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Justice Grieves
Feb 26, 2007
If I must die, I shall welcome Death as an old friend, and wrap mine arms about it.
Jumping straight into the Introduction Phrase:

Inugami Enenra posted:

For most people, finding someone like Inugami Enenra would be an impossible task. The old stray wandered where he willed for the most part. Even if you could manage to be in the same place as he, given that the yokia could take on many forms, it was no easy feat to recognize him. Still, for the Blood of Oni, there were ways, provided that you were studied and patient.

From an elevated walkway, a man watched the slow procession of Shibuya’s citizenry rushing to and fro. His dark hair was long and matted, falling unevenly down to his shoulders, and his eyes were hidden behind a pair of small round glasses with tinted lenses. Despite the evening chill, he seemed comfortable in a dark blue kimono that he wore loosely and a pair of sandals. Idly, he puffed at the end of a long stemmed pipe, while in one hand he threaded a necklace of prayer beads between his knuckles. All in all, he gave the impression of a penniless self-proclaimed guru, wearing his enlightenment like a fashion statement as he ignored the march of the modern world around him.

The sun touched the horizon, and the robed man tapped out his pipe with a sharp rap again the handrail he was standing near, letting the glowing ember fall onto the black street below. He ducked his head to don his necklace of beads once again, watching and waiting as the sun sunk lower and lower. As the sky show a brilliant shade of crimson, he reached into his sleeve and produced a flat token made of green jade, shaped like a bell though a small hole had been drilled through the center. He placed the whistle to his lips, and blew.

No sound came out, at least, none that could be heard by human ears. In the spirit realm, however, it was a long shrill tone that echoed off the towering buildings, wavering only slightly at the end. As the first note died, a second followed it, a summons that would continue until the shadow of night swallowed up the city.

He’d show. The old sorcerer was confident.

Tora Himura posted:

The familiar crack of a wooden bat finding its mark on a good pitch filled the air. In a streak of white, the ball flew right back at the pitcher like a bullet, leveled at head height. The pitcher’s reflexes were good, but apparently her lacked nerve as he crouched into a small ball on the pitcher’s mound and covered his head. A chorus of mocking shouts came from the sideline as the ball hit the dirt on the way to second base, bouncing into the outstretched mitt of one of the girls, who quickly stepped off the plate and hurled the ball towards first base. It flew a bit high, the baseman having to reach up to snatch it, and before he could bring the ball down the batter slid into first with a cocky smirk on his face, laying in the dirt for a second and propping his chin up as he waved to someone on the sidelines. The ball sailed over to third, hoping to at least chase the other runner back to second if they couldn’t tag him out.

It wasn’t exactly pro-caliber baseball, but the kids seemed to be having fun with it at least.

”Let’s go, Sasaki!” one of the boys shouted from the sideline, causing two more to whistle sharply as the next batter tugged the batting helmet firmly into place. She looked a little uncertain as the approached the plate, apparently not comfortable with the attention. As she raised the bat into position though, she seemed to find her focus, watching as the pitcher shook his head slightly at the catcher behind her.

“Tora-sensei!” a voice called from behind her. A quick glance was all she needed to ascertain that he wasn’t a member of her class … after all, he was still in his school uniform rather than the color-coded track suits that were issued to students for P.E. He was a first year, unless she missed her guess, but he moved with confidence and poise rare among his classmates. As if sensing her thoughts, he discretely made a hand gesture to signify that he was a clansman. The genin, it seemed, were getting younger all the time.

“Your presence is requested in the teacher’s lounge.” He said respectfully, though he stopped short of bowing his head in this public setting.

Yamamoto Sachiko posted:

It’s been a particularly rough days for deliveries. You can feel it in the air, a tension, like something is coming to Shibuya but you can’t quite piece together what. Whatever it is, you’re not the only one who can feel it. You had two near misses on the road from drivers who were clearly distracted, and the tips have been coming up light no matter how well you performed. It was the kind of day where it was difficult to keep your spirits up, for certain. As if to top things off, just as you were about to turn in your uniform and punch out for the night, another large order came in and the man on the other end of the phone had requested you to deliver it by name, promising a big tip.

That was how you found yourself on the fourth floor of a fairly upscale hotel within walking distance of the train station. It was just another curiosity, anyone who could afford to stay at a place like this could probably afford to eat somewhere a bit more upscale than the Aoyama Zero Café. On the other hand, keeping the patronage of such an affluent customer went a long way to explaining the pitiful look her manager had given her when he’d asked her to take this one last delivery for the night.

