In an abandoned Noh theatre in Japantown, Los Angeles, California...
Kobo Daiki Ino waited on the stage of the forgotten and overlooked theatre. It is the longest standing Noh theater in the area. It was only open a year before the Lady Chiyo Kasumi took it from the city as her residence. The ties found with the building to the other worlds were too strong to let them lay wasting in the hands of humans.
It was his lady’s business that had the priest waiting so patiently. No other would be permitted to live after giving him orders. Only she with the dark gifts could count Ino as her thrall. Only on her order would he be meeting with the creature that was minutes away from being late.
A single paper lantern provided the only light in the vast, empty theatre. All other candles and lanterns were extinguished. The arriving guest and his kind preferred darkness. Ino wanted him to feel welcome, even superior at first. To present such a stage, one literal as well as figurative, would put his guest on his guard. He would be tense and wary and more prone to lose face. Ino grinned at the idea of such an embarrassment. It would make the meeting a pleasure no matter how it resolved itself.
“I am here, priest,” a whisperer said in Japanese.
Ino arched a brow and turned to face the shadow that now partially concealed the body of a ninja dressed completely in black. Curious that I did not hear him enter. Perhaps the Hand are more skilled than I have heard. I can’t recall the last time I was blindsided.
“I am high priest to the Lady Chiyo Kasumi. You will recognize my station, ninja,” Ino said with a snarl.
"And I am no mere ninja but a jonin, high priest. Why am I here?"
It is most certainly not by my design. When Ino returned to the theatre of the Lady she was beyond explanations of what had transpired. The sight of the children filled her wide ancient eyes. He thought he had seen saliva dot her lips and knew there would be no imparting of information until she had time with the children for herself. Her mouth opened wide, the sides almost reaching both ears, and her tongue touched the pointy, shark-like teeth before turning to leave for her chamber. Unable to move of their own free will, the children followed her single file.
Hours passed before Ino took an interview with her. The priest told his tale of the meeting and the impolite manners of the yakuza. Chiyo showed little interest. When he mentioned the one handed samurai that danced through the throngs of police and almost detected Ino and his charges as they passed him invisibly her sunken eyes locked on him. Her white, matted hair seemed to move so she could better see through it. She again lost interest concerning the loss of the chauffeur and Ino's need to improvise on how he had to transport the children back to the theatre.
Daiki waited long moments for a response from the Lady Chiyo. She knelt on her dais in her crimson kimono, unmoving, not even to breathe. The arthritis in Ino's knees screamed to the point of being overwhelming. He had almost risen and left, thinking the audience over, when the Lady Chiyo spoke.
"Seek Jonin Kirai of the Hand. It is time that debt is paid," Lady Chiyo said, "Test this samurai. I want to know if he is skilled or lucky, Daiki."
Daiki Ino sent word through the usual channels and as ever, the ninja came.
"The illustrious lady Kasumi Chiyo wishes to know if you remember the fall of Daimyo Takeda when the rains flooded the mountain pass long ago?" Ino repeated what the Lady had told him.
Jonin Kirai's eyes, the only feature visible under his garb, revealed little but there was acknowledgement. He remembers, Ino thought. He watched the ninja for even the smallest twitch or posture shift. Such a master of assassins would be able to strike faster than thought. None can be trusted, especially when one tried to collect on a debt.
"The Hand remembers the aid given to us during the Onin War. The Hand also remembers that none of the squad survived long after aid was given."
Still the ninja's body language was impossible to read. He could draw and kill in a breath. While Ino knew he would win such a confrontation the price would be high and painful.
"That jonin did not ask the proper questions. A debt is owed. Are you prepared to recompense?" Daiki said.
"The Hand is prepared. What is the task?"
"The Silver Samurai is in Los Angeles now. His sword has offended the Lady."
The priest began to relay his Lady's orders.
"The Hand has a treaty with the Harada syndicate."
"Are you prepared to recompense?"
The ninja's eyes narrowed.
MARVEL REBORN PRESENTS...
