Before we get started, I can imagine that there may be some uneasiness about the subject matter throughout the story--specifically the language and graphic content. If I have put anyone off with it, I do apologize, but I must remind you good readers, it is just a story. The graphic nature of certain scenes is necessary to the setting and helps to drive the plot and to present the scenery more vividly. The language, well . . . they are just words, after all. Words in and of themselves are harmless. It's how the words are used that matters, and I use words to tell stories. It's what I do. As such, my intentions are pure, even if my methods are a bit . . . . unsavory.
Anyway, thank you all for understanding, and I hope you enjoy the fifth chapter!
Blue
Jeans Samurai
#5
– Approaching a Potential Ally! The Skirted Ninja!
ポテンシャル味方に近づいて！スカート忍者！
“ATTENTION!
ATTENTION! ALL PISTOL TROOPS RESPOND TO MANHUNT ORDER 19-34-2249D! BE
ON THE LOOKOUT FOR A TRAITOR TO THE FIRENIGHT REGIME! ATTENTION! ALL
PISTOL TROOPS RESPOND TO MANHUNT ORDER 19-34-2249D! BE ON THE LOOKOUT
FOR A TRAITOR . . .”
This
command echoed repeatedly across the Pistol Officer Camp of the
Capital Continent. Bunk buildings, mess halls and training stations
all opened up, and scores of Pistol troops, armed to the teeth with
their namesake weapons, came marching out, ready to obey their given
commands. Only six hours had passed since General Wesson's special
platoon had lost the location of the jeans-clad swordsman and the
archer, and this scramble had been set off immediately by the Grand
Commander himself, Abner Hiltov. The order, however, had only been
issued in response to one traitor to FIRENIGHT, not two.
And
General Wesson was missing.
He
had been M.I.A. since his platoon had finished their sweep of Luster
Park, from the eastern border to Bell DeVeere to the western border
with Frockport. By the time Wesson's troops had begun their search
for the two rogues in Bell DeVeere, Grand Commander Hiltov had seized
control of the operation, and began living up to his promise: to
execute Wesson for his failure.
At
one time in General Smith Wesson's illustrious military career, he
could command legions of Pistol troops effortlessly, sweeping across
the DDZs of the Capital Continent with almost as much tight-fisted
willpower as the Grand Commander himself. Now, he had been sent
running into the rat-holes of the slums like a spineless coward,
waiting for the day he would be either arrested or gunned down by his
former comrades. By now, even his own men would shoot at him
indiscriminately if given the order.
Headed
by decorated Pistol officers (much like the former General), the
grand Pistol army split up into twelve-man sections and deployed to
the DDZs of the Third Sector. Wesson would be unable to hide, and
once the three traitors were flushed out, they would all share
the same sure-to-be grizzly fate . . .
*
* * * *
Finding
a place to hide for the night in Bell DeVeere had not been easy for
Blue Jeans and Twang. They had found a basement in an abandoned
building on Bellan Street, and had hidden well and slept for the rest
of the night. They knew though that they could not risk a healthy
eight hours, or the likelihood of their discovery would increase.
They thus made an early start that morning, staying hidden in the
alleyways and only crossing the most deserted streets.
“Aw,
no,” Twang muttered wearily, seeing the look in Blue Jeans' eyes as
they stopped in a secluded alley, “No, man, don't be thinkin' what
I think you thinkin'! Don't you be thinkin' it, man! Don't even!”
“We
have to find the Uradana no Kunoichi.”
“Damn
it!” Twang barked and dropped a pile of wood blocks he'd found in a
nearby dumpster, “Man, you saw that shit last night, I know you
did! You saw what those crazy bitches could do to us! And they got a
hostage, man! If we go lookin' for them, you can forget this
'breakin'-into-the-archives' thing, 'cause it ain't gon' happen if
your ass is dead!”
Blue
Jeans sighed and answered, “Look, we need extra hands. You need
more arrows. And they hate the Pistols as much as we do. If we show
that we fight on the same side, we can recruit them to our purpose!”
“And
how do you propose we do that?” Twang snapped back as he began
whittling at one of the wood blocks with a pocket knife, “You
didn't see these girls tryin' to kill us both? They don't seem too
particular about who crosses their territory!”
“That's
just it,” Blue Jeans clarified, “We weren't in their
territory, remember? And neither were the Pistols. They attacked
Pistol troops with specific intentions, and we just got caught in the
middle.”
Twang
raised a skeptical eyebrow, “Yeah, that's real nice. You feel like
explainin' why?”
