Thicker than Water

Oakland- The wraiths we become when the open late signs burn out become the cracks in mirrors, and the shadows that bleed into the streets.

 Life is a fleeting measure. in the heat of combat, it can be marked by the passing seconds

The  Kanashii had savored the pleasures of life, found none as intoxicating as the taste of blood escaping from his lips. In the center of their training grounds, there stood a meticulously crafted mini bonsai garden, adorned with a stone and a delicate rake. Beside it, a changing of the guard took place as an aging boss tightly clasped a stump where his hand once resided, a painful reminder of the consequences of disrespecting a messenger. 

The focused rage concealed behind the chilling mask of a Devil, mercifully deemed that fate should intervene. To settle the debt, a trial by combat was the only fitting recourse. However, fortune did not favor the bold.

There was disarming smile hidden behind a mask, expressed gratitude for the years of diligent service. Yet, with a swift motion, she ran a crimson blade through a pristine white cloth, symbolizing the severing of their working relationship. The cloth greedily absorbed the blood that stained the man's lips.

"You failed to comprehend the depths of the hell that awaits us," the man uttered as his mind echoed empty threats. he sought to save face in his final moments.

"Hell keeps a guest list, and your blood will be the first to paint the red carpets,".

As the condemned offered up a silent prayer, a thousand tears cascaded with a blend of joy and sorrow. Grandchildren yet to be held, spoils yet to be shared.

“the dragon has found herself a loyal companion. Or should I say a stray that finds comfort in eating scraps at the master's table?”

 the woman concealed behind her mask displayed no hint of offense, except for the everlasting grip on her blade's hilt.

"I have heard the whispers of the little girl that was reborn from the fire, but you have been assigned to vanquish the old guard," the aging boss declared with undeniable conviction. In Shogi, one does not simply eliminate pawns to sway the tide of battle in their favor; rather, they manipulate the pieces in a way that weakens their adversaries and strengthens their position.

 In a digital age, rivers of red within a blue state summoned the burdensome weight of legal fees.  Each drop of blood spilled left a discernible trail for both the authorities and vengeful foes to follow. Calculatingly, the swordsman contemplated how much vitality could be extracted from this man until he no longer served a purpose.

Would he display gratitude if she spared his life, or would her hesitation provide him with a chance to gather enemies? Amidst this contemplation, a distinct ringing resonated from the man's pocket, compelling the Bushi to motion for him to answer, utilizing his one remaining functional hand.

"Do you still believe that you are fighting for a just cause, or any cause at all?" Every time she had come in contact with the men who had burned down her home for interfering with the flow of commerce, she was told to keep her blade. The lingering whispers that she now served greedy spirits.

The man was undoubtedly convinced that the news delivered through the other end of the line would not only seal his peril but also plunge countless others into a sinister fate. Perhaps people expect their guardian angels to descend from the heavens draped in golden sashes and donned with radiant white wings, but in reality, they may receive specters off their meds.

Within an instant, three canisters erupted, filling the room with a fiery blaze and blinding flashes. The sound of a single gunshot pierced the chaos, the shogun's servant pushed and dropped the weapon, and a stray bullet attracted the attention of the gun trace task force. Instead of firearms, they swiftly armed themselves with  daggers, slumbering at the ready

As a night owl, it was my pursuit that led me to the underworld haunts where married men sought solace. Behind closed doors, numbers spun relentlessly, resulting either in ruin or fortune for those involved.

Why did I immerse myself in this treacherous world? What transgressions had they committed against me? Simply put, they had wronged their workers by withholding their much-deserved paychecks. Although small-time criminals pocketed thousands here and there, the true culprits were the high-ranking bosses who randomly retained substantial sums.

However, that was merely a convenient lie I convinced myself of. The real reason for my involvement rested in her intoxicating scent, forever engraved in my dreams, turning them into captivating nightmares.

Informants in the underground market brought to my attention a woman, concealed behind a devilish mask, armed with a voracious thirst for vengeance. She wreaked havoc and forcefully collected old debts, leaving a trail of chaos and destruction in her wake. it became clear that the flames from her past engulfed her very being, hiding as smoldering embers deep within her heart. Now, however, I found myself at the receiving end of this wrathful spirit.

With the settling of the smoke, the Bushi unleashed a rapid succession of slashes, launching an all-out assault.

The figure allowed no respite, relentlessly pushing me to the edge as my gauntlets absorbed the full force of their fury. Between the tanto and my ribs, my forearms bore the brunt of the attacks, serving as tangible proof of the kill to all inferior ranks. I yearned to once again find myself beneath her.

