Moving Onwards

Spiraling Out of Control

By Pat Squared


Nara Grocer Cooperative Warehouses

Commercial District, Nara, Nara Prefecture

Japan

Violetta Lee was breathing heavily trying to suck in a deep gulp of oxygen while trying not to make too much noise.

There was a familiar tightness in the chest as adrenaline was dumped by the tanker-load into her blood stream.

Ronnie...they…

Violetta stood up and aimed at the approaching Yakuza thug. Placing the blade of the front sight over the torso of her first target, the fourteen-year-old Eurasian girl squeezed the trigger twice sending out two bullets at supersonic speeds.

She missed and the cheap-grade, industrial drywall around her were sporting bullet holes from the wild rounds for the Yakuza kobun (soldiers). Vee dropped to the floor and rolled so she was facing the only door leading up to the office.

She could feel the vibrations transmitted through the plywood flooring as someone ran up the stairs. She raised her pistol towards the door. As the door opened, she pulled the trigger. The figure at the door dropped down straight to the floor.

It was then that Violetta realized that she had messed up. She had shot the wrong man.

Ronnie Possible, Violetta's best friend-boy friend, was on the ground bleeding to death and there was no denying this was her fault.

It's all your fault. If you remembered what Tita Lori taught you about positively absol-fucking-lutely identifying your target before you pulled the trigger, Ronnie would still be alive.

Vee knew that she killed Ronald Stoppable Possible. She looked at the gun and wanted to use it on herself. However, something inside of her did not let her pursue that avenue of escape from her skill.

A lifetime of being spoon-feed guilt along with Friday fish every Lent ensured that the girl was Catholic enough to view suicide as a non-option. Outside were at least three men who were armed and shot at her. She could at least ensure that not one of them would defile her lover's body.

Vee held back her tears. Soon she knew that she would pay for her crime in hell…a hell that she had just created for herself.

Vee stepped out the office and started shooting. She was singing some insane tune at the top of her lungs as she sought her own salvation...her own damnation.

If this was an action movie, there would be a pulse pounding soundtrack done by some techno-junkie disc jockey. However this was the real world, not the Matrix. There was no One. There were no superhuman agents able to dodge bullets. There was no eventuality of an anomaly that despite the sincerest efforts of the architect to eliminate from an otherwise harmony of mathematical precision, that even created fluctuations in the simplest of equation…thus yielding heroes with superhuman powers. There were just flying copper-clad lead projectiles and a room full of flesh and blood folks who would dish out lead like Santa dished out candy to all the good boys and girls.

Violetta took in a deep breath, indexed the blade of the SIG-Sauer P226 front sight on the torso of a Hugo Boss clad thug, squeeze the trigger twice, thus forever converting a eight-hundred dollar suit into worthless, blood-soaked rags. The wearer went from being alive to worthless, even as an organ donor.

The rush of killing was new to her, but struck her every bit as much as the orgasms that struck her when Ronnie was pleasuring her flesh. The rush almost killed her as bullets flew pass her head.

The young girl ducked and rolled away from the wall as the other thugs poured lead into the low wall were she was hiding.

Vee half-ran/half-rolled down the rough, metal screen stairs as more rounds narrowly missed her. She wasted a magazine, firing blinking to get them to duck. The girl hit the magazine release and cursed. Unlike American handguns where the magazine would drop free when the magazine release was thumbed, the most Europeans guns required one to physically remove the magazine.

Why couldn't I have a GLOCK?

GLOCK's or at least the ones made for the US market would drop the magazine upon hitting the magazine release allowing for more rapid reloading.

Vee dropped behind a pallet of watermelons as she removed the magazine while uttering choice curses. She then inserted a fresh magazine. She pulled the warm slide back and then released it, allowing the slide to travel forward and chamber a fresh round of standard Japanese police issue 115-grain 9x19mm Parabellum.

She looked up to see two men approaching her. They were smiling like they believe that they had the drop on her.

Anger…just seeing how they believe that she was just another girl increase the rage in her veins. The anger added to a lifetime of anger and resentment turned her into something that would give any hell-spawn pause. She surrendered her self-control to all her inner demon and in this four foot nine inch eighty pound frame were enough demons to render each and every variant of hell into a cram the pledges into the phone both contest.

Vee did not aim like she was taught by her Tita Lori a lifetime ago at the Middleton PD firing line.

Like every gang-banger in those early 1990's movies, the young lady just sprayed fifteen 115-grain copper clad projectiles knocking the two men to the floor. She reloaded her pistol with her last magazine and cautiously made her way forward to the dying men. Two shots entered the cranial cavity of the first, yakuza soldier.

"Please," the second one moaned. He lifted his hand in supplication.

She smiled, "I hope that you have something interesting to tell me about my father."

