This area was rich, once, very long ago. The houses are small, but they show the affluence of large gardens, and walls around each edifice. The gardens are bare now, where they aren't overgrown with weeds, and the walls are crumbling. The memory of this day's sun casts an eerie orange glow to the horizon, much like the memory of this area's former glory can be seen it what was once a grand estate. Most houses are fully dark, totally abandoned. One stands alone, a beacon of light in the gloom. Lights are on inside, casting out the opposite of shadows through tears in the walls, cracks in the window, missing shingles in the roof. A bright metaphor for a dark, dark deed.
Guards patrol, most inside the house, a few along the wall. None notice three shadows dark rapidly towards their goal.
In the attic, one guard is nervous. He's young, teased often by his compatriots, but one has grown bored of this past-time and tries to calm the boy down, if only because his skittishness is getting annoying.
"What's troubling you, gaki? No one's bothering us tonight. Missing out on a hot date?"
The lad shook his head, checking once again the clip in his gun, the safety, the sight. "I hear things. We're a target. Took the wrong stuff, someone's hired themselves a recovery service."
"Ha! Like to see 'em try. It'd take an army just to get past the wall. We won't even get to see any of the action."
He blinked and took an involuntary step back as terrified eyes met his own. "No. No army. These two guys. The GetBackers. I've heard stories of what they do. They've never failed, one hundred percent recovery rate! And they have faced down armies, and freaks, too. They're freaks themselves, you know. This one guy can call lightning from the sky, fry you where you stand, and he controls computers, too. But the other one you have to watch for. He can crush steel in that grip of his, but that aint the worst of it. It's his eyes. He's got the devil in his eyes. The Jagan, they call it. Can make you see things, sends ya into the worst nightmare he can dream up. He takes over your mind with nothing but a look."
"And here I thought I advertised for a guard. Turns out I've acquired the services of a bard, instead." The voice from the shadows froze the spines of every armed man in the room. Even the ones who had stayed at attention found a few extra millimeters they could stand straighter. "An honest mistake, I suppose. I probably won't have the printer killed; the two words sound so similar. Oh, do go on with your story, I didn't mean to interrupt." The footsteps were the only sound as they carried the tall man into the room. His white coat, stained yellow by the garish light of the single ancient bulb hanging from the ceiling, cast pools of shadows around his feet. His red hair, pulled tight in back in a long ponytail, a few locks escaping their hold to form bangs. His coat was sleeveless, revealing pale bare arms held loosely at his sides. On the right of his belt, a long-barrelled gun. The left, a short katana. Clear green eyes took in the boy doing his best impression of someone who had been guarding all his life and never gossiping or even so much as talking and was certainly nowhere near losing control of his bladder.
"Listen well, boy. Yes, the GetBackers have been hired to recover what we hold here. But not the ones you're thinking of; they've retired now. All you big, tough sentries will have to protect me from is two little girls who think they can do the jobs of men. If you don't think you can handle that, let me know now. I think you'll be able to escape before they show up, if you hurry. I'll even make sure you get a nice severance package." It's possible he doesn't mean severance the way I think he does, thought the boy. Maybe I just imagined the emphasis on the word. Sweet mother, I fear this guy more than I could fear any recovery service.
He couldn't think of anything to say, so he said nothing, just stared straight ahead and did his impression of furniture. Maybe the man read his mind, more likely just read his face, but after a few long moments he nodded. "Good. You've made the right choice. I like you, boy. You'll go far in this business, I can tell." Again, his feet had the only voice in the room. Thok, thok as he walked across the floor. Thok, thok, going down the stairs. Mother was right; I should have become a lawyer. Thok, thok. I wonder if that job at the garage is still available? Thok, thok. Never again, I swear. No money is worth this, and you can't even brag about it enough to get girls. Thok, thok. That's… odd. Why are we still hearing his footsteps? Thok, thok. Wait. That's not even coming from the stairs. Thok, thok… "It's coming from the wi-" THOK!
With a faint whistle in the air, a tiny white ball flew in from the window. It passed right in front of the boy's face, and he had just enough time to think to himself, a ping pong ball? Really? Then it was exploding in green mist, and all he could think was, OOK!
Pandemonium broke out around the room. The guards caught in the mist were prancing around like monkeys. A few ran to the window, the rest scanned the room for other threats, except for one who was trying to herd the primates into a corner where they wouldn't get in the way of the attack they were apparently under.
With a shattering sound, a hole in the roof became a bit bigger and allowed a form to drop inside. For a moment, the men with guns merely stood staring at this vision, a petite beauty of gentle grace dressed formally in a dark dress, bodice open over a white shirt buttoned to the collar. The hem flared out at about calf-height above white-stockinged feet slipped into a pair of polished black shoes. That frozen moment was all she needed.
