53. Ryuunosuke Chiba: Anti-Personnel (117/32)

Note: While I'm sure all of you are eagerly waiting to find out what happened to Class E, that's going to be in a separate story, which I'll be posting soon. As it turns out, doing all those finale chapters gave me quite a backlog of ideas, so I'll probably continue doing new stuff for Judecca every week for a while yet. The other story will be updated a little more sporadically.


February 22, a few days after the final plan was put into motion

Nagoya. I admit, I like the idea of just being able to buy a Shinkansen ticket and ride down here on my own, with little more than a single gray backpack. It's freeing, and the trip takes less than an hour and a half. But, I'm not here to see the sights. There's important business I have to take care of, far from Koro-sensei's prying eyes and incredible nose. Apparently, we have to do it this way instead of having the Ministry of Defense provide the weapons, in case Koro-sensei is watching out for equipment they send us. And we just don't trust them that much any more to get us the best stuff possible in a timely manner.

I look up as I approach a middle-quality hotel in a nondescript part of town. Bitch-sensei told me about the guy I'm supposed to meet. Apparently, he's a little eccentric. I haven't seen him in person before, but I think I can already pick him out in a window on the twelfth floor. He's looking at me through the circle of his thumb and trigger finger. Heh. I'm tempted to do it back, but I'd rather not in such a public place.

The most important thing to do when you're trying not to be noticed is to look like you belong. Don't look lost, or nervous, or unfamiliar. That also counts for when you're just going about doing wildly illegal things, like I am. Luckily, composure is one of my talents. The lady at the front desk probably won't even remember me after today for anything other than my hair.

"My father already checked in. Michael Savack." I tell her. I'm fairly light-skinned, so I can pass for being part-foreign. I don't know if all these precautions are really needed, but these are the instructions I received, so I'll follow them. I get instructions to the twelfth floor easily enough, all as expected.

I take the elevator up. It's a long ride, and I spend it with my mind blank, enjoying the sensation of the floor rising under me. Something about being in an enclosed space does that. I guess I'd call it elevator meditation.

Room 1223. I knock, and the door opens immediately. This is my consultant. A guy wearing a shawl, beanie, and blue-tinted sunglasses indoors. "Hey, kid. How was the trip?" He says in... surprisingly good Japanese.

"Fine." I push past him into the two-bed room. My eyebrow goes up. There's not one, but two suitcases on the further bed.

"So, you're the cold type, huh? It's Chiba, right?"

I look at him. I'll let the lack of honorific slide. "Yes. And you're code-name Red Eye." I turn back to the bed. "Two?" I ask.

"Indeed." He says in a low, cool voice. Stepping around me, he goes to the smaller of the two. "This isn't what you asked for, but I thought I'd get you a little gift. You know, since you'll be saving the world. Plus, I owe you all for getting back at the guy who was coming after us."

That wasn't me, but I suppose I'll take the gratitude. He opens the case, revealing a large, disassembled rifle with three barrels crossed over the chassis. It's sleek, and beefy. It looks heavier than any gun I've ever used.

He smiles proudly. "This is the Accuracy International Arctic Warfare, with standard, suppressed, and magnum barrels, and a PM II telescopic sight. My own weapon of choice. Bolt action, ten round magazine. As accurate a weapon as has ever been engineered. It'll still fire even at temperatures down to negative 40 Celsius, when most other guns would freeze, or in any other conditions you can think of. It comes in handy more often than you'd think. It'll take 7.62 or .338 Lapua rounds. Effective at any range, and the suppressed barrel is quiet enough that you can get away long before anyone manages to track you down."

"Nice." I say. Unfortunately, it's going to be another piece of heavy luggage I'll have to take back with me. And if I'm right, the other one will be even heavier.

He flinches exaggeratedly. "Nice? That's all you have to say?"

No, that's not what I meant. It's great, really.