At the sound of the light rapping on the hotel room door, it swung open almost immediately in a rush to reveal a towering figure of a man. He had to be at least 6’8” with broad shoulders that completely filled the doorway, a white button-up shirt straining at the seams to contain a body swollen with well-defined muscles. Short blond hair marked the man a gaijin for sure, his blue eyes sparkling with recognition at the logo of the bags that were held in your hands. A broad smile split his square face before he ran a hand along his stubbly jaw.

“HOW-DEE!” he bellowed in English, stepping aside and gesturing into the room, “You must be Yamamoto-san! Come in, please. There’s a matter I’d like to discuss with you.” He said affably. A quick glance behind the man’s bulky form showed that he wasn’t alone, a middle-aged woman sat at the foot of one of the two beds. She was wearing a well pressed suit, though the jacket hung on a hook and she wasn’t wearing her shoes at the moment, the way her dark hair was tied into a bun and her professional glasses still leant her an air of authority. She offered a long-suffering smile towards Sachiko … at least that giant didn’t plan to eat all that food on his own.

Sasaki Naomi posted:

The atmosphere of the Super-Drive was much the same as it ever was. Clean, well-lit, and most tellingly busy. The sound of power tools echoed off the inside of the garage at all hours, punctuated by pneumatic hisses. Some of the guys might have given you some trouble when you’d first signed on, but there was no denying talent. The Legend of the Auto-Wizard was spreading, slowly but surely, one wrench turn at a time.

Which, of course, meant you had a tendency to draw the “fun” jobs. Like this twenty year old American luxury piece of crap. Some genius had designed the timing belt in such a way that you had to winch the whole motor out to replace it, and now that you had the thing up you were seeing signs that some other repairs were going to be necessary soon. It’d be cheaper to go ahead and handle it all while you already had the engine out, but the customer was being dodgy about the funding leaving you in limbo for the last hour while he tried to sort himself out. Honestly, why anyone would spend that much on a car and not keep up in the routine maintenance was a mystery.

You were about ready to move on to another job when a college kid nudged open the front door with his harms full of a pair of boxes of donuts. You knew him, of course, Moto Seiji, he was a motorcycle enthusiast and a member of his school’s autoclub. He was always coming around to ask for your opinion on this or that part or tweak to his precious ride, it hardly took a genius to guess that he was a racer. Most of your coworkers gave you some good natured grief that he was crushing on you pretty hard. They didn’t particularly mind though, seeing as he was working part time at the bakery down the street and was always bringing the left-overs with him to try and curry favor.

Of course, they didn’t know Seiji quite the same way you did. You were there when he lost his left leg on a mission a few years ago … the prosthetic developed by the Hasuba was a miracle of science, but the failure had still haunted his career. You’d moved up the ranks while he was still stuck doing odd jobs, but he still kept in touch out of gratitude for carrying him back home.

“Hey!” he said cheerfully, setting the boxes down on the front desk with a broad smile, “Looks like I caught you on break, huh? Great, I’ve got something I need to talk about with you…” he glanced around the office for a moment, “Can you get away for a bit?”

Sora Takeda posted:

Your work always seems to take you to the worst examples of the Prefect, doesn’t it? The old tenement has been a monument to urban decay since you set your polished shoes in the lobby. The front desk was divided from the lobby by a set of bars, the tired attendant speaking with the officers through a slab of ballistic glass with a grill set in it to carry sound. Once the lean-faced man confirmed why you were there, he dropped the spare key to room 212 into the tray and slid it out from his isolated desk as if by rote, waving off any pleasantries.

The stairs had creaked and sagged dangerously under your weight, causing the two officers accompanying you to have to spread out or risk falling through. The air was thick with the smell of decay and human waste, crude slogans were painted on the yellowing walls in shades of red and black, and at least once you found a spot where someone had knocked a hole in the wall. The building could hardly be considered fit for human habitation. Of course, it was no human crime you were here to investigate.

Pushing past the police tape, your escort stopped outside to keep anyone from interfering with your investigation. Taro and Morozumi had been on the force long enough to brush against the world of shadows a few times. Like most who’d managed to survive their encounter, they’d accepted that the best thing they could do was direct others away from it. That made them convenient accomplices for tasks like this, just in-the-know enough to know when something required the deft hand of a “specialist”, but possessed of a keen enough survival instinct not to pry.

