Rising Dragon Hotel - 4.2 miles from Nihonto Khan - 6:34pm
The smell of fried street foods wafted up from the road below his balcony. From his place on the 47th floor, Glost could just barely make out the shimmering jewel of the Khan in the distance. A jewel soon to be sullied.
He tore hungrily into the pastry facsimile of a fish, the taste of red bean staining his tongue before he spit it to the streets below. A grimace formed on his face as he spun on his heel, his steps carrying him back into the room as he ruminated on the coming chaos, tossing the taiyaki over his shoulder and slamming the balcony door shut.
There would be blood tonight, and while much of it would belong to the puddling wastes of mutants and mobsters, two of his loyal followers were also among the endangered. But that was fine. Leo and Grant were not easily toppled, nor would they be foolish enough to implicate him. And what more was there to worry about?
What was his condition for failure? There was none. He had only to wreak havoc, to put on full display the horror of mutant might and he would win. The assault at the gates of the Khan would prove more than sufficient, but the true damage would be within. The gaming hall and vault would require special attention, and it was for these reasons that he had even bothered to hire the myriad of mercenaries. Their objective was to clean the currency from the casino, to vacate the vault, and to unmake the unattainable. They would destroy the Khan's internal operation, gut it and leave it a shell of what it was.
To succeed, his foe, the much vaunted but entirely unproven yakuza mastermind Yazhun San'Vun, would have to turn away the mutant mob at the doors without allowing them to deal significant damage, prevent them from pillaging the lobby, and, of course, stop them from actually entering his place of business, all while minimizing damage and casualty. And that was just the distraction. If San'Vun wanted true success, he would have to halt the heist that would inevitably target the vault of his casino, protect his personnel from those that would seek to assault his cashiers and bankers, and find a way to foil the schemes of mutants making their way to the money counters. And even should he prevent all possible damage to his operations, the threat of mutant mutiny would still be made clear.
In this way Glost's plan was flawless, without vulnerability or possibility of defeat. He held all the cards. And his opponent?
He was drawing dead.
Nihonto Khan Interior -- Casino 6:50pm
"So how's it feel to be beautiful, Lee-ol' boy?"
"Shut up, Diaz. With all the shit you've pulled tonight alone you should be grateful I haven't crushed you into paste."
"Better men'n you have tried, Lee-ho. Really though, you oughta be thankin' me. Ugly mug like yours'd never have got in here if it weren't for a little ceramic surgery. And, on top o' that, I got our 'secret weapon' all snug up inside-a me."
"You're disgusting, Diaz."
"Bah. Y'know ya love me."
"So what're we hitting, anyway?"
"Moneyboys, way in back. You know, counters n' junk. They'll be in hard to reach places, 'hind reinforced doors, walls, the whole shebang."
"Well how do you plan on getting in, then?"
"I 'unno. Vents. Go through walls. Front flipping door. We're mutants, pal. We'll get in."
"Jus' relax, Lee, I gotcha covered. Coupla car batteries and the baby I got in my gut'll get through anythin' they can put up, I guar-an-teee it. 7:15 rolls 'round, you hold 'em off, I'll get through the door to tha moneyboys. Deal?"
It was decided. At 7:15, the two would make for the money-counting room, moving through the hallways and labyrinthine passages, their disguises discarded once the security blackout was set to be established at that exact hour. It was then that they would attack the reinforced doors, relying on Leo Herric's herculean strength and relatively high durability to hold off any attacks while Grant focused on the money counters, adamantium tipped auger still in tow.
Nihonto Khan -- Exterior 6:59pm
Outside the Khan the crowds gathered, milling about as though it were any other day. Tourists admiring the splendor of the massive structure, the culture inherent in its construction, the majesty conjured up by the mere sight of such a magnificent edifice...
