Chapter 1

Fire.

It's a weird impression - irrational and unexpected. An intense compulsion to burn the building before me, to watch it disintegrate into blackened wood, scarred stone and shattered glass, and to laugh as it happens.

It's not an ugly building by any means. Pristine arches of white marble bind together multi-story panes of crystal clear glass, the whole construct resting on stalwart pillars of European architecture. Honestly, "not ugly" is an unfair description. It's genuinely beautiful, for a building.

It's disgusting anyways. Maybe because it's not the building that I want to burn.

It's the people.

My tension must be palpable, because a warm, soft weight settles against my shoulder. I don't need to look to know that said weight is a petite brunette head. Her name is Natsuki Tanaka, and to say I don't trust her would be the understatement of my miserable existence. Odd, no? You'd think that several years of partnership would foster trust, or at least professional respect. Anything less would just make me an irrational cynic.

Admittedly, I partially am, but not because of how I treat Natsuki. People who don't know her see her as a cute girl, one on the cusp of blossoming into a beautiful woman.

I'm not fooled. She's one part cute, three parts mysterious, twenty parts troll, and thirty parts diehard sadist. Our relationship is born of one simple fact: she needs me, and I need her more. Like it or not, she's my bloodhound. And whether she likes it or not, I'm her sword.

Life's just funny like that.

"Don't be so tense, dear," she says, voice rising in a gentle lilt. "A party, after all, is meant to be enjoyed."

I snort in disbelief. "If I wanted to enjoy a party, I certainly wouldn't have come with you."

She raises one delicate eyebrow in a gentle arc. "Such a harsh thing to say to a beautiful lady. What if you hurt my feelings? Women are delicate creatures, you know."

"You? Lady? I thought all trolls were male," I drawl. "Did my fantasy books lie to me?"

She chuckles softly. "You can't believe everything you read or hear, dear." The words are innocent, but there's a pointed reminder - you're lost without me. I grunt in response, and say nothing.

We approach the entrance: a grand set of double doors, surrounded by a team of ushers to check invitations and guide guests to their appropriate destinations. All of them are dressed formally - suits and ties, and I notice all of them tower above the arriving guests. Intimidation and an impression of grandeur, no doubt. Natsuki and I certainly fit in. She's dressed in a long, black evening gown, and I have a white suit. I don't do designer clothes, but even I can tell it's top quality. Natsuki had it tailored for me. She didn't tell me how she got my measurements, and I didn't ask.

I vaguely remember reading that couples are supposed to match each other. White for white, black for black. Perhaps I'm mistaken, but it doesn't really matter either way. There's a certain beautiful irony in the contradictory nature of our outfits.

One of the ushers holds up a gloved hand as we approach. The motion is refined and standoffish, not at all welcoming, and the message is clear. Only the "high class" are wanted here.

"Invitation, madam?" he asks stuffily. Natsuki pulls two cream colored pieces of paper out of her purse. They're smooth and creaseless, and I idly wonder how she manages to keep them pristine among all the other tools she's carrying.

"Natsuki Tanaka," she says with a sweet smile. Just seeing it sickens me. "You know who I am. This gentleman is my accompaniment for the night."

The man pales visibly, even in the dim moonlight. "W- we're honored by your presence, madam. If you would follow me, I shall show you to your table."

He leads us through velvet halls of antique wood into a open ballroom. The ceiling glistens with the heavy weight of crystal chandeliers and bright golden light. Almost everything is gold or white - the walls, the tables, the floor - although wooden table legs and heirloom furniture peek dark chocolate brown through the blinding barrage of brightness. With a bow, the usher departs, leaving us alone, surrounded by opulence.

"Marvelous people skills, dear." My voice drips acidic sarcasm. "I'm glad to see your talent for bullying has remained potent as ever."

She presses against me seductively, slim hand against my chest in a gentle caress. If it were any other girl, I might care, but not Natsuki. "Why thank you, dear. What a sweet thing for you to say."