Blue
Jeans began methodically, “They took a hostage, correct? That means
they need something from him, something of great importance. It
obviously can't be weaponry, they have enough of their own. And it
couldn't possibly have been a bargaining tactic, because they clearly
had no need for it. You saw how easily they dispatched those Pistols.
They could've killed the whole lot if they wanted to, so it would
also make no sense to kill the one they captured mere moments
before.”
“Yeah,”
Twang grumbled, visibly trying to hide a shiver, “I noticed that .
. .”
“So,
we must deduce that they need this Pistol for some purpose that only
a Pistol would serve. An unarmed Pistol officer would be of no use to
anyone, so they can't possibly want to rob him. A low-ranked Pistol
would have no knowledge of any secret locations, so tracking or
bugging him would be out of the question. And converting a Pistol to
the cause of a potential terrorist group is nigh impossible. So,
then, what possible logical reason could they need him for?”
Twang
looked back at Blue Jeans with uncertainty, but soon, Blue Jeans'
words made more and more sense, and Twang made the deduction quickly,
“Information.”
“Precisely.
Of course, we are after similar goals, but our scale reaches an
entire building. What sort of information would these ninja need from
just one man? It would have to be important, true enough, but not
nearly as important as the highly confidential knowledge you and I
wish to attain. This is knowledge that can be trusted to a lone
Pistol officer, but can be extracted from that officer just as
easily.”
“But
that don't make sense!” Twang argued, exasperated, “What kind of
government secrets are they gonna let a bunch of Pistols in on?”
“I
didn't say government
secrets,” Blue Jeans answered, still passive, “But it is secret
information, and it is obviously important enough to force the
Uradana no Kunoichi to secure a hostage. It must have something to do
with the Pistols' duties. Perhaps they confiscated some important
tool that they need back? They may have even taken their own hostage
that the Uradana no Kunoichi need to rescue, it's difficult to tell.
But whatever they need, we can assert ourselves as comrades by
offering our assistance—”
“Whoa,
hold it!” Twang interrupted, pointing his pocket knife at Blue
Jeans decisively, “Count me outta this one! I'm not risking my ass
over some crazy ninja females! Who's to say they won't kill us the
minute they spot us?”
Blue
Jeans shrugged, “We have to take that risk. Nothing ventured,
nothing gained.”
“Nothin'
ventured, nothin' ripped outta our ass, neither . . .”
“Twang,”
Blue Jeans replied sternly, “My mind is made up. I intend to go
into this archives building with as strong a team as possible, and
these ninja are just what we need. If you feel you have to exclude
yourself, feel free, but remember that on a mission this monumental,
the faint of heart will end up dead.”
Twang
stared at Blue Jeans with a combination of amazement and indignity.
Finally, he sighed and bowed his head, “Yeah, you right. Damn, man,
why you gotta be right all the time . . .”
Blue
Jeans took that as an agreement, and continued, “As soon as you
have a fair amount of ammunition, we take to the streets for
information on the Uradana no Kunoichi. Once we have a lead on their
whereabouts, we look for them in the dead of night. We can't risk too
much movement in the daylight, though, so we must keep to the alleys
and rooftops as much as possible.”
Twang
nodded, setting down a fully whittled arrow, “All right, man. I
just hope it takes those Pistols some time before they know we're
still runnin' around . . . .”
*
* * * *
Only
two hours passed after that moment—a sufficient length of time for
Twang to craft more arrows—before the duo scoured the streets for
information. The streets of Bell DeVeere were difficult to navigate
at first, but Blue Jeans and Twang learned the geography fairly
quickly upon discovering that the neighborhood structure was similar
to that of Luster Park. Very few people walked the streets, and even
fewer were willing to give information on the Uradana no Kunoichi.
In response to the very mention of the name, one frightened young man
looked around wildly, shaking in fear, before racing to the nearest
alley and ripping open a side door in a building he likely had
entered for the first time in his life.
What
was worse, two more hours of investigating passed by before the
Pistols were seen combing the streets of Bell DeVeere. Each group
was more than twice the size of the usual five-man squads, and they
seemed to be conducting their own, much more violent and destructive
interrogation of the locals. Worse still, no section of troops was
any more than a block away from another, which made an intervention
on the part of Blue Jeans and Twang a foolish gesture. All the two
could do was slink about the alleys, occasionally catching glimpses
of Pistol troops beating the life out of unfortunate passersby for
the sake of a few words of information.
“Damn
it!” Twang had whispered through gritted teeth as they just barely
hid themselves in another alley before another Pistol section entered
the street, “They ain't even givin' us away! These people are
gettin' their asses beat for us! We gotta do something!”
