Hisao and Kenji- Master Detectives! Conclusion? Update

[Hoitash]

We now return to our regularly scheduled schedule.

Also, I was reading a preview of season 4 of Warehouse 13, and wow, why didn’t I think of that? This works too, of course.

Previous Chapter

Part Four: Allies

I didn’t expect the two to answer, but to my surprise the woman responded in pretty decent Japanese, “we’re from the US Secret Service, who are you two?”

“We asked first,” I said.

The man rolled his eyes- I guess he picked up my tone- and the woman sighed before answering, “I’m Agent Bering, he’s Agent Lattimer, now, who are you?”

It was clear to me the man didn’t understand this, so the woman said something to him. I had a basic grasp of English, mainly because my wife’s best friend was a high school English teacher. Still, I didn’t feel like sounding like a bad Engrish anime character today, so I leaned towards Kenji as he explained what Bering was saying to Lattimer.

“She’s just translating what we’re saying,” Kenji said, “as to your question; we are Setou and Nakai, Private Investigators and bane to all Secret Societies. The Warehouse doesn’t count.”

Bering’s eyes lit up at the mention of a warehouse, “I am Nakai by the way. He is Setou. Now, why are you two here?” I asked in English. I wanted to make a good impression, since it didn’t look like we are going to start shooting each other.

The two looked at each other and started speaking quickly to each other. Kenji lowered his weapon a bit and gestured for me to do the same. The two agent’s weapons had been lowered while they looked around, and when they didn’t raise them I was encouraged.

“What do you know about the Warehouse?” Bering asked.

Kenji raised an eyebrow, “you’re not going to bullshit me?”

“We passed the time for bullshitting when we ran into a squad of men with Tesla’s,” Bering said, looking down at my new weapons.

“I grabbed them from a guard,” I said, “the sword’s repel the… Tesla’s stunning blasts. Wait, Tesla, as in Edison’s nemesis?” I read a lot of sci-fi.

Bering nodded, “the same.”

Lattimer said something to her, and Kenji started speaking in what was probably very broken and accented English. While they chatted I took the chance to close the door behind me, after leaving it open a crack with some index cards in my pocket- lockdowns tend to lock doors when they close. I also glanced around the room. Most of it was filled with a large bulky generator along the left wall. A smaller one was tucked into the right corner, and next to it was a bunch of empty shelves and cabinets that probably held extra weapons and body armor. A water heater and some other utility stuff was shoved into the left corner.

By the time I was finished looking around, and fiddling with the power setting on my Tesla- more out of curiosity then anything else- Bering was speaking again, “we’re here to find a suit of armor from the Tokugawa Shogunate and replace it with a replica. It’s supposed to be at the museum, but the janitor stole it and brought it here.”

I nodded, “yeah, the curator hired us to retrieve it. Something tells me you don’t want that.”

“It’s alright, man,” Kenji said, “if that armor is what they think it is, it’s safer with them. If we help you grab the armor, can you give us the replica to give to the curator?”

The two agents nodded after a quick translation, “yeah, we can do that.”

“You sure we can trust them?” I asked Kenji.

Kenji nodded, “the Warehouses have been protecting humanity from some weird shit for millennia. They may be secret, but their definitely one of the good guys. And gals.”

Bering smiled at that and spoke to her partner. I glanced at Kenji, who raised an eyebrow.

“She’s asking him if he’s getting a ‘bad vibe’ from us… He’s not, which is a good thing, I guess.”

“Well,” Bering said, “seems like we’re stuck together. The sooner we get out of here, the sooner we can go our separate ways.”

“Alright, now it’s a party!” Kenji said, raising his Nambu back up, “let’s go.”

“Hang on,” Bering said, “do you two know what this place is?”

I patted my new Tesla artifact, “I think it’s a Templar research facility for the mass production of artifacts. Kenji?” I had been reading those files Kenji had, too.

Kenji nodded, “that looks about right.”

“Templars?” Bering asked, “as in the Knights Templar?” she started smiling and laughed, “you two can’t be serious.”

Her smile disappeared when we gave a dark look to her statement, “I assure you, ma’am, they are quite real,” I said, “I didn’t believe it at first, either. Until they started shooting at us. Then I took them a bit more seriously.”

“Fortunately for us, not all secrets are bad,” Kenji said, nudging his head at the two agents, “if the Templars are mass producing artifacts, we’re fucked.”

“Why would they do that?” Bering asked.

“Can we discuss this later?” I asked, but Kenji went into ranting mode, “the Templars have been at war with the Knights Hospitaller and the Illuminati for the last six hundred years. The three have been at a stalemate for centuries. The Templars are probably hoping the artifacts will give them the edge they need to tip the war in their favor.”

“We need to stop them, then,” I said, “as bad as these Societies are, we need to keep them fighting each other until we can get them to wipe each other out once and for all.”

“Hey, remember us?” Bering asked.

Kenji and I exchanged a glance, “right, first things first,” I said, “we get the armor out of here, erase any recorded footage of us, and then we can blast everything here to hell.”

As much as I wanted to meticulously study and examine every scrap of data and machinery in this place, odds were good a regiment of very angry Templars were on the way. I was a chemist anyway. I relayed this fact to the agents before we left the room.

We got the door open and I immediately closed it, bracing it with the index cards just as the hail of bullets pounded into it. Thank God for bullet proof doors.

“We’re fucked, aren’t we?” Kenji asked.

“Only if you consider a fire team of Templars armed with AK’s shooting at us fucked,” I replied.

“Our Tesla’s need to recharge,” Bering said, “we weren’t prepared for this kind of assault, and even the new power cells are overheating.”