THE SILVER SAMURAI
in
Gaman
"Perseverence"
ISSUE #3 written by C.William Russette
Mr. Okikaze stared through the fusuma, the dressing room (long unused) and a second, thicker cardboard wall at the priest and the ninja standing on the pristine, white stage. The jonin is far too arrogant for his own good. For all his posturing and prattling he is mostly mortal. He has the stink of the Beast on him but what is that good for? Some parlor tricks thanks to proximity to a stinking demon. Mortals know nothing of power and should not be allowed to play with things that they do not understand or respect. The priest was just as guilty of the sin. What the Lady Chiyo saw in him Okikaze did not understand.
Why the Hand were being involved made even less sense. Why wasn't I being granted my desire to cross swords with the samurai? The distraction would be pleasing. It was almost a decade since he found a mortal skilled enough with the sword to last more than one strike.
Okikaze watched the ninja begin to ease a spike-shuriken from his sleeve using his middle and ring finger.
Mortals are ever the playthings of the gods and their ilk. Okikaze turned to the dojo before him. Ten skeletons, once men gauging by the kimonos and varied styles of armor they wore, lay on the lacquered wooden floor. Some bodies were in various states of dismemberment, some decapitated. They all shared one thing in common. All were armed with spear, sword or chain weapons depending on what the owner's preference was in life.
Okikaze began mumbling and weaving his slender, delicate fingers in sharp motions. One by one the skeletons rose from the floor. Bones grinded and treated leather strained against animal gut links as the bodies collected pieces that were missing from themselves. When all the skeletons were whole once more they formed a circle around their master.
Okikaze rotated his neck cracking it. He placed both hands on the hilt of his katana. The fine point barely touched the wooden floor. Okikaze bowed his head, and cleared his mind. The effort was greater than he would have liked, which made him angrier.
"Whosoever fails to land a strike will have their flesh returned that I might peel it away one layer at a time." Okikaze closed his eyes, "Atakku!"
The Silver Samurai was much taller than the Tinkerer would have thought. Another curiosity of his mutant genes? Maybe. Certainly not one of the more interesting quirks of the X gene. Tinkerer had argued for almost an hour. The patient had to remain perfectly still during the surgery that would attach a cybernetic limb to the stub on the end of his right hand. The samurai would hear none of it. He was going to just lay there during the surgery and let himself be cut open, awake and aware.
Riddled with madness were the egos of some of the people the Tinkerer had to deal with. No one is that strong. There would be movement even if the Juggernaut was enduring such a procedure. The limb had to be wired directly into the peripheral nervous system! Tinkerer was not a surgeon but he had advanced robotic systems that did the surgery in accordance with his instructions. It’s a 12 hour procedure!
There was no convincing the samurai that Tinkerer or the robots was not going to try and kill him in his sleep. He had a mission that was paramount and everything else was secondary. He was going to be awake and aware. He was going to lie on the operating table with his sword drawn and in hand. He was worried that I was going to do something? He was the one that came slashing in here throwing the head of Zaran on my workstation!
The Tinkerer was certain that the samurai was going to lose it and threaten him with bodily harm at any second. It was not the first time that one of the clients turned on him. He had a number of ways to dispatch the rowdier types. If the samurai did not maintain a reputation of being a level headed customer he would have been gassed long before he made it into the inner circle of the Tinkerer’s HQ.
"Forgive my manners in how I entered your ... base of operations. I have a mission more important than I can express. It is a matter of honor. Do you understand?" the Silver Samurai said.
Tinkerer could understand the word and the concept. He wasn't a fool. He had little use for honor in his life. He answered to no one, made his own money and wasn't married. He had or could have anything he wanted so there was no need for a code by which to live. For all his skill, Tinkerer thought that the samurai would be killed not by an opponent but by trying to adhere to a concept that was centuries out of date and almost non existent among his peers.
"There must be some kind of compromise we can reach. Money is no object," the samurai had said.
It didn't matter either, Tinkerer thought. He already had more money than he would ever spend. The desire, the need, to create, to engineer was what kept him working. There was a way to fix any problem when you put enough of the old gray matter behind it.
"I have an idea," Tinkerer said and retrieved a tool.
