A gleaming katana with a black hilt patterned with white plus signs inside a white circle rests on dark green grass glazed in dew. Dressed in dirty grey robes reaching down to his knees and wooden platform sandals, a leather belt circling his waists and a leather circular badge on his robes, Rokuro Okajima grabs the hilt, the hilt cold as the steel it supports and cradles. In front of him, a mob of Japanese Ashigaru peasants congregate around him, all men, all wearing robes of various colors without leather badges, most wearing black, wide, short conical has, some wearing crude leather chest plates worn like overalls. The mob wields an assortment of sickles, knives, and bamboo spears. Behind the mob, several straw huts burn ablaze as a robe wearing elderly man with a leather badge on his chest gets skewered by two peasants with bamboo spears, the man yelling meekly in pain with every thrust of the spear. In the distance, several robe-wearing men and women, some holding children in their arms, are driven over a cliff by spear-wielding Ashigaru.
His body shaking, Rokuro Okajima lifts the katana off the grass with both hands and points the sword toward the mob, taking a step back. From within the mob, a man in intricate ebony-colored samurai armor with dark blue shoulder pads and blood orange lines across the edges of the shoulder pads and greaves, missing his helmet, emerges and takes a step toward Okajima. The chest plate of his armor holds a design of a white plus sign within a thing white circle. The man, sporting grayish black haired combed back and a pointing chin, laughs and says "Your lord, Kageyama-sama, is quite amused. I am surprised that a dog such as yourself could comprehend the right end to touch the blade, let alone a proper stance. I am impressed. Quite impressed. For a man that lived as an animal for so long, I will give you the chance to die like a samurai. Take the sword and plunge it into your neck. I, Kageyama, command you to take my sword, that you taken from my possession, and plunge it into your neck."
Sweat running down Okajima's left cheek, Rokuro stands firm and glares angrily at Kageyama. Laughing, Kageyama takes a step forward and says "Honorably end your life like a man, for the crimes you committed against law and nature." Furious and indignant, Rokuro yells "You had me living like an animal my entire life! Why should I entertain you and die like a man now?!" Kageyama smiles menacingly, extends his gauntlet-wearing left hand toward Okajima, and says "Die by your hand, or we will all intently examine the canine organs of your Buraku-dog body." Seething in rage, Rokuro refuses to move an inch. Kageyama reaches for the blade with his left hand and laughs, saying "This animal cannot possibly wield a samurai's blade, the fine intricacies of swordplay, the years of training and adherence to Bushido. Very well, you will die like the vermin you are."
Kageyama, laughing hysterically, grabs the blade by the sharpened side with his left gauntlet. His laughter slowly morphs into horror as his left hand falls off by the wrist, spraying blood. As Rokuro slowly pushes the katana centimeter by centimeter forward, Kageyama's left arm falls cleanly off, followed by his right hand, his right arm, his ears, his nose, his eyes, all spraying blood. His chest splits like a cross as his feet fall off their ankles. Kageyama's evenly sliced body congregates like a scrambled jigsaw puzzle on the blood red grass as the Ashigaru proceed to step back. Seething in rage, Rokuro scans and marks every single Ashigaru in his path and lunges forward.
An Ashigaru plunges his spear at Rokuro, the spear striking the sharp end of the katana and splitting in half, as Rokuro proceeds to bisect the man vertically. He turns left and ducks as a sickle-wielding Ashigaru accidently impales a charging Ashigaru in the heart. Rokuro rises up and drives his katana up the Ashigaru's chest, splitting him from the abdomen up like a zipper. Blood rains on the grass and on Rokuro as the Ashigaru flee, as Rokuro chases after them, as Rokuro cuts them at their limbs and sends the field into a chorus of horrifying wails. Pouncing on an Ashigaru, he tries to flip the Ashigaru on his back and readies his katana for a final plunge.