“Wouldn’t the Secret Service be more prepared?” I asked while I grabbed my flashbang.

Bering rolled her eyes and glared at her partner, “yeah, well, someone rushed us to get back in time for a baseball game.”

“Really?” Kenji asked, then started talking to Lattimer about baseball. The Cubs were not doing well, apparently.

“Excuse me,” me and Bering said at the same time, “can we do this later?”

Kenji nodded and readied his pistol, “its all you, man. Give it your best shot.”

“Everyone get on the left side, the door will give us some protection.”

“If you get me a sword I can use it,” Bering said.

“Wow, you guys are hardcore,” Kenji said.

Bering seemed to appreciate the compliment, since she was smiling when we all scooted against the wall. The firing had stopped and I started hearing footsteps. I armed and readied the grenade, opened the door a crack and tossed it out into the hall. We all covered our ears as it went off. Kenji was the first out, firing three quick shots before ducking back inside, just in time for me to fire my new toy. The Tesla shot out a blast of blue lightning that zapped the two standing guards, sending them to the ground unconscious along with their bleeding comrades. I checked the blue bars on the side: two shots left. I called it clear to the two agents while Kenji grabbed himself a pistol and charger. He also grabbed a sword and handed it to Bering when the two came out of the room.

“Where did they come from?” Bering asked.

“Either reinforcements arrived or the remaining guards are taking the offensive,” Kenji said.

“Surrender now or we will use deadly force!” someone down the main hall shouted.

“Well, that answers that,” I said, “though if they were armed with Tesla’s it might be both anyway.”

“Crap,” Bering said, “what do we do now?”

“You two can hold them off with the Templar Tesla’s, right?” Kenji asked.

Bering translated to Lattimer, who nodded, “good luck and be quick,” Bering said.

“You, too,” I said, and we headed for the far right research lab. On the way I saw maybe two dozen men in combat armor with rifles and pistols flooding through the front door. They shot at us as we passed down the hall while the two agents took up defensive positions along the remains of the double doors.

Yeah, we’d definitely all need good luck.

+++

Next Chapter

Canonically, Myka does speak Japanese. Go figure.

[Helbereth]

I armed and readied the grenade, opened the door a crack and tossed the grenade.

This feels like you shouldn't use 'grenade' twice. Maybe after he opens the door, you can describe him, 'opened the door a crack and tossed it through.' Or something to that effect.

They shot us as we past

They've been shot, then? Also, that should be 'passed'.

A little short, but I can't really complain. I love the quip about Kenji and Lattimer talking baseball in the middle of a fire-fight - it's so absurd and yet fits perfectly. I get the feeling they're somewhat alike; while Bering seems to be a bit like Hisao.

[Hoitash]

Dangit...

Both edits dealt with. Repeating words is a habit my professor's have been working on getting me to break, but its tough sometimes.

AT. They were shot AT. Also fixed.

Yeah, I didn't realize how short it was until I posted it. Glad its still a good part, though

You're right too on who is similar to who. The spleen thing shoulda made it obvious to me, but I seem to be rather oblivious to the deeper didactism of my own work. Apparently I write by gut instinct and practiced skill.

[Helbereth]

defensive positions along the reamins of the double doors.

I dunno if this was there before.

I have no idea what it is, though. Remains, perhaps.

[Hoitash]

defensive positions along the reamins of the double doors.

I dunno if this was there before.

I have no idea what it is, though. Remains, perhaps.

Remains it was. There before it was not- I need to lead into some edits for the next part I started jotting down.

Now if you'll excuse me, I must go disembowel myself with a fountain pen for the sin of speedy editing.

[Helbereth]

Now if you'll excuse me, I must go disembowel myself with a fountain pen for the sin of speedy editing.

猿も木から落ちる。"Even monkeys fall from trees."
(stole that from a Japanese proverb database)

Everyone makes mistakes.

[Hoitash]

It seems these parts are in the 1k- 1.4k range of words. I’m going for a pulp fiction feel, I guess. The ludicrous plot mighta been a give away there

Previous Chapter

Part Five: Complications


We managed to avoid getting shot, mostly by shutting the remains of the double doors to provide us decent cover as we bolted to the other end of the hall. While the two Agents started firing down the main hall, Kenji and I saddled up to the large metal double doors of the far right research lab.

“You sure this is the right one?” Kenji asked.

I nodded, “it’s the only one the Warehouse Agents haven’t checked, and it’s the only one still on lockdown,” I paused and added, “I’m surprised you trust them.”

Kenji chuckled, “what, I can’t grow up, too, Mr. High School Science Teacher?”

“Fair enough, Mr. Famous Conspiracy Writer.”

Kenji slapped another explosive pack onto the doors and hit the button while we slid back into the security room next door. It was a little close but the walls were thick enough that the explosion didn’t cause any problems, except to the door, of course. We took out our last flashbangs and I poked my head out into the hall- then poked it back in. One of the security squads was taking cover behind the remains of the door and a hastily cobbled barricade of benches and desks barely inside the blast range. They apparently hadn’t seen me, but this was going to be a tough one.

I heard shouting from within the lab and looked to Kenji. After a while he translated for me, “the security guards are holding position- the agents are going to be overrun if we don’t hurry. Fortunately for them the guards inside the lab can’t get a clear shot at them.”

“Can you get a good toss from here?” I asked.

Kenji shook his head, “the angle is off. One of us will have to dive into the hall and toss it.”

He was right, the security room was just far enough from the lab that if we tossed a grenade it would probably bounce off a wall or the impromptu barricade.

“I’ll go, man,” he said, “there is no way in hell you’re going out there first.”