The engagement was drowning us in a tumultuous sea of malevolence and sinister intent. The masks we wore kept us honest, if only we could allow ourselves to be truly vulnerable and unfettered when the cloaks were shed.

The perspiration from the conflict seeped into my gloves, impairing my grip. It was in this moment of vulnerability that the devilish woman effortlessly cast me out of the window, yet not without me clutching on a black box, which inadvertently became my sole memento from this heated encounter. Maybe some bruises or two, it wouldn't be the first time.

Somewhere amidst the shattered glass and cool night air, it should have marked the end of it all.

Broken bones and blood vessels. I tried my luck at the table again.

No different than the desperate men who bet on blacks at the illegal casinos I raided twice this week. Too bad no one kissed me for luck tonight.

 The vapor from the canister sizzled as the prongs attached to a security drone.  the metal angel took me towards Heaven. I stayed well above six feet this time.  Skills are only a small chunk of the equation. Grit and luck took up the other seventy percent of this game. 

 The chemicals left my system, the one that tells the lizard brain it's time to fight or make some babies.

 I checked my body for lacerations and sprains.  When normal people don’t mind their business they get a black eye and a few drops of people on their lips.  When you disrupt the underground economy, you're lucky if the funeral home will  have an open casket. 

 I hooked the memory brick in the drone.   The endless amounts of white numbers overloaded my eyes like a surfer outside of the eye of the storm. 

 I unearthed the remnants of a criminal syndicate – or perhaps, more aptly described as an emaciated junkyard dog, long overdue for a trip to the farm. I gleaned what snippets of information I could from their phone while an entourage of tires left blackened breadcrumbs away from their lofty penthouse sanctuary. My cloak billowed behind me like the wings of a raven as the paraglider carried me to safety on the shore.

Within my sight were imposing firearms held by frigid fingers itching to unleash hellfire. Boats strained against the surging tide, obscuring faint echoes along the docks. In the stillness, I stalked forward, intent on acquiring funds to reimburse cheated workers. 

Resorting to non-lethal tactics was my modus operandi – I bore no badge nor license to deal death. Despite its glaring imperfections, they deserved their day in court; someone out there would rather visit them in an iron cell wearing at orange jumpsuit l than pick a black suit for their wake.

Those clever enough to snatch plea bargains would be forever burdened by paranoia, and that brand of justice sat well with me. The brutes secreted semi-automatics beneath their coats as I ignited shock sticks and dove into the fray. A one-man crusade against terror was folly – every move within this grim world left ripples in its wake; so rather than tiptoeing cautiously down that path, I opted to conjure a tempestuous monsoon.

Flash-pods erupted into searing flames and plumes of ash as I shattered windowpanes and advanced from both flanks. The Almighty knew when to deal me a few favors – gunfire drew hoards of badges like moths to lamplight. Blades and bludgeons could be easily submerged in the murky depths.

The impact of my baton cracked against an enforcer's ankle and ribs, calculated fractures without pulverizing the bone; crime bosses cared little for covering medical expenses. I resolved to strike another stash house soon enough, ensuring these goons received their due sick pay. Social safety nets came in all shapes and sizes, even from the shadows of the underworld.

The inky waves merged with the white froth as the tide lapped over the boat's keel. I stumbled upon the motherlode of cold, hard cash – enough loot to give a few souls   a fresh start.

The Yamabushi  eagerly pried open the crate, revealing a cache to start a war, or finish one.. The hesitation I sensed on her stature was of an echo chamber; it reflected memories of who she once was and who she had become – just another errand girl for the elusive master of the Kanashii.

They had her in the same deadly grip as those she had been sent to remove off the board. Carefully sealed inside a dozen syringes, swirled a venomous green liquid that hinted at our latest entry into the big leagues.

 "These weapons are going to the highest bidder, they'll keep heavy boots on necks.” I said.

Guided by years of pain etched into her youthful body – scars that whispered secrets and tears that cried out for comfort – she vowed to repay others in kind for her suffering. I may not have had it in me to save a tortured soul like hers any more than protecting an entire city, but it always stood as the raison d'être behind my mask.

. The cracks in her mask concealed not so much rage as tightly coiled seeds yearning for release. The fire pierced the blackness of the rising tides.  Her fingers wrapped themselves firmly around the hilt as the weapon slid from its scabbard, thirsty for blood. The mentor who had unleashed her played off this desire.

“You may have placed your chips on black,” she warned, “but I would advise you to exit before everything turns red.” The yamabushi closed in, their lethal blades slicing through the air as they encroached upon my position, each movement as swift and precise as a tiger on the prowl.

In this cruel world of bone-snapping violence and spilled blood, possessing a black belt in martial arts amounts to little more than faded fabric on a belt loop.