"Wait! Stop!" Officer Trần yells, dressed in his charcoal suit and pants combination, his white dress shirt, his red tie, and his large, rectangular glasses, the top half of the glasses sporting a grey frame. Rock, dressed in his salaryman attire, glares frightfully at Fujiwara, clenching Trần's tie in his left hand. Rock drops the dark green pen in his right hand, the pen bouncing gently on white porcelain tiles. "Please, please stop Mr. Okajima," Trần meekly mumbles, grabbing the pen with his left hand. "Please stop," Trần continues, angling the pen toward Rock. "Please stop!" he yells as he stabs Rock in the liver repeatedly, to Rock's abject horror.
"PLEASE STOP!" He stabs once more. "PLEASE STOP!" He plunges the pen once again. "PLEASE STOP, PLEASE STOP, PLEASE STOP!" As Rock glares numbly at Officer Trần, a bolt of lightning reduces Trần to ash. Now shrouded in darkness, Rock looks up, getting onto his feet, blood dripping from his liver. He feels cold, his breaths almost visible in the darkness. He feels around his body, realizing that he is now shirtless and barefoot, wearing just his dress pants. Rock places his right hand on the location of the pen stab wound, and moves his hands down, suddenly feeling a sharp surge of pain, as if his body was just carved. His fingers feel sticky. Wincing in pain, Rock brings his fingers to his lips and licks them. A metallic taste stings his mouth. "Blood," he feebly mutters.
The lights flash on, blinding Rock. Covering his eyes with his hands, he staggers a step back. He trips on his tie and falls back first onto a cold concrete wall. Adjusting his eyesight, Rock hears laughter surrounding him. His vision slowly returns as a trio of blurry figures stand before him. A moment later, his vision clears, revealing to Rock a meat locker empty aside from Luca Cavalcanti, dressed in a beige sports jacket, a white undershirt, beige dress pants held up by a black leather belt, and black dress shoes. He is seated and tied to a wooden chair, laughing. Flanking his left, Yukio Washimine, dressed in a brown long coat held together by dark brown knots, a dark blue skirt that flows just slightly under the coat, and grey sneakers, also laughs, both her hands grasping onto the hilt of the katana that's lodged through her throat. Flanking Cavalcanti's right, Masami Kousa, the former head of the Kousa Clan that Balalaika shot on Rock's suggestion, aims his Accu-Tek HC-380 at Rock, dressed in a sky blue robe, white undershirt, gold chain, and sandals.
Rock hurriedly runs toward Masami Kousa and grabs his pistol. He twists the HC-380 around and slips his finger onto the trigger. A struggle, and the pistol goes off, shooting Masami Kousa in the forehead, sending him crumbling onto the cold, porcelain floor. Yukio and Luca continue to laugh. Rock turns around and points his newly acquired pistol at Yukio, who crumbles onto the floor before Rock could pull the trigger. In a blind rage, almost frothing at the mouth, Rock turns his attention to Luca and shoves the barrel of the HC-380 to right side of Luca's head, the latter still laughing. He pulls the trigger.
*Bang*
The bullet passes cleanly through Luca's head, sending brain matter out the exit wound. Blood and tissue stream down both sides of Luca's head but he still keeps laughing. Shuddering, his eyes twitching and his body shaking, Rock takes a step back, only to have a chain wrap around his right forearm. Rock turns left and attempts to see what's behind him, only for a second chain to wrap around his outstretched left forearm. His back to the source of the chains, Rock attempts to maneuver around the chains, successful turning around, his arms now choking his neck as they wrap around it.
Before his eyes, Sudhir, dressed in a Roanapur police department outfit, stands motionlessly, a thick ring piercing through his neck like an earring pierced sideways. The ring attaches to the chain binding Rock's right arm. To the right of Sudhir, wearing an identical ring attached to the chain that binds Rock's left arm, Trung Thanh Hoàng stands just as still, wearing a dark grey sweater and sky blue boxers.
Suddenly, the two start walking backwards as the rear wall extends to eternity, each step dragging and choking Rock. Struggling, Rock grasps for the chains with his fingers. He secures Sudhir's chain easily, and then struggles to secure Trung's chain. After being dragged and choked for several meters, Rock finally grasps onto Trung's chain. Rock then plants his feet and pulls with all his might, tearing the rings out of both men's necks. Blood spills on the cold porcelain floor as both men fall face first to their deaths. Luca's laughter stops.