"Who is your father?"

She smiled. The pleasure in running in her twisted veins caused her to giggle.

"Your boss. I guess I have to see daddy dearest and deliver my nine millimeter message myself."

The look of realization on the dying man's face told her that he just made the connection.

"Die bitch," were his last two words.

She slowly twisted the muzzle into the man's mouth. He closed his eyes waiting for the final shot.

She did not squeeze the trigger.

"Do you think that my father would be…merciful?" She screamed as she yanked the muzzle out of the man's mouth. The front blade sight shattered the man's top front tooth as it came out.

The man screams were loud enough to wake the dead.

She aimed at his gut and emptied the magazine into his stomach and liver.

She found herself laughing, savoring the man's pain. No one…not even the world's best doctor with the best equipment could save the man. She reached into the man's suit pocket and removed the handkerchief. She wiped the blood off her face. Something primal inside of her told her to taste the blood and she sucked upon the bloody handkerchief like she once sucked a lollipop. The coppery taste of life blood gave her a rush as powerful as her daily dose of medication.

She carefully searched the two and took two magazines of ammunition.

The young child knew that she only had thirty rounds…not enough for another gun-fight. Unless she faced only one opponent and she had the drop, she would be short.

The last of her innocence ripped away, Vee was caught up in a twister of emotions. In a way, killing them felt like the ultimate pleasure...like she was born to be a predator, just like her biological father. She had just destroyed everything positive in her life and now she had to live with the knowledge that she would never belong among normal tax-paying, law-abiding citizens. She belongs with the scum of the universe. If the Empire was recruiting new Storm Troopers, she would be the ideal candidate. After nearly killing the ones you love, killing innocent, little Jawas was as natural as scratching an itch. No…she enjoyed killing the little Jawas and the dark part of her savored their screams and the taste of their blood.

Vee went upstairs and googled a list of doctors in Nara. She then searched for a home address and googled directions. It was twenty blocks to the nearest doc's, but she knew that she had to try to get Ronnie to one. Even if he did not make it, Mrs. Possible deserved to at least bury Ronnie.

As for her, Vee knew that all she ever did was disappointing the ones who took her under their wing. Like a dying cat, she would wander off so they would not have to waste tears, time, or money to bury her worthless hide.


"God damnit!"

Han "Hannah" Stoppable looked down at the personalized artwork on her I-Phone IX.

The twenty-one year-old, Cal-Arts, graphics art/animation major had just spent two sleepless nights working on her final project for her graduation portfolio. She had scheduled twelve hours of sweet blissful sleep so she would be functional for the two-day drive from Valencia, California to see her step-parents back in Middleton. Now some baka in Japan wanted her to pick up the phone. She glanced down at the organic crystal display screen as the annoying voice chanted, "Konichi-wa" (Good morning) over and over again.

The phone was free. Unfortunately, so was the annoying ring tone. It was part of her perks for digitally modeling the characters for a new Japanese gaming company planning to release the must have game of the year this upcoming holiday season.

Han hated Japan. She hated being hit on by every drunk and had to straighten out numerous gropers on the subway…Ninja style.

The memory of two baka (idiots) being wrapped like pretzels around the nearest pole brought a smile to her face until she looked down at the phone number.

It was the Yamanouchi school. They knew exactly what time it was in SoCal. This call was an emergency and Han knew that an emergency at Yamanouchi meant Ronald Stoppable Possible or his girlfriend was in a world of shit. If it was something minor like an unplanned pregnancy, they would wait until the morning.

"Mushi mushi," Han snarled into the phone.

Two minute later, Han was dialing up Japan Airlines hoping to secure a last minute seat to Tokyo. She cursed all the way down the I-405 South to LAX.

She had to locate and detain her step-nephew, Ronald Possible, and his girl friend before the law caught up to them…or worse.

The problem was that deep down in her guts, Han already knew that the worse already happened.


"Long time no see, Eddy," hissed Tim through his only functional lung.

The sound of the improvised respirator was the only sound that otherwise violated the silent room.

The silence went on for an eternity until the former US Navy Seal uttered, "Everyone thinks you're dead. I mean…After what happen to your brother and all!"

Edward could see the panic in the stricken man's eyes.

However the tone was calm, "Tell me exactly what happened to Jim."

"Car bomb. Some Islamic nut-job used a car bomb and detonated it just fifty feet from your parents' house. Nearly killed the old Global Justice witch in charge, Betty Director…there was a big man hunt but the trail petered out when some casino security guard kill one with a Semtex vest.

The rhythmic cleaning of Tim's fist were the only overt sign of Tim's frustration.

"They will pay…pay like Drakken's pals…little fucks…ain't going to fuck no more."

Edward knew that Tim Possible's threat was literal. A couple ex-Drakken henchmen were given partial sex-change operations by the man lying in front of him.

