that alien here, because I intend to shove my sword down its throat!”
“I’m sure a samurai two hundred years ago thought the same thing,” Hisao remarked, “and I’m sure his skull is planted somewhere next to a Cossack’s and a Zulu tribesman’s...”
“They weren't of Hakamichi stock,” Jigoro seethed, narrowing his already narrow expression toward Hisao.
“Fine,” I conceded, rubbing my temple at the futility, “You’re here, you’re pissed, and you’re not sitting this out. Go ahead, commit metaphorical Seppuku and piss away all the effort we put into protecting you last time—at least it got Hisao some safety. Just don't get yourself killed, or Shizune will probably do something unpleasant with your sword to both me and Hisao.”
“The basic plan hasn’t changed much,” Hisao stated, trying to bring some semblance of order to our latest bout of chaos, “If I can get Matthew before the Hunter turns you two into trophies, we have a decent shot.”
Lowering my hand, I sighed, “Good point, but... why you?”
“Someone has to,” he replied with a weary shrug.
“Well it’s not you,” I declared, “You already fought an alien to a standstill; you’ve done your bit. You get involved here, the next Hunter might come after you.”
Hisao seemed to glare at me for a moment, but eventually he sighed and nodded. “Fine, then how we gonna grab Matthew?”
“Who is Matthew, anyway?” Jigoro asked.
“A sawed off twelve gauge Winchester Model 1912 pump action shotgun,” I replied, “six round mag with a barrel capable of holding any kind of round devised by man... and a few others as well, I imagine.”
“If we load it with high explosive shells,” Hisao added, drawing an incredulous look from Jigoro, “and pump them into the bastard at close range, odds are good our alien problem will be solved.”
“I've heard better plans whispered in elementary school bathrooms,” Jigoro snorted.
Opting for a disdainful eye roll, Hisao ignored Jigoro's discontent as he continued, “The trick is finding it, seeing it, and not getting killed lining up the shot...”
“We've already got a couple points in our favor there,” I mentioned, nodding for emphasis. “One, I’ve fried some of his long range toys—including his plasma caster, and his cloaking field,” I recounted, “Two, I have a pretty good idea where he’s going to wait for me-”
“What do you mean, wait for you?” Hisao asked.
“Oh, this one seems to be after me,” I stated, shrugging lightly as Hisao sighed, “Not sure why, and not too fussed to find out, either, as long as he’s not after the cops or Jigoro for now.“
“The fact you have two of his toys may be a contributing factor,” Hisao quipped, jerking his head at the alien weapons tucked into my belt.
I smirked and chuckled lightly, “All part of the plan. Anyway, if Jigoro and I can grab Matthew from my office, we can go find the Hunter and have this all finished in time to read our kids a bedtime story.”
“You make it sound so simple,” Jigoro remarked.
Turning a confident smirk at the unconvinced Hakamichi patriarch, I retorted, “In my experience, it’s best to plan in broad strokes, then fill in the details as you go.”
“This plan has all the earmarks of a suicide mission,” Hisao intoned, glancing at Jigoro, “especially if you're bringing him along.”
“That's the beauty of it,” I rebuffed, “we'll divide its focus, and turn that to our advantage.”
As long as Jigoro was insisting on butting into our job, we may as well be putting him to good use. Besides, it never hurt to have a burly sword wielding man with a grudge between you and whatever is trying to wreck your shit. Hisao still didn't look convinced, or particularly confident in the plan, but he knew me well enough to trust my judgment.
Slowly, he started nodding, and I took that as enough affirmation to continue, “So, Jigoro and I will head for the office while you lay low somewhere for a while.”
Hisao glared at me for a while, I think, but eventually sighed and gave in, “Fine, I’ll head to the Brass Wok for a while, I guess. You gonna hang onto those alien weapons?”
Shrugging, I replied, “I’ll give them back when I’m done with them. Right now they’re my best motivator for being followed.”
“Good point,” Hisao stated, “Good luck and... don’t die.”
“Why does everyone keep saying that?” I asked, “I’ve been not dying for years now.”
“So, keep at it,” Hisao retorted.
“Do I get a say in any of this?” Jigoro growled.
“Sure,” I replied. “You can follow me and not die, or you can follow Hisao and drink in a dive bar, because no one is going home until this Hunter is dead and gift wrapped with all its toys for its alien buddies to pick up on their next visit.”
Jigoro glowered silently for a few moments, then humphed and uncrossed his arms. “Fine, then,” he snarled, “Let’s stop wasting time making ourselves targets, and get to work!”
“That’s the spirit!” I declared. To Hisao, I added, “Get going, man; we’ll keep the Hunter on its toes.”
Hisao chuckled, “I don’t doubt it. Good luck, man.”
Hisao took a step forward, but stopped and turned around. He took off his jacket and slowly pulled off the holster holding the Anaconda Colt he had taken with him. When he had removed the holster, he turned around and handed it and the held revolver to Jigoro.
“Here, take Revy,” he said, “That way you both have a gun, just in case.”
Jigoro eyed the holster and the revolver for a second, then nodded and deftly strapped it on under his shirt, somehow.
“Thanks,” he grunted.
“I’m gonna want her back,” Hisao declared, “And be careful; she has a hair trigger. Good luck.”
Once again Hisao jogged off into the night, only this time he kept going. When he was out of sight I glanced at Jigoro, who seemed resolute and steady, though he always seemed like that. I was doing my best to appear the same, but I was definitely on edge, and even a little twitchy.
“Well, let’s get moving,” I announced, turning to head out.
“Is leading this thing to your office a good idea?” Jigoro asked.
Honestly, I wasn't sure, so I shrugged and replied, “Probably not... but it’s our best option.”
Jigoro grunted, but said nothing. With nothing more needing to be said, I checked the rooftops around us as best I could. They seemed to be clear, so I checked the street and sidewalk, which also appeared clear—admittedly, that just meant I didn't see anything moving. With one last resigned sigh, I bolted from the alley, motioning for Jigoro to follow. Once I was clear of the alley, I heard thundering steps behind me, and we were off—the half-blind leading the half-crazed.
There were actually a few ways to get back to my office on foot: either by street or back alley; that was one of the reasons I had chosen it as my new location. The route I decided on was a balance between circuitous and direct, in that it didn’t backtrack but did zig-zag. I wasn’t entirely sure why I had selected that route, except that I was unwilling to go straight back to the office, even if the alien would more than likely follow us there eventually, no matter which route we took.
Sure enough, we hadn’t gotten far when I started hearing thudding, clunky footsteps on a nearby rooftop. The echoes made identifying its source difficult, and we were moving too fast for me to focus, but it didn't sound like it was very far away. From the quick shifts in the way he was facing, I could tell Jigoro was trying to pick a shadow out of the rooftops, but I knew that was probably futile—it wouldn't follow close enough to be seen with its cloak disabled.
“I think it found us,” I quipped.
“Sounds that way,” Jigoro concurred, giving up his futile searching, “That part of your plan?”
“Of course,” I remarked, trying to sound confident.
Granted my plan had more holes than the Schlieffen Plan after Chief Moltke and General von Kluck had picked at it, but, under the circumstances, things were going swimmingly. So of course shit was about to hit the fan, and in the worst way possible. Jigoro and I rounded onto an abandoned side street, roughly halfway back to the office, and were just entering the next alley when I felt a chill work its way down my spine and ripple through my spleen.
A moment later, something large, green and angry landed several meters in front of us, and we both skidded to a halt. The Hunter had apparently decided it was done following us around, and now stood in the middle of the alley, its hulking, dark green form blocking our way. I didn’t doubt for a moment that if we tried to run he'd cut us down in no time, which meant we had no choice but to fight.
Thinking quickly, I reached into my pocket for a Tesla grenade, but paused when I felt a large hand placed on my shoulder. Surprised, I glanced up behind me and saw Jigoro standing there, his face fixed on the Hunter as his other hand held his sheathed sword tightly—my spleen immediately didn't like where things were going.
“Get to the office,” he growled, “I’ll handle this.”
“No fuckin' way!” I snapped, “The entire point of this was to keep you safe, not throw you into harm's way.”
The Hunter growled something, an unnatural, chitinous sound that sent the hairs on my neck standing in primeval fear.
“You wait your turn!” Jigoro barked, which had the surprising effect of stopping the alien's growling. “Rude,” he added, then focused on me, “You, get to the office—finish the plan.”
“If you stay, that thing's gonna kill you,” I stated; Jigoro may have been a retired Yakuza spy who had hacked his way out of the mob, but he was also getting on in years, and hadn’t been in the field for decades.
“Maybe,” Jigoro conceded, “But it sure as hell beats being sidelined again. Go, I’ll hold him off as long as I can, and, maybe, I’ll do your job for you.”
“No. Fucking. Way!” I reiterated.
Jigoro sighed, tensed, and then shoved me out of the alley. I staggered and stumbled, but managed to stay on my feet. As I regained my footing, I sighed and rolled my eyes. Apparently Jigoro was dead set on fighting the Hunter. Unfortunately, I couldn’t shoot Jigoro because of his belt buckle—though if I had to I could’ve kneecapped him—and there was no guarantee I’d be able to stun the Hunter, either. Jigoro’s plan was the best we had at the moment, so I sighed again and turned to bolt for the office.
“Good luck, man!” I called, and started running. “Don't die!”
“You as well,” I heard Jigoro bark behind me.
In my haste, I was only able to look back over my shoulder once before the alley left my limited sight. The last thing I saw before rounding a corner looked like a scene out of a Shogun movie from the seventies. The Hunter paced sideways, holding out its wristblade threateningly as Jigoro mirrored its movements, pointing his unsheathed katana at the creature's head in defiance. For that brief moment, watching them circle before hell broke loose, I deluded myself that Jigoro stood a fighting chance. Either way, I had a job to do; if I couldn’t protect Jigoro, I could at least avenge his murder.
I did wonder who would avenge me when Shizune found out, though.
+++
Next Chapter
Now, really, how could I not resist having a duel between Jigoro and a Predator?
I’m not sure what it says about Kenji’s plan that it took a major component of it failing –protecting Jigoro from the alien –to achieve the second major component –attempt to kill said alien –but there you have it.
Last edited by Hoitash on Thu Oct 24, 2013 11:42 am, edited 1 time in total.
"Who are you, that do not know your history?" -Ulysses
Misha Time: United States of Misha Meet the Hakamichis
Awesome, served on the rocks: Hisao and Kenji- Master Detectives! (Check out the Archive for more!)