I push her away before striding over to one of the tables. The pure whiteness of it nauseates me, and for a moment I juxtapose a vision of scarlet liquid staining the innocent fabric. I pull out one of the chairs with a mocking bow, and Natsuki takes a seat with an equally insincere smile. I sit next to her, and neither of us say anything more.

The other guests trickle in slowly. There's a roughly equal mix of men and women - it would be shameful to come alone, after all. They're comprised of a wide variety of shapes, sizes and colors, but all of them share the same flaunted wealth and airs of perceived superiority. I have no doubt that all of them have taken advantage of the innocent. This is Isamu, and you don't get rich if you're weighed down by such petty things as ethics. It doesn't take long for the room to fill with a stinking, festering mass of humanity. If you can even call it that.

I want to kill them all. Want it so, so badly. Want to tear them apart bit by bit, marvel in their despair as their life drains from them drop by drop, and to cackle as they know the justice for which Ru- for which innocents whom they have exploited have cried out. But I can't, not yet.

Ah well. As they say, good things come to those who wait.

As people enter the room and the food arrives, Natsuki gets to work. She's "playing the room:" moving from social interaction to social interaction, leveraging whoever and whatever she can, teasing, flirting, manipulating, and generally being a leech in the form of a butterfly, only instead of blood, she drinks people. Thing is, everyone else is doing the same.

It's a game, of sorts. Natsuki's a grandmaster. Me? I'm just the muscle. Sit there, look intimidating. I'm a pretty good deal, though, because I'm attractive too. She gets all the guys, I get all the girls. The masculine strength to compliment her feminine wiles. She won't need me now, though, so I ignore the chatter around me in favor of focusing on the food. She'll get my attention when she wants it. Right now, a feast calls to me.

And what a feast. All kinds of meat, seafood, bread, vegetables, everything you can imagine, in every style you can imagine. Someone tries to talk to me. I ignore him. Or her. Or it. Whatever, he, she, it's not food. I'm half way through a fillet of some kind of sea bass when Natsuki rises from the table like a silken black cloud, chatting with all the refined air of a reincarnated aristocrat. She makes no motion towards me, so I keep eating.

Gotta say, I would consider oppressing a couple people or more if I could eat like this all the time. Maybe these people have it right.

Yama! That's not funny! A scolding, innocently girlish voice cries in my head. I ignore it, but a few shards of shameful regret remain.

If only she could see me now. Honestly, I'm glad she can't.

I'm a third of the way through a medium rare steak when my phone vibrates in my pocket. I look up. A clearing has appeared in the center of the room like a yawning maw, surrounded by tables serving for white, round teeth. Men and women fill the gap, strutting statues of pompous pride, and out of my line of sight an orchestra begins the tell tale one-two-three of a waltz. Natsuki's in the thick of it, so the message didn't come from her, which means I don't care. Interrupting a meal of this caliber ought to be a crime.

I barely take another bite before the accursed device vibrates again, this time in the repeating buzz that signaled an incoming call. With a growl, I snatch the offending electronic nuisance from my pocket, if only to shout abuse at whoever has interrupted my heavenly meal.

When I see the caller ID, my irritation evaporates immediately.

Airi Hiraga.

Airi? I haven't seen her in… I'm not even sure. Over a year, at least. Not since our stint in Northern Russia. That little mess had been the whole package deal: espionage, industrial sabotage, extortion, blackmail, a one of a kind buy-four-get-ten-free sort of operation. It'd been my first experience with assassination.

It wouldn't be the last.

I leap to my feet and hustle from the room, not bothering to apologize to the people I jostle on my way out. I make my way into the bowels of the building. Left, right, right, left, right, down the hallways, my path burning itself into my mind with the ease of long practice. My intention was to call Airi back later, but the incessant vibrations tell me that she really, really wants to talk to me now. Wonder why.

When I'm sufficiently convinced I'm alone, I answer.

"Hello?"

"You took so long," a soft, girlish undertone of death informs me. The words are delivered seemingly without emotion, but I'm familiar enough with Airi to detect the traces of complaint beneath them.

"Eating," I say. "What do you want?"