“I
can't stand it any better than you can, Twang,” Blue Jeans
commiserated, “But we cannot leave ourselves open to capture,
especially in broad daylight. And it would be risky even at night.
The Pistols are getting smarter, so they'll put in extra effort to
find us after dark.”
Twang
seethed as he watched an older woman pushing a shopping cart full of
her possessions; she was being harassed and pushed around by the
Pistols as they interrogated her, “. . . . . . punk motherfu— . .
. .”
“I
know,” Blue Jeans calmed him, “I know. We have to concede this
round. But once the Uradana no Kunoichi are on our side, we can help
them break the Pistols hold over Bell DeVeere, and possibly receive
their assistance in doing the same in Luster Park.”
Twang
did not respond, continued for a moment to stare angrily at the
Pistols as they continued to brutalize the woman, and slowly reached
into his quiver for one of his fresh arrows. Blue Jeans caught his
wrist before his hand touched an arrow. “There'll be another time,
my friend,” he said calmly, “I promise you, there'll be another
time.”
And
so, the two begrudgingly kept their cover and continued to probe the
city for answers. Resisting the urge to assist the citizens who had
refused to give them away was painful for both of them, but they
stayed stalwart in their search. To make up for it, they helped the
injured inside to allow their fellow citizens to care for them, and
those who hadn't been caught yet (which were few) were warned of the
Pistols' activities. Finally, one isolated section of Liberty Street
yielded the perfect information; a young man and his girlfriend
walked the streets, unaware of the unscheduled Pistol raid that had
yet to reach them.
“The
Uradana no Kunoichi?” the man said with a combination of awe and
skepticism, “Are you nuts? Just talking about them in public is a
death wish! Why are you going after them?”
Blue
Jeans was relaxed in his response, “We have our reasons. Now
please, if you know anything, you must speak now. Time is of the
essence.”
Neither
the man nor his girlfriend spoke for a few seconds, but the woman was
the first to answer, “I think I know where they go.”
Twang
responded zealously, “You do? Then speak up, girl, we ain't got all
day!”
She
uneasily withdrew at Twang's brash approach, but calmed when Blue
Jeans steadied him with a hand on the shoulder. She gathered herself
and continued, “I used to hear rumors about a secret ninja cult
that trained to keep the Pistols out of Bell DeVeere. Word was
they've been looking for recruits for over twenty-five years, now.”
Blue
Jeans was amazed at the group's supposed longevity, but stayed calm,
“Is there any way to find them?”
The
woman proceeded, “The rumors got their start on Decibel Avenue. I
don't know if they're there, but it's as good a place as any if you
wanna find them.”
“It's
also as good a place as any to get yourself killed,” her boyfriend
snapped.
“Thank
you, my friends,” said Blue Jeans, “Your information will be put
to good use. Now we must return the favor; the Pistols are enacting
an unscheduled raid on Bell DeVeere, and are heading this way. You
must stay alert and hidden at all costs.”
Twang
approached the man, his distance and crossed-arm body language both
confrontational, “That's an even better way to get
your dumb ass killed, jack.”
Blue
Jeans quickly thanked them again and urged Twang to follow him back
to the cover of the alleys. Decibel Street was on the other side of
town, and traveling there on foot would last the rest of their
daylight hours and well into the night. But it had to be done.
Despite the odds, it had to be done.
*
* * * *
His
career was over.
Hunting
for that insufferable louse with the sword and his impudent partner
had been murder. Now that the Pistol troops were swarming the DDZs,
it had been even worse. It was all that swordsman's fault; he'd had
his chance to kill him, and he'd failed. Now, his reputation was a
shambles, and it would only be a matter of time before the Pistols
found him. He may as well be one of the grungy ghetto rats leaving
slime trails around the DDZs, building barbaric weapons out of metal
and wood just to survive.
But
none of that mattered.
No
one had dared to tarnish his reputation before that swordsman came
along. He was the best at what he did, and because of that
sword-swinging trash, it was all over. This meant that it was much
more than restoring his life at this point. It was much more than
delivering justice to the malcontents who ruined him. This went far
beyond the government itself. This was all about vengeance
This
blue-jeans samurai had to die.
He
slowly walked away from the corpses of the young couple who'd been so
kind as to provide him with the information he'd needed (the
ceaseless torture they'd endured for the last few hours helped loosen
their tongues). Because of them, he was now sure of where the
swordsman and the archer were headed—Decibel Street. They'd said
that they had directed them there because they'd asked for
information on some ninja cult they'd been seeking—silly rumors.
