The lights were dim in the old pool hall. Flickering flourescents bathed the inhabitants in an unhealthy aura and made the shadows that lurked at the edges of the room dance with every intermittent flash. At this time of the morning, last call was a few scant minutes away and most of the usual crowd had long since stumbled to the cabs and designated drivers that would take them home. Those left either didn't want to go home or weren't even close to being done with the night's partying. A few lone barflies populated the wobbly stools that lined the bar against one wall. These sad individuals were those consumed by their inner demons, hoping to drown these destructive inner voices with as much booze as they could afford to spare on their meager blue collar salaries. The man dispensing the drinks wasn't the kind of paternal middle aged man who inspired you to share your life story with as you ruminated over a shot of Jack. His rippling muscles strained at his black shirt, and with his graying ponytail and soul patch, he appeared to be an over the hill porn star posing as a bartender more than anything else.
As few people as were there this late at night, the low susurrus of conversation stopped as a door opened for someone to enter, letting in a cold blast of wintery air with him. As the man stepped into the building from the December night, it was immediately apparent he didn't belong. His tailored white trench coat and white suit fit to his lean frame impeccably. His immaculately styled black hair and Oriental good looks were another feature that pegged him as an outsider.
Most of those left in here were either those distraught blue collar souls at the bar, or the last crowd of tattooed, leather clad bikers still engaged in a game of pool at one of the scarred pool tables, with the faded green felt. Two piles of crumpled bills lay on the edge of the pool table and one of the larger men was bent over lining up a shot. There was some kind of wager going on, obviously. It was no surprise that it was one of the bikers that noticed the newcomer. A man with blond spiked hair elbowed the large man bent over and nodded toward the Japanese man that was at this moment walking their way.
The big man straightened out and fixed his good eye on the Japanese man. His other eye stared off into the periphery somewhere to his right, a glazed cataract rendering it useless. "The fuck you want, slant eye?" He growled with his mouth twisted into a snarl.
The Japanese man smiled thinly even as the biker's companions reacted to the hostility in their leader's voice by forming a semi circle around the much smaller white clad interloper. "You have stolen from Mr. Mazushi. He wishes me to send his regards."
One of the more aware of the biker's shifted nervously and leaned toward the big biker, eyes flicking nervously between the Japanese man and his friend.
"Mitch...there's five of us and one of him and he don't even look a little afraid..."
Mitch reacted to the interruption by driving his elbow into the smaller, weasely man's gut. "Shut your trap, you chickenshit." He shifted his gaze to the Japanese man. "And what kind of regards are those, Jap? You may have noticed that you're outnumbered here."
These Americans...so arrogant. So foolish...Ryu thought to himself as he allowed the ghost of a smile to become a full fledged grin. The mania of the devil was in that grin. Far faster than any of the bikers could react, Ryu's hands dipped into his trench coat and came out filled with Glocks. Rather magnificent firearms, to the trained eye. Matte black and fitted to his hands perfectly, ornate Japanese characters etched were into both barrels. Realization had just begun to dawn in the biker's eyes that this guy meant business. Both guns barked once and two of the bikers in the semi circle went down with matching holes directly in the center of their foreheads. Scarlet sprays stippled the emerald felt of the pool table and the wood paneled wall behind them. He shifted his aim slightly inward with both guns and delicately caressed the triggers. The Glocks spoke their deadly language again and two more bikers went down minus an eye as he changed up his game slightly. He was nothing, if not artful.
All of this went down in the space of a few seconds. To his credit, Mitch didn't flinch or react visibly to the sudden, brutal deaths of his friends. Instead he showed a speed that belied his size as he drove his head forward into Ryu's face, his forehead connecting with the Japanese man's nose in a brutal crunch that reverberated throughout the pool hall. The guns fell from Ryu's suddenly nerveless fingers as he staggered back, his nose leaking crimson over his formerly immaculate suit.
"I'm gonna kill you, you slant eyed fuck!!" Mitch lunged forward as Ryu staggered back and grabbed a double fistful of crimson stained suit jacket, lifting Ryu up and spinning around to slam him hard on the pool table. Ryu grunted in pain at the impact and tried to push himself up,but the weight of Mitch bearing down on him was too much. Mitch cocked a fist back and slammed it into the much smaller Japanese man's face again, and a second time.
Each time Ryu's head bounced off the felt surface of the table, scrambling his brains more. His entire world was beginning to go gray, despite the small explosions of pain blossoming from each impact of Mitch's fist. Just when he thought it was all over, the weight disappeared.
Ryu blinked his vision clear just in time to see another Japanese man, this one dressed in the robes common to a Samurai in centuries past, with a conical hat upon his head. The man had caught Mitch's wrist when he reached back to deliver another brutal blow to Ryu, and with seeming effortless ease twisted his arm around behind his back. Ryu saw the other Japanese man shoving Mitch forward toward the pool table. Ryu rolled out of the way just in time to avoid being hit by Mitch as his face connected with the blood spattered felt.
As Ryu stood shakily to his feet and stooped to retrieve his guns, the other Japanese man turned to face him with a slight smile on his otherwise somber face.
"Come with me, son. There is much to explain." The man spoke flat, unaccented English with just a slight Midwestern twang. Ryu glanced around the pool hall. The few people still inside were cowering behind the bar or under tables, the dead men lay where they fell, blood slowly commingling to form a slimy pool. He could hear sirens just starting to become audible, a sure sign that trouble was on its way. This strange man had just saved him from being beaten to death. The situation surely couldn't get anymore surreal than this. He shrugged and nodded.
"Let us go, then." The man nodded and started out the door. Ryu had no choice but to follow.