You’d just completed examining the victim’s body when you heard Morozumi’s voice rise to warn someone away. In the doorway, a narrow man stooped in the relaxed posture that gave the impression of a coiled viper. His drab olive suit was rumpled and worn to the point where he could have very well slept in it. He wore no tie, and the yellow shirt under his suit jacket was partly undone with the collar popped. When he made eye contact with you, a grin spread across his face that showed far too many teeth.

“Sora Takeda,” he said, presenting a badge to Morozumi before stepping into the room with a strange rolling gait, “I came to inform you that we’ll be taking you off this case.” He said, sparing a distasteful glance to the dead man before plucking a folded document from his suit jacket with an official looking stamp.

“Something’s come up, and the feeling up top is that it requires your particular brand of professionalism.”

Fujibayashi Hanako posted:

Somewhere deep within Kuroba Industries, an explosion rang out. This was no particular cause for alarm, it had been controlled, shrapnel hitting heavy anti-ballistic panes and bouncing off. All around the test chamber, men and women in white coats made notes, the arm of a mannequin having been left a charred black stump at the elbow as burning chunks of wood smoldered on the yellow and black striped floor.

“Premature fire on cylinder three!” someone called out, reviewing the footage from the highspeed footage.

“Again!? We just did a total redesign of that component!” came an exasperated response. An older gentleman with salt and pepper hair and oversized side burns leaned over the first man’s shoulder, adjusting the glasses on his nose.

“It looks like the pressure isn’t distributing cleanly … we’ve had that problem when imitating Otogi Academy techniques before. They have some method of massaging the distribution of ki through their body that the others don’t incorporate…” he grumbled, stroking his chin.

“We’ll probably have to rearrange the whole fuel assembly then…” and intern added, moaning and covering their head for a moment.

“Hmn. Maybe not.” Came the first frustrated researcher’s response again, “The Type-A design didn’t have these fluctuations after all…”

“The Type-A is too bulky for covert deployment!”

Fortunately, all of this squabbling was of little personal importance to Fujibayashi. Her own projects, after all, were operating well within the assigned parameters without anywhere near as much drama. She might be derided for her nonconventional beliefs, but then, genius was rarely appreciated in its totality. Perhaps she toyed with the notion of showing her peers exactly how advanced she was, or perhaps she simply enjoyed that moment of quiet superiority. Either way, the world outside of her precious lab was calling to her.

“Fujibayashi.” A gravel-toned voice called, standing at the edge of her work space. A bald man with severe features crossed his arms over his barrel chest. Rather than the rest of the people around her, he wore a simple gray suit with a red tie, meaning that he was from the administrative side of the company. Over his left eye was an ornate eyepatch, a black coin worked with gold scrollwork suggesting that it was a seal of some manner or other.

“There’s a task for you.” He said sternly, motioning for her to follow, “Leave that with your seniors for the moment.”

Folding his hands behind his back, the man bulled through the aisles between the workspaces, heading directly for the elevator that would take them out of the R&D department. He didn’t bother to glance back and make sure she was following him until he reached the doors of the elevator, pressing the “UP” key with his thumb.

“What can you tell me about the Kamikiri?” he said, glancing at her. His tone suggested that she should know of it at her rank.

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Justice Grieves
Feb 26, 2007
If I must die, I shall welcome Death as an old friend, and wrap mine arms about it.

Inugami Enenra’s Introduction posted:

“Old?” the anachronistic man asks, pushing the small dark glasses up his nose with a wry grin. He chuckles to himself, a deep, level sound that goes on a bit too long for such a simple jab.

“I’m not so long in the tooth as to be called old by the likes of you.” He finally responds, rolling his head languidly to the side. He unties something from the sash around his waist, an over-sized gourd with a length of rope wound around the middle and a cord in the top. You can hear the sloshing of liquid inside as he shakes it.

“Tribute for Kiiroi me no ōkami?” he offers, though he seems content to stand in the light for the time being. Accepted or refused, he takes a moment to repack his pipe before continuing, his brow drawing low before he speaks in a grave tone.

“The Kamikiri has resurfaced.” He said straight-out, pausing to light the pipe as he searched Enenra’s face for some indication that he was familiar with it.

“I’m sure I don’t need to tell you how much trouble the Kurama Shin Ryuu caused us with that damned dagger back in the day.” He said, puffing slightly on the stem, causing the bowl of the pipe to flare with orange light as he drew the fire down, “Killing gods. The short-sighted buffoons.” He groused to himself, smoke pouring from his mouth as he did so.

