In the wake of the purge, beware the vengeance of Ten-Thousand Fists.
- the Oath of the revived Clan Oda
By the fall of the Edo Period near the end of the American Civil War, Japan's economic outlook burst into new life under Emperor Meiji. Industrial growth expanded like never before, and shipping lanes became open for the first time since the edict of isolationism enforced by the previously strict shogunate.
This would be the first trickling of Japanese citizens into American cities, most notably along the coasts.
Mayuri Oda, a notable collector of Edo-period weapons and armor, came to Blüdhaven in 1909, and founded the Himeji Heritage Center for Japanese-Americans, though it would soon be under fire in the coming decades.
With the Pacific Front in full combat performance, the collector's museum and items were damaged in a fire assumed to have been set by angry protesters. Mayuri was put into an internment camp never to be seen or heard from again.
However, following the closing of the second World War, Himeji became a popular tourist exhibit. Its new owner, the enigmatic Kaguya Oda, introduced new pieces to the Edo collection. She claimed to be Mayuri's daughter, thus keeping the museum in the family name.
Once she officially retired in 1982, having spent thirty years looking after the Himeji, her daughter Satomi took the mantle of watcher and curator.
Himeji enjoyed a reasonably steady flow of tourists under the leadership of Satomi Oda, but once again fell into disarray following another mysterious fire in 1985. From that point-on, the museum was closed from public entry.
It has seen repairs done, and the collections inside were reportedly moved elsewhere.
The history it has with the area has diffused demolition efforts time and again, resulting in the feudal castle-like spire of Himeji to last into the coming millennia. Yet now, there have been rumors that it is more than just a gravestone to another era.
That would be the battle cry of Fujikomo, one of the first outposts the Oda Clan made in the burgeoning front against the forces of the shogunate based in Kyoto.
The year is 1560. A cousin of Nobunaga Oda is said to have been there at the age of seventeen, and it would have been his first battle as a rite of passage into the warrior-ranks of his family.
Fujikomo stood on walls of sticks and hard lumber, fortified with whatever they could manage from the nearby forests before the shogun's legion could burn it all away.
The importance of this battle is negligible in the grand scheme of the downfall of the Ashikaga shogunate, yet it showed the terrifying resilience of the armies Nobunaga commanded as well as the adamant loyalty they possessed to the ambition of that man.
The battle began during the night, in autumn.
Nobunaga's cousin in the fort - named Hirokazu - had been a student of the blade ever since he was a child, as he was born into the chaotic turmoil of the Sengoku Period of Japan. During this time, war became an expected passtime of the shogunate attempting to secure its power over various regional lords and power-hungry generals who had become disillusioned by the complacency of the throne in Kyoto.
The Sengoku Period itself was marked with cataclysmic battles and horrific bloodshed.
Hirokazu Oda had been handpicked to the bodyguard of one of the captains attending Fujikomo ahead of Nobunaga's main army. While inside the town square, he had his first taste of blood. A roving band of assassins, trained in the art of ninjutsu, sprang a trap intended to kill the captain ahead of time. The skirmish had been short, but Hirokazu failed in his task of protecting his charge.
With no other option, and having already been appointed as second-in-command, Hirokazu took over the defense effort of Fujikomo.
Some speculate that it had all been a front for the ambition driving the Oda Clan, and that Hirokazu had only been afflicted by the curse Nobunaga himself suffered from. Whatever the truth, what happened in the following days could not have been part of Hirokazu's more desired of schemes.
Using what soldiers he had, a mere 117 compared to the encroaching 1,300, Hirokazu delegated traps in and around the fort to be constructed in the dawning hours of the morning. Under what cover of darkness they could afford, the warriors of the Oda Clan carved out death pits and took up unorthodox positions.
It would not be the finest military strategy, but it seemed brighter than the other outcome.
Before the shogun's army could advance, however, preliminary taunts were thrown their way. The heads of the ninjas Hirokazu and his fellow warriors slew were strung up on pikes, with a scroll painted in black ink:
With no more room to maneuver, those loyal to the shogunate surge forward in a frenzy, spurred on by the promises of wealth and land heaped upon them by their superior officers. But more importantly, they, too, wanted to be remembered as the soldiers who so brazenly stomped out the rebellion of Nobunaga Oda - beginning with this upstart outpost in the middle of their territory.
It would be a fate, however, that they would not enjoy in the afterlife.
The small, claustrophobic streets of Fujikomo were perfect for ambushes and trapping larger groups of unsuspecting soldiers underneath boulders or rooftop arrow barrages. But for each devastating trap, and equal counterattack came from those under the shogun's banner.
Fujikomo suffered from fire damage throughout the battle, even going so far as losing several large structural spots in its walls. Though they were kept from being infernos, these incendiary strikes kept the defenders from mounting any sort of true push. Of course they were outnumbered 10-to-1. Of course their fort had been compromised.
But they were hardened warriors of the Oda Clan, trusted for decades in the bleakness of the Sengoku Period to act without mercy in the face of the enemy. What did the shogun's soldiers think of war? That it would bring them honor and money? They were pampered in the shadows of the stone effigies in Kyoto. These men they faced in Fujikomo, they were born and raised on the frontier - in the very cusp of conflict.