Twisting around, letting the chains slide off his arms, Rock sees Phúc Cao, the plumber that Rock shot in Đà Lạt, seated in the chair, dressed in Rock's salaryman attire. His head is hunched over. Approaching Mr. Cao, Rock lifts his head up, only to find that his forehead has a hole with brain matter poking out. Pushing the man's lifeless head back, the head now resting on the back of the chair, Rock clenches his fingers into a claw like state, his eyes twitching and his body shivering.
"Yo, mate," a voice rings out. Turning around, Rock spots Jaggi, dressed as he was when they first met at Van Thirith's docks, the latter's unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt flapping in a non-existent breeze. Yelling fanatically, Rock lunges at Jaggi, driving his fist clean through Jaggi's stomach. Behind him, Tinsul, shirtless, wearing brown cargo shorts, laughs and says "Round three, Rocky boy? Winner takes all!" Rock turns around and flings Jaggi into Tinsul's gut, and then runs toward the pair. He grabs Jaggi's head and crushes it, blood, tissue, and eyeballs erupting like a burst melon. Moving on to Tinsul, Rock jams his thumbs into Tinsul's eyes and bursts them. "I'll KILL YOU! I'LL KILL YOU ALL! KILL YOU ALL! ALL! ALL!" Rock yells, frantic, psychotic, deranged. Yukio Washimine climbs back onto her feet, smiling, the katana dangling through her blood red neck.
Twitching and curling his fingers, Rock lunges his arms at Yukio's neck and strangles her. Yukio continues to smile as Rock's hands crush her neck and dig in so deep that his index fingers cut deeply on the blade of the katana. A massive surge of pain swarms Rock as his index fingers bleed profusely. He drops Yukio's lifeless, smiling corpse, and turns around.
Rock fidgets in horror as Revy, dressed in her usual black tank top and corduroy shorts attire, wearing combat boats and a large necklace of severed human heads, her tongue elongated and dangling out of her mouth, runs toward Rock with a trishula in her arms. His eyes widening and his mouth agape in terror, he watches as Revy plants her left foot forward, her right foot back, and drives the three-pronged curved spear into his forehead, the prongs penetrating perfectly horizontally and symmetrically in respect to his forehead. He arcs his torso backwards. Suddenly, Rock's pain completely subsides. Smiling gently, one arm suddenly grows from each of Revy's armpits as she slowly hovers to Rock, the latter's eyes twitching in horror. His eyes still twitching, blood trailing down his nose, his eyes, his lips, he suddenly feels a sense of peace as Revy new pair of hands caress and gently hold onto Rock's cheeks, and so, eyes still twitching, he smiles. She plants her right foot forward and lunges forward into a tight embrace, locking her lips to Rock's, sucking the blood off Rock's lips.
As Revy sucks the blood off Rock's face, Rock closes his eyes, a content, almost blissful calm engulfing him. He leans backward, resting on what feels like a soft bed. Rock stretches his arms out, his hands arcing themselves in such a way as to let the blood from his index fingers accumulate in the palms of his hands. A familiar pine scent fills his nostrils as he feels a hand caressing his scarred, bleeding chest, slowly trekking down to his waistline. In bliss, Rock widens his smile and takes comfort in the peace that swarms him.
He opens his eyes and his smile turns into a blank stare, which grows slowly and slowly into shuddering fear and disgust, as a Japanese man with long black hair, dressed in a lab coat and grey slacks, wearing an ID card on the left side of his lab coat. The Japanese man has large brown eyes, a slightly pointy chin, and a small nose. He is clean shaven and wearing his hair into a thin ponytail. The two are inside what appears to be a young boy's bedroom, the walls painted sky blue and patterned with posters of characters from Fist of the North Star. To the right of a door in the opposite wall, a large bookcase stands watch. On the ceiling, right above the bed, is a large poster of Kenshiro dressed in his blue pants and vest attire, portrayed in a fighting pose.