A toss of her head sent her hair flowing to the right in a gentle cascade, while a flick of her left hand released thin cords from the edge of her sleeve. She tangled her fingers in the jumble before another flick sent the ends arcing towards her left shoulder, where they were held in place by her chin. She stood there just a moment, eyes open yet seeing nothing, right hand poised over a violin made only of the strings. With a single deft motion she plucked out a perfect G.
Her sightless eyes closed. The note she sent out raced about the room, a sonic spy gathering information, echoing back and whispering its gossip in her ear. All over in a flash and before any of the guards could raise their guns, she sent her weapons out to seek their targets. Threads raced from her outstretched fingers, wrapped around firearms, responded to the slight motions of her wrists and forearms to pull the weapons from their fingers. Pulling her hands up, left, right, down, she conducted a chorus of cords that spun around the room, disarming and throwing the guns out windows. Four measures later her task was complete and the attic was free of guns. Angry now at this humiliation, and having gotten over their shock, the guards pulled their knives and advanced on the blind girl. She could feel their approach in the creaking floorboards, smell the cold metal of their blades. With grim determination, she faced them with her threads.
THOK! A guard went down, taking an oddly heavy ping pong ball to the back of the head. The four left of the original ten began to worry about these odds as two of them turned to face the new assailant, their gazes met and held by gray eyes over purple sunglasses. Her hair was pulled back in a spiky ponytail, the red straps of her backpack separating the sleeves of her long white coat from the body, which tapered to four points below her waist. Black slacks and feet in sandals completed the look. Her left hand tossed a tiny white orb up and down. In her right hand, a red-padded ping pong paddle.
"Having fun without me, Madoka?"
"Just waiting for you to sing along." The two men still facing the violinist advanced, blades in their hands and murder in their eyes, and she took a step back. Meanwhile, her companion tossed her ammunition higher in the air and spun left before releasing a backhand that propelled the pale bullet towards her opponent. Too fast for him to dodge, it broke on impact with his chest, releasing a puff of blue mist that quickly sent him collapsing to the ground, unconscious. The other was very surprised by her charge, and the fact that her speed with the paddle surpassed his skill with his knife, then a blow to the head sent him into dreamland.
Looking up, she saw Madoka facing her final challenger, his partner tied up on the ground. A wrist, caught in thread and flipped backwards, then a graceful foot kicked into his chest sent him stumbling backwards.
"I hope you're not sore that you lost today. Just remember, if you ever find that you've lost something, or had it stolen from you, call me, Natsumi, or my friend Madoka here." She reached behind her and drew out another ball, hefting it experimentally in one hand. "We're the new GetBackers. One hundred percent recovery rate!" Toss up, and a gentle serve sent her weapon flying at the last guard.
Snakestrike quick, a hand darted from the shadows and two fingers deftly closed on the ball, too gently to shatter it and release its toxins. "Indeed. I have heard of you, though I must humbly admit that I underestimated your skills." Green eyes regarded the orb in his care, ignoring the girls in the room, or the final guard who oddly enough was spending most of his available brainpower trying to decide if he was more scared of the demon-women or his own boss. Either way, he rapidly came to the conclusion that leaving was the best option, and his heavy tread was heard pounding down the stairs.
The pair dropped into fighting poses, facing this new challenger. Threads hung loose from long sleeves, gloved hands held paddle and ball. The blind girl spoke. "We have come for what was taken, sir. We shall be on our way once it is handed over."
"I'm afraid that isn't likely, my good woman. You'll be lucky if they find enough of you to remove from the premises at all."
"Enough talk." Natsumi served her attack, far too slow. The man was halfway across the attack as the ball left her grasp. Again, the string violin was stretched along Madoka's left arm; this time, her right hand held taught a few threads which she rubbed like a bow across her instrument, sending out a brief, commanding theme. The man in the white coat never saw the dog leap from behind him.
He didn't need to.
With a yelp, the canine was on the ground. "Mozart!" She couldn't have seen the sword drawn with lightning speed, the pommel-strike that dropped him in a boneless pile, but she heard his pain and sniffed the air, scenting the metallic hint of his blood. Ignoring all, she ran to her pet's side. An easy target, she took four bullets, crippling shots to her joints, and still tried pitifully to crawl across the dusty floor. "Mozart…"
"NO!" Dropping her paddle, slipping out of her backpack, the final GetBacker raced across the room, hands held out in claws to rend her foe. Briefly he pondered, the gun in his left hand, the blade in his right? He dropped the pistol and struck. She actually dodged his slash. She was too slow to avoid his stab.
Her gasp had blood in it. Weakening hands gripped his around the hilt as she shook, trying to breathe. He jerked the blade, worrying at the wound in her as her blood pooled around his feet, making her cry out without breath. She pulled herself even closer, along the blade, so close he could smell the vanilla and lilac scent of her hair. He laughed as she pressed into him while she died. Twitching, she tilted back her head, bringing her lips up to his ear. Fascinated to discover what her final words on earth would be, he fell silent and tilted his neck to listen…
"Just ippun."