Young girls laughed and enjoyed frozen desserts recently bought, now tasted. Men held their women tight as they walked by, aware of the Yakuza, but absorbed in the eyes of their beloveds. Teenagers gathered in clumps, huddled over the newest viral video or discussing the news out of America, mocking the exploits and failures of inferior Western heroes. A few individuals, men and women both, seemed to slump against the wall, uncomfortably drunk, battling the unseen opponents of nausea and dizziness. Countless more still were simple passersby, busying themselves with texts or calls or any number of distractions to be found at whim, dumb to the environment and occupied by their smart phones.
The buzzing and chiming of cellphones began to fill the air: a single message relayed to all in attendance:
七時 - 開始
[7:00 - Start]
It was time.
The innumerable souls milling about suddenly stopped. Laughter ended abruptly. Conversations were cut mid sentence. As though with a single mind they turned toward the Khan.
The crowd, the girls the men the women the adolescents, all took form of the first wave, rushing through the gateway to the Khan and inflicting their hellish fury upon all who stood between them and the San'Vun syndicate. Joining them came the men of the former Inagawa Kai, those loyal to the dead daimyo they had sworn their allegiance to. Together they were set in their resolve. They would break the Khan, they would seize the head of the two-faced San'Vun, and they would wring his blood from his body for daring to deceive them.
From the crowd of mutants and former Inagawa Kai exiles came orders, barked loudly and clearly over those in attendance:
"Hit them on the right! Push through there! They're weak!"
The voice seemed to simply come into existence above them, where it boomed like the voice of God and washed over attacker and defender alike, rattling their bones and crashing in the air all around them. What the defenders of the Khan did not hear were the barely audible targeted whispers of the Italian mercenary, broadcast to all ahead of him, directing them to clear a gap on the left side of the building, freeing the yakuza to use the doors there with minimal resistance.
They did as they were told, surging against the entrance on the right, clearing a space on the left for the Yakuza to fill.
Then came the next direction, privately broadcast to those under his command once again.
Pale orange lights filled the hands of the mutant rioters. Fire.
Molotovs were thrown into the intentionally cleared space, an attempt to deny the San'Vun's enforcers purchase outside their own walls, to set ablaze those foolish enough to emerge from the entrance when first it cleared, but more than anything, it was a cue.
Seijuro Shin stepped forth, no orders necessary. He knew it had to be him. The majority of the orphans that had joined him to form the Shirohebi Ichigan were more mere aberration than mutant, freaks who were disturbing to look upon, or readily identified as something other than human, but who held few useful traits. They were the weak who could not earn a living for themselves in the underworld or the legitimate one, and so had to rely on the kindness of the old man they had known as a father.
Not him. He had stayed for his sister, but with her gone he finally struck out on his own, and in her name. He was Fudo Myo-o, his blade cleansing the world of the impure and unworthy. Already the White Serpent of the mutant underground had earned the respect of his cohorts, and their fear.
Adamant in his resolve, fists shaking with both effort and anger, he pulled back against the burning air, seizing the scattered flames as his own before tossing them out into the gathering mob of mafia men, having them swirl to engulf all who rose to meet him, allowing them even to lick at the walls of the Nihonto Khan.
It would not be enough to simply kill the mute mafioso. Seijuro wanted him, everyone he had ever known, everything he had ever touched, to burn. He would leave only ashes, San'Vun's scattered in the gutters of Tokyo in retribution for the mockery he had put on display in his own family plot, and he would be but one in hundreds. What they had taken from him he would take from them a thousandfold. In Seijuro Shin's mind, tonight marked only the beginning of his revenge.
Rooftops approaching Nihonto Khan -- 7:02pm
"Are. We. Clear?"
"I heard you the first time, Red-Eye, and like I said before: I. Don't. Know."
"You mock. Repeat this. I kill."
"Yeah? Well if I'm partnered with you one more time, I, might just kill myself."
"I see it. Let's get a move on."
Smokescreen established by the molotovs and below, mutant horde drawing the enemy's attention to the right, the mercenaries known as Red Eye and Snake Charmer began their portion of the plan.
Utilizing the latest in grapnel tech, Petros sent an arrow sailing into the window nearest their objective, shattering the glass. The primary security room was on one of the highest floors, reporting on potential problems while remaining far from personal risk. At least, that was the idea.