They were only looking for more scrubs to hide behind when the moment
of reckoning came for them. They would die slowly and painfully,
begging with their last breaths to be spared.
They
would not escape this time.
*
* * * *
The
sun had just set, and a blanket of darkness covered the streets. All
the better for Blue Jeans and Twang; the darkness hid them well from
the sections of Pistols that still scrutinized the streets for them.
They crept along Decibel Avenue, sticking close to the dark alleys
and avoiding all streetlights whenever possible; Decibel Avenue was a
relatively short road, and most of the buildings they checked were
empty, much to their relief. All that remained was one last block,
situated between Decibel and the inwardly curved Octave Highway,
perpendicular to Yoke Street to the east and Clapper Drive to the
west.
In
the dark alley between their last checked building and the next,
Twang stared up the side of the brick outer wall and sighed, “I
don't like this, man. I feel like the closer we get to these ninja
bitches, the deeper in the shit we get . . .”
“The
situation does seem ominous,” Blue Jeans whispered back, “But
we've come too far to stop now. Remember, stay sharp, and keep a cool
head. We don't want to alienate potential allies.”
“Yeah,
yeah,” Twang grumbled as he continued looking up the side of the
building, “Maybe you don't want to . . .”
“Shh,”
Blue Jeans replied urgently. He then carefully approached the side
door of the building, slowly unsheathed his blade, and slipped the
tip into the sliver between door and frame.
“There's
somethin' else I don't like,” Twang complained, “Breakin' into
people's houses and shit. We do that, we ain't no better than the
Pistols.”
“There
are certain differences, you know,” Blue Jeans whispered as he
wedged the blade past the bolt, “Our intentions are better, and we
do not intend to cause harm. Besides,” he turned to Twang for a
moment, “if I knew there was another way, that's what we'd be doing
right now. Even if we are the same as the Pistols, we have no choice.
If this isn't the place, knocking would alert people to our presence,
and that will bring the Pistols. If it is, then knocking might make
them nervous, and they will either escape or try to kill us. Then
we'd really be in danger.”
“But
breaking and entering?!” Twang spoke up just above a whisper,
prompting another “shh” from Blue Jeans, “They catch us,
they'll kill us for sure, man!”
Blue
Jeans turned back to unlocking the door, “Like I said, if we stay
calm and sharp, we can give them an equal fight. We prove ourselves
in their eyes, they'll have to listen to us.”
Twang
sighed, unsure and irritable, “Hmmm . . . that is, if they don't
gut us first . . . .”
Blue
Jeans finally freed the door from its lock, and slowly pulled it open
by the knob. The door made a dull, yet short-lived creaking sound as
it swung on its hinges; Blue Jeans held the door open only about a
foot away from the frame, and slipped inside, sheathing his sword and
keeping it from touching the door or the frame. Twang hesitated,
tightened his grip on his bow, and followed Blue Jeans through the
doorway.
The
room they found themselves in was dark, and nothing within could be
seen. Twang felt around the wall behind him for a light switch, and
when he felt it, he flipped it on; a single bulb blinked on overhead,
casting as much shadow as light. What the duo saw in the light, they
could hardly believe.
It
looked so much like a true ninja training camp. Walls had been
knocked out in specific places, considerably widening the expanse of
the room for more effective practices. Long scrolls painted with
gorgeous landscapes and Japanese symbols hung on the walls, alongside
a selection of deadly ninja weaponry. Rectangular mats lay in
perfect symmetrical patterns on the floor. Sparring pegs and
practice dummies stood against walls, and stacked up in one corner
were folded sets of spare uniforms. Blue Jeans saw the top one and
recognized it instantly; it was black, and came with a short, pleated
skirt.
“This
is the place, all right,” Blue Jeans' voice was so low, it was
almost silent. He gestured to move forward, and they both took three
steps deeper into the ninja lair. The soft mats beneath their bare
feet muted their steps, and so far, no life showed itself anywhere in
the room.
REEEEEEE—WHAM!!
While
in the middle of the room, the door suddenly swung shut with a slam,
and a shadow leaped from a corner of that wall, melting into the room
before the two could see it. They turned again as another shadow
glided across the floor and up the right wall. Another shadow crept
close to their feet, and Blue Jeans gripped the hilt of his sword.
Another still swept along the far wall, and Twang readied his bow.
“Still thinkin' this was a good idea?” Twang said, his voice a
low, contemptuous growl.
SHIING!
Blue
Jeans bared his sword, and once again blocked a scissor-style cut
from his attacker. It was the same pleated-skirt ninja from the
previous night; in the light, Blue Jeans could see one dark red lock
of hair hanging over her face and her cold, black eyes glinting with
fury.