I wrote a book! Brythain edited it! If you like mystery and history please consider: A Sister's Habit
"You are absolutely insane. And entertaining." -griffon8
Misha Time: United States of Misha Meet the Hakamichis
Awesome, served on the rocks: Hisao and Kenji- Master Detectives! (Check out the Archive for more!)
I wrote a book! Brythain edited it! If you like mystery and history please consider: A Sister's Habit
"You are absolutely insane. And entertaining." -griffon8
-
Mirage_GSM
- Posts: 6217
- Joined: Mon Jun 28, 2010 2:24 am
- Location: Germany
Re: Hisao and Kenji-Concrete Jungle Updated 10/17
You know, if you asked me who had a better chance of tearing that Predator a new one - Kenji of Jigoro - my bets would be on Jigoro every day.
Emi > Misha > Hanako > Lilly > Rin > Shizune
My collected KS-Fan Fictions: Mirage's Myths
My collected KS-Fan Fictions: Mirage's Myths
Sore wa himitsu desu.griffon8 wrote:Kosher, just because sex is your answer to everything doesn't mean that sex is the answer to everything.
Re: Hisao and Kenji-Concrete Jungle Updated 10/17
In his youth, I would agree, but this Jigoro is pushing 60 (this is ~12-15 years or more post Yamaku), and already has scars earned in numerous fights over the years--from both before and after his tenure in the Yakuza. Jigoro would probably have an advantage in a straight fight with Kenji, simply based on his experience with martial combat, but the bespectacled private investigator in this universe is full of tricks, still has his youth, and no small amount of previous experience on his side, plus he's loony and spirited, and those can count for a lot. However, against a Predator, I'd probably say they're evenly matched, in that they both have about a one in a million chance of surviving.Mirage_GSM wrote:You know, if you asked me who had a better chance of tearing that Predator a new one - Kenji of Jigoro - my bets would be on Jigoro every day.
Re: Hisao and Kenji-Concrete Jungle Updated 10/17
So our Hawaiian Werewolf ex-Yakuza Samurai gets his shot against Predator, huh? Wonder how long he'll last.
Re: Hisao and Kenji-Concrete Jungle Updated 10/17
“A flicker of flame went up through the rising steam, and then the Martian reeled and staggered. In another moment he was cut down, and a great body of water and steam shot high in the air….The guns of the Thunder Child sounded through the reek, going off one after the other…. She headed straight for a second Martian, and was within a hundred yards of him when the Heat-Ray came to bear. Then with a violent thud, a blinding flash, her decks, her funnels, leaped upward. The Martian staggered with the violence of her explosion, and in another moment the flaming wreckage, still driving forward with the impetus of its pace, had struck him and crumpled him up like a thing of cardboard.” –The Narrator, HG Wells’ War of the Worlds
Previous Chapter
Chapter Six: Jawbone of an Ass
DATA TRANSMISSION INTERCEPTED.
SOURCE: Extraterrestrial designated 023-CF, “Sparky,” of the species classified officially as “Hunters”, known colloquially as “Predators”.
LOCATION OF TRANSMISSION: Unknown. Data transmission is corrupted.
TRANSCRIPT OF VIDEO FEED PROVIDED FOR EXAMINATION OF AREA 51 PERSONNEL.
RECOMMENDATION REGARDING HUNTERS CONTINUES TO BE FURTHER SPACE EXPLORATION AND PREPERATION FOR LARGE SCALE MILITARY ENGAGEMENT. PREEMPTIVE STRIKES ARE ENCOURAGED.
As the large human male unsheathed his katana, holding it with the sturdy grace of a seasoned veteran, the Hunter watched and waited. Matching its opponent's bravado, the Hunter extended its right wristblades, sharp, jagged and lethal, and held them out similarly. The human gave a slight nod and bared its teeth, a display meant to intimidate, but the Hunter's confidence would not falter; it had seen many such actions on countless occasions, and didn't expect this to end any differently. Out of respect, it lifted the jagged blades up and held them near its forehead in salute of the forthcoming honorable combat.
Their pomp and circumstance ended, the two opponents began pacing sideways, circling each other in the alley, each taking measure of the other's balance in search of weaknesses. Time seemed to stand still as they circled, studying each other warily, and neither seemed willing to commit unless forced. Sparky’s body seemed to bristle in excitement, though that may have been the transmission from his helmet camera being corrupted. Meanwhile the human gave no sign of his ultimate intent, his ashen expression and unsettlingly calm demeanor making him appear incorruptible, but he had to have a weakness.
The two paced sideways for several long moments, but the dance couldn't go on forever. Growling quietly, it was Sparky who advanced first, crouching subtly before lunging, intending to skewer the human before he could react. Corded leg muscles sped the Hunter forward, and the wristblades whistled through the night air, slicing upward with killing force, aiming for the man’s abdomen. With speed of his own, the human parried the attack, deflecting the blades out wide then rolling fluidly with his weapon, catching the Hunter across the back, and cutting a line of green between its shoulders as the momentum pushed it into overbalancing.
As the camera shook from the impact, the Hunter growled in pain and turned with its arms crossed, blades out, ready to deflect subsequent attacks. The human, however, had already placed several paces of distance between them, either out of respect, or because he couldn't predict the Hunter's next maneuver. Realizing this would not be so easy, Sparky took an eager step forward, predicting the man's cautious step backward before his feet even began to move.
Unlike the rat's nests filled with unskilled thugs, this human had training in the martial arts, and knew how to use that katana he was brandishing so effortlessly—he took the time to calculate his moves. Not letting him have time to think then became the Hunter's objective, and he put that tactic to use immediately. The two stared at each other for another moment, neither one moving, until Sparky advanced once again, this time aiming a more restrained jab at the human’s knees.
Deflecting upward, the human dodged the feint, managing to roll away from the accompanying strike aimed at his chest as the alien’s arm was forced to the right. Before Sparky could attack again, the human swiped horizontally, catching his blade across the Hunter's arm as he spun with the movement of his strike. Roaring in agony, mostly to disorient the man, Sparky swung wildly and landed a glancing blow across his back, then hissed in pain as the two once again separated—not so easy, indeed.
Undeterred, Sparky pressed his advantage, lunging forward to strike at the man's knees, but the maneuver was predicted and the blades caught nothing but air. Dodging again, this time in the reverse direction, the human had stepped aside but not before angling his weapon for a backhanded swipe that grazed the Hunter's shoulder. Lunging again, Sparky brought his blades arcing upward, catching the human on his trailing forearm, though it wasn't enough to stun or stop his tactical retreat.
In response, the human grunted and swung vertically downward, opening another wound on the Hunter's exposed thigh. Growling with frustration, Sparky leaped back, and the two paused to reassess the situation. For the trouble, the Hunter had three injuries that throbbed with pain, and a fourth that had stolen some strength from his leg, but it wasn't all in vain. The man's heart rate was elevated, his breathing had become more ragged, and the cut across his back was causing his sword arm to lose its practiced straightness—age seemed to be the man's weakness.
Judging that dwindling stamina would be the man's downfall, Sparky began circling again, looking for an opportunity to prolong the fight rather than end it quickly. The human, however, knew just as well that this fight needed to end before his strength gave out, so his advance came sooner and with more ferocity than the alien predicted. The moment the human moved, raising his sword level with the alien's chest, Sparky sprung forward to meet the advance, raising its wristblades high, intending to slash downward. The fast advance turned out to be a feint, as the man backpedaled and switched his footing, crossing the katana in front of himself defensively.
Stubbornly, the alien followed through with his provoked attack, swiping downward in an attempt to break the sword. The strike landed against the wrapped steel blade with a wrenching clatter, but the blade held, and the force of the blow sent the Hunter stumbling to the left. Prepared for such a happenstance, the Hunter caught its footing and spun around before the human could press the advantage. Arcing his blades upward, the Hunter aimed to end the fight with a single blow to the head, but the strike was again denied.
The katana held against the attack, and the weapons locked as the Hunter pressed forward, using its superior strength to force the human back. Pushing hard to stop the struggle, the man bought enough time to lunge backward while sending another swipe at Sparky's weapon arm. Dodging the strike deftly, the alien answered by catching the katana with its trailing blade and shoving it out wide, exposing the man's chest. Knowing the attack was coming, the human sidestepped and spun, taking a deep gash in the shoulder that was aimed for his heart.
Grunting, the human pulled back and spun, bumping against the wall as Sparky charged forward, lining up his wristblade for a killing blow. Stubborn to the last, the man managed to regain his senses and growled fiercely as he ran to meet the charge. Defying reason, the man spun just before they connected, deflecting the fatal attack then stepping forward with all his might and slamming his good shoulder into Sparky's chest. The blow forced a wheezing grunt out of the alien as it fell back from the assault, losing its footing and collapsing onto the pavement, but not before grabbing the human to pull him down alongside.
Like a schoolyard scuffle, the two rolled on the ground, jabbing their fists and whatever else was convenient at each other; the camera image became even more distorted and granular as a result. Unable to use their weapons effectively, the fight degenerated into a desperate struggle for dominance as each aimed for the head or abdomen, trying to pummel the other into submission or death. Wristblades forgotten in the struggle, the Hunter kicked the human hard in the stomach, earning a pained groan that ended as the man's teeth sunk into the alien's shoulder, repaying Sparky for his less than honorable kick.
Infuriated, Sparky growled and shoved the human away, the force sending him up onto his feet. Catching his footing quickly, the human staggered back, righting himself against the wall as the alien heaved itself off the ground. Thoroughly tired of the man's defiance in the face of death, Sparky growled and jumped, launching itself overhead in an attempt to drop down on top of its opponent to end this fight quickly.
Instead, the human laughed and sidestepped the lunge, slicing toward the Hunter’s abdomen as gravity brought it down. Realizing the mistake, Sparky kicked off the wall, taking a deep gash through its other thigh as it pounced on top of the human and started slashing wildly. Still quick enough, the human used his sword to deflect the flailing wristblades, though the effort once again forced him to retreat.
Breathing heavily, drenched in sweat and some blood—both his own red and the Hunter's luminescent green—the man staggered backward with each blow until their blades locked again, and the Hunter slammed into the ground. In the brief moment while the human landed against the wall, Sparky snapped his free hand upward, catching the man by the throat. The surprise caused the man to loosen his grip on the sword, but he managed to keep it locked with the wristblade as the Hunter rose to his feet, lifting the human off the ground.
