Eye of the Immortal
Chapter 1-Finally Released
1987- Shinjuku, Tokyo- Warehouse Section-
The warehouses have always been places of crime and death, always providing silence and privacy. That night was no different.
Only the occasional streetlight along the main alley paths gave illumination to this night. Although it was a quiet night, this offered the running man no comfort. The sound of his own footsteps resounded in these narrow alleys as he ran. Even if the man could move as silently as an assassin, the sound of his breathing would fill his adrenaline-filled ears, and if not his heaving lungs, then his own heartbeat.
This Japanese man was well-dressed, which was unfortunate. Even though the suit was functional enough, it was hot and uncomfortable to the sweat-soaked man. He ran with his gun drawn. The illegal piece had made him a rarity among the other small-time yakuza. Now it has been made practically useless in the face of the attack of that…that monster that had dismembered the rest of his "business partners" only a few minutes ago.
Christ man! How the hell did he go right-f-'- Through them! OH MY GOD The Yakuza did not waste his precious breath voicing his thoughts. He did, however, manage to duck the sword meant for his neck. His forward momentum caused him to trip over his feet and he rolled several meters before he got up and turned around. He quickly fired his last bullet back at the killer. The shot was almost accurate. It passed by the small chain-scythe and grazed the right cheek of the one-eyed murderer…a quarter-second before the chain-scythe passed right through the neck of "Mister One-Thousand."
Manji cleaned the blades used in that night's work with a thoroughly blood-stained rag, then replaced them into the deep pockets of his heavy black long-coat. As for damages, the shots on his right arm and back had healed during the actual fight. That blow from the stun-stick had done absolutely shit to him. And the two bullets in the chest had popped out and healed up during the chase…all clear, although, he would have to stitch up his coat again.
"So where the hell did that guy get a gun! I god-damned hate those things." Manji vented, and then he sighed. His anger understandable, as his arm had only recently returned to full strength after being blown off a week ago. "What do people have against swords these days; it's much cleaner that way."
But it was a good haul tonight, nine yakuza. Nine more scum off of the streets, and nine more kills closer to his goal. Yes, it was a good night. With the darkness of the new moon all around he only had the streetlight he was under to assure that his cleaning was thorough. The air was dry around him and the cold wind made him feel too god-damned old to be living in this world.
Manji sighed again and brushed the slight itch on his right cheek, paused, then brought his hand up slightly and stared at the blood smeared on it…his blood.
Slowly, the scar-faced man began to chuckle as he put his blades away. By the time all seven were hidden securely, it was full-blown laughter, filled with joy and release.
Then Manji started walking towards the city. He started to plan to stop by a drug store in order to buy medical supplies he had never needed before today.
"I god-damned LOVE the Yakuza!" Manji roared into the darkness. Still laughing, he walked on, not noticing the multiple blood-stains slowly spreading from his arms, legs, and chest. The crux-gammata design on his back ruffled in a gust of wind as he walked towards the lighted part of the city