The device was essentially a neural inhibitor. Worn around the neck, the device would block the signal to whichever limb or limbs it had been programmed to affect. Tinkerer hadn't touched the thing in years. It was something that he had toyed with and abandoned once something more interesting came to mind. Tinkerer had to demonstrate it on himself then allow the samurai to apply it. The price tag on both the hand and labor was tripled. The samurai acknowledged the increase with a grunt.
The operation went flawlessly. If the samurai felt a thing he didn't show it. The naked steel and synthetic ligaments and tendons worked flawlessly. The Tinkerer had to stop himself from grinning at the craftsmanship. The hand had been complete for weeks. Tinkerer couldn't stop himself once the design came to mind.
“I thought you were going to perform the surgery yourself,” the samurai said.
“Do I look like a surgeon to you? No, I don’t have the hands for it. I traded these surgical robots for some weapon systems with the Mad Thinker. I got the better end of the deal there."
The Tinkerer took the collar from the samurai as he stood. The hand opened and closed repeatedly.
"Your skill is remarkable, Tinkerer."
"Put this on." The Tinkerer threw a flesh colored glove at the Silver samurai.
He eased his steel hand into the glove. The flaps around the wrist had no means of connecting. The samurai looked at Tinkerer curiously. The engineer produced something similar to an airbrushing pistol that was attached to a long hose that connected the large metal work station.
The Tinkerer took the loose-skinned hand and held the flaps shut over the wrist.
"Stay still," Tinkerer said and began to spray the faux skin along the seams, “I got this mixture from Trapster. He’s an organic chemist of the highest order you know. All he wanted was some streamlined relays for a fluid release system. You see, samurai, we on the other side of the law can work together as well. You needn’t remain so aloof when operating in the Americas. Some of us are trustworthy."
“I will try and remember that,” the Silver Samurai said.
“Do. And another thing, if you ever wish to procure my services again for any price you will obey my instructions to the letter. I won't suffer another one of your tantrums again. Are we clear?"
The Silver samurai said nothing but the Tinkerer saw that he was understood. After a few minutes of phone calls the samurai had the money transferred to the Tinkerer's off-shore accounts. The samurai expressed his cold gratitude. He was making his way to the door when the Tinkerer stopped him.
"Hold on, where do you think you're going?"
The Silver samurai turned, one brow arched.
"Take that thing with you!"
The Tinkerer pointed his thumb at the head of Zaran still sitting where it had been thrown.
In the white stucco Beverly Glen Avenue apartment, Ken Harada, the Silver Samurai, watched as the subtle after-glow of his teleportation dispersed around him. His teleportation ring worked again. What caused the earlier failure, he wondered. Was it a glitch? Did it need to be recharged? Could it be recharged? I don’t even know if it’s magical based or technological. I should have had the Tinkerer look into it while he was in his shop.
Harada opened and closed the new hand. There was no feeling in it. The Tinkerer said that might improve as the nerve endings and synapses became accustomed to the new appendage but not to hold onto hope. Would it hurt if injured? The numbness might be a blessing in such a case.
He looked around the simple apartment. It was a three bedroom and immaculate. His attendants had seen to that, as was their duty. Hirokoto Morri and Arinori Hojo came to America a number of times once Harada decided they were well trained enough to carry out his orders abroad. He knew that once his father was dead he would have to come to America and secure good relations with the Yakuza in cities where his father had business. He had been planning the trip for six months. Harada hadn't planned on being alone. That meant he would have to tend to his personal needs. He was used to being served but it hadn't been that long since he was solo mercenary. It would only be a minor hardship.
Harada placed the teleportation ring on his right index finger and turned it. The complete Silver Samurai armor appeared on his body. The ring is responding perfectly. Will it malfunction again at a crucial moment? He turned the ring and the armor disappeared. He stretched, removed his jacket and headed for the kitchen.