Slamming the man hard against the wall, their blades still locked, the alien started twisting his weapon arm, knowing the man's grip was tentative. With a sickening crunch and a roar of pain, the katana was wrenched from the man's grip—he would not let the weapon go while his wrist remained intact. Now helpless and beaten, the man continued grinning defiantly, unwilling to admit defeat despite his desperate situation. Ready to prove the man's defiance unfounded, the alien lifted his blades, aiming for its defeated opponent's heart. Meanwhile, the human grit his teeth and used his working hand to reach under his torn and bloodied shirt.
Honorable to the last, the alien said something in its language, which was loosely translated as follows: “In death you shall be honored and remembered, for you are truly worthy.”
Before the alien could strike, the human spat a response in Japanese, a phrase akin to "(redacted) you", then pulled out a large caliber revolver and pointed it straight at the camera—or, more accurately, the alien's head. Realizing the danger, Sparky growled and jammed his blades forward at the same time something flashed and barked like gunfire—not once, but three times. The transmission turned to static, then ended completely, leaving the room full of gathered technicians staring at a blank screen, collectively groaning in disappointment.
TRANSMISSION TERMINATED. UNABLE TO RESUME CONNECTION.
WOULD YOU LIKE TO PLAY A NICE GAME OF CHESS?
+++
Next Chapter
Yeah, this chapter had to be a bit different, but there was no way in hell I wasn’t going to have Jigoro dueling a Predator. Unfortunately such a duel would be short, since, well, Predator, so the chapter is also short. Sorry about that, and hopefully the quality makes up for the lack of quantity, since I’ve never been too good at either, really.
Try not to think too hard about how humans are hacking alien cameras. No, seriously, don’t; I had to sign a confidentiality agreement, and if they know I said anything –Oh crap, I need my shotgun!
…Anyway, for the curious, the trope for this kind of situation is Cool Versus Awesome. Batman himself has fought Predators on multiple occasions (which may or may not have been my inspiration for Mystery Seven, incidentally.)
Also, at the risk of sounding like a broken record, Helbereth is awesome and I feel bad I can’t give him a proper outlet for his mad action writing skills. Maybe when we finish the first ebook series I’ll have thought of something that isn’t a blatant Dresden Files ripoff.
One more chapter to go folks, so stay tuned for a Halloween Special Halloween Day Finale!
Previous Chapter
Chapter Six: Jawbone of an Ass
DATA TRANSMISSION INTERCEPTED.
SOURCE: Extraterrestrial designated 023-CF, “Sparky,” of the species classified officially as “Hunters”, known colloquially as “Predators”.
LOCATION OF TRANSMISSION: Unknown. Data transmission is corrupted.
TRANSCRIPT OF VIDEO FEED PROVIDED FOR EXAMINATION OF AREA 51 PERSONNEL.
RECOMMENDATION REGARDING HUNTERS CONTINUES TO BE FURTHER SPACE EXPLORATION AND PREPERATION FOR LARGE SCALE MILITARY ENGAGEMENT. PREEMPTIVE STRIKES ARE ENCOURAGED.
As the large human male unsheathed his katana, holding it with the sturdy grace of a seasoned veteran, the Hunter watched and waited. Matching its opponent's bravado, the Hunter extended its right wristblades, sharp, jagged and lethal, and held them out similarly. The human gave a slight nod and bared its teeth, a display meant to intimidate, but the Hunter's confidence would not falter; it had seen many such actions on countless occasions, and didn't expect this to end any differently. Out of respect, it lifted the jagged blades up and held them near its forehead in salute of the forthcoming honorable combat.
Their pomp and circumstance ended, the two opponents began pacing sideways, circling each other in the alley, each taking measure of the other's balance in search of weaknesses. Time seemed to stand still as they circled, studying each other warily, and neither seemed willing to commit unless forced. Sparky’s body seemed to bristle in excitement, though that may have been the transmission from his helmet camera being corrupted. Meanwhile the human gave no sign of his ultimate intent, his ashen expression and unsettlingly calm demeanor making him appear incorruptible, but he had to have a weakness.
The two paced sideways for several long moments, but the dance couldn't go on forever. Growling quietly, it was Sparky who advanced first, crouching subtly before lunging, intending to skewer the human before he could react. Corded leg muscles sped the Hunter forward, and the wristblades whistled through the night air, slicing upward with killing force, aiming for the man’s abdomen. With speed of his own, the human parried the attack, deflecting the blades out wide then rolling fluidly with his weapon, catching the Hunter across the back, and cutting a line of green between its shoulders as the momentum pushed it into overbalancing.
As the camera shook from the impact, the Hunter growled in pain and turned with its arms crossed, blades out, ready to deflect subsequent attacks. The human, however, had already placed several paces of distance between them, either out of respect, or because he couldn't predict the Hunter's next maneuver. Realizing this would not be so easy, Sparky took an eager step forward, predicting the man's cautious step backward before his feet even began to move.
Unlike the rat's nests filled with unskilled thugs, this human had training in the martial arts, and knew how to use that katana he was brandishing so effortlessly—he took the time to calculate his moves. Not letting him have time to think then became the Hunter's objective, and he put that tactic to use immediately. The two stared at each other for another moment, neither one moving, until Sparky advanced once again, this time aiming a more restrained jab at the human’s knees.
Deflecting upward, the human dodged the feint, managing to roll away from the accompanying strike aimed at his chest as the alien’s arm was forced to the right. Before Sparky could attack again, the human swiped horizontally, catching his blade across the Hunter's arm as he spun with the movement of his strike. Roaring in agony, mostly to disorient the man, Sparky swung wildly and landed a glancing blow across his back, then hissed in pain as the two once again separated—not so easy, indeed.
Undeterred, Sparky pressed his advantage, lunging forward to strike at the man's knees, but the maneuver was predicted and the blades caught nothing but air. Dodging again, this time in the reverse direction, the human had stepped aside but not before angling his weapon for a backhanded swipe that grazed the Hunter's shoulder. Lunging again, Sparky brought his blades arcing upward, catching the human on his trailing forearm, though it wasn't enough to stun or stop his tactical retreat.
In response, the human grunted and swung vertically downward, opening another wound on the Hunter's exposed thigh. Growling with frustration, Sparky leaped back, and the two paused to reassess the situation. For the trouble, the Hunter had three injuries that throbbed with pain, and a fourth that had stolen some strength from his leg, but it wasn't all in vain. The man's heart rate was elevated, his breathing had become more ragged, and the cut across his back was causing his sword arm to lose its practiced straightness—age seemed to be the man's weakness.
Judging that dwindling stamina would be the man's downfall, Sparky began circling again, looking for an opportunity to prolong the fight rather than end it quickly. The human, however, knew just as well that this fight needed to end before his strength gave out, so his advance came sooner and with more ferocity than the alien predicted. The moment the human moved, raising his sword level with the alien's chest, Sparky sprung forward to meet the advance, raising its wristblades high, intending to slash downward. The fast advance turned out to be a feint, as the man backpedaled and switched his footing, crossing the katana in front of himself defensively.
Stubbornly, the alien followed through with his provoked attack, swiping downward in an attempt to break the sword. The strike landed against the wrapped steel blade with a wrenching clatter, but the blade held, and the force of the blow sent the Hunter stumbling to the left. Prepared for such a happenstance, the Hunter caught its footing and spun around before the human could press the advantage. Arcing his blades upward, the Hunter aimed to end the fight with a single blow to the head, but the strike was again denied.
The katana held against the attack, and the weapons locked as the Hunter pressed forward, using its superior strength to force the human back. Pushing hard to stop the struggle, the man bought enough time to lunge backward while sending another swipe at Sparky's weapon arm. Dodging the strike deftly, the alien answered by catching the katana with its trailing blade and shoving it out wide, exposing the man's chest. Knowing the attack was coming, the human sidestepped and spun, taking a deep gash in the shoulder that was aimed for his heart.
Grunting, the human pulled back and spun, bumping against the wall as Sparky charged forward, lining up his wristblade for a killing blow. Stubborn to the last, the man managed to regain his senses and growled fiercely as he ran to meet the charge. Defying reason, the man spun just before they connected, deflecting the fatal attack then stepping forward with all his might and slamming his good shoulder into Sparky's chest. The blow forced a wheezing grunt out of the alien as it fell back from the assault, losing its footing and collapsing onto the pavement, but not before grabbing the human to pull him down alongside.
Like a schoolyard scuffle, the two rolled on the ground, jabbing their fists and whatever else was convenient at each other; the camera image became even more distorted and granular as a result. Unable to use their weapons effectively, the fight degenerated into a desperate struggle for dominance as each aimed for the head or abdomen, trying to pummel the other into submission or death. Wristblades forgotten in the struggle, the Hunter kicked the human hard in the stomach, earning a pained groan that ended as the man's teeth sunk into the alien's shoulder, repaying Sparky for his less than honorable kick.
Infuriated, Sparky growled and shoved the human away, the force sending him up onto his feet. Catching his footing quickly, the human staggered back, righting himself against the wall as the alien heaved itself off the ground. Thoroughly tired of the man's defiance in the face of death, Sparky growled and jumped, launching itself overhead in an attempt to drop down on top of its opponent to end this fight quickly.
Instead, the human laughed and sidestepped the lunge, slicing toward the Hunter’s abdomen as gravity brought it down. Realizing the mistake, Sparky kicked off the wall, taking a deep gash through its other thigh as it pounced on top of the human and started slashing wildly. Still quick enough, the human used his sword to deflect the flailing wristblades, though the effort once again forced him to retreat.
Breathing heavily, drenched in sweat and some blood—both his own red and the Hunter's luminescent green—the man staggered backward with each blow until their blades locked again, and the Hunter slammed into the ground. In the brief moment while the human landed against the wall, Sparky snapped his free hand upward, catching the man by the throat. The surprise caused the man to loosen his grip on the sword, but he managed to keep it locked with the wristblade as the Hunter rose to his feet, lifting the human off the ground.
Slamming the man hard against the wall, their blades still locked, the alien started twisting his weapon arm, knowing the man's grip was tentative. With a sickening crunch and a roar of pain, the katana was wrenched from the man's grip—he would not let the weapon go while his wrist remained intact. Now helpless and beaten, the man continued grinning defiantly, unwilling to admit defeat despite his desperate situation. Ready to prove the man's defiance unfounded, the alien lifted his blades, aiming for its defeated opponent's heart. Meanwhile, the human grit his teeth and used his working hand to reach under his torn and bloodied shirt.