They were no mere swordsmen. They were samurai.
When the sun became highest in the sky, those who fought for the freedom of Japan numbered less than half of their original strength, closer now to 40 than 100. Yet the streets were choked with the dead of the shogun's army, with almost 400 having fallen to the blades of the Oda Clan. Hirokazu still lived, a young commander as he was he could still match swords with the best of them.
As well as wits, for his wildly defiant stand here only served as a distraction.
He had sent for reinforcements the night before, and they had just arrived.
The thunder of Tetsuya and his 130 horsemen shattered the shogunate forces, breaking the front line fully in half. The already exhausted foe began to crumble in earnest now, further supplemented by the rising war-cries from inside Fujikomo itself.
Hirokazu charged at the front of the column, the samurai behind him all too eager to stare death in the face.
The battle itself lasted only another few moments, as the resolve of the shogunate forces had been snapped.
Afterwards, their dead were buried with respect, but those graves of the Oda Clan were marked with the swords that had served them in life - now in death as a reminder of how they had lived.
[Thank you for watching our presentation on the Battle of Fujikomo, as part of our On the Road to Kyoto video series. Please continue onto the next exhibit at your leisure, and enjoy the diorama in the next room.]
A multi-piece tapestry hangs in the first chamber, connected by string and hung from each wall of the room. It is etched into and painted over several slabs of bamboo wood, which were cured in a natural preservative many years ago. The painting echoes of the desperation of its namesake, but also of its heroes. It was no ordinary battle, where two equal or close-to-equal forces collided.
There are rifles and swords both present on the piece, as well as horses and cannons. It seemed to be something out of fiction, a fairy tale from the distant past. Yet the museum deals in fact.
There is a name attached to it, upon a slab of polished bronze, and below there is a historical description.
The Battle of Shiroyama, 24/9/1877
The Satsuma Rebellion saw the last of the traditional Japanese samurai being exterminated, not as a necessity or as a way of eliminating their warrior code entirely. The samurai social class had lost value entirely in a very rapidly-changing Japanese government and lifestyle. Many homeless warriors were left to their domains in the Satsuma region of Japan, the very last stronghold they could call home - and such would be the namesake of their rebellion.
Inspired by Saigō Takamori, who was already an influential leader in Japanese culture, the samurai instigated their rebellion in order to preserve their way of life - but more importantly, so that Japan itself would never forget the roots from which it sprang in the wake of its seemingly overnight westernization.
The Battle of Shiroyama was the ending of that rebellion, where Saigō Takamori led 500 samurai against an army of 30,000 Imperial troops. Though the samurai had some gunpowder weapons, the Imperial army had access to cannons and naval batteries that bombarded the rebel positions for hours before the initial attack even came. Reduced to only 40 warriors, the samurai had also lost Saigō in the battle, and when presented with an offer of surrender - they performed a suicidal charge, and thus the rebellion came to a defining close.
Thus it would be that the samurai were no more an integral part of the Japanese country, not in a military sense. But perhaps their pride, willpower, and influence can still be felt today as their battle-cries echo out for honor throughout the bloody history of their homeland.
Before long, the two agents were shown out of the car and force through a back door leading to the inside of the Himeji Center. Its feudal Japanese design towered over them in multiple stories, each one sending the last spiraling into the night sky. A second police car soared off behind them towards the hospital, where the injured ronin would be taken care of under special supervisions. For now, the 8 that were left had followed the vehicle carrying the agents closely with motorbikes stashed in an alleyway. They each dismounted, and took control of the prisoners so that the Oda policemen could return to their 'civic duties'.
The ronin surrounded the agents and herded them past the exquisite landmarks of Japanese culture, the rooms designed in a hemisphere of sorts so that visitors would wind up back where they started. No gift shop existed here, as the pride of the ancestors would be sullied by cheap trinkets. Perhaps that was part of the downfall of the museum itself, was that it could not keep up with the plastic future of the America it had been built on.
However, past the Fujikomo exhibit there was a solid wall that the ronin stopped at. The leader of the squad pressed his hand on a piece of it that lay hidden behind a scroll, a scroll detailing the heroic deeds of the samurai who fought 100-1 on that day. The wall sank into itself, and they entered an elevator large enough for all ten. There was only one button.
The penthouse.
The ride towards the top would be unrelentingly nerve-wracking for all involved.
The ronin had accomplished their mission, and agents of the enigmatic 'Containment' organization had been apprehended successfully. What this meant in the long run, only their sensei and Daimyo had any inkling. For now, they trusted his judgment without a second thought. One could only imagine what was running through the minds of the agents themselves.
When at last the door opened again, it spilled out into a large chamber modeled after ancient Japanese culture. A pristine time capsule from the Edo Period, when the dominating factor in the lifestyle of the people was to develop that culture, and nourish it, after the devastation of the Age of Warring Provinces.
A man stood on the balcony looking out over the city of Bludhaven proper. His arms were crossed behind him, and he held himself head-to-toe in a terrifying array of armor - not the least of which were the intimidating claws he wore on either hand. They were placed specifically the same distance apart as the eyes of a full-grown adult male.