It took Harada a few minutes to find everything he needed to make some tea. After putting the kettle on the stove to boil he retrieved the laptop from its carrying case that sat on the kitchen table. He assembled the computer and plugged it in. A yawn possessed him. He hadn't slept in over twenty-four hours and it was starting to wear on him. He wondered how comfortable the bed was then dismissed the idea. Hirokoto Morri was rotting in some gaijin jail. He wasn't comfortable. There would be time for sleeping soon enough.
The kettle whistled. Harada let the laptop warm up and made himself a cup of green tea. Harada searched for a map of Beverly Hills, Los Angeles. He found the Beverly Wilshire and looked up the closest police precinct. That was where Hirokoto Morri had most likely been taken, he reasoned. North Rexford Drive. City Hall was right across the street. There would quite likely be more police in City Hall.
Harada sat and thought while sipping his tea. There could be no casualties. Injuring the police would be insult enough. Killing one, even accidentally or due to their own stupidly (which was more likely) would summon all sorts of trouble that he could not afford. He would have to be swift. By the time he finished his research and made a phone call Harada had finished his third cup of cha.
"Please, please! I have a fiancé. We're gonna have a —"
-phunt-
The man in the white mask depicting an emotionless human face holstered the silenced Beretta. The white lenses covered the wearer's eyes. The rest of the costume, white gloves and boots and a white chest plate were off set by black sleeves and black leggings. He was still wearing the trench coat. It didn't really hide his costume very well but it deflected a lot of stares, where as if he was wearing the outfit and nothing else, what he was packing would attract far too much attention. He tilted his head then shook it disbelievingly.
"Like I care if yer old lady is about to drop a load, dummy," the Enforcer said and turned away from the parked car with the dead man sitting in the driver's seat.
It wasn't time yet. The Enforcer did not want any early warnings spoiling the surprise party. The boss said there was a lot riding on this mission. It was his final test. He would get a pay raise if everything went according to plan. The Enforcer continued walking towards the oval courtyard that lead to the entrance at the base of the tower of City Hall.
The architect that came up was this design was high on crack or something, the Enforcer thought. The huge multicolored floors that took up far too much area and the sidewalks lined by palm trees and everything pointing to the main arc of the City Hall structure was hideous and gaudy. It was a nightmare from an assault point of view as well. If there were shooters on the roof like at the White House then this little message was going to be cut damn short, damn fast. The boss said he would take care of that though.
A man and a woman, both in their early thirties, exited the building laughing. The suits they were wearing cost more than the Enforcer made at any of his jobs in a year. Smug, rich, spoiled brats, he thought and drew his Uzi 9mm. He pulled the action back and waited for them to notice. Both heads locked on him and he smiled under his mask. The doors opened behind the couple and he pressed the trigger. The chest areas of both suits blossomed in red. The rounds hit the cast-stone stairs behind them and the lower legs of those that followed.
The Enforcer had to stifle a laugh watching the expressions on the victim's faces turn from shock to horror to pain and then to a lack of expression. Sometimes life was just too damn sweet.
"Where is Kenuichio Harada?" Detective Kylie Gebauer said.
Hirokoto Morri sat, as he had been sitting for the better part of a day, expressionless and staring at the two-way mirror of the interrogation room. Detective Mo Kyubei knew he must be aware of what the mirror was for and that the interrogation room was likely rigged for sound as well. How could he not? There are more than enough cop shows on TV. Kyubei and Gebauer had taken turns grilling him with questions. He answered none of them. He wasn't even blinking very much.
Kylie wiped the back of her hand across her forehead. They had alternately turned up the heat and the AC periodically when it was established that Morri wasn't going to answer even the simplest questions. Neither temperature change affected him. Normally the change in environment would make the suspect uncomfortable and add to his anxiousness. Which would make them more inclined to get angry and make a mistake. Hirokoto Morri did not shiver or sweat. The bright lighting in the interrogation, needed to keep subjects from being able to see in the viewing room behind the mirror, had no effect either.
It's just damn strange, Kyubei thought. He doesn't even look tired. Ken Harada didn't have a record in the US or Japan. He had known terrorist links to Hydra. He had clashed with the X-Men and other mutants in the past but no one ever came forward to file formal charges. The Silver Samurai had never been caught doing anything illegal, until last night. That was another odd thing. Why would he kill his attendant, or whatever Arinori Hojo was to him? Did we really catch him in the act of murdering his man?