“Glad you volunteered, because there was no way in hell I was gonna,” I checked the geometry of the hall and doorways again, “I can give you some suppressive fire- I won’t be able to hit anything, but it might make them nervous.”

Kenji nodded and smiled as I holstered my Tesla and pulled out my Colt, “if I don’t make it-”

“You will, now go,” I said.

I jumped into the threshold and squeezed out my clip while Kenji dove into the hall and tossed the two readied flashbangs. He rolled and flattened himself against the wall to the right of the blasted lab doors, the best blind spot he had. I ducked back into the hall to reload and grab my Tesla. I think I hit a guard in the shoulder, but I doubted it. The flashbangs went off and I moved next to Kenji, who was kneeling with his Tesla out, too, along with his Nambu.

“If this doesn’t work,” he said, “I’m sorry.”

“Me, too,” may God and whatever kami actually exist watch over my family. Why do I keep following this nut into the pits of hell?

Deciding to worry about that later, we both dashed to the remains of the research lab doors and fired our Tesla’s. Two guards went down but the other two had their swords out, repelling the fire. Behind them I could see three more guards moving forward, rifles ready. I ducked out to the right and Kenji emptied his Nambu into the fire team, downing another guard before ducking after me.

“I have one shot left on my Tesla,” I said.

“Me, too,” Kenji said, keeping both pistols out and awkwardly reloading his Nambu. Good thing, too, because the two sword wielding guards jumped their bulwark to charge us.

“Oh come on!” I cried, holstering my pistol’s and yanking out my sword. Kenji fired three shots from the Nambu and ducked behind me. He had managed to deftly shoot one of the emergency lights. The sword’s glows were adding a layer of creepy-ness to the hall as it was. The two guards moved forward, and I stupidly advanced to meet them. I caught a glimpse of Bering and Lattimer taking potshots with their sidearm’s into the main hall, and then my focus was consumed by the impending duel.

Honestly, I was fully aware I would only last about three seconds in this fight, but I didn’t see an alternative. Fortunately for me, Kenji did, and it didn’t involve firing wildly into a small group of people. The guard on my left swung at my left shoulder while the one on my right stabbed for my lungs. I deflected the left guard and side-stepped the right guard. Before the guard on the left could swing at my leg Kenji pistol whipped him on the side of his head, and he collapsed. The guard on the right hadn’t expected that, so I sliced at his arms. He dropped his sword in pain and I hit him in the head with my sword hilt, sending him down.

“You two okay?” I called to Bering.

“Oh, we’re just fine,” Bering said, “if you could hurry up, though, we’d appreciate it.”

Kenji and I looked to the lab doors; no one else was coming out to meet us, so the remains of the last fire team must be preparing a last stand.

“They really want that armor,” I said, turning to Kenji, “do you think they have an escape route?”

Kenji shook his head, “any secondary entrance or exit is a potential security threat. Better to force an invading enemy through a gauntlet then give yourself a chance to run for it. Especially since some of this stuff is probably worth dying for to them.”

I figured we’d have to blow the place with the last of Kenji’s C-4 on the way out, but now I knew it. I sheathed my sword and pulled out my Tesla again. Kenji still had his Tesla in his right hand, and his pistol in his left.

“I have one clip left,” he said, “how’s your Colt?”

“The same,” I said, grabbing my Colt in my left hand.

Kenji smiled maniacally, “got any clever or witty one-liners before we head back in?”

“Just one: for Hanako.”

“Good one.”

We rolled back in front of the lab’s bulwark and fired three shots each. Two guards were left, and to my horror, they were armored.

One was wearing what looked like Space Marine power armor- big, blue, and bulky, it easily added a meter to his height. Whatever the guard looked like was concealed under his rounded helmet, which had two sinister red glowing eyes and what looked like a built in air filter mask. The other guard was wearing the samurai armor. It looked like I expected it to- black with red trim and made of overlapping sheets of metal, looking bulky yet functional in its design. Our bullets harmlessly ricocheted off them while the lab rats cowered in a corner. The one in power armor was armed with his Templar sword and what looked like a machine gun fixed into his armor on his right arm. The samurai wannabe was armed with two katana’s, a relatively traditional set-up of a standard length weapon in his right hand, and the shorter version in his left.

I swore loudly and managed to drag Kenji to safety to the left of the doors just as a hail of machine gun fire hurtled towards where we were a moment before.

“Fuck,” I said, “not only do they have the samurai armor equipped, but they also have their own power armor,” I blinked at that, “why would they need the samurai armor if they have their own?”

“They can’t reproduce the Templar armor,” Kenji said, “it was forged centuries ago using some ancient artifact- I haven’t been able to determine which one. The method has been lost to time, and apparently it can’t be repeated, and they don’t have the resources to build modern versions yet. Based on what little I’ve been able to find on the subject, at least,” Kenji laughed, “of course, man! They must be hoping that a more modern version of the armor, even from a different country, will be easier to reproduce. Or maybe they can reverse engineer the process by examining the two kinds of armor!”

“Either way, we’re screwed,” I said.

I was trying to think of a way to stop the guards when Lattimer and Bering saddled next to us against the wall, their Tesla’s out and ready.

“We managed to handle the reinforcements,” Bering said, “doesn’t look like more are going to show up for a while, but we figured you two might need some help.”

“You might say that,” I said, as the two armored guards burst through their own barricade and into the hallway in front of us.

+++

Next Chapter

I am having entirely too much fun writing this.

Obviously they added the machine gun themselves. It would be insane for 14th century power armor to have a machine gun attached to it.

[Panthour]

Obviously they added the machine gun themselves. It would be insane for 14th century power armor to have a machine gun attached to it.