He did not turn around.
"Leave us," he commanded, and the ronin departed the same way they came.
"Please, sit," he still did not face the agents. "I have prepared tea for you on this cold night."
He did not lie, as the steam from the beverage still simmered out of the pot, with cups lined up specifically for several people on the small table. Pillows were the only seating arrangement, but even then they were magnificently comfortable.
The drive wasn't half bad, except for the fact Isaac didn't have a shirt and Aff wouldn't stop smiling.
He wouldn't be much bothered by the lack of a shirt if it hadn't been for the weather, and the fact that it was one of only three uniform shirts he owned. It was Leighla's smile that really bothered him. He'd never seen her at work, not like this. He'd seen her smile and nod to law officials and owners of potential anomalies, as well as bad customers, but not in danger like this. He stayed serious, and honestly couldn't do much more than grit his teeth to ignore the throbbing pain and leaking blood coming from his leg.
Aff simply stared out the window with a customer service smile that she didn't lose all the way through the museum, or on the elevator. Her mind was somewhere in an alley with her camera, an object that she hoped Romulus would find before these guys went back for it. The ronin seemed more concerned with their human cargo, however. Which was good. Considering the information on that camera.
Leighla helped Isaac sit where indicated, carefully stretching his leg out to on side so he didn't have to try and bend it. She then took a seat herself. Same smile, a polite "thank you" for the tea. She assessed him, his armor, his movements, his commanding tone.
This was the top of the food chain. She met Isaac's eyes, and he got the message instantly.
Speak when spoken to. Keep information succinct as possible. Be polite but guarded.
The leader of the ronin responsible for bringing the agents here, on this occasion and under these circumstances, turned to face them with a sharpness to the air around him. Nothing creased or folded in his vicinity, leaving behind a wake of unparalleled peak performance. He took a bottle of rice wine out of a cupboard and set it in front of Isaac.
"For your troubles here tonight. The ronin who shot you is recovering from a similar wound," he motioned towards the shadows and two beautiful nurses came to address the bullet hole with the agent's consent.
"As for why I have brought you here, I have three requests,"
He paced around the room, his heavy presence dominating every footfall.
"There are several artifacts in the possession of your 'Containment' facility. When this museum was burned, many items were sold or moved to nearby housings for items of historical significance. Some of them were enchanted, and therefore thought cursed or paranornal. Those are some of the same that have fallen into your hands. I require them back,"
He did not pause.
"Among them is a special item, perhaps stored elsewhere in your libraries and archives. It is know by many names: Kuro, the Black Blade, Eater of Bones. But it belonged to my father, Tenshi Oda, during the Onin War. By right of blood, it belongs to me,"
He made no mention of how old he was or how a man who existed 600 years ago was his 'father'.
"And finally, for these trespasses upon Oda Clan honor, you are no longer welcome in Bludhaven. As long as you return the items to me, I will turn a blind eye to the operations already under way. But they must conclude by the end of the month, or I will move to terminate them myself."
It was the middle initial of the Foundation, sure, but Isaac had never really thought about it like that. There was more stress on the anomaly part in his training, defining what it was instead of describing how to hold them. That was Class-C stuff. Leighla stuff. Which meant he could enjoy the sake and the pretty girls who began working on his leg and let his companion do the talking.
Agent Aff stirred her tea thoughtfully, considering each of her options. Each of the demands. She was by no means ready for Class-D negotiations, but she was good at improvising, always had been. She understood that he had a right to the objects they had collected, likely from various unrelated sources that had held them since they were dispersed. L-666 was their only location in Bludhaven, as far as she was aware, but that didn't mean it was the only location with these artifacts. She took a steady breath.
"I can't make any guarantees my superiors will like these terms, but I do believe they'll respect them. I just have a few questions of my own."
Her eyes followed him no matter where he went. Her smile, the reason why they called her "Laughing Leighla" or just "L. Aff", remained intact.
"First, I'm going to need a list of the objects taken, and their properties rather than their names, as these were mostly unknown at the time of collection." She stirred her tea. "Especially the blade, although if it was of as much importance as you say, it might be in a facility outside of my control. In which case, I would need permission to speak with one of my superiors to find its location."
The last question pertained most to herself. "Lastly, the facility here holds a good amount of peculiar anomalies. It is under my charge, so I need to know. By a cease of activities, do you mean that we would need to relocate entirely, or simply cease collection of objects within the city limits?"
An uneasy quiet terminated any sense of compassion or familiarity. The Daimyo of Bludhaven rolled the knuckles on his left hand. Sirens somewhere down below, and the nurses kept to their work. The rice wine would numb most of the pain as they cut into Isaac slightly, as to let the wound breath, and to position the medical clamps around the foreign object.
If the constant smile did anything to his disposition, the Daimyo made no gesture or psychological hint of it. He merely looked out towards the moonlight, pondering his next motive. Should he deny the agency completely, there would perhaps be staggering ramifications. But there always remained the possibility of them interfering with his plans time and again due to their policies of 'anomaly-collecting'. This situation was proof enough of that already.