The fullerene point deployed its blades within a load-bearing wall, the security room only a short run down the hallway from the planned deployment point. Red-Eye, the armored mutant mercenary, soared along the line, utilizing the back of an armored arm to ride the steel/vibranium wire weave, landing with an efficient, energy-damping roll. It was the perfect transition.
The augmented mercenary-mutant-ninja withdrew the rapidly oscillating blade, the suit's one glowing eye admiring its gleaming edge when, with a single motion, he slashed the line and split the cable, sending his ally crashing to the ground just inside the window, shards of glass crunching underneath the heavy metal armor.
"Pósa kilá malákas íse?!? Huh?! What the hell is wrong with you?!"
"You inside. No?"
"I hope you roast in a fire, malákas."
"You keep talk, we both burn."
The glowing red light turned to the fires blazing below before quickly snapping up once more. Already they could hear footsteps hurriedly rushing by outside the door. Petros shifted to position himself in front of his armored shinobi counterpart.
"Step aside, wanna-be ninja."
Petros grasped in either hand daggers laced with his patented petrifying venom, ready to seal the opposition's fate in stone.
"I'll get us there."
Together, they crashed through the door and out into the hall, the security room only seven doors down. Resistance would be dealt with in short measure, each who emerged to meet them would scarcely feel the high frequency oscillating blade slicing through their throats, a strike aimed at decapitation, or, if less fortunate, would find themselves pierced by throwing blades tossed with uncanny precision, the areas struck slowly turning to stone.
No matter their differences, no matter the obstacles, they would get to the security room. Too much depended on them for failure to even be entertained as a possibility.
Kawasaki Industries,Warehouse 13 -- Yesterday, 11:45pm
Shiro Yamada gathered the assigned men, 20 of his Kumicho's finest, and set off for the Kawasaki Industries warehouses, an area controlled by the Inagawa-Kai primarily through influence rather than presence. It made for an odd meeting place.
Already the warehouse doors were open, cars scattered here and there, though by appearances there could be no more than seven, perhaps ten conspirators inside, based on the vehicles present and their passenger capacities.
They outnumbered them at least two to one, making for easy pickings, or so went the rationale.
When they entered, however, all seemed quiet. Not a soul was in sight. The men eyed him warily, but on Yamada's order's they began to search the area.
As soon as they opened the first shipping container, it began.
The Yoshi-Gumi streamed from every container, rose from behind makeshift barricades and from behind corrugated iron walls, opening fire as soon as they saw their adversaries, blood gushing from the colors they themselves once wore. Motorcycles roared to life in the far corners, rocketing about and raining hell on those that had foolishly entered the warehouse expecting an easy fight.
It did not take long. The ambush had been set in place expecting the full force the false Kumicho could bring to bear. This farce was a disappointment to all involved.
"Yoshi-dono. I have failed you."
"It is of no concern, Shiro. Boss La would have been a fool to attend personally. Did I not tell you your plan was too simplistic? You assume he is like I, that he would share the fate of those he sends against his enemies. Sii-La is not such a man. He is too cunning for honor, too ruthless for risk."
"I am sorry."
"Do not be. It only means that there is more to be done. Collect the heads. We will display them as banners to root out the traitors, embolden the loyal. No more games, Jiro. Tomorrow night, we strike in earnest."
"It will be done, Yoshi-dono."
It did not take long. They sliced the heads from the bodies, both sides, tossing the remnants of each man into the Tokyo Bay before finally displaying each before the Ronin Royale Casino, tongues hanging. In the mouths of each was a message: "Stop this senseless violence. Your blood is our blood. If there is to be peace, meet us at the Nihonto Khan -- 6:55pm, tomorrow."
The plan was to synchronize the assault of the Inagawa exiles to the timing of the murderous mutant riot proposed by their true kumicho, to catch the traitorous Caesar in the cross fire. He would see the Khan as a place of safety, a place where he held the advantage. They would prove him wrong.
They coax the supposed conqueror to them, and slay him where he stood. They expected no easy battle, but war was in their blood, and it was a blood they were willing to shed.