Wouldnt 14th century power armour be insane in the first place?

[Hoitash]

Obviously they added the machine gun themselves. It would be insane for 14th century power armor to have a machine gun attached to it.

Wouldnt 14th century power armour be insane in the first place?

...That was the joke, yes

I'm a very sarcastic person by nature. Also apparently slow thinking, since it took me a week to think of this edit.

[Hoitash]

Spece Mureens! Someboday get da Boss!

(If I don’t have anything pertinent to say, I’m gonna say random stuff in Orkish in preparation for my imagined digital radio show.)

Previous Chapter

Part Six: Retrieval


The guy in power armor had a big red cross on his chest, which I just noticed as he pointed his machine gun at us. Without thinking all four of us fired our Tesla’s at the two armor clad guards. The samurai’s katana’s glowed a light blue as our jolts danced around him harmlessly. They also were repelled by the Templar sword and his power armor, deflecting off him and into several nearby lights- and his machine gun.

In what was probably a one in a million shot, the jolt went into the barrel and must’ve hit the ammo pack on his back and arm, since it started to cook off and ping within the armor. The guard started moving erratically as the ammo cracked his armor and tore into his flesh, and after a while he crashed into the wall- destroying a good chunk of it in the process- and collapsed, his creepy red eyes dimming to black.

The other guard looked at us, the downed guard, and quickly assumed a defensive stance. I sighed, holstered my Tesla and drew my sword. To my surprise, Bering did the same- I hadn’t noticed she was wearing a Templar sword until now.

“Kenji, go to the front and wipe the security footage and fry the systems,” I said, “then set us up as many explosions as you can.”

Yeah I said it. As he started to reluctantly dash down the hall I added, “please refrain from killing any of the scientists- we’re trying to be the good guys here.”

Kenji grunted and muttered something before disappearing into the main hall. Lattimer said something to Bering, and she responded before the samurai advanced.

“Pete’s going to check the labs for more artifacts and anything he can trash or we need to retrieve,” Bering said, using what I assumed was Lattimer’s first name. then it was time for a sword fight.

The samurai moved forward cautiously, probably trying to decide which of us was the more dangerous target. Picking correctly, he put most of his weight and energy into his right side as he swung sideways at Bering, forcing her to the side and farther away from me. I swung for his head and he casually deflected my strike toward the wall. He jabbed at me and deflected my attempt to get inside his strikes while Bering tried to stab him from behind. He twirled and sliced at her, scraping a gouge into the floor as she dove out of the way.

Of all the things I thought I would do tonight, fighting a wannabe samurai in ancient power armor was pretty low on the list. I managed to get a glimpse of my watch and mentally grimaced- I had to get to class in three hours.

The guard must’ve been in a hurry, too, because he decided to focus entirely on Bering, using the shorter sword to deflect her strikes while using the longer katana to make his own. My heart was starting to pound loudly, so I did the only sensible thing you can do when fighting someone in power armor. I yanked out my Colt and tackled the distracted samurai to the ground. Before he could fling me across the room I shoved my pistol into the first weak spot I saw- his left armpit- and fired my last four bullets into it.

The guard slumped from his attempt to get up and I looked around. Bering was on the ground, her sword in a defensive position above her. She looked at me and smiled. She had a really bright smile, the smile of someone who doesn’t smile very often. Like my wife, really.

“Thanks,” she said, heaving herself up. I got up and holstered my gun, after making sure the samurai was dead with a few quick punches.

“You’re welcome, Agent Bering.”

“Myka,” she said, sticking out her hand, which I shook.

“Hisao,” I replied. We looked around again, just in time to watch herd of researchers and assistants running down the halls from the left and center labs. A few seconds after them came Kenji and Lattimer from the far left lab, both of them looking worried.

“We need to get out now, man,” Kenji said, “I set the C-4.”

“What?!”

Kenji smiled, “don’t worry, I reset the charges for ten seconds.”

I didn’t even bother saying anything as I heaved the samurai armor onto my shoulder and headed for the front door. Myka and Lattimer helped me heft and carry it as we awkwardly bolted for the front door, my heart racing as we went.

“You fried the security footage, right?” I asked.

“Of course, man.”

We almost got to the door when everything behind us seemed to explode. We ducked into the front office just as the debris and shockwave rippled through the hall. We ended up in a pile of limbs and armor as bursts and sparks of fire rippled into the halls before receding as the emergency exhaust and extinguishers came on. Moments later the power went out, drenching us all in darkness.

“Shouldn’t we be wet now?” I asked from under Lattimer and Kenji. Awkward.

“The fire extinguishers and exhaust vents are localized for each room and hall,” Kenji said, heaving himself up, “and besides, the power went out before the other systems could come on.”

The rest of us managed to untangle ourselves and shove away the dead guard. Lattimer said something to Myka, who turned to us, “Pete says we can take over from here, you two should head home. Oh, Hisao, this is Pete.”

“Hi,” I said in English. We shook hands and Pete said something to Myka.

“Oh,” she said, “hello, Kenji,” she stuck out her arm and Kenji shook it after examining it for a second.

“Well, now that we’re all friendly,” Kenji said, reaching into his pants pocket and pulling out a business card, “you can leave the replica armor at this address and we’ll let the curator know we ‘recovered’ it.”

Myka nodded, “sounds good. I hope you two don’t mind if you we never see you again; you guys get shot too much.”

“At least it isn’t our day job,” I said. Pete and Myka pulled some purple gloves from their pockets and set to work prying the armor off the dead guard. While they did that we carefully made our way out of the remains of the Templar base and to my car. The hallway wasn’t too scorched from the explosions, but hopefully the damage had been severe. I didn’t feel like checking.