The hollow clatter of the bullet hitting the collection tray. The silence fell apart.
"A golden box containing the ten rings of Eiichiro Oda; these float in midair. The aforementioned Black Blade of Tenshi Oda; said to have eaten anything it cut. The skull of Masako Oda; rumored to speak. A jade statue of one of the celestial serpents; within lies a fang of one of the creatures. The bow of Saori Oda; actively rejects arrows and bowstrings. The spear of Kazuya Oda; said to have inherited the personality traits of its previous owner. And a pair of sai that belonged to Saori as well; they are not welded together, but refuse to be separated,"
There were all of great importance to the Daimyo, as he spent little time mulling between the details. He had the list already in mind, each one rolling out as if he memorized exactly what they were down to the last grain in the steel.
"As for the fate of your facility... return to me what has been lost over all this time and we shall see,"
He bowed his head slightly.
"I trust that I do not need to send my ronin to ensure the completion of this task?"
Aff took mental inventory as he went along. She'd been hired relatively recently, but several of the items on the list did seem familiar, albeit not by name. Despite his lack of reaction, she didn't stop smiling.
"The rings and the skull - those are definitely here. The weapons were probably transferred to a higher-class location, including your blade. I will need some time to make sure they all are gathered, but no. I don't believe your ronin will be needed."
Isaac, who'd only heard half the conversation due to the wine and the improvised surgery, now spoke up.
"We will need you to make sure there's an explanation for it, it'll make the whole process faster." He wiped some sake off his mouth. "Funny thing, even magic's explainable. It's the weird stuff we handle. So if it was picked up and kept, they'd be pretty weird."
Aff didn't add, but she didn't stop him, either. What he was saying was true, albeit a little under the influence. She turned her eyes from the young man to her tea, and back to the armored individual. She needed to see his reactions to those terms before continuing.
"And if they weren't kept?" the Daimyo demanded harshly.
"Those items were each heirlooms of my clan. They are all magic in origin, tied to the honor of the Oda name through blood rituals and war. The skull? That is my grandmother," he stopped for a moment. The atmosphere in the room became heavier, as if weights were suddenly put on everyone's chests.
He turned back towards the perpetually-smiling agent. He began to realize that he had unintentionally stepped on a landmine of bureaucratic red tape, each question he seemed to receive only half-truths. He kept his arms crossed behind him.
"I can assure you that they are nothing like the monsters you keep buried under the world. Those things that can destroy all of us in mere moments if unleashed. These are items of magical origin, creations from before my time. What other questions do you have?" he added coldly, the sheer mental aftershock of how much he potentially knew still causing residual hemorrhages in the conversation.
The nurses finished stitching Isaac's wound shut and disappeared again through the paper door, and then nothing.
Leighla's smile changed. Whether it became more serious, or forced, or simply affected by the metaphorical weight increase in the room, was difficult to tell. It was definitely different though, as a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach told her that the honest answer to his question would be a bad idea to mention. And as she couldn't help but wonder how much information he actually knew, whether this was a bluff, and whether he knew that they weren't just an organization of monsters.
Take a deep breath, pretend you're Vanhanen or Starek. This isn't a hostage situation yet, just a chat.
"Before we continue, let me propose a situation to you."
She adjusted her position so that her hands were on her lap. A certain coldness was visible on her face. In her smile. Customer service was gone, replaced by ACF head of security at sides 666, 246, and 504. No cruelty, no malice. But not friendly, either.
"Let's say someone finds a box of kittens on the side of the road. Nothing written on it, not even 'free' or 'take one'. Now, let's say this person sees one of the kittens wandering into the street. Kitten gets hit by a car before the person - we'll call him Hal" here Isaac had to stifle a snicker, for apparently no reason " - before Hal can stop the situation. Now when Hal looks back into the box at the remaining kittens, he notices something growing from the center of the box. It looks like the development of a fetal kitten, which takes, let's say, about a full minute, to grow completely into the kitten he'd just seen hit by a truck."
Keep calm, Leighla.
"Now Hal goes home and takes the whole box of kittens with him, posting the whole situation on social media. People see it, some of them laugh it off. We see it, our tech department that is. And then someone else sees it. Let's call them Mr. Evil and say they're looking for immortality. Mr. Evil wants to learn how the kittens respawn. He doesn't care about the kittens, he doesn't care what he has to do to the kittens to get the information. He legally buys said kittens and takes them back to his own hideout. Now instead of him buying them, Containment comes in, under some guise. Original owners, Humane Society, take your pick. Obtains the kittens from Hal - who does technically own them, although there's no paperwork saying so - and takes them back to a facility where they will be designated with a three-digit number, contained, and studied, but also fed, cared for, bathed, even played with. Safe."
She picked her nearly-empty teacup up again. "Replace the kittens with a matter-eating sword. A lamp that doesn't turn off. Moss that inexplicably lives in a symbiotic relationship with human hair. Things that can be used the wrong way but if left alone are almost harmless. We're not a Foundation of monsters, sir. We're protectors."
Here's where it gets harder.
"You said before that you were curious for my next question, well, then. Here it is. You mention their properties are bound to your family through blood and through war. Will this be the intended purpose of them, once you reclaim them, or will they be left in your collection like the artifacts downstairs?"