Honorable to the last, the alien said something in its language, which was loosely translated as follows: “In death you shall be honored and remembered, for you are truly worthy.”
Before the alien could strike, the human spat a response in Japanese, a phrase akin to "(redacted) you", then pulled out a large caliber revolver and pointed it straight at the camera—or, more accurately, the alien's head. Realizing the danger, Sparky growled and jammed his blades forward at the same time something flashed and barked like gunfire—not once, but three times. The transmission turned to static, then ended completely, leaving the room full of gathered technicians staring at a blank screen, collectively groaning in disappointment.
TRANSMISSION TERMINATED. UNABLE TO RESUME CONNECTION.
WOULD YOU LIKE TO PLAY A NICE GAME OF CHESS?
+++
Next Chapter
Yeah, this chapter had to be a bit different, but there was no way in hell I wasn’t going to have Jigoro dueling a Predator. Unfortunately such a duel would be short, since, well, Predator, so the chapter is also short. Sorry about that, and hopefully the quality makes up for the lack of quantity, since I’ve never been too good at either, really.
Try not to think too hard about how humans are hacking alien cameras. No, seriously, don’t; I had to sign a confidentiality agreement, and if they know I said anything –Oh crap, I need my shotgun!
…Anyway, for the curious, the trope for this kind of situation is Cool Versus Awesome. Batman himself has fought Predators on multiple occasions (which may or may not have been my inspiration for Mystery Seven, incidentally.)
Also, at the risk of sounding like a broken record, Helbereth is awesome and I feel bad I can’t give him a proper outlet for his mad action writing skills. Maybe when we finish the first ebook series I’ll have thought of something that isn’t a blatant Dresden Files ripoff.
One more chapter to go folks, so stay tuned for a Halloween Special Halloween Day Finale!
Last edited by Hoitash on Thu Oct 31, 2013 11:42 am, edited 1 time in total.
"Who are you, that do not know your history?" -Ulysses
Misha Time: United States of Misha Meet the Hakamichis
Awesome, served on the rocks: Hisao and Kenji- Master Detectives! (Check out the Archive for more!)
I wrote a book! Brythain edited it! If you like mystery and history please consider: A Sister's Habit
"You are absolutely insane. And entertaining." -griffon8
Misha Time: United States of Misha Meet the Hakamichis
Awesome, served on the rocks: Hisao and Kenji- Master Detectives! (Check out the Archive for more!)
I wrote a book! Brythain edited it! If you like mystery and history please consider: A Sister's Habit
"You are absolutely insane. And entertaining." -griffon8
Re: Hisao and Kenji-Concrete Jungle Updated 10/24
“We poison our air and water to weed out the weak! We set off fission bombs in our only biosphere! We nailed our God to a stick! Don't fuck with the human race!" –A /tg/ forum post found on 4chan
Previous Chapter
Chapter Seven: The Spirit of Man
As I ran through the narrow alleyways, I kept an ear behind me, listening to Jigoro and the alien going at it action film style. Whatever training he'd had in his Yakuza days, I wasn't convinced Jigoro had much of a chance, but the fact that he had managed to survive the initial attacks gave me a glimmer of hope. Granted, there was only a one in a million chance of him coming out on top, but, maybe if I hurried, I could tip the odds a bit more in his favor. After all, a million in one chance is better than no chance at all, and a two in a million chance is twice as good.
Fortunately I had long ago memorized the possible routes to my office, or else I would have been hopelessly lost in the maze of dark alleys and dimly lit side streets. All I had to do was make sure I didn't run into a lamppost or street sign on my way there, which I nearly did at least a dozen times in my haste. Weaving through the narrows seemed to take an eternity, so by the time the modern brick and mortar walls of my office's building came into view, I'd run myself ragged, and my legs were burning.
Despite the imminent danger, I had to pause and catch my breath. Leaning against the cold bricks, I wiped what sweat I could from my face with a spare cloth, and rasped into the empty air, “Fuck, I’m getting too old for this...”
The night was still mockingly clear and bright, and the heat and humidity were not helping my health. Neither was my jacket, but it concealed my weapons, and the pockets were loaded with all sorts of useful supplies. Not for the first time, I shouldered that burden with the weary knowledge that its contents would more than likely be vital to my future survival—or more likely Jigoro’s, depending on how roughed up he got playing with the Hunter.
When I could breathe without my lungs rattling in pain, I heaved myself off the wall and dashed around the corner. Since it was after hours for all the inside businesses, I used my keycard to get into the building, then shut the door behind me and bolted for the nearest stairway. As I ran past his desk, trying not to look like I was hiding an arsenal in my coat pockets, I waved to the night guard; he and the janitor were most likely the only other two people in the building at that time of night.
The office complex was several stories, and used a simple square construction scheme with four hallways where various offices could be placed along the halls, each with dull black carpeting, dark blue walls, and receded lighting—drab and inconspicuous, like a proper secret lair. With there being staff security and a network of cameras, it attracted numerous, varied, and in some cases secretive businesses to house design space, consulting firms, and even a few technical laboratories. My office had a few amenities that kept prying eyes out when necessary—gifts from previous clients—but my only concern as I raced up the east stairwell was for the client I'd left having a close encounter of the fucked up kind.
As I burst through the fifth floor exit, I half-expected to find the Hunter waiting for me in front of my door, a new shaggy-haired skull tied to one of its trophy belts, its wristblades drenched in blood. The hall was abandoned, though, which felt like my first stroke of good luck since before we'd heard that suspicious report. Wasting no time, I unlocked the door and shoved it open, flicking on the lights as the cold rush of air from the rumbling air conditioner sent a chill down my spine. It occurred to me that leaving it on while we were out probably just inflated the utility bill, but I had more important things to worry about at the time.
Dashing across the room, I found that, for once, something had gone right that night, as the old shotgun—Matthew, by name—was still strapped under my desk. Prying it out, I lifted it to eye level for a quick examination. The original stock and pump were crafted from dark hickory, and aside from a few dents left by the thick skulls of unwitting close combatants, the wood remained in perfect shape. The worn black chamber and magazine were polished smooth and unmarked, though the barrel, which had been shortened to be barely a few centimeters longer than the magazine tube, was marked by a deep series of scratches that formed “Matt 5:9” on its side.
Having always liked my weapons to have some provenance, I made sure Matthew was no exception. One of the ministers in the Lost Battalion carried him during World War One, though he died during the Meuse-Argonne Offensive. Claimed as a war trophy by the Germans—already marked and sawed off as he was—Matthew marched with their regiment until they were forced back, and eventually found itself on the open market after the war.
Complete with documents verifying the story, or at least stating it was most likely the case, I stumbled across my Peacemaker in the disused storage compartment of a museum while researching my earlier books abroad, and it hasn't let me down since. It had since served with distinction on numerous occasions, saving my life, Hisao's life, and becoming an integral part of defending the old office—and the eternally grateful Miki Akiyama—from some very persistent pursuers.
Unfortunately I always had him loaded with buckshot, so I had to spend precious seconds replacing the shells with the high explosive rounds kept in a bandolier under the desk with the gun’s other ammo. After replacing the shells, I grabbed a band of slugs—just in case—shoved Matthew under my shirt, holding it close with one hand, and left the office as fast as I could, pausing to lock it out of habit.
If the night guard noticed anything suspicious as I ran out the door, he didn't have time to say anything. Every second I wasted getting back to Jigoro made his survival less likely; I expected to find his crumpled and headless corpse lying in a pool of blood around every corner. Logically he would’ve been killed in the same alley he had left, which was a bit of a jog from the office, but I was running on adrenaline, not logic. When I turned a corner and almost ran into Jigoro's hulking form three blocks closer than he had been when I left him, I nearly had a heart attack.
“Fuck, man!” I snapped as I reeled back, trying to catch my breath. Heaving a hoarse breath, my eyes slowly focused on him, and I noticed he was a lot bloodier than I remembered. “Shit, man,” I gasped, “you okay?”
Leaning heavily against the wall, Jigoro's left arm was grazed and bleeding lightly, and his right shoulder had a deep puncture that was soaking his tattered shirt in blood. He was holding his right wrist, which appeared to have been left limp and swollen, up against his chest. A wild and shaggy mess of hair was matted to his face and neck, which, if nothing else, made him look even more badass than normal. This image was enhanced by his sheathed family katana dangling between his teeth, while his right hand was loosely holding Hisao’s revolver.
“Do I fucking look okay?” Jigoro barked through clenched teeth, the sword rattling with each syllable, “That bastard nearly killed me! And ruined one of my favorite shirts! Rude!”
Marveling at his enunciation despite the sword in his teeth, I asked, “Did you kill him?”
“No,” Jigoro replied, then started to slump down onto the ground.
“Shit, hang on, man!” I declared, moving to give him a hand.
“I am hanging on!” Jigoro snapped, refusing my assistance, “Just go finish off that fucking alien for me!”
“That’s the plan,” I remarked, holding up Matthew, “Shogun, meet Shotgun!”
“Cute,” he grumbled, “No wonder you and that glue huffer get along...”
“That was one time in college and wasn’t my idea in the first place!” I snapped, then quietly berated myself for letting his bluster get under my skin. Remembering we were still in mortal danger, I quickly inhaled and exhaled to calm myself before asking, “Any idea where the alien is?”
Jigoro shifted to sit against the wall and groaned, “Damn, I’m getting old. Disappointing." Sliding down and letting the sword fall across his legs, he explained, "As for the Predator, I’m pretty sure he was following me, since all I did was shoot him in the head...”
“Generally that’s enough,” I quipped.
As I started scanning the blurry, hazy sky and rooftops for movement, he continued, “Well, his damn mask took the brunt of the shots, but he was disoriented long enough for me to run off... I honestly figured he'd catch up with me, but I’m pretty sure he expected me to lead it to you.”
Continuing to scan the area warily, I nodded absently and remarked, “I must've made quite the nuisance of myself.”
The rooftops seemed clear, but even with their cloak disengaged Hunters were still masters of stealth. If it was trailing Jigoro like he suspected, we needed to find a place for him to hide, and fast. Unfortunately the only cover nearby was a lone, battered metal trash can several yards away.
“Can you move?” I asked Jigoro.
“Can? Probably,” he replied, slumping down into a sitting position, “Willing to? No.”