He shakes himself. "Well, for what you want to do, this baby would probably be enough. But, for when you absolutely, positively need to save the world, I've got something even better." He shifts over to the larger case. The rifle inside is... enormous. It dwarfs the other one. And one of the parts is this weird tube, that I'm pretty sure isn't a barrel. I've never seen anything like it. "This monster is the RT-20 anti-materiel rifle. Croatian-made, and those guys know their warfare. Almost 20 kilograms of firepower. It chambers bullets that were originally designed for anti-aircraft guns with a muzzle energy of forty-seven thousand joules. It will, without fail, take out the engine block of any light- or medium-armored vehicle. Anything up to a tank, really. The reason I picked it for you is because it's low-recoil." That get me to look up from the gun to him. He pats the strange tube I noticed earlier. "Normally, with this kind of cannon, the recoil would send it flying right out of your hands, especially with someone your age. But this reactive tube here, which points over your shoulder, releases some of the gas out the back. Not what you'd call a subtle weapon, but for this job, it's perfect."

Yes, it is. We start putting it together to test, so we can see if I can even point the thing. As we do, a question occurs to me. "Why give me that first rifle?"

He scoffs. "You've been doing this how long, and you don't even know that?" I don't react to his taunt. "Any true sniper has a relationship with the rifles they use. Just like a person, no weapon is ever created perfectly, and when you're firing from beyond sight, even the slightest flaw makes a difference. You can't just pick up any old gun. You have to know it, understand what makes it unique, and adjust yourself to match it. So I wanted to give you a rifle that would be just yours, nobody else's." I'd rather not take it that far. The way he says that while trying to act cool makes it sound weird.

We finish, and I direct him to move the table towards the window. He looks concerned, or something, but he does it. I can barely lift the thing, but I managed to get it over to the table and resting on its forward bipod. I brush my hair aside and put my eye up to the scope. It's really got a lot of inertia to it. Getting used to it will take a lot of practice.

"Speaking of beyond sight." He says from over my shoulder. "Isn't it hard to see like that?"

"When firing without a scope, I use my hair to measure the angle to my target, so I reflexively know how much I need to turn to aim at it." I recite.

He makes a stricken noise. "What!? You can't aim like that! Your hair would have to be stiffer than metal wire!"

I just shrug. He doesn't have to believe if he doesn't want to. I'm starting to get the hang of this thing, though. It basically takes me turning it with my entire body, but I can do it.

I hear a sigh. "You kids are as crazy as he is." It makes me feel proud to hear that.

We dismantle the gun again, with him giving me an unnecessary lecture on the importance of always re-zeroing your scopes. Finally, it's time to pay him. I open my backpack and take out a briefcase full of money. Stacks of bills, just like on TV. I figured it's be more inconspicuous this way.

"Material and consulting fees: five million yen." I say.

He chuckles. "Easiest fifty grand I ever made in my life." He clicks open the clasps to check it, but seems satisfied to just count the stacks. Getting up, he looks me in the eye, or tries to, anyway. "Listen, kid, I've got some advice for you. I was in the army, the US army, for a while. I killed a lot of people. Saw a lot of shit. Didn't see much of anything that made me think it was worth it. Certainly not a paycheck I liked the look of. I've been an assassin for nine years, and never regretted it for a moment. But there's a reason I used to wear red glasses all the time. I'm sure you can guess what it is. A sniper may kill someone from far away, but a lot of the time it'll feel like they're right in front of you. What I'm saying is, whatever you do, do it for yourself, just don't expect it to always be easy. Find a way to make it easy, if you can." He slowly walks to the door, but pauses in the arch. Suddenly, he turns and shoves his finger in my direction. "AND GET A FREAKING HAIR CUT!" He slams the door shut behind him.

What a strange man.

I take a look at the two gun cases he left me. This is going to be a pain. They've not too large, but quite heavy. Well, they have wheels too. If I had known, I might have brought a friend along. Oh well. At least security on trains is lax.


So, Chiba. He's not really cold, he just has trouble expressing himself, so he comes off that way. He certainly smiles more often than Hayami does.

And guest star Red Eye, the sniper who tries so hard to act cool, but just can't manage it. Poor guy.

For those of you who aren't aware, private ownership of firearms in Japan is very tightly restricted. So that's what Chiba meant when he said he was doing something illegal.