“We may have destroyed the physical stuff,” Kenji said, frowning, “but the data was probably sent before we blew the place. Damn, man, we could’ve struck a major blow to the Templars.”

“I think we made a dent,” I said, “I saw at least twenty bodies in the main hall, so we certainly made a ding in their military compliment. Not to mention we toasted one of their Crusader Power Armor- I doubt they have many of those. We also foiled their plans for escalating their war against the Illuminati. There’s no way they can fabricate new power armor without the suit. Hopefully.”

“Best of all, we didn’t die,” Kenji said as we stepped outside. I gave the stupid laugh of someone happy to be alive as the rising sun bathed the concrete and cement around is in early orange light, and silently we walked to and entered the car and drove off.

“You wanna come to my place for breakfast?” I asked Kenji a few minutes later.

“Sure, man, and thanks.”

“No problem. Uh, Kenji… I think it would be a good idea if I didn’t work with you for a while.”

Kenji chuckled, “no problem man- I need a break from this shit, too.”

I nodded at that- tonight had been one hell of a night, and I was not looking forward to teaching without getting any sleep. Still, it beat the hell out of being dead.

THE END OF MYSTERY TWO

+++

And so ends my Warehouse 13/Hisao and Kenji crossover, hope you enjoyed it. Now go enjoy the next season, and remember I wrote this before I read the previews.

Next time on Hisao and Kenji- Master Detectives!

Hisao and Kenji try to keep a low profile after their latest run-in with a Secret Society. Not thinking twice when a high profile client gives them a low profile job, the detective duo soon find themselves in a new situation. So far they’ve sworn to destroy the world’s Secret Societies, now they have to help to save one!

Tune in next time for Mystery Three: Mason-Free

Same thread, same forum!

[Hoitash]

…And we’re back folks. This is Mr. Hoitash reminding you: I’m still writing this kooky stuff. Stay classy, KS forum.


Mystery Three: Mason-Free


Part One: Moving In


I set the box of files and folders on the floor of our new office next to the green metal file cabinet. Looking around, I was glad Kenji had finally moved out of our old studio apartment office. It had taken him a while to find a place he liked- no windows, in the middle of the building, sturdy walls- but after a few months of searching, he managed to find both a new apartment, and a new office for his private detective agency.

Unfortunately that meant I was helping him move during winter break. Not really a big deal. Considering I was his business partner and spent two evenings a week here, I should help him move in. The office was both spacious and easily defensible, with a short hallway at the front door that led to the office proper, with a small bathroom down the hall and to the right before it opened up. A large dark wooden desk was already here, placed prominently in the middle of the well lit room, along with three light brown leather rolling office chairs. A few file cabinets and bookshelves had also been moved in and shoved into various corners. I’d like to say I did that, but for the heavy stuff we hired someone- I do have a heart condition.

The floor was a nice light wood that clashed with Kenji’s desk, but he wouldn’t replace it, so at least it offered some contrast. The walls and ceiling were painted a dull yellow that I hated, but Kenji actually liked. The light fixtures were small, round, and placed in the hall and over the desk. There were also a few new tall metal lamps placed next to the bookshelves on the right of the desk, and a small lamp perched on the file cabinets on the left. Speaking of bookshelves…

My wife wasn’t far behind me as I set the files down. She stepped past the light wooden door with the “Setou and Nakai Private Investigate Services” placard nailed on and continued down the hall. She was wearing a violet jacket and dark blue pants against the winter cold, with a purple flatcap perched on her head and angled slightly to her right. Her long purple hair was behind her and down her back, and I was able to just see her face over the box of books she was carrying. The right half of her face and some of her right hand was covered in old, brick red burn scars. The scars covered more of her body than that, but that was what you could see with the clothes she was wearing.

She smiled at me and set the books down by one of the two bookshelves, “it’s a nice office,” she said, her voice quiet but firm and steady. Ten years of love and mutual support can heal most non-physical scars, at least.

I smiled back, “yeah, I just wish he would let me repaint it.”

Hanako giggled lightly at that and looked around, “it’s not that bad.”

I shrugged, “maybe. Where is Kenji anyway- he’s supposed to be helping us.”

And making sure all our weapons are where my family can’t see them- I am not letting them move our arsenal, even if they don’t know what they’re carrying.

Hanako’s face scrunched up in thought, “I think he’s with the kids.”

That made sense. After we graduated high school, Kenji had more or less clung to me and my then girlfriend for support, and slowly, like my wife, his social anxiety relaxed and he was able to graduate from his university and get both steady work as a writer, and start his own small business. Along the way he had come quite the awesome uncle.

He was still insane, though. He was just insane about different things, for different reasons. Maturity can be weird that way.

I heard them before I saw them, since they weren’t exactly being quiet as they entered the short hallway. Kenji, clad in a brown suit that matched my own, along with a red and gold scarf wrapped around him, was carrying my three year old daughter Satomi, while my five year old son, Akio, jumped and bounced around him, making sure to stay behind him so Kenji wouldn’t trip over him. Satomi had my brown eyes and her mother’s hair, while Akio had what Hanako said was her mother’s dark eyes and my light brown hair.

“You’re supposed to be carrying boxes, not my kids,” I said. Kenji put my daughter down and she immediately started chasing Akio around the room. Kenji adjusted his thick round glasses, straightened his ruffled black hair, and slowly scanned the room, looking for me and Hanako. Eventually his eyes lit up as he saw us.

“There you are, man,” Kenji said, striding over to me and my wife, “thanks for helping me move. You too, Hanako,” he added, glancing somewhere around her left eye. He really needed to work on heightening his senses to make up for his legal blindness. At least his hearing was getting better, despite all the gunfire we seemed to end up in.

