by Wesley Chu
With these kids though, it felt different. Sure, poverty and the desire for something better brought them together. Kaoru was at university; she had things to look forward to after this. Daiki lived at home with his mother who would be devastated if something happened to him. Hinata’s girlfriend was pregnant and he was just hoping to give her a better life. Lee, well, she had no idea why he was here, save that his day job making tofu apparently didn’t pay that well. Probably because of Kaoru. All of them had something more to live for. They all still feared death. For some reason unbeknown to her, their innocence and inability to accept dying made the danger weigh much heavier on her conscience.
Ella turned down the side street where the World-Famous was located. It was only slightly less crowded on this narrow one-way path. She unlatched all her knife holsters as she neared the entrance. A small clutter of overturned tables and chairs littered the ground. The floor just inside was wet and covered with glass shards and broken pieces of wood. One of the signs had been pulled off the wall.
“What a mess. Do you think Asao is going to make me pay for the repairs?”
At the very least. We will regardless probably need to find a new base of operations after this. He probably will not want to continue our relationship.
“In that case I’m not going to pay him a stinking yen.”
That is fair.
Most of the passersby barely gave her a second glance. One look at her and at the wreckage in the bar told them that there was nothing but trouble brewing in the World-Famous, and these days the locals knew better than to pry. Japan, while sympathetic to the Prophus-aligned forces, had declared itself neutral during the Alien World War, which probably saved it from destruction, considering its proximity to the Genjix home sphere of influence. That did not exempt them from violence, however, as an entire proxy war was waged over control of this important geographical area. A French family walked by and stared at her curiously. Ella waved for them to hurry on. The last thing she needed was dumb tourists giving her away and ruining the only advantage she had.
Ella tugged at the long dagger strapped to the small of her back with her right hand. It was her last remaining blade from the set her old teacher Manish – “Iss Jiva ko Mukti Prapt ho,” she whispered automatically – had given her when she began training with knives. The others she had slowly lost over time, which she guessed made sense since she threw them at people. This one, though, she was going to take to her grave.
Ella drew one of her longer throwing knives with her left hand, just small enough and weighted correctly to throw, but long enough to use in melee if necessary. She wielded the blades in both hands with equal skill, courtesy of her extensive training at the Academy.
The large wall-to-ceiling shelf on the side of the bar had toppled over, forming an overhang as it leaned against the now-shattered mirror on the opposite wall. Ella sneaked inside and stayed close to the left wall, using the bar counter as cover. She glanced over at the chalkboard out of habit: Zaru Udon. Ella shuddered; cold udon was gross.
The constant sounds from the street faded with each step, and were replaced by the chatter and barking of young asshole men. Their laughter grated on Ella’s nerves as she crept closer.
She ducked under the hatch of the bar counter. Broken bottles and glass crunched under her feet. Half of the cabinet doors hung open, and all of the contents inside had been swept out, littering her path. A small river of liquor flowed down one side and emptied into the drain.
Ella, turn back. There are too many yakuza. You are not skilled enough to handle five armed men, no matter how bad they are. Please. I do not relish inhabiting another young, immature thug as my next host.
“You better start helping me then.”
She was a few paces away from the entrance to the back room when someone strolled out to the front. Ella froze and did her best to blend into the cabinetry. She wasn’t in position yet, and would have little room to maneuver if she was caught out in the open in the narrow space between the bar and the cabinet.
Her arms were crossed in front of her chest, the right hand gripping the longer dagger in a defensive posture while the left with the throwing knife was drawn back and ready to loose. If this sucker so much turned in her direction, he was going to get a knife to the face.
Fortunately – for him that is – he walked straight past her, his head thrown back as he chugged a bottle of beer, which he probably hadn’t paid for. He finished and tossed it at the wall, shattering it into a shower of shards. Laughing, he grabbed a few more bottles and turned to head back into the other room.
Ella almost escaped detection. Instructor Niko, who taught concealed movement and tracking at the Academy, would have been proud. Or at the very least given her a passing grade. Unfortunately, almost avoiding detection didn’t amount to much in this line of work. The man retraced his steps and was about to disappear from view when he looked her way. Their eyes met. He hesitated, just briefly.
That slight pause was the only window she needed. The throwing knife sprung out of her hand like a bullet, with Ella following close behind. The blade sunk into his forearm when he threw up his guard. Ella’s second attack came a split second later. He barely had time to make a pained cry before her now-free left hand batted his arms aside, so she could slam the butt of her dagger into his temple in one fluid motion.
The yakuza’s eyes rolled up, and his legs went limp. Ella plowed into his body, and her momentum carried them both clear of the doorway. They crashed to the ground in a pile. The good news was the man’s soft midsection broke Ella’s fall and saved her from cracking her head on the cement floor. The bad was that her midsection landed right on his bent knee. She was gasping like a fish as the wind whooshed out of her. Soft squeaks escaped her lips as she rolled off the man and onto her back, momentarily stunned.
Get up! Stop knocking yourself out.
“What’s that noise?” a voice called from the back. “Ikuo, you there?”
“Fool probably passed out,” another one said. “He holds his liquor worse than my kid sister.”