The caller that gave us the tip off said that besides the yakuza meeting of the minds going on in the ballroom there was also a murder happening in what turned out to be Arinori Hojo's room. Based on the scant items found in the connecting room the officers on the scene determined that the attendants had one room while Harada occupied the other. There were some personal items from both parties: a change of clothes, two swords (katanas) and hygiene products. No night clothes and all three sets of passports were in order. None of them were planning to stay very long, in that hotel at least.
Harada had not attempted to post bail through an intermediary. He wasn't stupid enough to try and get Morri himself with an murder wrap pending. An APB was issued, the entire state was looking for him. Soon the country would be. Kyubei had no idea what the range on his teleportation ability was. Damn super-humans.
The file Kyubei accessed through the Code Blue database was scarce. Harada could charge his sword with some kind of energy that made it capable of cutting through anything short of adamantium. He was highly skilled as a swordsman and martial artist. Well no shit, he has samurai in his alias. He’s been operating for over a decade with the name so he has to have some skills there. Rumor had it that he survived multiple encounters with the someone calling himself Wolverine, a mutant, who sounded completely psychopathic.
The moment Kyubei signed into the Code Blue database an email had been fired at him wanting to know why he was accessing it. This was a standard procedure to save cop's lives, supposedly. God knows we can't do this work on our own. There are a lot of policemen that didn't like super-humans whether they were good guys or baddies. They complicated an already complicated job. Vigilantes had no business operating outside the law even if they did help out from time to time. They have a habit of making things worse before they made things better, Mo reflected. He replied to the email and stated the facts as he knew them so far and got the expected response.
CODE BLUE OPERATIVE HAS BEEN DISPATCHED.
AWAIT FURTHER INSTRUCTION.
Code Blue is coming to save the day. What a thrill. That meant Kyubei was going to have the case taken from him about five seconds after which ever freak from C.B. showed his face in Beverly Hills. Kyubei thought he would have time to prove himself capable of handing things without C.B.'s interference but Hirokoto Morri shot that idea all to hell. Still, C.B. wasn't on the scene yet. There was still-
What sounded like a stampede stormed by the viewing room door. From within the interrogation room Kylie turned her head in the direction of the noise as well.
What the hell is going on now?
Kyubei opened the door. Officers, detectives and even clerks were racing in the direction of the front entrances. Kyubei grabbed a patrolman by the arm.
“What is going on?” Kyubei said.
“Someone is shooting up City Hall across the street!” the patrolman said and pulled free.
“What?”
Who in their right minds would attack a City Hall right across from police headquarters?
Gebauer stuck her head out of the interrogation room. “What’s the deal, Mo?”
“Some nut is shooting up City Hall. You stay with the prisoner and I’ll go check it out. Do not take your eyes off Morri!” Kyubei said and merged with the racing crowd.
“Sir, you are going to have to calm down and speak more slowly. I can’t understand a word...” the desk sergeant watched his fellow officers and employees racing out the front door.
“Prease... I am looking for my brother. He has ben missing-” the large, slump-shouldered, pot bellied Asian man began.
“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to take a seat, we are having an emergency. Someone will be with you in just a moment.” The desk sergeant turned and shouted something to the nearest clerk and joined two black-clad, armored SWAT members carrying riot guns.
The Asian man pushed up his sun glasses and covertly observed as the flow of policemen ebbed then stopped altogether. Harada had waited until shift change so that the second shift policemen on duty would not be too familiar with his appearance. There were no photographs of him without his mask on as far as he knew. The two cops that tried to arrest him surely had a likeness rendered. The simple camouflage of facial hair, glasses, altered posture and the fake belly made Harada invisible amidst the chaos erupting across the street.
There won’t be much time but then there will be very little resistance now, Harada thought and rotated his ring.
TO BE CONTINUED
Next Issue: Can Harada pull off the break out? The Enforcer gets bloody and The Hand strikes! What’s a samurai tale without some ninja?!
-C. William Russette