“No problem,” I said, “seems the kids didn’t mind ‘helping’ either.”

Hanako’s eyes moved from Kenji and started scanning the room. I noticed she checked for the fire alarm in the ceiling above the desk and the one behind us in the hall before locking her eyes on the two blurs that were our children.

“Be careful, you two!” she said to them.

Kenji snapped his fingers, “that reminds me, how would you all like to have dinner at my new apartment sometime next week? Now that I have a decent kitchen I can actually cook.”

I shrugged, “sounds like fun, what do you think?” I asked Hanako.

She nodded without moving her eyes from the kids, “we would love to come.”

“Excuse me?” someone said at the doorway. A middle aged man who looked like he was teetering on his forties was knocking on the open front door. His black hair was just starting to gray on the sides, and he had light olive skin. He was wearing what looked like a very expensive black suit, which matched the long black glove over his right hand.

“Welcome to Setou and Nakai Private Investigative Services,” I rattled off without thinking, “how can we help you?”

“Well, for starters, are you open?” he asked, smiling. He had the casual smile of an easy-going businessman.

Kenji stepped forward and nodded, “sure, we’re just moving in from the old office, come on in.”

“Kids, we’re going back downstairs,” Hanako said, chasing after them and scooping up Satomi while Akio followed her. On the way out she gave me a nervous kiss on the cheek, “try and be back for dinner, okay?”

“I’ll try my best,” I said, “bye, kids.”

“Bye Daddy! Bye Uncle Kenji!” they said as they stepped past the man into the hall outside. I noticed as they walked past the man didn’t react to my wife’s scars- I liked him already. He also looked familiar…

As he stepped closer I looked again at his right hand, noticing the odd bulk of it compared to the left hand. Then I imagined that hand ungloved, made of wires and cables under bits of metal that formed a highly advanced prosthetic.

Then I imagined that hand throwing a baseball at last season’s first Detroit Tigers home game.

“David Sarif?” I asked.

“Sarif?” Kenji asked, stepping forward to be a few feet closer to the man then I was, “David Sarif, in our office?”

“In the flesh,” Mr. Sarif chuckled and waved the gloved hand lightly, “mostly, at least.”

“Wow, man,” Kenji said, “you’ve done some amazing shit. I saw that pitch you gave at the home game last summer, it was incredible.”

Mr. Sarif raised his right hand and clenched and unclenched it. I could just hear the tiny servos whir as he did so, “this isn’t just a decoration, son.”

The scientist in me was highly intrigued over having one of the founders of augmetic manufacturing and distribution in our office. I had read a few articles on the subject, and while biology, anatomy, and engineering weren’t my main fields, they were still fascinating to read.

“What brings you here, sir?” Where did you learn Japanese was also on my mind, but I think I remembered Mr. Sarif dealing a lot with Mitsubishi. I offered him a chair while Kenji sat down behind his desk. Mr. Sarif took off his jacket and slung it over his shoulder as he sat down, wearing a brown and black checkered sweater-vest over a white shirt.

Mr. Sarif wore the same brand of sweater-vest as I did. Must not act like a fanboy- I needed to stay professional. I tried not to gawk at the man as I took the seat next to him.

“Well, I happened to be in the country on business, when an old work associate contacted me,” Mr. Sarif said, his hands moving while he spoke, “he wants me to pick something up for him, and I can’t make the trip myself.”

“So… you want us to pick up something and… deliver it to you?” I asked. How mundane, and odd. Weren’t there courier services for that?

“My associate, actually- I have his contact information with me, you can leave it at his office. The pickup location is a bit… unorthodox, and he doesn’t want to trust it to some delivery service.”

“Where is the pickup location?” Kenji asked.

Mr. Sarif reached into the jacket pocket somewhere behind him and pulled out a map. He unfolded it onto the desk, revealing a map of… the Pacific Ocean. After a bit of searching, he tapped a small dot somewhere east of the Philippines.

“Here, it’s a small private island owned by his former employer’s company,” Mr. Sarif said, “I can’t make the delivery, but I can arrange transport for you if you take the job.”

Both of us should probably have been more suspicious, but David Sarif was in our office, for crying out loud. Still, Kenji managed to ask why he looked us up for the job.

Mr. Sarif shrugged, “your online ad said you specialize in odd cases, and my associate was always a bit unhinged.”

Kenji looked to me and I shrugged- it was his call, but if taking the job meant talking more with Mr. Sarif, I was all for it.

Kenji smiled and stuck out his hand, “I think we can do business, Mr. Sarif. I just need to know one thing: what are we picking up?”

“Just some old ledgers and a bottle of Jim Beam,” Mr. Sarif said, taking Kenji’s arm and shaking it. Mr. Sarif swiveled over to me and shook my hand, too. I was shaking one of the most advanced prosthetic hands on the planet, and it was attached to one of the founding augmentation producers- an industrial revolutionary that nearly single-handedly saved a city from the brink of ruin. My heart raced in excitement, and it took some effort to calm it.

“It will be an honor and a privilege to help you, Mr. Sarif,” I said.

Mr. Sarif smiled as he lowered his hand, “I can do you one better, then: how about when you get back I come over for dinner? I read that article you wrote on chemistry and asteroid mineral exhumation- it was brilliant work, son, and I’d love to talk to you more about it.”

Oh God my heart, “I would be honored- I can get a friend to look after the kids, and I don’t think my wife will mind.”

