Act I Scene 2: Gene's New World

Japan. After the end of World War II, it had suffered the greatest damage, taking two atomic attacks, total seizure of its military, and exclusion from the Philosophers. By the time the Philosophers had believed that it had been punished enough, only a few months after letting it join, Japan was literally on its knees from the post-war devastation.

Full control was given over with the signing of the secretive Japan "Purchase" Treaty of 1945 (which was stored in a certain Fort Knox, along with other secret goods) which quite literally handed over the entire island to them. In doing so, it allowed Japan's economy to accelerate at an unprecedented rate, and by Gene's time, it was becoming a world power. Perhaps, for some time in the future, it had been dominating the world, under the influence of the Philosophers. But not here, not now.

Gene gingerly trudged down the drenched street of a once bright and populated part of Tokyo. It was pouring rivers and lakes, but Gene did not mind; he had gotten use to the irritating monsoon like rains at the peninsula of the dead, and had thus learned to enjoy it. He would have been able to enjoy it more had it not been for this miserable city.

Only a little while ago, Gene had escaped the facility he had been held captive in, "convincing" the guards to let him go, and also "persuading" them to destroy the entire base. Afterwards, Gene swayed one of the guards to drive him to a nearby city, and kindly proposed that he should take his own life, which the guard promptly executed, ridding Gene of any potential evidence and witnesses. The Commander was a thorough man, as it was necessary if he were to destroy the Philosophers. If they still existed that was. All evidence so far pointed to their demise.

He had been expecting to see majestic cities, swarming with life, technologically and ecologically advanced, science and natures, perfecting balance, merging together. Instead he saw Tokyo (probably the Adachi district**), boarded and battered, decaying and rotten, negligence evident in every corner. It was a state of ignominy, filled with dozens of wretched beggars, laying half-dead on the streets with faces sullen and void, without emotion, without feeling.

Cars and tanks lay overturn and bleeding gushes of oil, soaking the street with a thick layer of ooze that remained stubbornly in place. The air was filled with a pungent, acrid odor, strong enough to make even the foulest of creatures retreat in disgust. Sewers, no longer submissive to the will of mankind, rebelliously spurted forth century's worth of human waste, noxious and toxic in unbelievable ways, melding with the piles of trash and despair that littered the city.

It was quite the distressing scene for a person who had been sleeping for forty years, and the man was NOT taking it well. Analyzing the Japanese themselves, he noticed that they were as morose as when he had observed them last during the 1945 occupation. An intriguing point that became fairly obvious was their lack of firearms. Many instead held swords, knives, and clubs where normally handguns, rifles and machine guns would be (he could swear he had seen a legion of shield wielding soldiers).

Not that Gene had any real issue, as bladed weapons made a much more interesting and exhilarating fight, but he found it odd at the sudden lack of projectile arms. He did remember one of the guards talking about useless id-tagged weapons; the irate commander cursed himself for not gathering more info before leaving. Pushing aside confusion and disappointment, he calmly assessed his situation, and resolved to look for a newsstand, or something of the sort.

Although Gene had familiarized himself with the language during the Second World War, time had passed, and was unsure his antiquated knowledge would be of any use. He glanced around attentively scanned the immediate area, before catching glimpse of several rough figures, slowly trotting toward him. The hawk-eyed commander had seen them several times, following his route as he traversed the city, and was now absolutely sure of their intentions.

Hinting nothing to alert his stalkers, Gene quickly sifted his way through the almost nonexistent crowd and crossed the black street and strolled into a narrow alleyway. It would be the perfect place for a counter ambush. And thus, he waited. Soon enough, several shadows blocked the miniscule amount of light entering, and Gene swiveled to face his enemy. The first man up was a young, no more than 20 years old, yellow haired, and yellow spiked; scars riddled his face, written in them his entire life; he wore a dark blue sweat shirt, and dragged his feet lazily as he walked.

"Whoa there foreigner, first time I've seen you walk this part of town. You're gonna have to pay a fee, you know, to local… leaders who, you know, run the area. It's for protection and all that good stuff."

Gene could hear snickering behind the man, but he simply said nothing and stared at the blond (probably bleached) haired fool. He was hardly afraid of a few yakuza.*

"What's wrong, don't understand Japanese or something? You deaf or just plain stupid? Pay your fees man, and, you know, you won't have ta get into any unnecessary trouble pal. Get my drift?"