One crushing blow would demote the skilled to mere blue belts while the second blow sends them reeling into a humbled world of stars and  dust.

A whirlwind of searing embers danced alongside choking ash plumes and suffocating vapors, creating a cacophony of yellow and grey capped by bolts of fierce electric charge. By design, the dart struck their exposed skin causing their weapons to fall at once, as jolts surged through their veins, sinking its teeth like a ravenous serpent.

Undeterred by the danger, the remaining members of the clan, unwilling to be labeled as cowards, reached for their pistols and aimed at me. The metallic clang of shells hitting the ground and the acrid scent of gunpowder filled the air, as each shot had the potential to send me spiraling over the edge. If the dice landed wrong, I would meet a early grave. 

There would be no midnight vigils or even a humble corner to lay a flower in remembrance. I would exist solely as a memory.  Every winning streak eventually turns cold when you continue to challenge the devil himself. 

They say it's better to the devil you knew, well the devil I loved whipped her sword toward the exposed parts of my protective suit.

The nightstick in my hand chipped the blade once against the wrath of a wraith. The tight corners between the shipping units eroded her chances of getting a clean swipe at my neck.

We’ve made each other bleed in the past in throes of passion, as twisted as it seemed, I see very little difference now. A sloppy X-block of my batons caught her blood before it could loop back for a kill shot. I rushed the assassin before she could catch a second wind. I understood the importance of the vials. The enhanced abilities would create a force multiplier for a small army overnight.

“I know you seek justice, but your blades are used to saw through the scales.”

The title of being the dragon's disciple had cost the Kanashii,  freedom in her mind and pieces of her soul. The blade was broken and each time it was refoged it would demand tribute in the form of red liquid.

But the blood that could be spilled was always selective and always had to wait.   “They weaponized your anguish and made the underworld into an anvil.”  The words snapped cold. The other men loaded what weapons they could below and into smaller boats.  The confusion would soon turn into insubordination. 

The depths below the shipping yard matched the debt she owed to the Black Dragons, to her Shogun.  The lids under my eyes were like cement blocks, ready to drag me into a long, dark sleep. 

“Are these even the men who took your family away from you?” 

I wanted to touch the person behind the mask, I wanted the years and the pain between us to melt away like the fog.  She carried a snowy mountain on her back and I couldn’t remove it from her.  “You helped me rise from the fire, like a soothing aloe.” She said.

“Wherever these weapons go, another child would reach the same fate.”

  I could have offered my hand, I wanted to trace the burn lines on her body. She could have embraced it or hacked it clean at the bone. But I knew her better than that. This was her cross to bear and I didn’t feel like banging in the nails.

She blew a kiss and then tossed a small device, its explosion unveiling the hidden cracks within her reflection on the damp floor. Her true intentions were slowly becoming clear in the darkness. As a security drone hummed past us, there was a brief pause, like the suspension of secrets just before being whispered.

Then, two more explosive devices disrupted the air around us, hurling the weapon cargo into the murky bay below.

With an agility that betrayed her practiced skill, she shot a cable toward the drone, ensnaring it and allowing the machine to drag her into the shadowy sky.

Meanwhile, the bushi warriors retreated hastily into their concealment within nearby corners and alleyways. They quickly worked to salvage what equipment they could, stashing their spoils within waiting boats.

The tension in those moments stretched taut as minutes lept away on fleeing feet, echoing our countdown before security forces arrived. I made my way to another crate unnoticed by soldiers caught up in the chaos. They stood wary and watchful, ready to strike but not daring to cross over onto our territory.

My gloved hands slid discreetly into my pocket as I contemplated if it was truly time to disperse and regroup. The hard plastic flash drive held potential riches: routing numbers and vault codes for cash yet untouched by grubby fingers. But even I knew when fortune had turned its generous gaze away for too long; pushing my luck further would only lead me down perilous paths.

The gratitude of parlor girls would simply have to wait another night as I prepared to retreat amongst them soon enough - but for now, it was time to disappear once more into the cold embrace of fog that enshrouded us like an accomplice during this game of shadows and secrets.

Where she lands I hope she has made it her own. Alone on the rusting shipping freighter, the mist began to weave its ghostly tendrils around me, a silent dance that painted the night with an otherworldly hue.

The city's skyline, once sharp and imposing, softened into a spectral silhouette against the ethereal backdrop of fog. Tonight could have been the last night I seen her. Was the city another lover whos affections and intentions I had misread. Were my failed unions the reason I looked for the sirens in the shadows? The Kanashii finally took her mask off, one day it would time to take off mine.