“Sounds good. Can I get a signed copy of your wife’s books while we’re at it? My niece loves them,” Mr. Sarif turned to Kenji, “you should come, too. I’ve read your writing and it’s… well, anyone who writes that must have some interesting things to say in person.”

“If it’s okay with Hisao,” Kenji said, and I nodded numbly, my hand on my chest to steady my heart. I hadn’t been this worked up since I dueled a samurai in power armor with a member of the US Secret Service.

“Great,” Kenji said, “now we just need to fill out some paperwork, and you can be on your way, assuming you don’t mind the fee we set.”

As Mr. Sarif went about signing the paperwork, I watched his hand move, and remembered feeling it as I shook it. If I wasn’t so focused on his hand, I probably would’ve been more concerned about the job ahead.

+++

Next Chapter

This Mr. Sarif man-crush brought to you by the Spoiler Warning crew, who convinced me to buy Human Revolution.

I wanted some touchy-feely stuff before going all Rambo on you guys. Actually it’s more like Sam and Max meets Pulp Fiction. Meets the SyFy channel. With scotch.

[Helbereth]

Not really a bid deal.

Typo!

The walls and ceiling were painting a dull yellow

The walls are painting themselves?

“your online add

Only need one 'd' there.

I hadn’t been this worked up since I sword fought a samurai in power armor with a member of the US Secret Service.

This sentence is a little awkward. It could do with some rearranging.
_____________________________
I pulled those out as I read - do with them as you please. Thanks for finally having Hanako actually in a scene rather than a reference; and naming Hisao's son after his teacher was adorable. Should I look up this Sarif character or something?

[Hoitash]

Errors attended to, thanks for noticing. I'll blame the summer heat and lack of a/c for those.

Although editing early in the morning is probably a bad idea, but I never let that stop me

[Helbereth]

Errors attended to, thanks for noticing. I'll blame the summer heat and lack of a/c for those.

Although editing early in the morning is probably a bad idea, but I never let that stop me

I woke up at 3am and I've been writing since (it's a little past 11 now) - editing as I go. Well, okay, I did get breakfast and watch the new White Collar, as well as How to be a Gentleman, and I wrote up some grammar advice for another poster, and I... well I did a bunch of stuff.

I wrote over 5000 words since I got up, though.

Then again, I sleep like a cat; or an insomniac - same thing.

[Hoitash]

Da humiez bettah be careful, eh boyz?

(You think I was kidding about the Orkish? I’ll try and stop, promise.)

Previous Chapter

Part Two: Arrival


As usual, my wife didn’t mind too much that I was spending another long night working with Kenji. I think she appreciated the chance to play Final Fantasy and Fallout: San Francisco without me around backseat gaming. Once Mr. Sarif had left, Kenji’s paranoia kicked in again, and he started looking into Mr. Sarif’s associate, as well as for any clues about something sinister lurking in this job. Everything he had found was pretty mundane though. His associate was a secretary at the US embassy, and was a former employee of Weyland Industries. Since Weyland provided a lot of parts for Sarif Industries, it wasn’t too weird that the two might know each other. Since Weyland owned the island we were flying to, that made sense, too.

Still, Kenji insisted we have some weaponry on us. We didn’t have to deal with customs, so we could theoretically bring anything we wanted. I dissuaded him from that course, so we ended up with our Tesla pistols, the chargers for them, and some special Tesla grenades that had arrived in a care package from the US along with two Tesla Rifles, which we left at the office. They had arrived in a wooden crate at our old office with a note that said “Just in case you need some help –Myka, Pete, and Claudia.”

Having some weaponry seemed to calm Kenji, and the flight to the island wasn’t too bad. We were in an obling-ish Vietnam-era surplus US Army helicopter, since the island was so small it didn’t have a runway. The thing could fit eight people, but we were the only passengers. Mr. Sarif had called the island’s air control, so they were expecting us. As usual, Kenji had a plan, and this time it was delightfully simple. We land, we get the requested items, we have someone sign some forms, and we leave. Splinter Cell level arrival and departure. What could possibly go wrong?

Turns out, a lot. The trip took a while, so by the time we got there it was late evening, the sun almost completely set, bathing the small plot of land in deep oranges and reds as the vast ocean below us shimmered and rolled with the ocean breeze.

“We’re five minutes from the island, boys,” our pilot said through the speaker. He and his copilot seemed okay, though a little off- but then again, most Americans I’d met seemed a little off in one way or another. They probably thought the same about us, so things balanced out.

Kenji massaged his side as we prepared to land, “my spleen is acting up, man.”

I groaned- that was never good, “hopefully it’s just a storm on the horizon, or something.”

Kenji frowned for a moment, but smiled and nodded, “hopefully, man. This job is nice and cozy, I’d hate for something to fuck it up.”

“This is Helo One to Island Air Control, requesting permission to land, refuel, and disembark Mr.’s Nakai and Setou for package retrieval,” I heard the pilot talking to the island from the cockpit, not over the radio. I didn’t hear the response but since we landed gracefully and safely on the island, I assumed permission had been granted.

The island was pretty small. A large three story square stone structure took up most of the island, with the helipad on the roof. Trees and a beach covered the rest of the island, which had a weird oblong-like shape. Once the helicopter’s blades stopped spinning we opened the side door and shuffled out and onto the roof.

We were greeted by three men, all dressed in brown suits. The one in the middle, who was the tallest of the three, stepped forward and bowed lightly, “welcome to the Weyland Archive Island, how may we help you?”

I glanced at Kenji, “isn’t it a little odd to have an archive in the middle of nowhere?” I asked. So was being spoken to in rather decent Japanese from an American, but I had a poor grasp of
English, so once again perhaps the universe was balancing itself. Or I read too much Heinlein.