The Japanese man grab's Rock's crotch with his left hand, as Rock, his mouth agape, shudders in pain, his hands shaking. He meekly mutters "Yamate." The man's ID card gleams, its wording illegible. The Japanese man cradles Rock's testicle in his hands. The door creeks open. A Japanese woman wearing a grayish-green robe, sporting short-ish bowl shaped black hair that covers her ears, takes one foot inside the room and blankly stares. "Yamate," Rock mutters, staring at the woman. She simply turns around and leaves. Pushing against the man in the in the lab coat, Rock screams "YAMATE! (STOP IT)"
The bowl-haired woman, her hands folded together, she stands in the middle of the bedroom, while Rock stares at her from the doorway, in a schoolboy attire. She speaks "It's time for school Rokuro." "I know," Rock replies. She reaches toward Rock's bed and speaks "Don't forget your rucksack." In her hand, is a clothes hanger with the corpse of the lab coat wearing man hanging from it. Lifting the clothes hanger off the bed, corpse still hanging, she gestures Rock to turn around. The woman then drapes the corpse around Rock's back, the arms wrapped around Rock's shoulders, and says "Go. Before you are late." "Okay," Rock replies, walking out of the doorway.
"Tomiko," Rock speaks, sitting across a long-black haired Japanese woman in a white undershirt, a thin black cotton jacket, and a grey silk skirt. A ring glistens around her left ring finger. Between them is a lowered coffee table with grey porcelain trays of grey pastries. The walls are blank and sterile. The ceiling, also a snow barren white. Everything around them, linear planes of white, so monotonous that the edges of the wall seem to melt inside, as if they live in a sterile white bubble.
"Tomiko," Rock mutters, biting into a pale croissant. Grey flakes pepper his salaryman black pants. A low, sterile hum sounds inside the room. Faintly heard, is the sound of distant throbbing against something solid. Tomiko smiles, her jacket now a lab coat. The ID card around her neck flashing. 'Kosuke Okajima.' A beating sound against the wall. "Rock! Rock!" Revy yells, as if held in a separate cell just like the one Rock is currently in.
"Tomiko," Rock mutters again, as Kosuke Okajima crawls on top of the table, slithering to Rokuro. "Tomiko," Rock mutters again, following backwards, crawling backwards, his lips quivering, his eyes twitching, his lips creasing into a terrified smile. Kosuke crawls over the table, knocking the pastries over, sending the porcelain shattering against the white flooring, the shards almost invisible against the background.
"Yamate," Rock mutters, his back pressed against the sterile wall. He curls into a fetal position as three clones of Kosuke slowly close in. "Yamate," Rock repeats, the pounding intensifying. Three become six, six become twelve, the Kosuke clones increase, all smiling softly. One clone reaches toward Rock, his hand outstretched. Looking to the sterile white ground, Rock yells "YAMATE! STOP! PLEASE STOP! PLEASE STOP!" A hand grabs his shoulders, and his screams reach an ear-shattering screech.
"Goddamn this fucking day, fucking piece of shit television can't give a decent reception!" Revy yells, kicking the wooden drawer under the TV of their bedroom. His eyes stirring, Rock rubs his forehead, finding fresh taping over his already taped chest. Wearing nothing but black boxers, Rock rubs his chin, noting the harsh scruff along his jawline. He climbs off the bed as Revy immediately jerks her head to Rock, her eyes in shock. She sighs in relief and says "I, I thought you were going to check out on me for a second, the fucking seats are caked in blood."
Rock nods and says "Yeah, I see. Okay…okay." "Okay what? You okay man?" Revy asks, her eyes tracking Rock's every step. Without looking, he starts rifling through one of their bedroom cabinets, saying "I'm fine, I mean, I think I'm no longer bleeding. That…the police officer was from Đà Lạt, 'Senior Colonel Hiếu Văn Phạm sends his regards'. He got the last laugh in the end." "Motherfucker…fucking piece of shit," Revy mutters. "And Dutch beat me half to death for shooting him!" Rock exclaims, laughing at the 'irony'. Revy says "You know why he did that…I mean, that was pretty fucking stupid of you. Dutch was going for just facial damage, I saw what he was doing. What the fuck you looking for anyway?"