The
kunoichi's eyes widened when she saw her opponent again. “You . .
.” she whispered with her smooth voice She pushed off from Blue
Jeans' sword, and the two stared each other down for a few seconds.
Blue
Jeans kept his sword at the ready, but his voice was calm and
diplomatic, “. . . Apologies for the intrusion. We mean no harm. We
come to you to make a request—”
“Shin'nyu-sha!”
the skirted ninja screamed out, and at once, two more shadows
converged on Blue Jeans' and Twang's position. Both were ninja, each
one dressed heat-to-toe in form-fitting attire, their faces obscured
by their masks. One was significantly taller and bulkier than the
leader, similarly dressed in black, and carried an exceptionally
hefty-looking five-foot staff with a broad, two-foot blade extending
from one end. The other was much thinner and quicker, dressed in
dark brown, and swung around a long chain with a curved, sickle-like
blade on one end. Both warriors, like their leader, sported
miniskirts that went with their uniforms, but they were much tighter
and without pleats.
The
larger warrior slammed the blade of her weapon down onto Blue Jeans'
parrying sword, while Twang leaped out of the path of the thinner
warrior's sickle chain. “Intruders!” the muscular woman bellowed
as she forced her bladed staff harder against Blue Jeans' own steel,
“Trespass yields death!”
Blue
Jeans would have answered calmly, but even answering at all was more
strain than his body could take. Negating the risk of breaking his
sword, he pushed the powerful warrior's blade off to one side, and it
struck the floor. Shaking off the parry, she swept the blade across
the floor, forcing Blue Jeans to jump and block the blade as it came
back for a sweep through the air in the opposite direction. Blue
Jeans lifted his own blade, forcing his opponent's to fly over his
head, missing him.
At
the same time, Twang jumped and dodged the swings from the sickle
chain, each arc getting closer and closer to chopping off a limb.
Twang took up an arrow and fired, and the projectile glanced off the
blade as it soared, slowing its momentum only long enough for Twang
to jump backwards, the blade missing his crotch by mere inches.
“Goddamn, girl!” he yelled, annoyed, “Ain't you ever heard of
fightin' fair?!”
“Hmph!”
Twang's opponent scoffed as she jerked her arm back, retrieving the
sickle on her chain, “The trespasser talks about fighting fair? How
quaint!” The ninja then spun at a fast, graceful speed, and her
chain swirled around her body like a ribbon dancer's ribbon. Twang
backed away from the approaching blade, taking time to glance quickly
behind him. The back wall was coming up fast, and he couldn't avoid
the swirling sickle for too much longer.
Blue
Jeans' opponent recovered from the swordsman's parry by spinning her
staff around in one hand above her head. Again, she brought the
blade down on her foe, but in a diagonal arc instead of vertical, and
Blue Jeans blocked again, forcing the blade off to the side. The
ninja attempted another waist-level sweep from the other side, but
Blue Jeans predicted the move, positioned his sword, and blocked
again. Seeing Twang's opponent slowly closing in on the archer and
narrowing his space, Blue Jeans hatched an idea, and pretended to
struggle against the larger woman's push. The sickle-chain-user's
blade swung around and around, each pass getting closer to Blue Jeans
as well as Twang as she passed the former and closed in on the
latter. Blue Jeans waited, kept his focus on the chain-wielder, and
finally, he jumped backwards, landing on his back and giving his
opponent's staff an upward kick.
CLANK!
The
two ninjas' blades met in midair, the sickle-blade ricocheted off of
the staff-blade, and launched upward, sticking into the ceiling. For
a second, Twang and the ninja were stunned, but Twang shook it off
and collected another set of arrows. He fired at the ninja's chain,
sending an arrow through a link, jerking the chain out of its user's
hand and and pinning it to the ceiling, as well. Twang did this
twice more, sticking two more lengths of the chain to the ceiling and
making it inaccessible to its wielder.
“What?!”
the larger ninja growled at this spectacle, “You'll pay for that!”
She then swept her weapon in another, even wider horizontal arc,
forcing both Blue Jeans and Twang to duck. She kept up the blade's
momentum and brought her blade into yet another downward slash. This
time, though, Blue Jeans had only a sliver of a moment to recover
from the last sweep. The blade came down quickly, aimed right for
the middle of Blue Jeans' back . . .
CRACK!
The
blade veered off course at the last second, and the blade struck the
floor. Twang had launched another arrow at the non-bladed end of the
staff, the force pushing one end over and changing the weapon's angle
ever so slightly, saving Blue Jeans' life.