Stop messing around. Now, Ella!
“I’m not messing…” She exhaled labored breaths between clenched teeth.
Ella pawed the floor for her dagger and grimaced as she rolled to her stomach. She took a few deep breaths and then got her knees under her. First she checked the man named Ikuo. He had an ugly red mark on the side of his face. He was a boy really, since shaving looked wasted on him. Chances were they were probably the same age. Ella wasn’t sure if it was the strike to the temple or hitting his head on the floor that knocked him out, not that it mattered. He would wake with a beautiful welt and an ugly headache tomorrow.
Ella crept to the side of the doorway and peered in. The remaining four men were loading the Burglar Alarms’ goods onto a van in the alley. Several of the crates were cracked open, and their contents scattered all over the floor. One of the yakuza had opened a case of assault rifles, and was examining one by holding it up in the air and staring into the muzzle.
“I think these are real,” he was saying. “Why does a fat bartender have heavy-duty guns lying about?”
“He doesn’t look like an arms dealer,” he continued. He and a shirtless tattooed gangster were loading a crate into the van. She only recognized him by the large bandage on his nose, and his voice was very nasally. “I hope we didn’t just wreck a family establishment.”
That caused a level of consternation among his friends who began to yell at him all at once.
“You didn’t check with your father first, Masato?”
“I’m not losing a finger over your stupidity,” another added.
“I don’t need my father’s permission,” the one named Masato retorted. “I speak for him.”
The one who spoke first turned toward the doorway, “What happened to Ikuo?”
Ella pulled back and gripped the dagger close to her chest. The sound of footsteps grew louder.
Ella processed this information. She reversed her grip on her dagger and lowered to a crouch, and then waited, watching the floor intently. A light shadow, barely perceptible unless someone was looking for it, told her when he reached the other side of the doorway. The tip of the machete poked into sight first.
“Ikuo, fool, where are you?” the man called out.
Ella’s left hand shot out and grabbed his machete wrist, then she slammed her right hand downward. The blade pierced Tall & Skinny in the meat of his dorsal, right between his index and middle toe, hard enough for the tip of her dagger to go clean through the flesh and rubber and clip the ground beneath his foot. She pulled the blade up violently, sending up a spray of blood. That was what dummies deserved for wearing sandals.
Ella pulled his wrist with her left hand, sending Tall & Skinny tumbling forward. She charged into the room, screaming in a high-pitched roar as loud as her tiny body could muster. Her war cry did not quite elicit the response she had hoped. The three remaining yakuza just stared at her curiously, looking puzzled as she barreled toward them.
Though Ella had hated most of her time at the Academy, there had been one subject where she had prospered, and that was the deadly art of knife fighting. While she had initially trained under Manish in Crate Town, she had vastly improved her Escrima craft while studying at the Academy under some of the best instructors in the world. Cameron Tan had seen to that. Now, she considered herself pretty good, even an expert.
This is not the time for a big head.
“That’s her! That’s the one who broke my nose,” yelled Broken Nose, the girlfriend-beater.
“That little thing is the reason you needed to bring four of us?” laughed Shirtless.
Wrong End of Rifle joined the derision, which only infuriated Ella. Growling, she jumped on him like a feral beast, the black blades of her weapon serving as her teeth. The laughter died in Wrong End’s throat, and he stumbled backward as her opening thrust nearly disemboweled him. He swung the barrel of the assault rifle like a club and tried to take her head off, but Ella was ready for it. She shot low, cutting him once in the shin right below the knee, and then once more as she whirled, striking him a second time in the bicep. Wrong End howled, dropping the rifle as his leg gave way.
Broken Nose charged her next, swinging nothing but his fists. Foolish. Ella blocked his looping punch with her dagger, cutting his wrist in the process. When he yelped and flinched back, she followed up with a throwing knife that grazed his neck. The injury wasn’t serious, but painful, sending him spinning to the floor.
To your left!
An image projected into her head of the tattooed gangster sneaking up just off to her side. He swung a metal rod toward her head. Trusting Io, Ella twisted blindly, narrowly dodging the swing as the rod bounced off the wall.
Now it was her turn. She was going to show Shirtless how a pro fought. Ella feinted left and then attacked: a jab to the wrist, a horizontal slice at his chest, a downward stab to his thigh, and then she tried to dance out of the way. To her surprise, she hit nothing but air on all her attempts, and then when she tried to escape to safety, Shirtless countered and immediately closed the gap. Metal clanged on metal as they exchanged blows.
For everything Ella tried, Shirtless had a counter. He was stronger and had a longer reach, and to her dismay, he was quicker as well. He grinned as he flared his weapon, taunting her. “You’re not too terrible, girl,” he barked as she, getting anxious, lunged for his chest. “But still not that good. Let me give you a free lesson.”
Stay calm. You are panicking.
“What do I do? Io, tell me!”
He deflected her blade and veered it to the side, and then in one smooth circular motion, swung the pipe straight at her face. She reeled from a bone-numbing blow to the jaw, then a boot to the chest sent her flying until she bounced off a stack of beer crates. Ella’s head hit the ground hard and everything blanked momentarily.