“Of course, it goes without saying that the Bloodline of Oni has no intention of allowing such a dangerous artifact to come into prominence once more. Even now, it’s being restored beneath the Meiji Shrine, and the shadows roil as snakes all plot their greedy course towards it.” He took another drag on the long-stemmed pipe, coils of smoke wafting from his nose this time.

“I was brought in to fashion a container for the blade, something that would hide it from scrying eyes so that it can be moved as we wish.” He grumbled slightly, “But it’s taking too long. The other clans will strike soon, mark my words, and so I turn to you.”

“Three days.” He said, raising his fingers to illustrate, “Keep the blade from them for three days, and your mission will be complete.”

Tora Himura’s Introduction posted:

“Ah, I’m sorry m’am. I’ll be sure to work on it.” The student said, his eyes widening slightly. Apparently he thought he’d been doing a good job. The odds were good that he’d been spending too much time training with his elders back at the village these days. The relaxed relationship that most students had with their instructors in this modern world simply wasn’t tolerated within the clan, after all. Duty, after all, was hammered into every Kurama Shin … even if some forgot during the course of their duties.

The genin’s hands pressed together as he formed a complicated seal with his fingers, a sharp exhalation accompanying a short forward stab of his hands. The sound of students roaming through the halls seemed somehow duller by comparison, a faint sigil glowing on the doors as the windows of the room slid closed seemingly on their own. It was a simple barrier, something to ward away any interlopers and keep your meeting secret. Almost immediately, you recognized who the boy’s team leader had to be.

“I’m with Kobe’s team, ma’m.” the boy said without any particular pride showing through, “After centuries, our holy relic the Kamikiri has been rediscovered. We were dispatched to recover it, but, someone’s been interfering with our operation. We have injured.” He said, a dark shadow passing over his eyes for a moment.

“We’re changing focus to deal with the threat for now, but the Kamikiri still needs to be recovered.” He said, pulling a folded missive from inside his student blazer. The sign stamped into the seal is certainly Kobe’s.

“On the orders of a Jonin, you’re being activated, ma’m. Please, make whatever preparations are necessary, infiltrate the Meiji Shrine, and recover the Kamikiri. We’ll arrive to take position of it and take it out of the city as soon as we’re able.”

Yamamoto Sachiko’s Introduction posted:

“See!?” the big man said, reaching out an arm to flash a thumbs up at the business woman, “I Tell You! Work Better If Big Scary Man Not Hiding In Back!” he’s switched over to Japanese properly, though he’s still booming his words far too loudly for the quiet dignity of his surroundings. Inside you can see a heavy leather duster and a Stetson hat hanging from the hooks in the wall alongside the woman’s business jacket. The big man happily takes the bag of food off your hands and retreats back to the kitchenette, opening the bag and spreading the contents across the counter with round, happy eyes at the prospect of putting down each item in front of him.

The man doesn’t move like a practitioner of ninpo, not even a little bit. Even having said that though, he’s definitely Something, close as you had been by the door you could feeling him exerting some kind of spiritual pressure on his surroundings. The girl, by comparison, seems relatively normal…but she has an economy of motion and a general sharpness to her that makes you think that even if combat isn’t her forte she can be dangerous in her own right.

“Nothing nefarious.” The more measured voice of the woman answered her question, “We’re having a bit of trouble that requires a local specialist. We asked a few of our contacts, and your name came up as a possibility.” She produced a handful of yen and proffered it to you easily. The amount for the food was crisp, likely straight from the exchange office, but behind it she’d folded over a stack of dog-eared non-sequential bills that was clearly intended to be the “tip”. Except … well … it was way too much, enough to handle rent and utilities this month on its own.

“That’s just for agreeing to hear us out.” She said, nodding at the bills, gesturing to a seat, “Have a seat, I know it’s late, can I get you anything?” she asked, apparently going through the motions of a good hostess. Soon enough, the food was spread out and it seemed the meeting would take place around the table.

“My name is Gail Summers, I’m a speaker for the University of Texas.” She said with a faint smile, gesturing to the blonde mountain who was currently fumbling to use chopsticks with his great paws, “This is my associate, John Morrison, a coffin maker by trade.”