Blue
Jeans saw this, took a moment to smile at Twang's quick thinking, and
swept his sword in an upward diagonal slash . . .
WHACK!
The
blade of the ninja's spear weapon was hacked clean off the base, went
tumbling through the air, and jammed itself into the floor.
Both
ninja were aghast at their opponents' strategies, which had taken
seconds to disarm them both. Panting with exhaustion, Blue Jeans and
Twang lowered their weapons, and Blue Jeans attempted to resume
diplomacy, “So . . . . if you . . . . would be so kind . . . . we'd
like to . . . . discuss . . . . something with you . . . . . .”
The
pleated-skirt leader of the group eyed the two intruders with malice,
“No . . . . no man disarms an agent of the Uradana no
Kunoichi and lives to talk . . . .” She did not make an attempt to
rejoin the fight, however; she merely stood there, still and
seething, until she made the smallest, most insignificant of
gestures—a slight nod of the head.
Twang,
leaning against a wall, did not see the gesture, but Blue Jeans did;
it made more sense that the leader was no longer interested in
fighting, and that sent the adrenaline rushing once again. They both
heard the movement that accompanied the gesture seconds later, and
Twang was alert as well. Instinctively, Blue Jeans stepped to one
side as a knife sailed at him from within a dark. Two more were
launched at him, and he dodged one the same way while swatting
another away with his sword. In the same swing, he threw his sword
into the wall Twang leaned against; the sword struck the wall in
front of Twang's face. With wide eyes, Twang saw that the sword
shared the hole it was stuck in with a very long, thin,
deadly-looking needle that, were it not for the sword's interference,
would have stabbed Twang directly in the eye.
Again
shaking off shock quickly, Twang pulled another pair of arrows and
fired in the direction of the projectiles' points of fire. One
caused a crash to go off in a corner of the room, and the other was
responded to by a high-pitched “EEEEEEEEEEK!”
Twang
prepped another arrow and was about to launch, but Blue Jeans put a
hand on his arm, stopping him. “We don't have to keep this up,”
he said, his exhaustion hidden by his tactful voice, “We didn't
come to fight. We came to reason.” To emphasize his point, Blue
Jeans drew his sword along the top of its sheath and slipped it back
inside. To further impose the idea of a truce, he untied the sheath
from his waist and set it on the floor in front of him. After a few
seconds of the ninja still looking apprehensive, Blue Jeans elbowed
Twang, urging him to do the same. Twang silently protested,
gesturing to the ninja and stressing their trepidation. Blue Jeans,
equally silent, pointed to the ground and insisted that Twang drop
his weapon as a show of peace. A few more seconds of wordless
bickering, and Twang sighed in frustration, dropped his bow, and
slipped his shoulders out of the straps of his quiver, letting it and
the arrows in it fall to the floor.
The
lead kunoichi seemed amazed by this. Here they were, two trespassers
who were far more skilled than they'd let on, and were now
surrendering and offering a truce even after putting an equal fight
against her ninja comrades. Her dark eyes seemed to waver with even
more uncertainty.
“How
dare you!” the larger ninja accused, but took no action, “You
barge into our secret shelter, disturb our assessment, and challenge
our skills, and you have the nerve to ask favors from us? Who do you
thugs think you are?!”
“Enough,
Cashmere,” the leader announced, her smooth voice dampening her
comrade's fury, “They may be trespassers, but we've sworn no
vengeance on those against FIRENIGHT. They've not only proven that
they are not our enemies, but that they are on par with us in skill.
While I hate to do so, we will allow them to speak.”
“WHAT?!”
the woman called Cashmere rebutted, “Unacceptable! These filthy men
have no business in our domicile! They will disrupt our mission! We
cannot risk their interference! I will not stand for—”
“Cashmere!”
the leader thundered imperiously, “Are you questioning my
command?!”
Cashmere
froze, seeming to know she'd crossed the line. Fuming, she made a
respectful bow and merely muttered, “Hai, sensei . . . .”
Glancing
between Cashmere and the thin chain-wielding ninja, the leader held
up a hand and made another command in Japanese, “Shirizoku.”
At
once, two more shadows moved in to join the group. Like the others,
they were dressed in full ninja attire, accompanied by the tight
miniskirt, and carried the weapons launched at Blue Jeans and Twang
earlier. The knife-thrower emerged from the darkness carrying more
knives in her fingers; she was dressed in dark green and had a more
beastly look in her eyes than her leader. The needle-shooter, easily
the shortest of the group, was dressed in dark red and carried a
large blowgun in her tiny hand.