“You’re too exposed there,” I stated, “Go hide by that trash can for cover.”
“I told you I’m not-” he stopped and looked skyward, then barked, “Move!”
Hearing it at the same time Jigoro saw it, I dove out of the way as something heavy slammed down into the alley where I had been standing. My shoulder roll put me out of range, and I immediately whirled around to see the alien's massive form standing between us. Its back was turned as it landed facing Jigoro, but the Hunter started to turn toward me with menacing calm, its wristblades out and ready for use.
It wasn't going to get that chance, though. Barely getting my feet under me, I swung Matthew up and pulled the trigger. The shot crashed into the Hunter’s back, exploded on impact, seared its flesh and forced a roar of pain from its lungs as the force sent it lurching away. Stunned by the sheer loudness of its cry, I paused for a moment, giving it enough time to whirl around.
The lighting in the alley was less then movie strength, but Hunter blood has a luminescent quality, which made the damage from Jigoro's katana show despite the dimness. The glowing green slices across the alien's thigh, shoulder and arm weren't fatal, but each one stole some of its motor control. As it took a threatening step forward, its left leg seemed to buckle, and it was favoring its right arm, but at that moment all I cared about was finishing the job.
Staggering forward despite its wounds, the Hunter growled and moved to lunge as I pumped another shell into the chamber. It crouched, blades out, and moved to spring forward, but I still had five shots ready in the magazine. Firing again, the blast caught its abdomen, and the fiery shrapnel spread across its thighs. Staggering backward instead of springing forward, the added pain of burning on top of the bloody gash nearly caused the alien to lose its footing, but it managed to keep its feet and stand upright.
Before it could make another move, I took another step forward, pumped and fired a third round at its head. The shot ricocheted off the dense mask and exploded in front of its eyes, causing it to stagger backward and lift its hands up to try clearing away the haze. Taking that as my chance to get close, I marched forward with the shotgun held up level with its chest.
“You're done, xeno,” I declared, pumping the fourth round into the chamber as I took a final step.
Barely half a meter away, I glowered and grit my teeth as I squeezed the trigger—not the smartest idea, maybe, but I was pissed, tired, and running low on ammo. The round burst through the Hunter’s thick hide, sending a shower of sparks out from its back as the blast bored a hole through its body. Strangely, it uttered not a sound at having a hole blasted through its chest, but I think the shock was too overwhelming.
Weakened, but not quite dead, the alien tried raising its arm to slice at me, but three barking shots slammed into the wristblade device, ending that counterattack before it could start. Regaining its voice, the Hunter wailed and half-spun toward Jigoro, the flailing arms sending me retreating backward as I pumped the fifth round into Matthew's chamber.
The Hunter took a labored step toward me, trying to raise the nearly useless weapon that hung loosely from its arm, but its legs betrayed that course of action. As its knees buckled, its arm lost all its strength and dropped down to its side, then it stumbled forward as I retreated another step backward. Collapsing to one knee, it gave one last attempt to swipe at me, but the motion just propelled it forward awkwardly, nearly knocking it off balance.
Unsure whether it might be playing possum, I kept the shotgun trained on its head, but it seemed as though I wouldn't need that fifth shell. Groaning once more, a pitiable sound that lacked any of the threatening overtones I was accustomed to hearing, the alien pitched forward and fell flat on its mask covered face. As it started twitching feebly on the ground, like a dying insect, I glanced to my side and saw Jigoro lowering the revolver.
“Nice timing,” I complimented.
“Congratulate me when it's over,” he grunted, nodding toward the alien.
Turning back to the Hunter, I realized that, quite surprisingly, it wasn't dead yet. Green glowing liquid pooled under its chest and spread across the pavement as it coughed and gagged, probably choking on its own blood, but it was still moving. Trying to shove itself up, it groaned and shook, mumbling something in its guttural language as it rolled onto its side. Not willing to wait out its death throes, or give it any more chances to attack, I stepped on its bloodied shoulder and placed the shotgun’s barrel against the side of its head.
The crack of the blast echoed through the alley and the flash revealed chunks of flesh and bone being blasted away as a fiery shower bounced off the asphalt. When the sound and fire from the explosion dissipated, its body twitched once, and again, then lay still, finally relaxing into oblivion. Still not entirely convinced it was finally dead, I pumped the final shell and repeated the process, just to be sure, sending the last shot into the remains of the alien’s head with a final crack and flash.
Previous Chapter
Chapter Seven: The Spirit of Man
As I ran through the narrow alleyways, I kept an ear behind me, listening to Jigoro and the alien going at it action film style. Whatever training he'd had in his Yakuza days, I wasn't convinced Jigoro had much of a chance, but the fact that he had managed to survive the initial attacks gave me a glimmer of hope. Granted, there was only a one in a million chance of him coming out on top, but, maybe if I hurried, I could tip the odds a bit more in his favor. After all, a million in one chance is better than no chance at all, and a two in a million chance is twice as good.
Fortunately I had long ago memorized the possible routes to my office, or else I would have been hopelessly lost in the maze of dark alleys and dimly lit side streets. All I had to do was make sure I didn't run into a lamppost or street sign on my way there, which I nearly did at least a dozen times in my haste. Weaving through the narrows seemed to take an eternity, so by the time the modern brick and mortar walls of my office's building came into view, I'd run myself ragged, and my legs were burning.
Despite the imminent danger, I had to pause and catch my breath. Leaning against the cold bricks, I wiped what sweat I could from my face with a spare cloth, and rasped into the empty air, “Fuck, I’m getting too old for this...”
The night was still mockingly clear and bright, and the heat and humidity were not helping my health. Neither was my jacket, but it concealed my weapons, and the pockets were loaded with all sorts of useful supplies. Not for the first time, I shouldered that burden with the weary knowledge that its contents would more than likely be vital to my future survival—or more likely Jigoro’s, depending on how roughed up he got playing with the Hunter.
When I could breathe without my lungs rattling in pain, I heaved myself off the wall and dashed around the corner. Since it was after hours for all the inside businesses, I used my keycard to get into the building, then shut the door behind me and bolted for the nearest stairway. As I ran past his desk, trying not to look like I was hiding an arsenal in my coat pockets, I waved to the night guard; he and the janitor were most likely the only other two people in the building at that time of night.
The office complex was several stories, and used a simple square construction scheme with four hallways where various offices could be placed along the halls, each with dull black carpeting, dark blue walls, and receded lighting—drab and inconspicuous, like a proper secret lair. With there being staff security and a network of cameras, it attracted numerous, varied, and in some cases secretive businesses to house design space, consulting firms, and even a few technical laboratories. My office had a few amenities that kept prying eyes out when necessary—gifts from previous clients—but my only concern as I raced up the east stairwell was for the client I'd left having a close encounter of the fucked up kind.
As I burst through the fifth floor exit, I half-expected to find the Hunter waiting for me in front of my door, a new shaggy-haired skull tied to one of its trophy belts, its wristblades drenched in blood. The hall was abandoned, though, which felt like my first stroke of good luck since before we'd heard that suspicious report. Wasting no time, I unlocked the door and shoved it open, flicking on the lights as the cold rush of air from the rumbling air conditioner sent a chill down my spine. It occurred to me that leaving it on while we were out probably just inflated the utility bill, but I had more important things to worry about at the time.
Dashing across the room, I found that, for once, something had gone right that night, as the old shotgun—Matthew, by name—was still strapped under my desk. Prying it out, I lifted it to eye level for a quick examination. The original stock and pump were crafted from dark hickory, and aside from a few dents left by the thick skulls of unwitting close combatants, the wood remained in perfect shape. The worn black chamber and magazine were polished smooth and unmarked, though the barrel, which had been shortened to be barely a few centimeters longer than the magazine tube, was marked by a deep series of scratches that formed “Matt 5:9” on its side.
Having always liked my weapons to have some provenance, I made sure Matthew was no exception. One of the ministers in the Lost Battalion carried him during World War One, though he died during the Meuse-Argonne Offensive. Claimed as a war trophy by the Germans—already marked and sawed off as he was—Matthew marched with their regiment until they were forced back, and eventually found itself on the open market after the war.
Complete with documents verifying the story, or at least stating it was most likely the case, I stumbled across my Peacemaker in the disused storage compartment of a museum while researching my earlier books abroad, and it hasn't let me down since. It had since served with distinction on numerous occasions, saving my life, Hisao's life, and becoming an integral part of defending the old office—and the eternally grateful Miki Akiyama—from some very persistent pursuers.
Unfortunately I always had him loaded with buckshot, so I had to spend precious seconds replacing the shells with the high explosive rounds kept in a bandolier under the desk with the gun’s other ammo. After replacing the shells, I grabbed a band of slugs—just in case—shoved Matthew under my shirt, holding it close with one hand, and left the office as fast as I could, pausing to lock it out of habit.
If the night guard noticed anything suspicious as I ran out the door, he didn't have time to say anything. Every second I wasted getting back to Jigoro made his survival less likely; I expected to find his crumpled and headless corpse lying in a pool of blood around every corner. Logically he would’ve been killed in the same alley he had left, which was a bit of a jog from the office, but I was running on adrenaline, not logic. When I turned a corner and almost ran into Jigoro's hulking form three blocks closer than he had been when I left him, I nearly had a heart attack.
“Fuck, man!” I snapped as I reeled back, trying to catch my breath. Heaving a hoarse breath, my eyes slowly focused on him, and I noticed he was a lot bloodier than I remembered. “Shit, man,” I gasped, “you okay?”
Leaning heavily against the wall, Jigoro's left arm was grazed and bleeding lightly, and his right shoulder had a deep puncture that was soaking his tattered shirt in blood. He was holding his right wrist, which appeared to have been left limp and swollen, up against his chest. A wild and shaggy mess of hair was matted to his face and neck, which, if nothing else, made him look even more badass than normal. This image was enhanced by his sheathed family katana dangling between his teeth, while his right hand was loosely holding Hisao’s revolver.
“Do I fucking look okay?” Jigoro barked through clenched teeth, the sword rattling with each syllable, “That bastard nearly killed me! And ruined one of my favorite shirts! Rude!”
Marveling at his enunciation despite the sword in his teeth, I asked, “Did you kill him?”
“No,” Jigoro replied, then started to slump down onto the ground.
“Shit, hang on, man!” I declared, moving to give him a hand.
“I am hanging on!” Jigoro snapped, refusing my assistance, “Just go finish off that fucking alien for me!”