Tim Possible tried to get up but failed to get more than his head off the pillow before collapsing from exhaustion.

"Timofey," cooed the old doctor, "You need to rest. Gregory Alekseevich and Valdimir…"

Tim held unto the old man's forearm.

"Edward go…grandfather let our friend go."

"But he can…"

"Enough enemies…don't make more."

Edward then knew just how close to death he was. A whispered word would have done something that a cargo load of lead from others had failed to do.


Dr. Jiro Abe walked into his small apartment and saw his first gunshot wound patient.

Unlike most chest cutters in the United States, most Japanese doctors never see a live gunshot wound case. The few that did were those who did their residency and internships in the states. Except for the few years he attend medical college in Tokyo and the occasional medical conference, Dr. Abe never set foot outside the Nara prefecture.

The next sight was the first time he stared at the muzzle of a firearm.

"Two to the chest. Entry and exit wounds."

The tone behind the muzzle was clinically dry.

"Who…"

"I did. That's not important. I want you to patch him up while I make a phone call. Hand over your cell phone."

The doctor wordlessly handed over his cell phone before heading to tend his patient.


Yori snarled a curse before she picked up her cell phone.

"Mushi mushi."

It was a male's voice. The news was the last thing Yori wanted to hear.

"It's was alright to call me. I am sending Police Sergeant Tanaka over to your office. Don't call the local police, it's a special investigation…Public Safety and Intelligence Division special."

The Public Safety and Intelligence Division of the Japanese National Police was the closest thing the Japanese had to the US FBI Counterintelligence Division or the UK's MI-6. A request from the PSID was treated with the same reverence as a command from the Emperor for the old generation.

Hopefully, an alumni of the Yamanouchi school with the proper credentials can keep the lid closed…at least for now.

Ronald Stoppable Possible was being treated fro nearly fatal gunshot wounds and Violetta Lee was still missing. After hearing what just transpired, Yori knew that the young girl was capable of doing anything.


Violetta fingered the identity card she just stolen from some drunken party girl. Careful to cover up the face of the photo with her thumb, she flashed it to the half-sleeping/half-drunken hotel clerk. She carefully copied the symbols unto the registry.

The room was small. Three mats plus a common unisex bathroom down the hall. It was simple, small, and would be place where she would die when the medication ran out.

A tremor shook her small frame. She recognized the need for the daily poison that destroyed everything good about her.

She looked down at the stolen identity card.

Keiko…firefly…it was a fitting name.

Like her new name sake, the girl would burn brightly for the remainder of her short life. She would find and deal with her father. She would make sure that her father would pay for his crimes.

Another street girl would just be used up on the streets and have little to no contact with the main boss. However, the Japanese were big into entertainers…Entertainers were the new geisha.

Keiko flexed her fingers. She had to become famous enough to get her one shot and yet not so famous that the others would find her before she left this life.

The noise emanating from the television down the hall told her that it was more than possible.

The high pitch, bimbo voice told the young girl that geisha gone digital sold well in the land of the rising microchip.


Graphic Scene

Susan Groningen knew that she was becoming just like her tormenter in a way.

She had begun to enjoy the pain…to feel something beside the emptiness inside her shattered soul.

Susan could see her sister's ghost weep at her becoming more and less than human. A part of her just wanted to laugh at the naivety that the once both had. Susan long since gave up her dreams about being good ever again.

It was time for Susan's morning devotions.

Susan bowed towards the east where the sun would rise in two hours.

"Thank you Master Hirotaka for your blessings. This body is not worthy of carrying your seed and yet you chose it to carry your child. This spirit is not worthy to face the trials you granted to it and yet you grant it pardon. Its soul is not worthy and yet you lifted it up to be your consort…your right hand. This unworthy creature is yours to use as you see fit, Master Hirotaka."

Even though they no longer watched her…they no longer asked or made sure that she did as she was instructed, Susan Groningen faithfully kept chanting the benediction as she whipped herself. She hated him and yet now she needed him to grant her what passed for his love. No one could grant her the pain she needed to feel. She needed to atone for her sins. She needed to atone for ending her sister's journey.

One of her master's minions walked up to her.

"Please hurt this little slut…make this worthless creature a good gift fit for the master," Susan pleaded.

The man took the belt off his waist. He lashed out so the buckle struck and dragged into her flesh.

"Harder," she begged.

Soon there was blood everywhere. The man was red in the face from exhaustion.

"Thank you older brother for disciplining this no good slut. I apologize for your exertions."

Susan felt a light headed pleasure as her body crashed to the wooden floor. She knew she needed the pain. The pain became her drug…her life support. Her penance for doing what is needed to survive and one day…may just one day pay back the monster for all the lives he destroyed. Only then would she be fit to end her days.