“Ounce of Prevents Bests Pound of Cure, Yes?” he boomed with a laugh, finally managing to get his food out of the box and leaning in quickly to get it in his mouth before he lost it again. Gail blinked at him, but shrugged it off.

“We represent a foreign group that’s aware of the things that happen in the shadows. Monster hunters, I guess is what you’d call us, not wholly unlike the Kurama Shin Clan.” Gail provided, hoping to contextualize John’s outburst somewhat, “A … dangerous anniversary is coming up in our region. A creature that he repeatedly returned from death every hundred years is scheduled to reappear soon. The last time it was active, if left whole ghost towns in its wake, places seemingly just abandoned of hundreds of people overnight, consuming the young and the old alike.” She said, tapping the table with a long lacquered nail.

“Knowing this, we started to take measures. Among them, we helped fund a joint archeological expedition here in Japan. It ended up being costly in ways beyond money.” She said, a sour expression on her face before she pushed on, “Still, the expedition was a success. Among other treasures, the final resting place of the Kamikiri was uncovered.”

“Then, Japanese Agency Say Won’t Give Dagger.” John grumped, “Much ‘Cultural Significant’.” He added, making quotation marks in the air with his fingers.

“I came out here to try and persuade them through legitimate channels. Unfortunately, even old friends of mine aren’t budging an inch on this. We think the Hirasaka Agency is exerting some pressure with an eye on taking the blade for themselves.”

“Have Blood Spent On This, Lives In Balance.” John said, drawing himself up to his full height, “If No Fair Solution, Have To Accept Cheating.”

“Which is where you, or someone much like you, enters the equation.” Gail said, shifting forward slightly, “We managed to work out that the blade is currently being kept somewhere under the Meiji Shrine. They say you can deliver anything, anywhere, at any time. I’d like to hire you on to deliver the Kamikiri to me before I leave the country in three days, the people I represent are willing to beat the offers of the local black market for this service.”

“That Blade Found, No Secret.” John added, shaking his head, “Only Time Before Big Clans Fight For It. Time For Action Small.”

Sasaki Naomi’s Introduction posted:

“I aim to please.” Seiji said with a bit of a lopsided smile, watching you eagerly bite into the confection with a satisfied air about him. A bit reluctantly, he set the box down on its usual place at the corner of the desk, near the coffee pot. Taking a bit of wax paper, he saves another of your favorite before the hungry marauders of the pit crew start reaching their oil-stained hands for the box like a group of sugar-hungry zombies.

“They’re letting you machine your own parts now?” he asked, falling into step as she lead him back towards her workspace, “Sounds like you’re moving up in the world!” he said, allowing himself a grin.

“Fight on, Seiji!” someone shouted encouragingly from the back, holding a half-eaten donut covered in chocolate and crushed walnuts overhead. Behind him, Hibiki stood with his arms crossed, face shadowed over with paternal judgement. Seiji colored slightly, closing the door to her workshop as the head mechanic grabbed his poor subordinate by the ear and started to pull him back towards the work area, his final fate obscured by the doorway. Seiji, for his part, merely sighed with relief to be out from under the crew’s eyes.

“Tenzen wants you in the field again.” He said, digging for the phone in his pocket. While the Hasuba Ninja Army was quicker than their contemporaries to exploit the benefits of technology, the fact remained that they were a secret society. Part of that meant that mission details were never broadcasted over public airwaves. Some groups relied on darknet addresses like a series of information drop boxes, but for more spread out groups messengers were more convenient. Opening the file on his phone, he offered it to you to peruse.

“It’s the Kamikiri, that knife they dug up in the mountains last week. Apparently, it’s an old sacred artifact, and the elders want to get their hands on it.” He said lowly, a picture of the blade giving way to blueprint of the Meiji Shrine … and then to projected details on a secret bunker dug into the earth beneath it.

“Tenzen’s got me and the rest of the squad trying to secure an escape route out of Shibuya, but it’s been slow going. The night is thick with competitors all trying to find an angle.” He said, tucking both his hands in his pockets, watching her eyes as she looked over the details, “While we’re sorting that out, Tenzen wants you to steal the blade.”

Something hung unsaid in the air for a few long moments, Seiji’s lips pressing together as he chewed on whether or not to speak up or not. Finally though, the words came out.

“Be careful.” he said, looking away, “Something’s weird about this mission. You’re not the only Hasuba in the field on this one, Elder Danzo assigned the job to the Fujibayashi girl. Still, Tenzen isn’t assigning you to her team … the whole thing reeks of clan infighting.” He closed his hands into fists in his pockets, “Tenzen’s probably hoping you’ll bring home the knife yourself, undercutting whatever it is Danzo is maneuvering for.”

