This is Absolution
by iD3
Even through the alcoholic fog Chipp could tell that his waitress was a fox. "Hey baby!" he exclaimed, his speech slurring heavily, "Where've you been all my life!" The brunette rolled her eyes, hands on her hips as though irritated by the drunken display. Being a worldly man however, Chipp could tell that this girl, in particular, loved being the center of attention and was clearly enjoying herself.
"How about this, I'll get you a big bowl of noodles and some coffee so you can sober up okay?" Chipp grinned widely, more interested in watching the sway of her hips as the brunette walked away than the possibility of a free meal. The heavy ring set on her head gave the waitress a unique hair style that was as confusing as it was fascinating.
Once he finished his mission of self-penance Chipp thought he might come back here and see how far he could get with the Chinese waitress.
Unfortunately that's not what he was here for. Chipp sighed inwardly as he downed another beer. The foggy-headed young man took a look around the restaurant. The outside had been relatively plain and unremarkable. The inside however, was something completely different. The walls were made of rich wood, and bore intricate patterns of dragons and warriors. The art was wasted on the young shinobi however; most of it was just a wash of reds and browns over the empty beer bottles.
Master Tsuyoshi, sometimes Chipp couldn't help but wonder if he'd gone astray when his teacher had passed on. The young assassin had dedicated himself to avenging the aged assassin but somehow felt as if he'd wandered from the strict path Tsuyoshi had set for him. Although he supposed that was part of the reason he was here now.
Chipp leaned his head back, his gaze scouring the room before coming to rest on a table at the far end of the restaurant. Two men sat across from each other at the large semicircular booth. Both wore dark suites and serious expressions. They were flanked by two larger men who, Chipp assumed were bodyguards.
They carried on conversation as though they had some lofty importance in the world. It seemed to the drunken shinobi that they fancied themselves gods among men. Chipp supposed it didn't really matter, they died just like normal men anyways. He stood up and paid for the meal, finding, with no small amount of trouble the correct coinage to provide a substantial tip and stumbled off in the direction of the stiff suites.
It seemed like his master had left a heavy weight on the young shinobi's shoulders when he passed on. After all, Tsuyoshi had given Chipp his life back and yet the young American had been unable to protect the aged ninja. It was disappointing to say the least. After all, someone had to pay for the crime.
The two bodyguards noticed him immediately. Chipp was stumbling towards the booth, listing wildly, bumping into tables as he made his way towards the self-important men. Out of the corner of his eye the drunken ninja saw the brown-haired waitress emerge from the kitchen. Too bad, she probably would have been better off in the kitchen. Chipp sighed inwardly as he nearly tripped over a couple sitting down to eat.
"Hey buddy, maybe you should sit down for a second," the drunken youth looked up, seeing that a large figure, probably one of the guards, was blocking his passage. Chipp ignored the imposing figure, as though he hadn't noticed the heavily built thug. His attention was on the men behind him.
Now that Chipp was closer to them there was no doubt these were the men he'd been looking for. This was for Master Tsuyoshi.
Everything came into focus.
The cloud of alcohol vanished, leaving the assassin's mind sharp and clear. Chipp slung his arm out sideways, a heavy wooden handle sliding out of his long black sleeve and into his open palm.
He whipped it sideways, a cruel silvery blade locking into place with a solid clang. The bodyguard took a step back in alarm but it was too late. Chipp was fast. The shinobi took a step in and smashed his elbow into the thug's stomach. The blow connected with a reassuring crunch as it compacted flesh and bone.
Chipp could hear the cries of alarm that sounded around him but they seemed dim and distant, barely above the dull roar that the world exuded. The young shinobi wondered why things seemed so different during combat. Maybe it was all the drugs he'd done, or his master's training, but for whatever reason the world seemed to move in slow motion as soon as he moved in for the kill.
Chipp followed through faster than his opponent could react. He moved in low, sweeping the large man's feet out from under him and using the momentum to bring his other foot crashing down on the man's skull.
