The door to the hotel room blew open and slammed against the wall. A Japanese man in a suit stood in the doorway, legs shoulder-width apart. He aimed a gun at Kenuichio Harada, otherwise known as The Silver Samurai.
“Police! Don’t move!”
Harada straightened but did not move. How had the police been alerted? Harada had only just learned of this student's demise seconds ago. He looked at his sheathed katana resting on the bed less than a foot away. Both police officers, the Japanese man and his white female partner, stood with guns drawn.
<<"Don't do it, sir. Leave the sword on the bed or we will fire,">> the policewoman said in fluent Japanese.
She thinks I don't speak english, Harada thought. He saw no reason to dispel the illusion and remained still, facing the police.
"Do you think he's part of the party downstairs?" the woman asked.
"No," the man said.
"He looks like muscle. Definitely the tallest Japanese male I've ever seen," the woman said.
"Oh he's muscle alright, just not yakuza. We have the displeasure of being in the presence of Kenuichio Harada."
The woman, eyes on the mark, entered the room. The man followed. Both guns remained locked on Harada.
"Never heard of him," she said.
"Sure you have. He's a delusional super-human calling himself the --"
Harada lashed out with his left hand and retrieved the katana from the bed faster than either officer could react.
"Holy crap," the woman said.
"--the Silver Samurai. Drop it Harada or we will drop you," the man said.
"I have been called many things but never delusional, officer," Harada said.
"Drop the sword!" the woman shouted.
Harada did not move.
<<"Be silent, woman.">> Harada eyes remained locked on the man, "Explain yourself, officer."
"Anyone claiming to be a samurai in this day and age is nothing but delusional. I should shoot you just on principle."
"That would be a mistake. I have done nothing. My student has been murdered. I just found him myself." Harada glanced at his dead student's injury. It was certainly made by a sword or large knife. It was more than enough to hold him for questioning.
The woman stepped closer to Harada.
"Surrender the sword and get on your knees, Harada," the woman said.
"No one touches this sword but me."
"You are a wack-job. This is America, not feudal Japan. Your honor isn't bound to the sword. It's a weapon, like our guns. Guns trump swords. Unless you think you can catch bullets, drop it," the man said.
"I'm tired of asking," the woman said and reached for the katana.
"Kylie, no!"
Harada released the sheathed sword into the air and drew it with his left hand. He generated a tachyon field setting the blade aglow as it cut cleanly through the police-woman's Glock. Harada kicked her in the mid-section before she could pull the trigger. She flew across the room and crashed into her partner sending both back into the hallway.
"Baka onna," Harada said, flipping the saya into the air with his foot and catching it under his right arm.
He slid the katana into it's sheath, twisted the teleportation ring on his index finger with his thumb and disappeared.
The teleportation ring was a gift from a terrorist organization the Silver Samurai had worked for named HYDRA. He had used it many times to facilitate his escape from espionage or assassination work. It had never failed him.
Until now.
The mechanics of such a device were outside of Harada’s realm of expertise but he did know that it operated in conjunction with his thoughts. He simply focused his mind on a specific predetermined location and after a twist of the ring, he was there. Harada’s exit point was a safe house less than a mile away before twisting the ring. When he reappeared he was staring at a dining hall full of Los Angeles police officers.
MARVEL REBORN PRESENTS...
The Silver Samurai
#2
Buman
"The Offense"
written by C.William Russette
“What the--” one of the black-uniformed officers began.
<<“Samurai?”>> someone whispered in Japanese.
Harada scanned the room once, shuffled sideways and landed a heel into a patrolman’s solar plexus. He spun, landed a blow to another’s throat triggering a gagging reaction. Harada rotated around the choking officer when other policeman started drawing their weapons.
He knew that there was no point in trying to talk his way out of the room. Whatever brought all the police had been connected to the Japanese that were having some kind of party. He knew he would be viewed as just one of the many except for the fact that he was carrying a sword.