"It's here somewhere…where…there we go…I was just trying to get the last laugh Revy. It was just a joke," Rock replies, pulling a bottle of Jack Daniels from the drawer. He quickly unscrews the cap and takes a heavy gulp, sighing. "Dutch, the General, Colonel, whatever he is, Fabiola, Chang, Balalaika, I mean, I keep trying to steal the win, like bases are loaded in a tie game and I got a sacrifice fly in the works but, in the end, I mean, there is this," he takes a second gulp of whiskey "this irony here in like…okay Revy."
"Rock what the fuck?" Revy asks, concerned, her arms crossed and her eyes glaring at Rock. Rock smiles and shakes his head and says "There is this, um…Greek myth about this guy who pulled a trick on the gods and they fell for it, some hard to pronounce name, Eribus? Sestipus? Anyway, he, a mere mortal, he pulled this amazing trick on the gods, he cheated death basically. He pulled the best joke in the history of mankind from ancient times to today. He tricked the gods. And in the end, they chained his leg to a giant boulder and forced him to pull that boulder up an impossibly high valley that whenever, ever, he gets just so close to pushing the boulder over the edge, gravity pulls that boulder, and the Greek guy, all the way back down and he does it all over and over and over and over and over, and over again. And to this day, he is still pushing that boulder up the ledge because that's all he can do and, Revy, well, that…that is the joke. The real joke, the real trick, I mean, I'm just a street magician playing 'pick a card' compared to that level of trickery."
Revy simply stares at him, trying to determine if she needs to force feed him sedatives this time. Rock continues, frantically laughing and saying "I mean, I thought I was clever but if that Greek guy couldn't do that then I mean what point is there? I mean, Revy, you know what trick I mean? You know? Life? The biggest trick of them all? I mean, oh Buddha how could someone do that to a little boy, I mean, oh fuck. I mean, was it enough for you to destroy my life, you had to go to my older brother and make me tell the people at school because mom wasn't doing shit? And then, oh, wow, if he ever taught me something it's that you never get the last laugh because it's never there, there's always someone that one-ups you like, I mean, if that wasn't enough, you had to hang yourself in my bedroom just to make sure I'm the first one to see you cause you had to get the last laugh. Don't you get it Revy? He always gets the last laugh!"
He drops the bottle of whiskey on the floor and sinks against the cabinet, his hands in his face, sobbing hysterically, laughing, his hands shaking. Looking up to Revy, Rock laughs and says "Cavalcanti thought he had a prime specimen for his little tricks but you know what? Oh fuck, I did one-up someone, holy shit, I did. Oh this is so good, the guy that spent his life getting the last laugh got one-upped by the one chasing that last laugh all this time! I mean…he tried to break something that was already broken! That ain't on the level of the Greek guy but, oh Revy, it comes close."
Pausing to laugh at life, he looks up and comes eye-to-eye with a stunned, disgusted Revy, who found herself in the awkward position of being given a ton of heavy baggage and nowhere to go. "What the fuck Rock…" is all she could muster out, as Rock ignores her and continues to laugh.
Reaching for the spilling bottle of whiskey, Rock pulls it up and takes a deep gulp. Sweating, his eyes bloodshot, Rock looks up to Revy, manic, crazed, broken. "It comes close Revy," he ultimately replies.
"Oh, it comes close."
AN:
This concludes my Black Lagoon trilogy, starting from 'The Calabrian Gambit', followed 'Glass Rocks', and ending here with 'The Ho Chi Minh Paper Trail.' I'm glad to finally put this story to its conclusion. I had plans to write a lot more arcs, including one in Helsinki during the aftermath of the Nordic Biker War, one in Bangkok involving a fixed kickboxing fight, and one set in the backdrop of the Kosovo War. In the end, I just ended up struggling with the genre and the fandom. Maybe I will revisit this sometime in the future, maybe. But for the now, the only Black Lagoon story I will work on is 'Fear and Loathing in Roanapur', a crossover with Yu Yu Hakusho that is almost finished.
I do have something else I'm working on, for a sports anime fandom that has gotten very little fics in the past, well, decade. We'll see how it goes.
All in all, thank you all for your patience, and I apologize for the ridiculous amount of time it took to post these last few chapters. I hope these stories brought you enjoyment.
Fin.