It was funny, the shinobi mused to himself as he vaulted through the air towards the second guard. Sometimes he would wonder if there was a chance that he was actually insane. The young assassin wouldn't have been all that surprised. After all he'd spent a good chunk of his life so high Chipp wasn't sure that he had any higher brain function left. That might explain why the shinobi was able to live in two separate conditions, one that was the humorous, albeit dimwitted day-to-day persona of Chipp Zanuff and one that was something darker.
His knees crashed into the guard's skull, his neck snapping under the rapid force of the blow. Chipp carefully inverted himself as he hit the ground, using his free hand to spring off the floor and hook his foot into the nearest suited man's face. The blow landed with the resounding sound of splintering bone and Chipp smiled in grim satisfaction, the darkness creeping in his skull.
Although it only took a moment for this all to, Chipp was now certain that these were the men he'd been looking for. The way they moved, the way the dressed, even the way their bones faltered under his blows. These men were from the Post War Administration Bureau.
Or maybe he was just crazy. Either way his master had to be avenged.
Chipp watched his remaining target with disinterest as he arched overhead. The man's face was a wash of fear and frenzied determination. The man stood, bringing an arm out to defend himself.
Too late. Chipp spun overhead as his opponent stumbled clumsily forward; Chipp made no noise as the ninja's feet hit the table. He sat their, crouched for what seemed like an unreasonably long time watching as the man tried to spin back to confront him.
Although barely a moment in time, the entire event seemed like an eternity to the silver-haired assassin. Chipp studied every spot and wrinkle on the man's face, taking in the aged defiance of his opponent.
Then he went still. Chipp's razor sharp blade had pierced straight through his spinal column, exiting out the back of his neck. The black suited official stood in what looked like shock, his face rigid and fixated. His dark eyes stared straight back into his assailant's. The look triggered some dim recognition in the back of Chipp's mind before the lights in the man's eyes went out.
The aged man fell to the ground, blade projected through his neck. Everything had happened so fast. Chipp hadn't noticed that, instead of stabbing the man, he'd haphazardly thrown the sword straight through his opponent's throat, severing his target's spinal column just as he'd turned to face Chipp. What was even funnier was that he'd collapsed at the instant of impact, loosing functionality below the neck. He hadn't really noticed any of these things.
Maybe Chipp was losing his grip on reality. Well, that's what happens when you shoot up so much, he decided. Zanuff was back. The young man blinked, as though he'd awaken from a deep trance, having missed the bloody event that had just transpired. He looked, only half interested at the crumpled mess that surrounded him before stepping off the table.
A crowd of terrified on lookers watched his every move. The silver-haired youth could hear the pitiful whimpers of the restaurant's patrons as he made his way by tables. Chipp took little interest in the blank faces around him, instead gazing up at the ceiling, as though in a daydream.
Those men had deserved what they got. It was Karma Chipp decided. They had killed his master so he thought it was only fitting they keep him company in the next world right? Or did they kill him, Chipp wondered. He wasn't actually sure. It didn't really matter anyways, he decided. Besides, they worked for the same organization that had his master put to death. Right? Or was that the Assassin's Guild?
He caught the glance of the pretty young girl who had waited on him. Her features were wide in unregistered horror as she stared back at him. Chipp, grinned widely, and winked at her. She recoiled in disgust, as though the devil himself had just looked her way.
Oh well, he thought, this is absolution.
Author's Note: This is the only installment of this fic. I needed a break from my other two fics. I haven't updated The Search for I in a long time and haven't even posted Walk yet but rest assured, I've been working on them straight since the last time I updated. Combinations of things have kept me from getting anything concrete up however.
I decided to write this fic for a number of reasons. First and formost is my personal love of Chipp Zanuff. Despite his dark history of substance abuse and recovery he was portrayed as a goof-off. This has never quiet added up for me and so I've taken some liberties with his character. I decided on a more schizophrenic Chipp Zanuff who still bore the negative effects of his drug abuse. My viewing of the Guilty Gear Artbook only encouraged this interpretation, depicting a much darker Zanuff than we see in the game.
In any event the title of this story, This is Absolution, is a song by the band Killswitch Engage off their album As Daylight Dies.