There were far too many opponents for Harada to incapacitate without risking serious injury. Killing for money or honor was one thing, it was The Way. Killing police officers in America would bring more attention than Harada wanted.
An officer gripped his shoulder, Harada took the hand, twisted his arm and threw the officer into one of his oncoming brothers. Batons and side arms slid from their holsters belts. Harada risked another twist of his teleportation ring to summon his armor. Only the chest plate materialized with a searing, static-laden sound.
“Nani?” Harada said.
The police paused to process the sudden appearance of the armor. Harada struck pressure points with this sheathed sword, clubbing with his right forearm or crippling with kicks. A path was cleared. The police were too concerned with friendly fire to risk shooting. Harada had risked a few glances around his new surroundings before plowing through the policemen. There were far too many bodies to try and make it to the front doors. The were likely a great deal more police officers out there as well, Harada reasoned.
What in the hell has happened to my ring? It worked fine in Japan when I tested it. Of all the times for it fail, this is certainly the most inconvenient.
Large wooden doors lead into hallways, the main lobby and likely more police. Harada blocked a baton and tripped the wielder while slamming a right forearm into his chest. The man flew backwards. Soon I must either draw my katana or surrender. Despite taking down a half dozen of the police a dozen more had arrived to fill the ranks. It was likely that still more backup had been called. Even if he started killing the police, Harada doubted that he could cut his way through an entire city of police armed with firearms and worse. What if one of the many western spandex-wearing fools caught wind of the tussle and decided to help out? No, there was not time for a prolonged fight. Harada had to exit the room immediately.
A heavily built black policeman caught Harada in a headlock and began applying a sleeper-hold.
"Take a nap, man. Let's end this nice an easy," the policeman said.
Harada swung his stump downward blasting his attacker in the groin. The policeman loosened his grip slightly and gasped. Harada rotated, driving his elbow in the big man's solar plexus then pivoting the hilt of his sword into the policeman's nose rocking him back off his feet. Harada kicked out the knee of one officer and broke the nose of a second. Over the bleeding man's shoulder he saw the kitchen door less than thirty feet away.
Policemen quickly began surrounding Harada. He leapt into the air clearing his attackers head. Only after covering the distance to the kitchen he realize what an easy target he had just made himself. There wasn’t much choice in the matter. More police were pouring in like a living current of law enforcement. Ten feet and he was at the set of kitchen doors with the trio of gawkers peeking out onto the floor.
A young undercover officer slid between Harada and the exit, gun drawn. This one didn't care that there were two dozen police behind Harada. Either that or he was bluffing, Harada thought.
"Don't move!" the young officer said.
Before he finished his order Harada drew and severed the major muscle group of the policeman's thumb on his gun-hand. The pistol fell to the ground trailing blood. Harada drove an elbow into the young, shocked policeman's temple as he charged by. Some of the police will stop to help the wounded cop, Harada thought. Not nearly enough though. He was pleased that the teleportation had at least brought his chest armor. Given the advantages of the ring, his escapes were usually simple things. In his line of work, Harada knew how fast a job could go to hell. One must always be prepared. The ninja might be cowards when it came to fighting but they have some invaluable techniques.
The smoke bomb had helped Harada on more than one occasion. A great number of chemicals can be rendered into aerosol form besides colored smoke. The police had been using vomit gas in recent years instead of CS gas in their riot control. Harada smashed three marble-sized vomit bombs on the floor directly in front of the door and disappeared behind the haze.
_______________
Oyabun Ishakawa watched the chaos erupting around him. The police were getting severely bent out of shape. Most of guests were stunned and shocked. First by the killing of Dou's son then the police’s arrival. An armed pseudo-Samurai appeared from thin air! What a city Los Angeles was. The best Ishakawa had hoped to get out of the evening when he left his mansion that evening was some mind blowing sex with mistress number three.