Shake it off. Hurry. He is coming in from your right.
“So you’re the runt who messed up the boss’s kid,” he laughed. Shirtless was enjoying himself. He knelt down in front of her and poked her shoulder with the end of his rod. “You’re going to have to pay for that. It’ll cost you a nose, at the very least. There’s also the matter of some very interesting stuff here in the back. I bet you know where it came from.”
Ella exploded with a last desperate swipe, but her blade clanged against his rod. He knocked the dagger out of her hand and sent it skidding across the floor. He grabbed her wrist and swung her onto her back, and then pressed a foot down on the base of her neck.
Shirtless looked to the side. “Rest of you fools still alive? If I have to move the remaining crates by myself, I’m keeping all of the points.”
“I’m bleeding all over,” cried Broken Nose, clamoring to his feet. “Is it bad?”
Shirtless squinted. “I’ve gotten worse cuts shaving. Now–”
A tennis racket – no, a racquetball racket – came flashing out of the corner of her eye. Shirtless turned toward it just in time for the head of the racket to smack him in the face. He reeled backward, and then Lee was there, sweeping the yakuza gangster off his feet with his bo staff.
Kaoru rushed across the room with a surprisingly low-pitched snarl, not unlike an Amazon. She smacked Broken Nose once on the chest with her rubber mallet, and then followed up with another to the side of his knee. He crumpled to the floor screaming. Maybe Ella should call him Broken Leg from now on.
Wrong End of Rifle, limping badly, attacked Kaoru from behind with the butt end of the rifle. Hinata was there, however, still bouncing the lead pipe in his hand. The two men roared and feinted for several seconds, with neither daring to make the first move. It ended when Daiki got behind Wrong End of Rifle and smacked him hard on the side of the head with his racket.
He turned to Ella, grinning. “You owe me an apology. I got two with this thing.”
“Is that the last of them?” said Hinata, coming over and helping Ella to her feet.
Daiki looked at the bodies on the floor. “Did you really take on three of them by yourself, Ella?”
The conclusion of the fight entailed the Burglar Alarms running off the junior yakuza squad, who honestly had their fill of fighting. The Burglar Alarms were happy to accommodate and get them out of the World-Famous as soon as possible. In fact, Hinata and Lee had to help Wrong End of Rifle to his feet and carry him to his van. Shirtless actually had the nerve to ask Kaoru if she wanted to have drinks later.
When the last of them was gone and the van had driven off, Lee turned on her, shaking his finger. “Don’t do that again, or we’re going to kick you off the crew.”
“You can’t do that. It’s my crew,” she replied indignantly.
“Not if you make another dumb decision like that, Bosu,” said Daiki. The other Burglar Alarms, flanking him, bobbed their heads vigorously.
They are right. There was a better way to handle the situation. You almost got killed. More importantly, you would have left me with no desirable options for hosts.
Ella scowled, and then finally relented. When everyone was against her, even her stupid alien, she was probably in the wrong. “Fine, whatever. Daiki, fetch Asao and tell him it’s safe to come back. We got rid of his rats. We have a lot of cleaning up to do.”
Kaoru frowned and scanned the room. “Where’s all our stuff?”
In their eagerness to get rid of those yakuza, Ella had totally forgot about the goods. She looked at the corner where the meager remains of their loot sat. The few containers still there were overturned and split open, their contents scattered on the floor. “Those yakuza were loading them into the…” She pointed at the empty space behind the opened garage door where the van was parked moments earlier. “Oh no.”
Chapter Fourteen
>
Investigation
By the end of the third month, Ella had become an outcast. Many of the students at the Academy were from affluent backgrounds or were children of existing Prophus operatives. It is my suspicion that Amy Ng did not have any intention of following in her parents’ footsteps, and was only enrolled here for the free education. Others had military backgrounds and were looking to join the organization. Ella had none of those advantages.
It did not help matters that she was looked down upon, considered inferior by the rest of her privileged classmates, someone unworthy of attending the Academy. No one was aware that she was a host, technically the highest rank among the Prophus. This only made her more defensive.
Makita stared as the vault door came to life: clicking, rumbling and hissing and doing whatever vault doors did when they opened. He kicked his feet as the ankle-deep water lapped up against its metal frame, and wondered if vault doors were rustproof. This particular door looked brand new. Was it in the metal or some sort of special chemical treatment? Whatever it was, he’d like to apply it to that bothersome samurai sword he had mounted in his study.
The stupid thing was a spoil of war, taken from a fallen asshole Genjix leader, an Adonis vessel, after a particularly long and difficult battle where Makita had broken both of his arms and lost several of his friends. Not knowing what to do with it – samurai swords really weren’t his thing – he had kept it as a souvenir.
Because that was what old warriors did once they retired, right? They mounted trophies from their past on their walls to remember the glory and to commemorate their achievements. They showed off these mementos to visitors and grandkids, and regaled them with harrowing tales of their victories. But with those visitors – not having grandkids was a very sore sticking point for Makita and his wife – came fingerprints and accidental swings that sliced open his favorite reading chair and sent his next-door neighbor to the hospital for stitches.