The man shrugged, “it has its uses. You two must be tired from your journey; I’ll show you the lounge and the bathrooms along the way. Oh, and I’m Jonathon Matthews, Chief of Security.”

“Hisao Nakai,” I said, returning his earlier bow.

“Kenji Setou,” Kenji added, bowing to a tree in the distance. I steered him in the right direction as we followed Mr. Matthews to the roof’s door. The two other men moved towards the bulky green helicopter, where they started preparing it for takeoff. You’d think they’d take off the suits for that.

The door into the building was tucked in a corner of the roof, attached to a small metal shed. The roof reminded me a bit of my old high school-it had a high chain link fence around it, and while it didn’t have gravel or pebbles, it still had an impressive view of the island and surrounding ocean. Mr. Matthews opened the door and we descended the white concrete stairs down to the third floor. The walls were white, and so was the door that led to the third floor. I noticed it was locked with a keypad for entry. Mr. Matthews reached into a pocket and pulled out a card of some sort, sliding it into the pad. The pad flashed green and we stepped through onto the third floor.

The hallway was wide enough for two people to walk through, and it formed a square with three other matching halls. For a building in the middle of nowhere, the inside was pretty elegant. Each hall had rusty brown carpeting, along with light brown painted walls. Several matching colored doors were peppered and scattered throughout the hall. It looked like the stairs and elevators were in the middle of the building. Ornate round light fixtures hung in the wall, made of shiny brass that clashed with the muted brown theme. A few oil paintings were hung on the walls here and there, depicting portraits of people I didn’t recognize.

“Nice place you have here,” I said.

Mr. Matthews chuckled, “it is a bit grandiose. The place was built during the Cold War, and we never bothered to renovate it. Although we did renovate the first floor lounge- it looked like a French whorehouse. Anyway, let me show you to the elevators.”

We continued down the hall in single file for. On the way he showed us the bathrooms, fortunately. As we walked to the elevators I would occasionally notice other men, either in brown or rusty red suits, meandering around with the air of someone on a mission.

“Here we are,” Mr. Matthews said, “somewhat obvious, aren’t they?”

I was distinctly reminded of a hotel when I saw the elevators and the door to the stairway to its left, standing sentry in the middle of the of the building’s square hallway design. The steel elevator doors easily glided open and the three of us stepped in.

“The package is in the basement, but perhaps you’d like to rest a bit before leaving? A storm is coming and it might be unsafe to leave tonight anyway.”

I looked at Kenji, who nodded, “sure, I could use a drink after that flight,” he said.

Mr. Matthews smiled, “that won’t be a problem. We can also arrange for some sandwiches.”

“If you don’t mind my asking,” Kenji said, scratching his chin, “you seem to be pretty well funded. Why hire two foreigners to handle a lousy package?”

Mr. Matthews chuckled, “Mr. Sarif insisted you handle the package for him and his associate,” he raised an eyebrow, “he didn’t tell you?”

I nodded, “he mentioned that, yes, but I’m not exactly sure what he meant.”

“Well, he said Mr. Setou was ideally suited for this delivery, and he insisted we have you deliver it for us.”

“Any idea what he meant by ‘ideally suited’?” Kenji asked.

Mr. Matthews shook his head, “no clue. If I had to guess, I would say it had to do with your writing.”

Kenji looked at me and frowned, “what makes you say that?”

“You’ll see soon enough, I’m sure.”

That wasn’t creepy and disconcerting to hear. Kenji reached for his concealed Tesla but I grabbed his arm to stop him.

“What does that mean?” I asked.

Mr. Matthews shrugged, “I assure you, nothing severe or harmful. Just that things here are not what they seem, and you two are likely the best suited to note it, and most of all, to preserve it.”

With that foreboding statement hanging in the air, the elevator dinged open and we strolled out onto the first floor. Again I was reminded of a hotel- the ground floor had a large lounge area, with stuffy chairs circling a fireplace along one wall. Wall-high bookshelves covered the wall to our right, and puffy brown chairs were scattered around, along with a few dark wooden tables. I noticed a bar along the left wall near the fireplace, and this was where Mr. Matthews led us, offering us to take an ornately carved wooden stool for a seat. Not exactly put at ease, we sat. The young man behind the counter asked us something- in English.

Between Kenji’s decent grasp of English and my basic grasp, we were able to order two beers and some sandwiches. The bartender nodded and set to work.

“Take your time recovering from your journey here,” Mr. Matthews said, “I’ll go acquire the package for you from the basement.”

“Hold on,” Kenji said, “Mr. Sarif entrusted us with the package, I think we should get it ourselves, and make sure it’s what he said it would be.”

Mr. Matthews raised an eyebrow but nodded, “of course. Your diligence is well placed.”

Mr. Matthews took the stool on the other side of Kenji and requested a beer and some pretzels. He seemed a little nervous, fidgeting slightly as he sat. Kenji glanced at me and raised an eyebrow. After a quick beer and some food, we eased off our stools and Mr. Matthews led us down the stairs to the basement. The stairs here were metal and wood, and a bit narrow. An old brown wooden door was waiting for us at the bottom of the stairs. Instead of a keypad, the door had a deadbolt. Mr. Matthews pulled out an old key from a jacket pocket and undid the bolt.

“Before you come in, just remember,” he said, “we’re on your side, as well.”

He opened the door and we walked through, stopping when we saw what was at the end of the hall. The hall here was painted brown, with six wooden doors, three on each side. Instead of lights overhead there were old cast iron lamps bolted into the walls by each door. At the end of the hall, in bold thick black paint, was the right and compass of the Freemasons.

+++

Next Chapter

Wow, what a surprise.