Still, the police appearing was a surprise. All the proper hands had been greased. The attack by the foolish boy was completely unexpected though not unimaginable. There was no way this many cops showed up so fast. The body had barely begun to bleed when SWAT stormed the party. Reporters will be swarming all over the entrances soon if they weren't already. Ishakawa had no desire to see his picture in the paper. His superiors in Japan wouldn't either.
Seeing who could only be the Silver Samurai in action was thrilling! It was like stepping back into Japan’s history. What fools he made of the police. He should have killed them instead of incapacitating them. Perhaps he was worried about reprisals. No matter. The oyabun started making his way for the exit. Those that found themselves in his way quickly dashed aside regardless of who they might crash into, even if it was a cop. Akiro Ishakawa made his exit amidst a great deal of bowing.
<<"Sir? Are you ready to leave?">> someone asked behind him.
"Is our business concluded with the kobo, Yoshimoto?" the Oyabun said without breaking pace or turning to face his number three man..
"Yes, sir. He was pleased with our offering," Yoshimoto Fusaaki said.
Ishakawa could see the questions swimming just below the surface of Fusaaki's face. It was a good front, appropriately indifferent, but not great. He needed to work harder at concealing his emotions. The number three man was dying to ask `What in the hells has happened down here?’. Ishakawa would not give him the satisfaction. Let Kane tell him.
"Mr. Koga asked me to accompany you to your vehicle before the police began questioning the guests. He is seeing that the car is brought around to one of the side exits, sir," Fusaaki said.
Oyabun Ishakawa grunted his approval and followed his shateigashira.
Don't worry, Yoshimoto. Everything is in motion.
_______________
Those unfortunate enough to be close to the kitchen door felt the gas’s effects immediately. No one within the kitchen felt heroic enough to get in the way of a six foot six man charging through the kitchen with a katana on his hip. Harada grabbed a waiter by the shirt, lifting him so his toes only grazed the tile floor.
"Where is the exit?" Harada asked.
The waiter, a boy of no more than twenty looked as animated as a side of beef.
"Speak or die, decide!"
The waiter pointed with his right hand down the length of the kitchen. "There."
Harada dropped him and continued his dash. All employees stood aside as he made his way to the rear entrance to the kitchen. On the opposite side of the walk-in freezer, in the hallway that lead to the exit, Harada felt a twinge in his subconscious. It was a part of his brain that warned him when all was
not right in the world.
He reached for this sword and scanned his surroundings. It was an empty hall as far as he could tell. Off-white walls, track lighting overhead, highly polished tile floor.
What is the problem? There are no sounds of pursuit.
Harada scanned the wall to his right. What was it? Something and nothing. That made no sense. He wanted to reach (cut!) into the nothing there but feared letting his hand get too far from his sword. Something was upsetting his stomach and making his neck hairs stand up. Was it just adrenaline? Coming down off it could have similar symptoms. Surely that was it. Harada ran on, away from the something that wasn't there and into the alley behind the Regent Beverly Wilshire.
A stretch limousine that seated a dozen people comfortably waited just feet from the exit. Harada had taken one step into the alley when the driver's side door open and the largest Japanese man he had ever seen stepped out. He was heavily muscled and Harada guessed that he might have been over eight feet tall. The black suit he wore seemed to draw in the shadows that surrounded him. It was as if the suit wasn't really black and it needed to borrow the darkness. The driver didn't walk with the usual ungainliness most bodybuilders have when their musculature has exceeded what their bodies can safely set in motion. He moved like he had lead weights in his shoes. It wasn't a walk so much as a lurch. The sight of Harada carrying a katana did nothing to slow the driver down.
"Driver, get back in your car and take me from here. You will be well paid," Harada ordered.
The huge man's mouth smiled exposing disturbingly large, yellow teeth. His eyes maintained their malice.
"Then move aside or be cut down, offal." Harada headed for the driver's side door.
The driver stepped in front Harada and snorted.