The
leader then reached up and pulled the top of her mask off her head,
then pulled the bottom half off of her mouth, and her face was fully
exposed. Blue Jeans and Twang were both rather surprised; she was
unexpectedly beautiful. She tossed her dark-red, shoulder-length
hair around and blinked her shiny black eyes at the boys with
continued doubt. “I am the leader of the Uradana no Kunoichi,”
she declared with her smooth voice, “The local citizens call me
Pleats. My sisters and I protect Bell DeVeere from the evil of the
Pistols.” She gestured to the muscular ninja that fought Blue
Jeans earlier, “This is Cashmere, my battle tactician and
second-in-command. Her skill with a bisento, as you've seen, is
unrivaled.”
Blue
Jeans looked at the sour expression on Cashmere's face as she, too,
removed her mask and shook out her short brown hair. “A pleasure,”
he said gently, accompanying it with a bow, “You are a most capable
fighter. I wish I could have seen your technique under better
circumstances.”
Cashmere
eyed Blue Jeans with a detesting glare before scoffing indignantly,
“Hmph!”
The
leader, Pleats, continued introductions by gesturing to Twang's
opponent, the thin woman in dark brown, “This is Angora, my
saboteur and specialist in chain weapons, like the kusarigama.”
Angora
gave a short nod before unmasking herself and running a hand through
her long, black ponytail, “I actually prefer thinking over
fighting. That's why I try to finish my opponents as quickly as
possible . . .” She also gave her opponent a stinging glance, and
Twang showed unease immediately.
“This,”
Pleats gestured to the woman in green, “is my infiltrator, Damask,
and one of my most talented students. Test her patience at your
peril.”
“You'd
better believe it,” Damask added as she unmasked and shook out a
wild mane of dirty blonde hair, “Next time, I won't stop until I
sink a kunai into you.”
“Sensei!”
the littlest ninja whined with the same high-pitched voice heard
earlier when her blowgun was answered with an arrow, “I almost got
poked in the tushie by an arrow! And I didn't even get to kill that
guy! Oh, boo!” She stomped and crossed her arms like a spoiled
child.
Pleats
sighed wearily and finished introducing, “And this is Taffeta.
She's our youngest sister, with a specialty in assassinations.”
Indeed, as Taffeta unmasked and wiggled her long, honey-blonde
pigtails, Blue Jeans saw that she was far younger than the others.
The average age amongst the Uradana no Kunoichi seemed to be around
eighteen; Taffeta could not have been any older than eleven or
twelve.
“Silly
sensei!” Taffeta giggled before looking at Blue Jeans and
Twang, “We're not really sisters. We just say that 'cause we
all take care of each other!” She then walked up closer to Twang,
looked him over on all sides, then asked innocently, “So, you're
the guy I almost killed, huh?”
Twang
showed what was either a scared or disturbed look, but answered, “Uh
. . . . yeah . . . .”
Taffeta
giggled again, “You're good! I kill lots of people, but not
everyone gets away!” She stepped up closer and leered at him a
bit, “You're cute, too! Maybe I'll kill ya again sometime, 'kay?”
She then reached out and hugged Twang around the waist, popping up a
foot behind her in the process.
Not
seeming to feel the need to correct her, Twang simply replied, “Yeah,
sure . . . . some other time . . .”
Taffeta
returned to her group, and Damask took over, “All right, so let's
all cut the bullshit and get straight to business. What the hell do
you guys want?”
Blue
Jeans at last recalled the reason for this less-than-smooth
introduction, “Yes, of course . . . . word of your legendary skill
has come to us in Luster Park. We even saw firsthand what your group
is capable of. We hope to be of some assistance to you, in return for
specific services you might offer us.”
Before
any of the ninja could answer, the room was penetrated by the sound
of a scream. Blue Jeans swept up his sword, and Twang plucked an
arrow from his quiver on the ground. “What the fuck was that?”
Twang yelled, reaching for his bow.
“Relax,”
Angora calmed them, “We should mention that we have a guest
tonight. He's the only man to see the inside of our home, aside from
the two of you.”
“You
may know him from our encounter from the previous night,” Pleats
added, “He was the only Pistol we left alive.”
Blue
Jeans and Twang glanced at each other. This was confirmation that
they had indeed taken a hostage. What they were doing with said
hostage had yet to be revealed.
Pleats
then stepped forward, “What exactly do wish of us? We allow you to
speak only because you've proven your skill, but if your words are
trifling, we will have no choice but to execute you.” In response
to this, Damask spread her kunai knives wide in her fingers.