“Don’t let yourself get hurt over politics, alright?”

Sora Takeda’s Introduction posted:

The slender older man waited a moment as the two uniformed officers pulled away from the front door, his easy half-lidded smile seeming to take some satisfaction from seeing the officers bossed around a bit. Still, once they were safely out of ear shot, he took a moment to look around the room, scooping up an incidental looking porcelain cat statue and regarding it closely before tucking it in his pocket.

“Kirigakure.” He said, taking the lead as he sauntered back out of the decrepit old tenement, “I guess you don’t remember, I was there for your evaluation.” He said, tapping a bent cigarette out of a crumbled box of them and slipping it between his this lips as he stepped out onto the dark street. He held off on speaking until he’d lead the both of them off the side street and into one of the alleys that ran between buildings.

“Well, I guess I don’t leave much of an impression.” He said, once again flashing that too-wide smile, leaving the unlit cigarette perched on his lips. “This should be an easy job for someone like you.”

“While digging up an old bandits’ stronghold up in the mountains, some archeologists came across an ancient tanto blade. It was listed in their findings normally, mostly noteworthy for how well preserved it was. Still, one of our fact checkers did a little digging, promising kid.” He waved his hand in front of his face slightly, banishing the segue before he could really get started.

“It’s the Kamikiri.” He said, “It’s the Kamikiri, and we helped fund the expedition. Somebody used up a lifetime’s worth of luck on that one.” He chuckled a bit to himself, “We had to twist a few arms politically, but we managed to get the blade sent to the Meiji Shrine for restoration. Some of the attendants there are our people.”

“Now it’s just a matter of getting the blade out of the public eye again. That’s where you come in.” he said, his grin settling down into more of a satisfied smirk, the cigarette bobbing at the center of his mouth.

“You just have to get your hands on the Kamikiri and hang onto it for a few days. The clan will send someone to pick it up soon after to complete the restoration somewhere a bit more secure.” He gestured, rolling his hand.

“This job was handed down from the very top, it’s a good chance to distinguish yourself.” He chuckled lowly, “Or an opportunity to sink to the very bottom, if you’re not careful. No pressure.” He stopped and checked his watch for a moment.

“Hrm…I’ve got a job to handle myself soon. Are there any questions I can field for you before you get started?”

Fujibayashi Hanako’s Introduction posted:

The low hum of the elevator’s motor filled the small box as the two of them ascended away from the isolated reaches of the lab. The stainless steel walls of the box held murky reflections of the two figures as they rode along, the digital display above the door climbing up through the reinforced basement levels. Finally, the man in the suit shifted his weight slightly.

“Adequate, for a weapon that’s been lost for centuries.” He said dispassionately. Reaching into his suit pocket, he produced a smart phone, tapping the screen a few times. A moment later, a slight buzz in her pocket informed her that a file had been deposited on her own phone.

“Last week, the Kamikiri reemerged.” The man said simply, “Unfortunately, it’s a matter of public record. Found by a university funded archeological dig, it’s already drawing greedy eyes from black market profiteers and personal collectors alike. No doubt, the other clans are angling to acquire the blade for their own purposes … the Kurama Shin, at least, are unlikely to stand idly by and let it slip from them again, at least.” He said, pushing his phone back into his pocket, his one good eye still focused studiously forward rather than regarding her.

“I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that the Hasuba’s technological prowess has come a long way in three hundred years.” he said, the barest ghost of a smirk tugging at the corners of his permanent scowl, “This blade represents a rare opportunity for us. If the Kamikiri’s reputed capabilities can be reverse engineered, it could redraw the lines of power between the clans.”

“Unfortunately, it seems the Hirasaka Agency is thinking something similar.” He said, that tiny mote of amusement leaving his face and somehow making it seem colder for its absence. “They pulled some strings. The blade is currently being held in a secure site underneath the Meiji Shrine for restoration…once they’ve finished I have no doubt that the blade will vanish once again.” Finally, he turned his head to regard Fujibayashi directly.

“Your mission is to take possession of the Kamikiri. You’re free to use whatever means you deem necessary.” He said, “In three days’ time, agents will arrive to relieve you of it and transport it to safe site.” The elevator came to a sudden stop, almost as though the man had been timing his briefing for the effect. Silently, the doors drew apart, revealing the armory secreted away underneath Kuroba Industries. Somewhere, an instructor was shouting out ordered in time with a flurry of gunfire from the shooting range.