The driver’s eyes began to change. What moments ago were dark brown to the point of being black began to lighten and shift to emerald green. The driver's body swelled like he was made of rubber and filling with air. The driver's jaw expanded as horns sproutedrom it's forehead, his brow distending.
Harada snapped the katana out of it's saya and sliced up, severing one expanding arm then across, decapitating the thing. It fell forward, slapping on the ground. Magic or mutation, decapitation kills most things, Harada thought. The thing's transformation halted with the loss of it's head.
Harada wiped his katana off on what remained of the driver's suit and carefully eased the weapon back into its saya. He slid into the driver's seat to find that keys dangling from the ignition.
"Praise the heavens."
_______________
Something made the ether scream.
There are many layers to the prime dimension. It is akin to an onion but so much finer than the simple mind of man can appreciate. Such layers are separated by membranes that are both stronger than steel and easier to pass through than an open door. The ham-handed efforts of man in recent years have taken to attacking the layers of reality with a chainsaw when all that was needed was a key and patience.
Some oafish mortal started up their chainsaw in the hotel creating a dimensional hole that opened on Mr. Okikaze's very floor and cut through to the main floor. Such damage took centuries to heal, that fool. Mr. Okikaze had waited as long as he could for Fusaaki to finish with the priest but there was a chance the offender's trail would be lost.* The scent of passage that clung to the traveler was visible if one had but the eyes and desire to see it.
[[*see last issue]]
Mr. Okikaze raced to the room where the dimensional cleft was initiated to find it infested with police. Checking there would be useless. Their stink will have contaminated the entire site. There was another option. Mr. Okikaze focused his sight on the exit point that lay stories below. The people and obstacles became transparent in his view. The one handed man wielding a katana raced out the rear exit to the limo and their waiting driver. Kobo Ino would be leading the offerings any moment, Mr. Okikaze thought.
The crippled swordsman dispatched the driver with ease. He's stealing the car! Mr. Okikaze smiled. This will anger the priest to no end. It will upset my Lady Kasumi too but she will be calmed once the offering arrives for her.
Who was the large swordsman? Doesn’t everyone know who's domain this city of angels is?
Mr. Okikaze charged to the stairwell. He would have to find the priest, eventually. First he would learn from the mortal gathering who the one armed hacker was.
_______________
Driving such a large vehicle on the wrong side of the road was a challenge by itself. Doing it with only one hand without having driven in years compounded the effort. I have only the vaguest idea where I am even going! Hiro handles the damned driving and directions. Had I not looked over the itinerary and map for approval I would be entirely lost. Clearly I have become too comfortable in my success.
Drivers beat their horns, breaks squealed and Harada ignored all of it. I must find my wa or this will be impossible. I will have to call Hiro in time to find out if he escaped the police or rots in a gai-jin jail. That was secondary. The chief issue was getting to the Tinkerer. Harada had to get another hand attached so he could be complete again.
A green and white colored taxi slammed into the limo's right rear fender forcing it to fishtail. Harada maintained control. He regulated his breathing, picked a point on the windshield and opened his senses to his surroundings.
This is no different from warfare. Find your wa, your harmony, and feel your surroundings. Everything can be dealt with in turn. Harada eased on the break peddle and became one with the flow of traffic. The map of the city, firm in his mind's eye once he achieved peace, revealed the best path.
The Tinkerer never sees his clients through the front of his shop. He said that there would be room for one vehicle in the rear though I doubt a limo was what he had in mind. If the rumors are true, this gai-jin is very clever. We shall have--
Harada just completed the turn down the alley when an explosion filled the view from his windshield. Glass and shrapnel imploded on Harada. He blocked what he could with his arms and thanked Bishamon that his seatbelt held.
The limo crept forward spending the last of its momentum for a few more feet. Harada's ears rang. Far off he heard a voice. It was a man, with a British accent.
"C'mon, samurai. I know you're not dead yet. Let's finish it."
Harada drew his katana, focused his will and let the tachyon field bleed out from his core and settle into the steel.