“Hey,
hey, hey!” Twang attempted to redirect any ill will, “Now, let's
all be cool about this! Like the man said, we came to negotiate. We
just talkin', that's all!”
Damask
stood staunchly still, knives at the ready, “So talk, slime!”
Pleats placed a hand on her shoulder, and Damask hesitated before
retracting her kunai.
Blue
Jeans cleared his throat before proceeding, “In Luster Park, we are
known as Blue Jeans and Twang.” He gestured to his friend, and
Twang nodded, hand still grasped over his bow. “We've recently
been targeted by government assassins, but for what purpose, we
aren't sure. We have reason to believe that it has something to do
with something highly significant, something that only secret
government records will show us.”
Pleats
gave a skeptical frown, “And what leads you to believe you two are
worthy enough for that kind of attention from FIRENIGHT?”
Twang
nodded his head toward Blue Jeans and said with an almost prideful
tone, “This guy here is an Omega-Red-level threat to the
government.”
“Ridiculous!”
Cashmere scoffed, “No single person could ever reach
Omega-Red-level status! And even if one could, one would almost
certainly be incapable of discovering it.”
Blue
Jeans slowly reached into his back pocket and slipped out the
assassin's DataPane (the kunoichi all reached for their weapons
instinctively, but settled down when they saw what Blue Jeans had).
“The assassin left this behind,” Blue Jeans explained, “It has
detailed information on all of his targets, and the only ones on the
list that are still living are Twang and myself.” Blue Jeans
tossed the DataPane to Pleats, and she caught it expertly, touching
the screen to see the information for herself. She scanned the data
on the screen, glancing between it and Blue Jeans, and seemed
satisfied with what she saw. She did the same thing to Twang, having
apparently found his profile on the screen as well. Pleats spent a
few seconds longer on the device, and her eyes suddenly widened as
she started glancing between it and Blue Jeans again; her skepticism
had given way to sudden shock.
“What
is it, Sensei?” Taffeta asked innocently, “Did you find
somethin' bad?” She then snickered slightly, “Did you find a
naughty website?”
Pleats
hesitated for a long time, staring at the screen most of the time.
Finally, her words were quiet, but resolute, “We need them . . . .
they will help us . . .”
“What?!”
Damask crowed, turning to Pleats with a dumbstruck expression, “But
Sensei, you can't possibly mean that! To partner with these
outsiders betrays all we stand for! It destroys our reputation! It
makes a mockery of our very name!”
“I
agree with Damask,” Angora's far more passive voice spoke up,
“We've needed no men to assist us before, and we shouldn't start
now. It betrays our principles!”
“Out
of the question!” Cashmere boomed, “I refuse to work with these
male outsiders! I adhere to the code our sisters before us began,
regardless of the situation we're in!”
“I
SAID THEY WILL HELP US!!” Pleats shrieked, and all four of her
subordinates were silenced. “I remember what the code says,” she
continued, much more quietly, “And it pains me to break it. But we
are in dire straits, and we need the extra hands. Not only have they
proven to be capable warriors, but they share our foes. They will be
more than sufficient to help us in our mission.” Pleats then
approached the two men and resumed her serious gaze, “I'd just as
soon have you both killed. But I have two reasons for keeping you
both alive, and one is far less important than the other.” She
then took a deep, forced breath and added, “We will decide whether
to provide you assistance once you've done the same for us on our
mission.”
“That's
all right with me,” said Twang casually, “But what is it y'all
are doin' on this 'mission'?”
“And
for that matter,” Blue Jeans added, “which is the more important
of these two reasons?” A split-second after Blue Jeans stopped
speaking, the ninjas' hostage screamed again from whatever back room
he was being held in.
“The
two answers go hand-in-hand,” Pleats explained and gestured for
Blue Jeans and Twang to follow, “The reason: our sister and sixth
member is currently a captive of the Pistols. The mission: we find
her and bring her home."
--------------------------------------------------------*
* * * *--------------------------------------------------------
"Rescuing an ally!
Blue Jeans and Twang have earned an alliance with Pleats and her ninja. But before anything else, the two must earn their trust, as well. On a dangerous mission to save a member of the Uradana no Kunoichi, Blue Jeans and Pleats seem to have a strong tendency to butt heads--which may risk their alliance and jeopardize the mission.
Can Blue Jeans and Pleats work together? Will the group rescue their captured comrade? And how will they react when the mission doesn't quite go as planned?
NEXT TIME! Blue
Jeans Samurai #6:
Rescue Mission! Tension between BJ and Pleats!
救出作戦！
プリーツとBJの間に緊張！
Don't miss it!"