The man greedily shoved his hand while simultaneously drawing a switchblade, junkies following suit, into Gene's face, but still he did nothing. At this point, losing his patience, the young punk angrily grabbed a portion of the trench coat and screamed in his face.

"The F**K asshole! Give us your F**kin cash or I swear I'm gonna-"

With speed no human could truly see, Gene brutally shoved a knife into the man's foul mouth (perhaps more unconsciously than he realized). The blond-haired man cried feebly in pain, convulsing on the floor while trying to pull out the weapon that had pierced his throat. The others retreated a few steps, shocked by this sudden attack. The glanced at their "boss", waiting for instructions.

"Lost your nerve?" Gene mocked.

Whatever fear they had felt was quickly displaced by sheer rage; the charged him with reckless abandon. Foolish, fragile, violent creatures, he thought silently as the attackers came forth. Drawing his knife with lightning speed, Gene parried the incoming sword, and deftly sliced through the man's jugular vein, then tossing him aside. He pushed aside the next man's brass knuckles, carving up his arm and piercing the poor fool's upper spinal canal, ensuring him a slow and painful death. The third attempted to attack from a blind spot, but was quickly thwarted with Gene's distortion, knives thrusting into the man's spinal column and in the same breath, crushed his trachea with a free hand. One man left.

The last man stood trembling, clearly visible by the quivering of his spear. His hand shook with unnaturalness barely gripping the spear.

"Well?"

One word was all it took. The frightened man threw aside his spear and bolted to his escape route. Before he realized it, knives sunk into his ankles, then hands. Gene quickly ripped off a piece of fabric and shoved it down the man's throat, tying a second piece so that he could not spit it out. The irate Commander gazed at the blonde haired man, and verified his death.

"Suffer."

With that Gene stepped away, the crimson blood slipping down his coat, merging with the endless rain.

As he did so, Gene immediately felt he was being watched once more. He could not tell where, and by the time he had attempted to locate the source, it had disappeared. (He made a mental note to keep constant alert.)

In a world which had advanced without him, the pessimistic soldier knew that he could not survive sufficiently well without discovering the technologies; he quickly devised a plan. Scouring once more, Gene focused his eyes on an easy target. Gently tapping the person's shoulder, he attempted his best to fake a terrible accent.

"Excuse me," he pronounced politely. The women nearly jumped out of her skin.

"Y-yes?," she stuttered nervously, suddenly jamming her hand into her jacket pocket, tightly gripping her purse with the other. Gene ignored this surprising gesture, and simply smiled.

"I'm sorry for bothering you, but I have only recently come to this region, and I'm afraid, I am woefully uneducated in terms of this places technology"

The whole time, Gene invoked his persuasive voice, albeit at a minor level, to better convince her of his harmlessness. She no longer gripped her purse, disarmed by the charlatan's suave words and handsome appearance. A further look revealed her stunning beauty behind the pale face, as well as a rather voluptuous figure.

"Yes?" The stutter had disappeared.

"Um, yes, anyway," Gene stammered purposely, turning away, feigning shyness, "This is quite embarrassing, but could you tell me how to use a computer?"

************

The woman was easier to manipulate than he had originally anticipated. After finding a battered, but still open "internet cafe", she slowly began instructing him on how to use a "mouse", how to search websites and search engines, how to save and store information on a "memory stick" (which she had conveniently provided), as well as getting an "email", which a confused Gene still did not understand. Luckily, the lady had not questioned him on his peculiar clothing, nor had she noticed discrepancies in his stories. And he hoped she would not.

Within twenty minutes, he had become extremely proficient in the use of a computer; the whole time he simply smiled, quickly gaining the women's trust (and even finding out some rather, "secret" information) as well as her name: Minato Tsurenai. He handed her a wad of cash, which he had taken from a guard, and gave it to her. At first, she refused, but quickly gave in with some "Persuasion."

With a much brighter face and bleach white smile, she briskly walked away, waving and smiling the entire time. With her gone, Gene was finally able to get to work. Taking a disc out of his pocket, Gene inserted it into the computer, and watched as several new screens popped up. He eagerly enlarged one of these screens, and read.

Somewhere not too far away, a figure with seemingly familiar piercing yellow eyes observed, lodged on top of one of the many decrepit buildings, watching, waiting, listening. It had made the mistake of allowing the man to detect him. It would be a mistake that would not happen again.