“Are there any questions?” he asked, unmoving, apparently intending to take the elevator further up once they split up.

Justice Grieves
Feb 26, 2007
If I must die, I shall welcome Death as an old friend, and wrap mine arms about it.

Tora Himura’s Introduction posted:

"The information on the opposition is still inconclusive, they've been avoiding direct confrontation. Whoever they are, their tool use skills are very advanced, but the tools themselves are very old." he says, still a bit rigidly, "The current theory is that they're either rogue nin...or agents trying to pass themselves off as such."

The young man actually seems to somehow straighten as you impart your observation to him, respect and attentiveness to his superiors apparently having been drilled deeply into him. He'll need to learn to be a little less rigid before he moves up the ranks, but he's young yet, plenty of time for him to develope.

"Thank you, ma'm!" he says directly, "I'll try to study the poise of other students in the future, ma'm!"

Agreeing to pass her well wishes on to his team captain, he bowed his head and dropped the barrier again, waiting for her to leave before returning to his own assignment.

Sasaki Naomi’s Introduction posted:

"That's a little above my head." Seiji said with a bit of a chuckle, shrugging his shoulders with a helpless smile, "As far as I can tell, the Clan intends to study the blade in another Prefect. You know, distance ourselves from the disappearance of a covetted artifact whose existance is known to the public. We're also harrassing some teams deployed from other cities, trying to keep the heat off so you can move more easily."

"Speaking of which, I need to link up with my own team." he said, checking his watch, "Good luck, Naomi, I'll see you again when things settle down, alright?"

Sora Takeda’s Introduction posted:

Kirigakure nodded, his slender smile still stretching across his face.

"He asks the right questions, always a good sign." he tucked his hands in his pockets and nodded.

"You are free to exercise your own judgement regarding engagement." he said, comming up with a lighter and flicking the wheel and touching the flame to his crooked cigarette. "Your hands are untied. If you judge a preemptive strike to be the most judicious use of force, we'll worry about the political fallout later. Kill if you have to, but safeguard your own life more importantly."

"We're putting our faith in you, Takeda." he said, waving as he backed up into the darkness of the alley, just that flickering ember of a lit cigarette marking his presence until it vanished. "Don't let us down now."

Fujibayashi Hanako’s Introduction posted:

The one-eyed man looked down at Fujibayashi, nodding slightly.

"You are Chunin, Fujibayashi, and have the resources of such. We've held back some Genin who've worked with you in the past should decide to form a team, as well as your usual access to drones and technology. Our other team leaders are engaged in false flag operations to keep the other Clans off balance. Your opposition is expected to be minimal."

End Introduction Phase
Commencing Main Phase!

Master Scene posted:

Pre-dawn, a starless, black night on a quiet summer night. Underneath the grand Meiji shrine, in a rocky and dark cavern protected by locks and alarms both physical and mystical, lies Kamikiri, the God of Mist, in its protective sheath. It rests on a small protective altar of smooth stone, surrounded by six lit candles. It's a bit dirty, as the restoration is only half-complete, but the cool majesty emanating from the dagger is unmistakable. This is a weapon that will change the very destiny of Japan.

A shadow approaches. The candles snuff out at once. Two hands gingerly reach out, lifting the dagger from its altar. A deep and reverent silence fills the room for the span of two heartbeats. Then, alarms scream through the cavern. Lights, sirens, mystical wards, all begin to activate around the shrine. As armed guards spill into the underground chamber, the shadow has already made its way to the edge of the shrine grounds. Before the spotlights erupt and scour the forests and walls of the Meiji shrine, the shadow quickly scales and leaps over the tall and barb-wired wall, escaping into the night.

Sora Takeda Takes Possession of the Prize – Kamikiri

Arashi, please declare whether you intend to have a Drama Scene or Combat Scene and invite any characters to it you wish. They do have the right to refuse, of course.

Yami, you declare after Arashi.

Next up will be Tricky, assuming they're not already in a scene and the person they want to target is still available. If not, they may pass and we'll move on down the list.

The intention is to try and get everyone in a scene so everyone is playing, though the scenes are happening simultaneously. Anyone who wishes to use a ninpo to interfere or insert themselves into someone else’s scene is, of course, permitted to do so.

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