I am done running.
Harada cut his way free from the useless vehicle and leapt out. He landed running. The man cast his RPG launcher aside and drew a long sword from over his right shoulder. The attacker wore a navy blue mask over the top of his head. A ridiculous red pony tail of hair hung down his back. He wore an assortment of bladed weapons slung across his body.
He waited for Harada's first attack.
"I know you, mercenary. You are the Englishman called Zaran." Harada cut through his sword forcing Zaran to duck and sidestep.
"Easy, mate. Nothing personal." Zaran hacked twice with the remnants of his sword before discarding them, "Y'know the deal. Just a job." Zaran tried to weave inside Harada's defense with two stilettos and escaped with the loss of his red ponytail.
"The Tinkerer should hire better sentries." Harada cut through Zaran's knives forcing him to retreat.
The mercenary threw two sharpened kunai. Harada blocked the first. The second embedded in his right shoulder.
"Don't know anything about the Tinkerer."
"Tell me who hired you and your death will be swift," Harada said.
Zaran laughed and drew a gladius and pugio.
"Do yer worst, Jappo."
The Silver Samurai charged.
_______________
Phineas Mason, the Tinkerer to his clients, secured the door that lead to his true laboratory with a voice-sensitive, twenty digit code. On the exterior wall he a slid a panel open, provided an optical scan and removed what looked like a Victorian era brass key. He placed it on his key-chain without looking. It hung with dozens of other keys on a large ring suspended from his belt.
Soon I'll be able to attend the conference and then its back to New York. I can't take the heat out here, he thought. This lair is fine for the occasional meeting but no place is as secure as my New York facility. None of the others are as comfortable either. He stretched his back. The chair in his lab was new and the work had gotten the better of him. It often did. Even in his senior years the adrenaline glands pumped like a twenty year old when he was engineering something new. Cybernetics wasn't his usual area of expertise but certainly within his capabilities. It was also a new client. The meeting wasn’t until tomorrow but the Tinkerer was nothing if not prepared.
Something pinched in his lower back. "I need to fix that damn chair somehow. What good is surviving to old age if you can't enjoy it in complete comfort?"
It was a working vacation. He wouldn't be able to stay out as late he liked tonight. Such was the price of running your own business, he thought. The Tinkerer never lacked for work. The superhuman underground kept him quite busy. There was very little competition so he could pick and chose from his dangerous list of potential clientele. Better still, he made his own hours. Fortunately for his client base the Tinkerer was a workaholic. Designing, creating, engineering was more addictive than any drug found on the street. He could be a junkie and retain his intellect which he also needed to keep himself safe from some of his clients. It was a dangerous game if--
The primary security alarm blared.
"What now?" Tinkerer scanned the monitor and went to work on a keyboard.
A camera caught the exterior door give way to a man with some kind of glowing sword. The six inch thick steel door slapped the ground, echoing. Curious. The silhouette of a large man sheathed his sword, retrieved something from the ground and entered the building.
"How unusual and out of character. He's normally quite calm, the very picture of politeness."
The Tinkerer stepped behind his cluttered mock work-desk. He had dozens of ways to dispatch anyone from Blacklash to the Abomination at his fingertips. The intruder wouldn't be an issue.
Still, I have heard many tales of his skill and drive...
"You are early, Samurai."
"Is this yours, Tinkerer?" The Silver Samurai threw what he carried across the room. It landed on the work table and rolled to a stop inches from the Tinkerer’s hand.
Zaran's vacant eyes stared up at the Tinkerer from his decapitated head. The Tinkerer frowned.
“I have neither patience nor time for lies. I must insist you move up my appointment.”
TO BE CONTINUED
________________________________________________________________________
STEEL FILINGS
Shapechangers? Assassins? A very pissed off LAPD? The Silver Samurai sure is having a rough time of it in Los Angeles. It’s downhill from here for the katana wielding Mercenary.
See ya in thirty!
-C. William Russette