The Daimyo said nothing, for a solid minute or so. He simply hardened his glare down at the smiling agent, as she continued to drink his tea from his cups.
"You fear for the safety of the objects?" he quietly stated, the heated words cascading forth like hot coals on the psyche of the listening parties. "What gives you the right to take them away? In a way, you have admitted to stealing these things from me. You keep them away, enticing me with the 'possibility' of having them. Like an oaf who hoards his neighbor's tools, hardware he himself did not pay for or bleed over,"
He did not relent in the pressure building in the room. The agents had given him a tithe of red tape, and he produced the napalm.
"By what legal compensation do you own those items? They were taken out of this museum and auctioned by rival gangs during the fire in the 1980s. They were stolen, and you stole them again. You're not even thieves. If you must know, there are exhibits downstairs that have been closed indefinitely due to the absence of these items. They were once crown jewels of my Clan, my family,"
He laughed, once; a cold, calculating laugh. Something brutal had simmered up to the surface. Murderous, even. For a splint second it seemed as though he had the intent of keeping them here in pieces.
"Look at me, agent. Honestly - take a good, long, look," he removed his mask, and helmet. They were fresh from the battlefield in the lower quarters, with bullet marks ricocheting off at odd angels, knife marks scarring the eye pockets.
Beneath the steel hung the face of a man who had been through not only the ancient wars of his age, but also the gunpowder innovation of the 1870s, the disastrous Battle of Shiroyama, and two World Wars, all while wearing plate armor and fighting with a blade. He had never once changed his ways, merely adapted them to the outside world. And he bled for it.
"I am not a peaceful man. You should know the truth, in your heart, by now. Those artifacts were not meant to stay in a vault. They were meant to be treasured, if not here then in my home of Echizen in Japan. There, they would be admired by thousands each and every day. These scars are evidence of my dedication to keeping my Clan intact, of keeping my way of life from fading into nothing,"
He replaced his gear onto his head, giving a stalwart sigh.
"I should wonder if you really know what they want, given your limited knowledge of them. I have seen them made, and used, tempered and cared after, for over 400 years. What is your experience with them compared to something like that?"
What do I have? My gun's gone. There's a window, but now way we can get past him and those hands with me in this condition. Hand-to-hand would be suicide. Teapot and teacups? No, bad idea right there. Broken glass could make a good weapon, though...
The tension in the room set Isaac's mind spinning worse than the wine. He was a Class-B, he didn't have the training for this kind of thing. Leighla was good but she was only a Class-C, negotiation would be out of her power. He struggled with his own internal debates, his face tense, his arms folded, but he didn't do anything. He had orders not to fight, after all. Orders that he could only disobey if his superior officer was in immediate and mortal danger.
Aff's smile did fade, finally, but it wasn't replaced by anything that could be considered malicious in the slightest. Thoughtful was perhaps the best word for it. She was trying to decipher his moods, his movements. They were pretty straightforward. And his eyes... he'd seen lifetimes more than other people.
Part of those eyes was something she'd seen in Castor's eyes: exhaustion, patience, honor.
Part of them was the venomous glares she'd seen in AFC-404: cold anger, a degree of bloodthirst, a man who didn't know when, or perhaps how, to stop fighting.
She knew when she was outmatched. And she did know that it was within her power to at the very least relay the message to higher-class personnel. Her smile returned, but was now much more obviously strained.
"My experience?" She stifled one of her contagious laughs, and for a moment, her smile was genuine. Then it returned to its forced state. "My experience might be limited compared to yours, sir, but it's been more than most people I've met outside the Foundation."
She finished her tea as she continued, "It's standard procedure to simply ensure that the objects being released will not be used against humanity." Aff returned the cup to the table, before moving to stand. Not leave, simply to return to her feet. Cotta's eyes lifted up to her, but he didn't move to follow. He was starting to feel the sensation of pain in his leg again.
"Well, from what you've told me, your artifacts' properties are no longer anomalous, and they will be kept in safe storage. So, as long as they will be kept in containment for view and not used as weapons, there will be no trouble in having the objects returned to your ownership."
While this conversation was going, a dark-skinned man with long hair and a somewhat unkempt three-piece suit stood outside the museum with a phone to his ear.
"You sure this is the place?"
"Confirmed. Keep in mind this isn't a terrorist group, it's a gang, and -"
"Yeah, yeah, I know. I've done enough shady deals to know how to handle a criminal warlord. That's why I'm here and not the Raven, right?"
Silence for a moment, then a release of breath at the other end of the line. "Just be careful. Aff and Cotta are to be considered hostages until proven otherwise."
"Understood."
The phone clicked, and Remus put a stick of gum in his mouth. Eating helped calm his nerves, and gum was an effective substitute for food. His habits earned him the name "the Vulture" among Foundation staff, not a flattering nickname but not the worst. He was armed with a single standard-issue pistol in a belt holster under the suit's outer coat, and one instance of ACF-707 (in appearance, a mechanical butterfly of sorts) in case he needed to call for backup. Other than that, he just had his street smarts and a small degree of knowledge of the gang to keep him alive inside those doors. If unhindered, he planned to walk around for a while, look at what exhibits were open while at the same time looking for any trace of the two kidnapped agents.