He gasped in shock as reality crashed into him, like a bucketful of ice water waking him from a deep sleep. Disoriented, he took stock of what was happening around him. He was… lying on his side? The girl, the one he'd just killed, stood over him, stoppering something orange in a bottle and tucking it into her backpack. She smiled down at him, and pushed her stupid purple sunglasses up to the bridge of her nose.
"Did you have a nice dream?"
"Bu-but… but… no! You can't be a Jagan-user! There's no way!" Struggling only revealed to him that his hands were bound behind his back. Twisting his neck around didn't reveal the confinement, but it did bring the blind girl into his field of view where she crouched next to her dog, scratching his ears. He, in turn, was slowly twisting his neck, trying to bring her fingers to the exact right spot. Neither showed any sign of the grievous injury he knew he'd inflicted on them. "You used some sort of poison on me… but how? I was never near a burst ball."
"No, you weren't. But you were near a ball…" Like a cat, Natsumi played with her captured prey while she rifled through the boxes piled along the walls, searching for something specific.
His eyes went wide as he remembered. "Contact poison…"
"Yatta!" The ping pong expert held aloft one small box next to her V-for-victory fingers. "Got it, Madoka. Let's go." To her captive, "Yes. You were suffering from my Hallucinogen Poison from the moment you grabbed the ball until I gave you the antidote." He recalled the orange bottle she'd tucked away just as he woke up. "I don't need Jagan to deal with the likes of you."
Struggling was useless but he did it anyway, fighting impotently against his bonds as the two girls followed the dog out the window. His convulsions only increased when he heard the sirens in the distance. Regretting his loss of control even while he couldn't stop himself, he called out after them, "This isn't the end! I will find you, and the score will be settled! Remember this!"
The sound of laughter was the only reply, and it echo'd in his skull all the time it took the cops to arrive and find him in the attic, bound by thread.
****
A street in Shinjuku, mostly empty. Three old women gossip on the corner. A messenger zips past on his bicycle. A café sign lit by the early morning sun, declaring itself the Honky Tonk.
Inside, in a booth at the back, two women sat across from their client. Natsumi pulled the wooden box they went to so much trouble to get out of her backpack, and slid it across the table to the balding salary man. "The contract is fulfilled. The plates are inside. From the looks of the rest of the equipment they had stored their, the culprits will be going to jail for a lot more than just counterfeiting. You won't have to worry about them finding you again."
"Thank you, thank you!" Unable to hide his relief, the short man in the ill-fitting generic suit hugged the printing plates to his chest like they were plushies. "If my employers ever found out I let these get stolen on my watch, I wouldn't just lose my job, I'd never be able to get one again!" With regret, he loosened his hold on the cargo long enough to pull an envelope out of his breast pocket and slide it across the table. "With this comes my eternal gratitude."
The rapid disappearance of the cash belied the innocent grins on the faces of the GetBackers. "Feel free to let your friends know about our excellent service!" Natsumi took a sip from her mug. It was white, with black sharpie on it declaring it the personal property of the Supreme Natsumi, Do Not Touch!
With as much speed as the rigidity of Japanese culture allowed, the man was on his way to slip the plates back to their proper place before anyone noticed they were gone. Madoka, Mozart and Natsumi moved to the counter.
"One pizza, two more coffees and a dish of water, please!"
The man behind the counter, spiky hair not merely blond but violently yellow, and held back from his eyes by a green bandana that matched the vest he wore over a white t-shirt, didn't turn around to greet them. "And how much of that fee do you plan on putting towards your tab, exactly?"
"All of it!" Deftly slipping half the bills out of the envelope before taking it out of her pocket, she slammed it onto the counter. "Ridding ourselves of your unjust, oppressive tab is our highest priority."
"Unjust? Oppressive?" Ginji turned to face his successors and took the envelope, pocketing it in his apron. "You're right. And I wouldn't dream of increasing the load on your young shoulders by allowing you to go deeper into debt." He pointedly moved his percolator farther down the counter from them.
"It is a wonderful system by which brilliant and talented younger persons can be extended credit until their success catches up to their aptitude and by the way they have horrible luck with money."
The speech, accompanied by the manic glint in the young woman's eye as she glanced around the bar where she used to be a waitress, seemed to satisfy the man who turned to make them a pizza. "I trust you remember how to pour the coffee?"
Ding.
Three sets of eyes turned to watch the entrance of the man in the slick Italian suit. Madoka kept her eyes in front of her and just listened. Black hair, once allowed to thrust spikily towards the heavens, now short and greased back. Eyes that once stared above purple circles were now masked by wraparound sunglasses. Ginji smiled at his old partner and returned to his cooking.
"Girls. I've negotiated another assignment for you. Interested?"