"Susan-chan, I have a gift for you," the voice of her master bellowed down the hall.

The door opened and the master was hauling a young nine year-old girl, holding her arm so she had to walk on her tipsy toes.

"Her name is Maiko and she will be your little sister. You will personally train her."

It was her nightmare…and yet a part of her now needed to share her becoming. Susan gently took the scared girl by the hand and led her back to the foot of her master's futon.

"If you fight it, it will only hurt more," Susan whispered, "Promise me you would try to fight it. Accept it. Promise me that you will accept it as I had to learn to accept it. I don't want to hurt you more than I have to. It's time for morning devotions."

Susan stripped the young girl of her clothes, saying, "The master will decide when you are to wear clothing. Don't worry, no one will touch you without the master's blessing."

Susan led the young girl in the chant until the young girl faithfully repeated the lines.

"Keep chanting," Susan cooed as she picked up the riding crop, "No matter what happens…no matter the pain, you must keep chanting until you are told to stop. To stop is to suffer."

Susan stuck the lash in the girl's rear end.

The girl yelped up in surprise. Susan backhanded her across the mouth.

"I did not tell you to stop. That was a love tap. The first time I stopped in the middle of devotions he broke my arm and took me. I am far more merciful than he will ever be. Again."

Sobbing the little cried out the lines as Susan lashed the riding crop across the back of the girl's legs. The sight of the welts and bruises on the young girls flesh both excited and repelled the broken girl.

"I cannot stop him from hurting you," Susan muttered as she kissed away the tears from the little girl's eyes. "All I can do is to show you that there is something besides the pain."

Susan kissed the little girl in the mouth gently.

"Please let me show you something besides the pain. I hurt you because you are my new sister. I hurt you to protect you. I failed my older sister. I let her escape the pain and he hurt me so bad so she could feel my pain even when she was dead. Please don't fight me. I can't fail again. Keep chanting. Accept the truth as I have. It's better that way."

Susan hugged and kissed the little girl as the pair chanted their devotions.

Susan knew her sister was looking at her and wondering just what she was going to say when they speak together tonight.


Yori examined the letter.

Yori-sensi,

I have destroyed everything.

I shot Ronnie.

I am not worthy to live among those I love.

I found out that I am truly my father's daughter. I inherited his demons.

I have only one thing left to finish before I see my mother again.

I must face my father one last time and stop him…even if I fall don't try to save me.

Please respect my final wish as I don't want others to be hurt on my account.

Vee

Yori did not want to believe those words, but she knew that they were the truth.

She studied the police reports. The last one was shot up in the guts and the police linked the pistol to one that was stolen from a police officer in Nara.

Yori had to face the facts. Master Sensei's granddaughter had inherited the Toshi curse.

For generations, young orphan girls were bought from all over Japan and trained in the arts of the kunoichi. These girls were twisted by pain, pleasure, and love into predators. Yori had in her procession the ancient documents for creating the perfect kunoichi. The final step of their training was having them kill the ones they love most. Only one of a dozen girls would survive the training and only one of a dozen would survive long enough to complete their mission and bring home their victim's spawn in their growing bellies. Once one did that, they would take pleasuring in killing and hurting anyone. Generations of selective breeding had ensures that the blood of a legion of demons resided in the veins of the descendants of these orphan girls.

Yori knew all too well the siren's call of blood. She felt it with her first kill when she killed the renegade ninja Fukishima.

Enough of her female ancestors were twisted in the same fashion that never today a dark part of her soul wished to hurt others so it can savor the pain. Although the last kunoichi so trained die before the Second World War, the girls of Yamanoichi school use knew the tales of the bloody celebrations that the old kunoichi were wont to hold. Blood, pain, and pleasure…these events more mimicked hell than any other human celebration. It was a dark secret that Yori wanted to hide from her sensei's granddaughter. It was a dark secret that Yori wanted to hide from herself.

Blood call out to blood.

Yori realized that she had failed to recall the first precept taught to all Yamanouchi kunoichi. There are demons and they all reside in our blood and soul. We don't fight the demons head on but use them to our advantage.

Just because five generations passed since Vee's great-great-great grandmother once participated in those bloody revels did not mean the onus her ancestors' sins would not inflict harm on the current generation. By keeping the young girl ignorant of the past, Yori had failed to prepare the child for the siren's call of pain and blood.

Hirotaka wanted to take back the ninja to the old ways. He had just succeeded in turning his child into perhaps the world's most dangerous person.

Only now did Yori perceive Hirotaka's true scheme. He wove the cords of fate so that an unprepared girl would have to face her ancestral curse without any guidance. He was molding the girl into a killer the likes that have not be seen since the Age of a Country at War and she was far too powerless to stop it.