The Daimyo nodded once, returning to pacing - though he merely headed straight towards the balcony and stayed there. The tension in the room dissolved, as his animosity did. There came a sudden calmness to the man, the foundation of his world returning at long last. He had thought the artifacts lost forever, as well as the memories held within. He had grown old, and human brains can scarcely hold information for a hundred years without losing some details, let alone over four-hundred years. His immortality had affected his 'life' so to speak, but his mind still replaced ancient history with modern incarnations from time to time.
His grandmother? He could hardly recall her face.
"Thank you," he remarked quietly. The smiling agent had taken to her feet, possibly to just assert her own points while in the presence of the Daimyo, but the purpose behind her words were well understood.
"I have been so caught up in trying to make this meeting happen, I have forgotten to state my name,"
Tadakatsu had watched the man walk around the exhibits, perhaps not even cognisant of his own presence there. The imposing warrior of the Oda Clan made himself known once Remus came to the video center about the Battle of Fujikomo. The screens playing the informative summary of the skirmish were long ago shut off, but the tiles on the wall recanting the siege were still hung with exceptional care on the walls.
"Fujikomo, the heroic last stand of Hirokazu-sensei and his original band of samurai," he said, his arms crossed as he entered the room. "They were outnumbered 100-1, but held out long enough for reinforcements to smash the enemy line and send them running. It's almost like a fairy tale now, but it happened,"
He bowed as he introduced himself. "I am Tadakatsu Oda, a pleasure,"
He would wait for Remus to do the same, before taking it upon himself to finish the story.
"It was Fujikomo that gave Hirokazu-sensei purpose, made his eyes see clearer. It was his moment of pride, where his allies were as brothers. And then, they died. One by one, buried with their blades. Never going to the grave with shame, as was their way in those days. But Hirokazu-sensei kept on living. It was Shiroyama - the battle you saw imposed on the walls of the entryway - that broke his spirit. His faith in the country he fought and bled for never came back. The samurai were gone in just a few signatures of legislation. Hundreds of years of tradition, paved away under concrete and railroad tracks. I'm sure you're looking for your friends," he pointed up.
"Hirokazu-sensei is keeping them safe. The male had a bullet wound, completely unintentional. We did well to predict the presence of rival gangs, and then gunfire became crossed. A mess, but he is alive and tended to."
Remus listened quietly to the history lesson, taking the time to analyze the man, the building, the important points in the story. An immortal. Why am I not surprised.
"Agent Starek, good to meet you." He returned the man's bow, and continued his investigation as the tale came to an end. Remus' eyes followed the man's finger as it pointed up, to the higher levels of the building. Of course they were there. The way Oda put it, though, implied that they'd been brought in for a simple chat, not a hostage situation. He wondered how true that was.
Rival gangs, huh? That explains the other bodies. Didn't get a chance to get a closer look on the way over here. Hard to tell if he's lying about the unintentional crossfire, though. From what I was briefed on there was a grenade launcher involved somewhere.
"Can you take me to them?"
"I suppose you'll want ours first." He didn't finish his sentence about his name. The Class-C agent took that as an indicator that he wanted the trust to be mutual. "I'm Agent Leighla Aff. This is Isaac Cotta."
Isaac opened his mouth to object, but Aff met his eyes before he could. His mouth closed, and instead of speaking, he finished the bottle of sake. Leighla knew what she was doing, hopefully. She'd probably been in plenty of situations like this before, right? Besides, the tension in the room had simmered down. That was probably a good sign. Right?
"And... you're welcome." Leighla kept her eyes on the Daimyo, her smile changed once more to something... kind? Thoughtful? Isaac's mind couldn't make it out as well as he'd have liked. "I know how important family can be. We had no intention of erasing your heritage when the artifacts were contained, only of doing what we thought was our duty. As this was a mistake, we intend to amend it. Hopefully, when this place is up and running again, I'll be able to drop in and learn a little more about who you are, sir."
Tadakatsu bowed his head deeply, knowing how dangerous this night had been for everyone involved.
"Of course," he showed Remus towards the same wall with the elevator within it, and upturned the scroll in order to press down on a hidden switch. It took awhile, but the doors opened into a wide brightly-lit compartment. Each side facing the center glowed with further evidence of this being a gang warehouse underneath the guise of a museum.
Emergency firearms were kept stocked, cleaned, and loaded inside glass chambers waiting to be smashed open in the event of an invasive threat. Fire extinguishers as well dotted the elevator room, a lesson learned the hard way back during the period of American history when Japanese internment camps were the norm and rioters often picketed the heritage site.
Tadakatsu allowed Remus inside first, and pressed the only button on the pad - the penthouse.
"There was another agent. He had a different kind of fire in his eyes, a schemer. Is he alright?" the ronin asked as they began their ride up.