"I need a favor," her voice comes back soft. Soft is her specialty, like the unseen embrace of a lethal venom. I chuckle.

"It's been what, over a year since we've last talked, and not even a word of greeting for your poor, lonely friend? I've missed you, you know." Sarcasm fit for a king. Or at least a high-ranking government official.

"Oh." A long pause. "Hello." Another pause. "Is that better?"

Yep. That's Airi alright.

"Ah, forget it," I sigh. "Just tell me what you need."

"I'm rescuing a friend. I need your help."

Interesting. Airi wouldn't ask for my help unless she was expecting a fight. I'm a pretty one-dimensional guy like that. "Quiet or loud?"

"Doesn't matter."

"Lethal or nonlethal?"

"Either."

"When?"

"Now."

Well, thanks for the advance notice, Airi. Good to see your penchant for spontaneity hasn't changed in the slightest. Do these people ever change? Ever?

I can't do it, anyways. Natsuki will kill me if I just ditch her.

"Nope. Not possible. I'm busy." I move to hang up, but her next words stay my hand.

"It's Shigure. She's going to die."

My grip tightens around the phone like an iron vice. I haven't seen Shigure in what may as well have been a lifetime. It's none of my business. She's drawn to trouble like a rat to strong cheese, and it's no longer my job to bail her out.

Even so, I can't deny that there's a part of me that wants to help. I still owe her that much, at least. She- she's helped me out. A lot.

Ah, screw it. Natsuki will live. Shigure, from the sounds of it, may not.

"Where?" I finally say.

"District 6," Airi says in the same monotone, but I can sense the underlying gratitude. "The old warehouses."

"Alright, fine, I'll help," I sigh exaggeratedly. "But only because you're cute."

"Does cute matter?" she says, and I can practically see the inquisitive tilt of her head.

"I suppose there may be other reasons as well."

"So cute doesn't matter." There's an air of content finality to her words.

"On the contrary, my dear: nothing else matters," and with that, I hang up. I don't need to tell her how or when I'll meet her or what I'll bring. She knows anyways.

When you work together enough, you just know. Even if it's been a while.

I retrace my steps, and even with the multitude of twists and turns I took, my memory guides me back with the same confidence that glowing neon signs would. The entrance appears before me, grim glass doors staring at me with glowering condemnation, but I stride through them uncaringly, making a beeline for the black limousine that had been Natsuki and my transport.

I knock on the gleaming obsidian-black door. The window rolls down, revealing the dignified countenance of the hired driver.

"Yes?"

"I need my bag," I tell him in clipped tones. "Back seat."

"Very well." The lock disengages with a click, and I pull out an inconspicuous duffel bag. Natsuki might demand I prance around in overpriced suits like some money-flaunting penguin, but that doesn't mean I'm going to come unprepared. The suit's the wrong color anyways, and if I can't even be a penguin then why bother?

I duck into a nearby alley, and after a minute I'm dressed in my preferred field clothes: black turtleneck, thin scarf over my lower face, fatigues, and a beanie. Normally, I'd wear shades, but at this time of night, doing so would basically blind me. The clothes are borderline over-dramatic, but it'd only taken one nasty clean up operation to hammer home the importance of discretion. Better to pull a b-grade vigilante cosplay than be recognized.

Ready or not, here I come.

I pull a few other items from the bag, most notably a rope and my gun. Rope is phenomenally useful, and as for the gun - well, the whole point of my little jaunt is to shoot some dudes. I know a lot of professionals get attached to their weapons: custom modifications, names, and one guy I knew even came up with a personality and backstory. Talked to it like a girlfriend. Not really my thing, though. I've gone through six weapons by now anyways, and that's just the handguns.

I don't even know the model of my current one, which is kind of embarrassing. Natsuki bought it. I just shoot it. She picks good stuff, no matter her multitude of other flaws, and frankly, I just don't care enough. Even if it's sloppy.

Brushing with death stopped being meaningful a long time ago.

Sufficiently prepared, I fade into the night, leaving the garish lights of cancerous upper society behind me.