“That’s the plan,” I remarked, holding up Matthew, “Shogun, meet Shotgun!”
“Cute,” he grumbled, “No wonder you and that glue huffer get along...”
“That was one time in college and wasn’t my idea in the first place!” I snapped, then quietly berated myself for letting his bluster get under my skin. Remembering we were still in mortal danger, I quickly inhaled and exhaled to calm myself before asking, “Any idea where the alien is?”
Jigoro shifted to sit against the wall and groaned, “Damn, I’m getting old. Disappointing." Sliding down and letting the sword fall across his legs, he explained, "As for the Predator, I’m pretty sure he was following me, since all I did was shoot him in the head...”
“Generally that’s enough,” I quipped.
As I started scanning the blurry, hazy sky and rooftops for movement, he continued, “Well, his damn mask took the brunt of the shots, but he was disoriented long enough for me to run off... I honestly figured he'd catch up with me, but I’m pretty sure he expected me to lead it to you.”
Continuing to scan the area warily, I nodded absently and remarked, “I must've made quite the nuisance of myself.”
The rooftops seemed clear, but even with their cloak disengaged Hunters were still masters of stealth. If it was trailing Jigoro like he suspected, we needed to find a place for him to hide, and fast. Unfortunately the only cover nearby was a lone, battered metal trash can several yards away.
“Can you move?” I asked Jigoro.
“Can? Probably,” he replied, slumping down into a sitting position, “Willing to? No.”
“You’re too exposed there,” I stated, “Go hide by that trash can for cover.”
“I told you I’m not-” he stopped and looked skyward, then barked, “Move!”
Hearing it at the same time Jigoro saw it, I dove out of the way as something heavy slammed down into the alley where I had been standing. My shoulder roll put me out of range, and I immediately whirled around to see the alien's massive form standing between us. Its back was turned as it landed facing Jigoro, but the Hunter started to turn toward me with menacing calm, its wristblades out and ready for use.
It wasn't going to get that chance, though. Barely getting my feet under me, I swung Matthew up and pulled the trigger. The shot crashed into the Hunter’s back, exploded on impact, seared its flesh and forced a roar of pain from its lungs as the force sent it lurching away. Stunned by the sheer loudness of its cry, I paused for a moment, giving it enough time to whirl around.
The lighting in the alley was less then movie strength, but Hunter blood has a luminescent quality, which made the damage from Jigoro's katana show despite the dimness. The glowing green slices across the alien's thigh, shoulder and arm weren't fatal, but each one stole some of its motor control. As it took a threatening step forward, its left leg seemed to buckle, and it was favoring its right arm, but at that moment all I cared about was finishing the job.
Staggering forward despite its wounds, the Hunter growled and moved to lunge as I pumped another shell into the chamber. It crouched, blades out, and moved to spring forward, but I still had five shots ready in the magazine. Firing again, the blast caught its abdomen, and the fiery shrapnel spread across its thighs. Staggering backward instead of springing forward, the added pain of burning on top of the bloody gash nearly caused the alien to lose its footing, but it managed to keep its feet and stand upright.
Before it could make another move, I took another step forward, pumped and fired a third round at its head. The shot ricocheted off the dense mask and exploded in front of its eyes, causing it to stagger backward and lift its hands up to try clearing away the haze. Taking that as my chance to get close, I marched forward with the shotgun held up level with its chest.
“You're done, xeno,” I declared, pumping the fourth round into the chamber as I took a final step.
Barely half a meter away, I glowered and grit my teeth as I squeezed the trigger—not the smartest idea, maybe, but I was pissed, tired, and running low on ammo. The round burst through the Hunter’s thick hide, sending a shower of sparks out from its back as the blast bored a hole through its body. Strangely, it uttered not a sound at having a hole blasted through its chest, but I think the shock was too overwhelming.
Weakened, but not quite dead, the alien tried raising its arm to slice at me, but three barking shots slammed into the wristblade device, ending that counterattack before it could start. Regaining its voice, the Hunter wailed and half-spun toward Jigoro, the flailing arms sending me retreating backward as I pumped the fifth round into Matthew's chamber.
The Hunter took a labored step toward me, trying to raise the nearly useless weapon that hung loosely from its arm, but its legs betrayed that course of action. As its knees buckled, its arm lost all its strength and dropped down to its side, then it stumbled forward as I retreated another step backward. Collapsing to one knee, it gave one last attempt to swipe at me, but the motion just propelled it forward awkwardly, nearly knocking it off balance.
Unsure whether it might be playing possum, I kept the shotgun trained on its head, but it seemed as though I wouldn't need that fifth shell. Groaning once more, a pitiable sound that lacked any of the threatening overtones I was accustomed to hearing, the alien pitched forward and fell flat on its mask covered face. As it started twitching feebly on the ground, like a dying insect, I glanced to my side and saw Jigoro lowering the revolver.
“Nice timing,” I complimented.
“Congratulate me when it's over,” he grunted, nodding toward the alien.
Turning back to the Hunter, I realized that, quite surprisingly, it wasn't dead yet. Green glowing liquid pooled under its chest and spread across the pavement as it coughed and gagged, probably choking on its own blood, but it was still moving. Trying to shove itself up, it groaned and shook, mumbling something in its guttural language as it rolled onto its side. Not willing to wait out its death throes, or give it any more chances to attack, I stepped on its bloodied shoulder and placed the shotgun’s barrel against the side of its head.
The crack of the blast echoed through the alley and the flash revealed chunks of flesh and bone being blasted away as a fiery shower bounced off the asphalt. When the sound and fire from the explosion dissipated, its body twitched once, and again, then lay still, finally relaxing into oblivion. Still not entirely convinced it was finally dead, I pumped the final shell and repeated the process, just to be sure, sending the last shot into the remains of the alien’s head with a final crack and flash.
"Who are you, that do not know your history?" -Ulysses
Misha Time: United States of Misha Meet the Hakamichis
Awesome, served on the rocks: Hisao and Kenji- Master Detectives! (Check out the Archive for more!)
I wrote a book! Brythain edited it! If you like mystery and history please consider: A Sister's Habit
"You are absolutely insane. And entertaining." -griffon8
Misha Time: United States of Misha Meet the Hakamichis
Awesome, served on the rocks: Hisao and Kenji- Master Detectives! (Check out the Archive for more!)
I wrote a book! Brythain edited it! If you like mystery and history please consider: A Sister's Habit
"You are absolutely insane. And entertaining." -griffon8
Re: Hisao and Kenji-Concrete Jungle Updated 10/24
PART II:
“Get up from that, you bastard,” Jigoro growled.
As I let out a long raspy breath, I poked the remains of its mask aside with Matthew's smoking barrel, and found there wasn’t much left of the alien's head. Finally sure the Hunter was really dead, I grabbed its spear and disc from my belt and tossed them onto the limp body before moving over to tend to Jigoro.
“You’re still bleeding,” I announced, noticing the small trails of blood that had formed around him.
“Superficial,” Jigoro replied.
“And your wrist?” I added, raising an eyebrow.
Giving the swollen appendage a quick glance, he affirmed, “Broken.”
Smirking at his one word answers, I couldn’t help but ask, “That also superficial?”
Jigoro rolled his eyes at my rhetorical question and said nothing. “That’s what I thought,” I said, reaching into my coat to find another burner phone, “So, I’m gonna call Hisao, have him grab a body bag from my office-”
“You keep body bags in your office?” Jigoro interrupted.
“You kept files on Ancient Conspiracies in yours,” I countered.
“…Touché.”
“And then we can wrap up the body, stick it somewhere safe,” I continued, leaning closer to look at the gash on his forearm before finishing, “then get you to a hospital.”
“I don’t need a hospital,” Jigoro declared.
“You’re going to one,” I stated, knowing he was in no position to argue. “Even if I have to shoot both your kneecaps and shove my Tesla into your wounds to stun you—and don’t think I won’t do it,” I threatened, then smirked and added, “Your daughter would expect no less.”
Jigoro seemed to glare at me for a moment before groaning, “Fine, have Nakai take me while you deal with the body.”
“Works for me,” I said, setting the phone aside, “But if you bleed out before you reach the hospital, we both know Shizune will just kill me and Hisao, so first I’m gonna patch you up a bit and get you a sling.”
“Only you would carry that crap around everywhere you go. Pointless,” he snorted, rolling his eyes.
“You're welcome,” I grumbled, to which he just snorted again and looked away.
As I reached into my coat pockets in search of bandages, antiseptic, and a sling, I knelt at his side and quickly realized his wounds were worse than he stated. Aside from the so-called superficial gashes on his arm, I found a long set of scratches along his back he hadn’t mentioned. Honestly, I expected both the scratches and his attempted deception, so I went about applying antiseptic and bandages without making any snide comments.
When it came to his wrist, which was obviously broken—twisted around with brutish efficiency—Jigoro refused to let me try a temporary setting, instead insisting on doing that himself. Most of the bluster I'd heard from Jigoro over the years seemed like it was just that—bluster—but he barely made a sound as he wrenched the bones back into place. When he finished that, his breath was raspy and shallow, and he was undoubtedly in a lot more pain than he showed, so I hurriedly reached for the phone to call Hisao.
“You want some adrenaline?” I asked before making the call.
Jigoro shook his head, “You know, of all the medical crap you brought with you, that’s the only one that makes sense.”
“I look out for my own,” I declared. In a lower voice, I muttered, “Especially after Kyoto.”
Fighting back the memories of that fiasco, I tapped out Hisao's number and took a few steps away to give Jigoro some space. The conversation was brief and to the point, leaving out the unnecessary details for later as I gave him our location and confirmed the alien had been neutralized. With that bit of business taken care of, I was relieved to find Jigoro breathing more steadily—much less raspy and ragged than earlier, at least.
Eyes closed as he leaned back against the wall, the revolver still in one hand and his sword now carefully placed across his lap, a relieved grimace dominated his expression. “I hope you don’t intend to make this a habit,” he mumbled, cracking his eyes open and blinking a few times as he added, “Fighting aliens, I mean.”
“Not if I can help it,” I declared, moving to inspect the Hunter's corpse.
Recalling the aftermath of our previous encounter with its species, I knelt down to examine its wrist trophies. Three distinctive bands on its left arm stood out, each one constructed from gold fillings and crowned teeth. Meanwhile, the right wrist bore only one bracelet of what looked like finger bones, which, on closer inspection, all appeared to have been harvested from the same finger—probably the ring finger—of several victims.