The Daimyo removed his helmet again, laying it on a featureless mannequin that doubled as a training dummy. He listened intently to their names, their purpose, and his sharp eyes kept straight ahead. Analyzing them without looking, listening to the breaths they took, the heartbeats in their throats. They were telling the truth, as far as he could tell, so he met their eyes again with a clean and genuine gaze.
"I am Hirokazu Oda, cousin to the great Nobunaga Oda. The fact that you have mentioned the importance of family in your lives has made the difference here, as you have stepped past your boundaries as mere fingertips on an outstretched arm. For that, I thank you,"
He bowed his head slightly. As soon as he looked up again, the elevator dinged open and Tadakatsu stepped forward, showing the third agent inside.
"Welcome to Himeji," Hirokazu said sternly. "Perhaps some tea for your troubles tonight?" he gestured towards the table with the still-warm beverage ready to be poured.
Remus suppressed his naturally smug facial expression, which had slipped a little as the wall opened. He'd known since he first heard from Uptid that this wasn't your average museum, but evidence always made his professional attitude slip just a little. The fact that they were going to the top floor meant that they were probably going to see the head of the Oda Clan - the Daimyo, if Remus remembered correctly. Man, did he miss street life sometimes.
But on the other hand, he did like the structure of the Foundation's work, as well as the fact that they were basically untouchable by cops. The subject of the work was interesting, too. The unknown, the mysterious. Vanhanen might've been in it to find what was interesting. Starek liked mysteries, and he also liked the degree of power his position gave him. Probably why the two of them were paired up.
Speaking of Romulus, that was the topic that came up on the ride. Remus nodded to the Oda enforcer. "He's fine, yeah. Beating himself up a little over something that he couldn't control, but the higher-ups gave hims something to focus on. I'm sure he'd rather be here himself, though."
The elevator opened onto the top floor, and Remus immediately took in the situation. The injured Cotta was on the ground with an empty bottle of alcohol - probably sake, based on the Japanese traditions the Clan was said to have - while Leighla was in the process of bowing to the armored, scar-faced man. If Remus had to guess, that was the legendary Hirokazu Oda himself. None of the rumors he'd heard, both on the street and from some Foundation paperwork, seemed like overstatements about this guy. As Leighla stood back up and turned toward him, he stepped off the elevator and copied her respectful bow. No need to overstep boundaries. Then he looked at the tea, and his agents.
"No, thank you." None of the gangster, all of the agent. Leighla was still smiling, but she had been expecting Vanhanen, not Starek. She hoped that he was okay. She'd just assumed that he was. She knew she probably should have made absolutely sure, but there hadn't been time. She hid the worry for now. Those would be questions for Starek on the ride back.
"I'm just here for my agents," Remus continued, gesturing toward the two. "And to discuss your reasons for taking them in the first place, of course."
He noticed Leighla open her mouth as if to speak up, then close it again. She knew the answer, but she saw in his face that he wanted the truth from the source, not from the Class-C the topic had been discussed with. Isaac shifted; he didn't want to go through the whole process of room-wide tension. Aff... well, Aff was Aff. She could deal with it, or not, explain or wait. She'd have to see how this played out.
Tadakatsu immediately took to Hirokazu's side, a retainer from Tokyo who found himself in Echizen - down on his luck. It had been the Oda Clan that found him in the streets, homeless and alone. He owed them his life, and Hirokazu his blade. For a ronin, the two were indistinguishable, save the latter also rebuilt Tadakatsu's shattered honor. Nothing could repay that debt.
The Daimyo focused instead on Remus, the fourth agent the Oda Clan would encounter tonight though the third to his actual physical knowledge of attaching a face to a person. He crossed his arms behind his back, the full weight of his sharp gaze studying the man in front of him. The scarred visage did nothing to hide the nobility of the immortal samurai.
"And you may take them. They were good guests to have, and I regret the circumstances that brought them - as well as you - here,"
The two nurses from before came to clear the table, and Hirokazu gestured to Cotta. Tadakatsu bowed and went over to offer a hand in order to help the injured man to his feet and - if necessary - to a waiting vehicle outside for transport.
"I meant no harm. Tadakatsu and his ronin were on orders to keep on watch for roving bands of rival gangers in the streets. As evidenced by what your reports told you, they found such a battle. From the very beginning, I had been cursed with an unfortunate lack of information. You see, the only sources until tonight were those from whom you procured the items I sought. It painted a very disjointed picture, one that I did not trust. But on the other side I found living, breathing people. Not a den of thieves as I had once suspected. Again, you have my apologies."
He lowered his head again, this time coming to a perfect ninety-degree angle at the waist. He would not rise again until Remus would speak.
The man before the Daimyo stood tall, with black hair pulled in a loose ponytail and dark, suspicious eyes. His jaw barely moved as he chewed the gum that was aiding his thoughtful reading of the situation. His suit and his stance were those of an agent; however, a man like Hirokazu might be able to see the gangster and drug-dealer that still lurked somewhere under the man the Foundation had made. A man from a broken family, a man with little honor, turned into a loyal member of the Foundation. He and Vanhanen, men not unlike Tadakatsu.
At the same time, Starek was reading the scars, or trying to, at least. If anything, he could tell right away this wasn't the average crime lord. This was a nobleman, a man who cared less about his own power than about his honor. Just like the rumors and the briefing had said. Just like Aff had read. He watched Cotta accept the enforcer's hand to get to his feet, favoring his bad leg as Leighla went to offer her help in supporting him. Remus' eyes returned to Hirokazu as he finished explaining his actions and followed with an apology. The sincerity was absolute, no less than was to be expected from a man of honor. Starek noded then returned the bow, mimicking the Oda leader's stance and tone.
"And you have our apologies for anything that may have caused your suspicions. The Foundation is very secretive, I'm sure Aff explained why already. Misunderstandings can only be expected." Like Hirokazu, he would wait for the other man to speak before standing back up.
With his guest's motives put into cohesive format, Hirokazu took a straightened position once more.
"Thank you for understanding. I wish you a safe night." he said, bidding the agents farewell as Tadakatsu guided them into the elevator and out of the museum.
He would turn back around, disrobing from his ceremonial armor, and his nurses would come to his side again. The wound digging into his abdomen had burned deeply, a gash caused by rogue shrapnel from a car bomb in a battle before the ronin returned with the agents in tow. Blood instantly dripped and sloughed in coagulated clumps to the floor as Hirokazu stood there, grunting once or twice as the nurses tended to the deep aberration in his flesh.
Tadakatsu knew the wounds of his sensei, but said nothing as he guided the agents out of the exhibits and towards a police car. It was on of the ones from earlier, with the Oda-allied officers waiting for their charge. He and the officers would only help Cotta inside if this would truly be the agents' desired mode of transportation.
"Are you in need of the protection of the Clan? The gangers we fought tonight were some of many, and with the loss of some of their own they will be out for blood."
After farewells were made, they were escorted back outside. On the ride down, Leighla briefly explained the situation concerning the objects in ACF custody, and he'd agreed that they'd return anything from Himeji as soon as was possible.
Outside, Cotta vaguely recognized the cops who had brought them here, but the alcohol was getting to his head. He'd be sleeping like a baby tonight, that was for sure. Isaac saw Remus shake his head and point toward a black car several yards back, a standard-issue Class-D vehicle. Bulletproof, practically missile proof, it was the safest way back across the city to L-666, where the medical staff would want to see Cotta's leg. It might just be the alcohol, but it felt fine now.
"Thanks, but we'll be alright. Thank you for taking care of my agents, Tadakatsu. Give the Daimyo my thanks, too. We'll try to get the Oda property returned as soon as location and paperwork allow."
"Of course, agent," Tadakatsu bowed, and the police officers followed his lead. They rose given a second or two of reverence.
"Bludhaven is a dangerous place; I wish you safe passage to wherever you go within its boundaries."
Once the goodbyes were had, and the respective vehicles gone their separate ways, the Heritage Center fell silent again. Tadakatsu returned inside flanked by a pair of ronin. The night had still been quiet as far as rival gang lords were concerned. The unmarked van from earlier had only been a single part in what could be considered a larger scheme, perhaps a distraction for something. Tadakatsu had his suspicions, but they were confirmed once Hirokazu appeared in the doorway in full battle gear once more, his wounds dressed and seeping through the bandages only somewhat.
"Tadakatsu, the Dingo has been spotted, near the chemical plant. I'm leaving you in charge," he said sternly, to which his ronin all bowed in unison.
"Safe travels, sensei."
"Hn." Hirokazu grunted, signalling for a dozen ronin to follow him into battle.
"He was deranged and volatile, a dangerous combination with in any situation. Throw in these industrial chemical concoctions and now the setting becomes an unpredictable as well. I don't have a name, but the mob calls me Vex."
Vex strutted against the steel scaffolding and leapt onto the adjacent one that had been the epicenter of the chaotic standoff. His boots making an astonishingly muffled clank as he landed on the grate, his rifle still safely secured within his palms.
"This could have gone better. He shouldn't have jumped."
The Australian Mongrel letting out a disappointed sigh while he leaned over the safety rail and looked deep within the chemicals boiling in the toxic vats beneath them. They couldn't find the jumper's body even if they wanted to. Bludhaven was notorious for it's vast maze-like sewage system due to the high traffic of the bay. Just like his sanity, it was gone.
"So it goes."
"Eh well."
Ryth walked forward, hoisting herself on the bars of the scaffolding until she'd managed to climb up to the level as the man who'd introduced himself as Vex was. "Pleasure meeting you, Vex. You can call me Ryth," Yeah, there was no way she was going to give her name to a random stranger, and one who just let a dangerous criminal escape.
Well, it wasn't really his fault though. Plus, Ryth leaned forward from the railing and stared down into the boiling concoction of chemicals. What were the chances the man was even alive?
"The fact that he jumped solidifies your point, wouldn't you agree though, Vex?" She asked "The man was deranged. In any case, dealing with people isn't exactly my specialty you see?" Ryth showed the man her Doom PDA, "I'm from Doom Corp, you might or might not have heard about us, but we deal with paranormal activities that emerge across the globe. The one reason that I came down to investigate this is that the murders looked unexplained enough, given the rumors around the residence. I suppose you are a mercenary, huh?"
Log in to comment