Grimacing, I grabbed two of the teeth bracelets, then tossed one over to Jigoro. Not having a free hand to catch it with, the macabre wrist jewelry simply landed in his lap. As Jigoro eyed it warily, I wondered for a moment if he was trying to see if he recognized any of the teeth. Shrugging, he set down the revolver to pick up the bracelet and, holding it up in the dim light, he grumbled, “Just what I always wanted...”
“At least now you have a matching pair,” I stated, taking a closer look at my new bracelet and frowning. “The trick will be explaining it to my wife,” I remarked, then turned and smirked, “but what she doesn't know can't hurt her...”
“Don't count on that,” he advised, and I thought a saw the ghost of a reminiscent smile grace his hard features.
“Well, at least it'll keep me safe from Hunters,” I conceded, sighing inwardly. “I have no intention of making a habit out of this,” I added, slipping the bracelet onto my wrist, “and with this, I shouldn't have to worry...”
Pulling the band onto his wrist—the one he could still move—he shook his head and shrugged. After a moment he glanced up at me and stated, “Well, if another one does show up... at least we know what to do about it.”
Smirking, I chuckled and nodded as I replied, “Shoot it in the ass with an overpowered shotgun... Speaking of which, how’d that fight go?”
Jigoro shrugged lightly, wincing slightly in pain as he did so, then replied, “Disappointing… I’m getting old.”
Chuckling, I pointed to the wisps of gray hairs that had started to line my temples. “Welcome to the club, man," I remarked, "When you’re out of the hospital I expect a blow-by-blow account.”
“I’ll see what I can do, though a few things are a little fuzzy,” he admitted, glancing briefly at the corpse of the alien, “and the only other witness is dead, so...”
Looking down at the dead husk, I shrugged as I replied, “I dunno… the US has been keeping tabs on these guys for a while…”
Jigoro raised an eyebrow and looked at me sidelong. “So?” he prompted, "Is that supposed to mean something...?"
Scratching at my hair, which had become greasy and sweaty from the night’s exertions, I grinned and remarked, “Well, if the US is watching something, there’s a record of it. And, if there’s a record, there’s a file. Where there’s a file, there’s a way to get that file...”
“You can’t be serious, I must be blacking out...” Jigoro grunted.
"Deadly serious," I said, turning back to grin at Jigoro.
Before he could answer, a strange, soft whirring sound started emanating from somewhere nearby, and we both stopped to listen. My hand reaching for my Nambu, I turned to face the Hunter's corpse, but ended up lifting the hand to shield my eyes as a shimmering green light appeared around the alien’s body. After a moment, the light coalesced into three ghost-like images, each silhouette bearing the unmistakable outline of a Hunter.
As they materialized, the displacement sent a blast of hot wind down the alley, pushing me back on my heels, and kicking a cloud of dust into the air. Expecting an attack, I grabbed the Nambu with my trailing hand, but left it in its holster as the trio didn't seem to want a fight. Without a word, two of them lifted the corpse and vanished as quickly as they had come, but the third stayed behind.
Towering over me, this third Hunter stepped in front of the light, and I was able to make out a few distinct features. Apart from the typical armor and complement of weapons, it wore a heavy cloak, and a bandolier of pistols—each seeming to have come from a different nation and year—was hung across its shoulder. Its large mask was heavily pitted and marked, most likely from the acidic blood of a xenomorph, and one of his hands was missing, which made me wonder whether it was the same alien that Hisao had dueled before.
It stood there motionless for a few moments, barely turning its head to look between myself and Jigoro, before lifting one of the pistols off the belt and tossing it down to me. In my awed stupor, I wasn't able to catch the weapon, so it landed unceremoniously on the ground a few inches from my feet. As I turned up again, the Hunter seemed to dip its head ever so slightly, which I guessed was a bow of deference.
“Take it…” it ground out, then, stepping back into the light, it vanished.
The green glow dissipated a few moments later, and along with it went any evidence of the corpse. All its equipment was simply gone, along with the pool of blood, leaving just an empty patch of asphalt—even the dust there was gone. The sight rendered both of us speechless, and an awestruck silence followed. After a few long moments, I glanced down at the pistol and knelt to pick it up, instantly recognizing it as a World War II German Luger.
Still unable to speak, I held up the pistol and looked toward Jigoro, but he wasn't at all amused. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t see that,” he grunted, warily eying the spot the body had occupied mere moments before, "I think I'll pretend none of this happened, actually..."
As I stowed the gun in a spare jacket pocket, I nodded and agreed, “Same here.”
Those words echoed into the dim alley, and I considered letting that be the end of things, but the writer in me started working, lapping at the night’s events now that the private investigator in me had been quenched by a closed case. It didn't take me long to conclude that it would make a great story, though dealing with the Predator license would be a pain. Regardless, it wouldn’t be the first time that me or Hisao turned one of our adventures into a book. If I was going to take that route, though, I would need some details clarified.
Glancing at Jigoro, I remarked, “Still," pausing for dramatic effect, "you gotta admit... this would make a helluva story.”
Jigoro snorted and barked, “Are you insane?”
Grinning, I turned back to face him and declared, “Of course I'm insane—I'm motherfucking Kenji!”
Jigoro looked at me for a moment, then closed his eyes and groaned.
+++
Happy Halloween, folks!
Once again, I would like to thank Helbereth for editing another work of mine, and this one really needed it. Thanks a bunch, and good luck with your own projects!
Also, thanks to everyone who read and commented. You guys are awesome, and should feel awesome for being such a fantastic breeding ground for writers and constructive writing criticism.
Now on to the next special… no rest for the wicked, as they say. Ain’t nothin’ in this world for free, anyway.
“Get up from that, you bastard,” Jigoro growled.
As I let out a long raspy breath, I poked the remains of its mask aside with Matthew's smoking barrel, and found there wasn’t much left of the alien's head. Finally sure the Hunter was really dead, I grabbed its spear and disc from my belt and tossed them onto the limp body before moving over to tend to Jigoro.
“You’re still bleeding,” I announced, noticing the small trails of blood that had formed around him.
“Superficial,” Jigoro replied.
“And your wrist?” I added, raising an eyebrow.
Giving the swollen appendage a quick glance, he affirmed, “Broken.”
Smirking at his one word answers, I couldn’t help but ask, “That also superficial?”
Jigoro rolled his eyes at my rhetorical question and said nothing. “That’s what I thought,” I said, reaching into my coat to find another burner phone, “So, I’m gonna call Hisao, have him grab a body bag from my office-”
“You keep body bags in your office?” Jigoro interrupted.
“You kept files on Ancient Conspiracies in yours,” I countered.
“…Touché.”
“And then we can wrap up the body, stick it somewhere safe,” I continued, leaning closer to look at the gash on his forearm before finishing, “then get you to a hospital.”
“I don’t need a hospital,” Jigoro declared.
“You’re going to one,” I stated, knowing he was in no position to argue. “Even if I have to shoot both your kneecaps and shove my Tesla into your wounds to stun you—and don’t think I won’t do it,” I threatened, then smirked and added, “Your daughter would expect no less.”
Jigoro seemed to glare at me for a moment before groaning, “Fine, have Nakai take me while you deal with the body.”
“Works for me,” I said, setting the phone aside, “But if you bleed out before you reach the hospital, we both know Shizune will just kill me and Hisao, so first I’m gonna patch you up a bit and get you a sling.”
“Only you would carry that crap around everywhere you go. Pointless,” he snorted, rolling his eyes.
“You're welcome,” I grumbled, to which he just snorted again and looked away.
As I reached into my coat pockets in search of bandages, antiseptic, and a sling, I knelt at his side and quickly realized his wounds were worse than he stated. Aside from the so-called superficial gashes on his arm, I found a long set of scratches along his back he hadn’t mentioned. Honestly, I expected both the scratches and his attempted deception, so I went about applying antiseptic and bandages without making any snide comments.
When it came to his wrist, which was obviously broken—twisted around with brutish efficiency—Jigoro refused to let me try a temporary setting, instead insisting on doing that himself. Most of the bluster I'd heard from Jigoro over the years seemed like it was just that—bluster—but he barely made a sound as he wrenched the bones back into place. When he finished that, his breath was raspy and shallow, and he was undoubtedly in a lot more pain than he showed, so I hurriedly reached for the phone to call Hisao.
“You want some adrenaline?” I asked before making the call.
Jigoro shook his head, “You know, of all the medical crap you brought with you, that’s the only one that makes sense.”
“I look out for my own,” I declared. In a lower voice, I muttered, “Especially after Kyoto.”
Fighting back the memories of that fiasco, I tapped out Hisao's number and took a few steps away to give Jigoro some space. The conversation was brief and to the point, leaving out the unnecessary details for later as I gave him our location and confirmed the alien had been neutralized. With that bit of business taken care of, I was relieved to find Jigoro breathing more steadily—much less raspy and ragged than earlier, at least.
Eyes closed as he leaned back against the wall, the revolver still in one hand and his sword now carefully placed across his lap, a relieved grimace dominated his expression. “I hope you don’t intend to make this a habit,” he mumbled, cracking his eyes open and blinking a few times as he added, “Fighting aliens, I mean.”
“Not if I can help it,” I declared, moving to inspect the Hunter's corpse.
Recalling the aftermath of our previous encounter with its species, I knelt down to examine its wrist trophies. Three distinctive bands on its left arm stood out, each one constructed from gold fillings and crowned teeth. Meanwhile, the right wrist bore only one bracelet of what looked like finger bones, which, on closer inspection, all appeared to have been harvested from the same finger—probably the ring finger—of several victims.
Grimacing, I grabbed two of the teeth bracelets, then tossed one over to Jigoro. Not having a free hand to catch it with, the macabre wrist jewelry simply landed in his lap. As Jigoro eyed it warily, I wondered for a moment if he was trying to see if he recognized any of the teeth. Shrugging, he set down the revolver to pick up the bracelet and, holding it up in the dim light, he grumbled, “Just what I always wanted...”
“At least now you have a matching pair,” I stated, taking a closer look at my new bracelet and frowning. “The trick will be explaining it to my wife,” I remarked, then turned and smirked, “but what she doesn't know can't hurt her...”
“Don't count on that,” he advised, and I thought a saw the ghost of a reminiscent smile grace his hard features.
“Well, at least it'll keep me safe from Hunters,” I conceded, sighing inwardly. “I have no intention of making a habit out of this,” I added, slipping the bracelet onto my wrist, “and with this, I shouldn't have to worry...”
Pulling the band onto his wrist—the one he could still move—he shook his head and shrugged. After a moment he glanced up at me and stated, “Well, if another one does show up... at least we know what to do about it.”
Smirking, I chuckled and nodded as I replied, “Shoot it in the ass with an overpowered shotgun... Speaking of which, how’d that fight go?”
Jigoro shrugged lightly, wincing slightly in pain as he did so, then replied, “Disappointing… I’m getting old.”
Chuckling, I pointed to the wisps of gray hairs that had started to line my temples. “Welcome to the club, man," I remarked, "When you’re out of the hospital I expect a blow-by-blow account.”
“I’ll see what I can do, though a few things are a little fuzzy,” he admitted, glancing briefly at the corpse of the alien, “and the only other witness is dead, so...”
Looking down at the dead husk, I shrugged as I replied, “I dunno… the US has been keeping tabs on these guys for a while…”
Jigoro raised an eyebrow and looked at me sidelong. “So?” he prompted, "Is that supposed to mean something...?"
Scratching at my hair, which had become greasy and sweaty from the night’s exertions, I grinned and remarked, “Well, if the US is watching something, there’s a record of it. And, if there’s a record, there’s a file. Where there’s a file, there’s a way to get that file...”
“You can’t be serious, I must be blacking out...” Jigoro grunted.
"Deadly serious," I said, turning back to grin at Jigoro.
Before he could answer, a strange, soft whirring sound started emanating from somewhere nearby, and we both stopped to listen. My hand reaching for my Nambu, I turned to face the Hunter's corpse, but ended up lifting the hand to shield my eyes as a shimmering green light appeared around the alien’s body. After a moment, the light coalesced into three ghost-like images, each silhouette bearing the unmistakable outline of a Hunter.
As they materialized, the displacement sent a blast of hot wind down the alley, pushing me back on my heels, and kicking a cloud of dust into the air. Expecting an attack, I grabbed the Nambu with my trailing hand, but left it in its holster as the trio didn't seem to want a fight. Without a word, two of them lifted the corpse and vanished as quickly as they had come, but the third stayed behind.
Towering over me, this third Hunter stepped in front of the light, and I was able to make out a few distinct features. Apart from the typical armor and complement of weapons, it wore a heavy cloak, and a bandolier of pistols—each seeming to have come from a different nation and year—was hung across its shoulder. Its large mask was heavily pitted and marked, most likely from the acidic blood of a xenomorph, and one of his hands was missing, which made me wonder whether it was the same alien that Hisao had dueled before.
It stood there motionless for a few moments, barely turning its head to look between myself and Jigoro, before lifting one of the pistols off the belt and tossing it down to me. In my awed stupor, I wasn't able to catch the weapon, so it landed unceremoniously on the ground a few inches from my feet. As I turned up again, the Hunter seemed to dip its head ever so slightly, which I guessed was a bow of deference.
“Take it…” it ground out, then, stepping back into the light, it vanished.
The green glow dissipated a few moments later, and along with it went any evidence of the corpse. All its equipment was simply gone, along with the pool of blood, leaving just an empty patch of asphalt—even the dust there was gone. The sight rendered both of us speechless, and an awestruck silence followed. After a few long moments, I glanced down at the pistol and knelt to pick it up, instantly recognizing it as a World War II German Luger.
Still unable to speak, I held up the pistol and looked toward Jigoro, but he wasn't at all amused. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t see that,” he grunted, warily eying the spot the body had occupied mere moments before, "I think I'll pretend none of this happened, actually..."
As I stowed the gun in a spare jacket pocket, I nodded and agreed, “Same here.”
Those words echoed into the dim alley, and I considered letting that be the end of things, but the writer in me started working, lapping at the night’s events now that the private investigator in me had been quenched by a closed case. It didn't take me long to conclude that it would make a great story, though dealing with the Predator license would be a pain. Regardless, it wouldn’t be the first time that me or Hisao turned one of our adventures into a book. If I was going to take that route, though, I would need some details clarified.
Glancing at Jigoro, I remarked, “Still," pausing for dramatic effect, "you gotta admit... this would make a helluva story.”
Jigoro snorted and barked, “Are you insane?”
Grinning, I turned back to face him and declared, “Of course I'm insane—I'm motherfucking Kenji!”
Jigoro looked at me for a moment, then closed his eyes and groaned.
+++
Happy Halloween, folks!
Once again, I would like to thank Helbereth for editing another work of mine, and this one really needed it. Thanks a bunch, and good luck with your own projects!
Also, thanks to everyone who read and commented. You guys are awesome, and should feel awesome for being such a fantastic breeding ground for writers and constructive writing criticism.
Now on to the next special… no rest for the wicked, as they say. Ain’t nothin’ in this world for free, anyway.
Last edited by Hoitash on Thu Oct 31, 2013 12:46 pm, edited 1 time in total.
"Who are you, that do not know your history?" -Ulysses
Misha Time: United States of Misha Meet the Hakamichis
Awesome, served on the rocks: Hisao and Kenji- Master Detectives! (Check out the Archive for more!)
I wrote a book! Brythain edited it! If you like mystery and history please consider: A Sister's Habit
"You are absolutely insane. And entertaining." -griffon8
Misha Time: United States of Misha Meet the Hakamichis
Awesome, served on the rocks: Hisao and Kenji- Master Detectives! (Check out the Archive for more!)
I wrote a book! Brythain edited it! If you like mystery and history please consider: A Sister's Habit
"You are absolutely insane. And entertaining." -griffon8
Re: Hisao and Kenji-Concrete Jungle Conclusion Update
Once again, an enjoyable read. Although I skimmed the fight scenes (they're generally not my thing), I think you did a great job on the interactions between Kenji and Jigoro throughout these last few posts. In general, I think this is the best portrayal of Jigoro I've seen to date.
Looking forward to the next story!
Looking forward to the next story!
Rin is orthogonal to everything.
Stuff I've written: Developments, a continuation of Lilly's (bad? neutral?) ending - COMPLETE!
Stuff I've written: Developments, a continuation of Lilly's (bad? neutral?) ending - COMPLETE!
-
Mirage_GSM
- Posts: 6217
- Joined: Mon Jun 28, 2010 2:24 am
- Location: Germany
Re: Hisao and Kenji-Concrete Jungle Conclusion Update
You know what me mean?we both know Shizune will just kill Hisao and I both
Congrats on finishing another one!
Emi > Misha > Hanako > Lilly > Rin > Shizune
My collected KS-Fan Fictions: Mirage's Myths
My collected KS-Fan Fictions: Mirage's Myths
Sore wa himitsu desu.griffon8 wrote:Kosher, just because sex is your answer to everything doesn't mean that sex is the answer to everything.
Re: Hisao and Kenji-Concrete Jungle Conclusion Update
Thanks for reading, glad you liked it!dewelar wrote:Once again, an enjoyable read. Although I skimmed the fight scenes (they're generally not my thing), I think you did a great job on the interactions between Kenji and Jigoro throughout these last few posts. In general, I think this is the best portrayal of Jigoro I've seen to date.
Looking forward to the next story!
So "me and Hisao", I take it? Or perhaps just Hisao and I...Mirage_GSM wrote:You know what me mean?we both know Shizune will just kill Hisao and I both
Congrats on finishing another one!
I really need a grammar book. And thanks
"Who are you, that do not know your history?" -Ulysses
Misha Time: United States of Misha Meet the Hakamichis
Awesome, served on the rocks: Hisao and Kenji- Master Detectives! (Check out the Archive for more!)
I wrote a book! Brythain edited it! If you like mystery and history please consider: A Sister's Habit
"You are absolutely insane. And entertaining." -griffon8
Misha Time: United States of Misha Meet the Hakamichis
Awesome, served on the rocks: Hisao and Kenji- Master Detectives! (Check out the Archive for more!)
I wrote a book! Brythain edited it! If you like mystery and history please consider: A Sister's Habit
"You are absolutely insane. And entertaining." -griffon8
Re: Hisao and Kenji-Concrete Jungle Conclusion Update
"Hisao and me" or "me and Hisao" would work equally well. The best way to remember is to think about how the sentence would sound if you dropped the other nouns ("Shizune would just kill I"? What are you, a Horta?).Hoitash wrote:So "me and Hisao", I take it? Or perhaps just Hisao and I...Mirage_GSM wrote:You know what me mean?we both know Shizune will just kill Hisao and I both
Congrats on finishing another one!
I really need a grammar book. And thanks
Rin is orthogonal to everything.
Stuff I've written: Developments, a continuation of Lilly's (bad? neutral?) ending - COMPLETE!
Stuff I've written: Developments, a continuation of Lilly's (bad? neutral?) ending - COMPLETE!
Re: Hisao and Kenji-Concrete Jungle Conclusion Update
Ah, that makes sense. Thank you.
"Who are you, that do not know your history?" -Ulysses
Misha Time: United States of Misha Meet the Hakamichis
Awesome, served on the rocks: Hisao and Kenji- Master Detectives! (Check out the Archive for more!)
I wrote a book! Brythain edited it! If you like mystery and history please consider: A Sister's Habit
"You are absolutely insane. And entertaining." -griffon8
Misha Time: United States of Misha Meet the Hakamichis
Awesome, served on the rocks: Hisao and Kenji- Master Detectives! (Check out the Archive for more!)
I wrote a book! Brythain edited it! If you like mystery and history please consider: A Sister's Habit
"You are absolutely insane. And entertaining." -griffon8
Re: Hisao and Kenji-Concrete Jungle Conclusion Update
I feel I should point out that the error here is part of Kenji's dialogue, and people don't always speak with perfect grammar.Mirage_GSM wrote:You know what me mean?we both know Shizune will just kill Hisao and I both
Congrats on finishing another one!
Anyway, I'm glad to see people commenting finally. After last week's update, I expected some comments at least, but I guess fight scenes aren't the forte of anyone browsing this particular forum. It could just be that it got lost in the uptick of updates from other authors, though.
I'm still not sure which Halloween of yours I liked better. It's either traipsing around a concrete maze tracking a technologically advanced alien sportsman bent on mass murder and trophy collecting, or investigating the bone-chilling howls of an age-old anthropomorphic killer in the Hokkaido night to end its terrifying rein. This one has a bit more spectacle and a faster pace from the beginning, but the werewolf story had a bit more subtext, and ended on a more human note.
It's hard to decide.