Chapter 2: An Accidental Recruitment
(AN: Thank you to Siatru for beta reading this chapter. I greatly appreciate it. And thank you for all of the comments, and for reading.)
For a brief moment, Naoto stared blankly at Ohgi, slightly frowning with confusion, before following his companion's gesture towards my bundle of blankets, where I was sitting. The blank look of confusion sublimated into an expression of chagrined shock, presumably at having not noticed a stranger in his room in his excitement to show off his cargo of grenades. Already he reminded me of my crew of pet maniacs – if you'd given any random member of the 203rd non-Kbrot food or a shiny new weapon, I'm sure they'd be equally blasé about operational security.
The shock quickly cycled through an expression of acute disbelief, before igniting into a brief flare of panic. The redheaded man lurched forward, interposing himself between the open sack of explosives on the table and myself like a guilty child trying to hide a purloined cookie jar from an unexpected intruder, before he visibly wrestled his emotions back under control and took a deep breath.
"Ohgi. Why is there a Britannian child in our apartment?" While he was speaking to Ohgi, his eyes never left me, and his hand had begun to slide behind his back, no doubt to retrieve some kind of weapon. This was bad!
He's mistaken me for a Britannian, and child or not, I'm a witness to... whatever it is he's up to! My thoughts blurred together as my adrenaline began to surge, fight or flight instincts coming to the fore just like so many times before, a world away. He and Ohgi must be in the Resistance! I've fallen into a nest of rebels and criminals! Worse yet, this Naoto was clearly the dominant personality, likely the leader of their little terrorist cell. Ohgi might not want to cross his boss and put his own skin on the line even further by speaking up for me! My palms began to sweat as I spun up my pathetic orbless reflex enhancement, desperately trying to figure out what I could say to soothe this no-doubt bloodthirsty killer's temper.
"I'm no Britannian! In fact, I'm here to join the Resistance. I want to fight the Britannians and free Glorious Japan from her oppressor!"
Dammit, dammit, dammit! Too much, way too much! I cursed the childish impulses of my untempered body and my treacherously loose lips. I'd just wanted to say the first sentence, denying my Britannian heritage – a complete truth! I was an Eleven, it said so on the school record! The next two sentences just came out all on their own! Now he'll think that I'm some sort of spy or infiltrator! He'll kill me for sure now!
Whatever it was that Naoto had expected to hear, it hadn't been an emotional outburst nor a passionate declaration of Japanese stubbornness. Fortunately, his hand had stopped moving towards his concealed weapon, so I decided to count it as a minor victory, another step on the long road to not getting shot in a mildewed studio apartment.
"Calm down, Naoto!" Ohgi finally decided to insert himself into our little standoff, a bit late but definitely welcome. "This is Tanya. She's a good girl, and her mother... Passed away earlier today." His volume decreased, and he started speaking very gently, as if he was afraid of startling one or the other of us. Quite a wise move on his part, I decided. Clearly, Ohgi was the good cop and probably the one who helped maintain group cohesion in their organization. "That bastard Kentaro was renting a room to her and her mother, and he kicked her out as soon as I broke the news. What was I going to do, leave her alone in the middle of Shinjuku?"
As Ohgi continued to speak sweet reason, I slowly climbed to my feet, careful to keep my eyes on Naoto's hands but slightly downcast as well. The last thing I wanted to do is make Naoto think I was questioning his dominance – that could lead to a need to reassert his authority over the situation, and I didn't feel like being an object lesson. Once I was on my feet, I'd be at least somewhat taller, which according to signal theory would make it easier for him to take me seriously, as well as making it far easier for me to dodge if he did lose his temper.
Fortunately, it seemed like those calculations wouldn't be necessary after all. Naoto exhaled, and thankfully let his hands fall to his side in a relaxed slump, before turning away from me and giving Ohgi a look of mild annoyance. "Always the teacher, eh, Mister Kaname?"
The terrorist leader turned back to me, and plastered the wide, fake smile that those unaccustomed to children always used when speaking to me, and squatted down until his face was roughly at my level. "Hey there, Tanya. Sorry about all that – I was just surprised we had company." He thankfully dropped the plastic smile in favor of a more sincere expression of condolence. "I'm sorry to hear about your mom. I'm sure she's in a better place now, though."
I very much doubted that, as nothing I'd ever heard from Being X indicated any kind of sympathy for the deceased, no matter how miserable their circumstances or passing had been. I also doubted the sincerity of this stranger's sympathy – while the pity in his eyes looked authentic, I couldn't help but suspect this to be another mask. No man waging war on a global empire would be so expressive with a potential threat. As an experienced commander myself, I knew how important it was to maintain a degree of emotional isolation in front of the men I lead. I'd never have earned their respect if I'd poured out my sincere emotions at the drop of a hat, as this Naoto seemingly was in front of Ohgi.
I wondered again about the nature of their relationship. Perhaps, if I had been more forthright about my emotions with Visha, we could have been close too, someday? It didn't matter now, and it hadn't mattered then either – she had been a professional, and I doubt she would have appreciated any sort of inappropriate loose chatter from me. I'd dealt with many overly friendly bosses back in my first life, and I'd held them all in contempt. It was impossible to respect any of them, given how they seemed dependent on their subordinates for emotional fulfillment.
But... What happened, after the shelling? Did the rest of the 203rd get hit in their tents too? I hoped Visha hadn't, at the very least. She was a professional, and would have done an admirable job keeping the men together, I'm sure. Ultimately, I was just a cog in the machine, just another component, but I'd done my job and trained an adequate successor before I'd... left. But what if she didn't hear the shells either? What if she was just as helpless in the face of the artillery as I was? The pain and heat of the thought tore through my chest like a bayonet, and for the first time in the eleven years of this life I found myself imaging the aftermath of that attack beyond my own death. While I of course only saw Visha as a commendable subordinate with a divine gift for coffee, the mental image of her bleeding in the mud made my eyes prick uncomfortably and my stomach twist. The other men and women of the 203rd too, who I'd carefully trained and raised up to be the lords of the sky... what had happened to them? Had any of them survived the war? Gone home to families, loved ones, comfortable peacetime careers? ...Did any of them remember me?
The damned prickling in my eyes was getting worse, and my eyesight was swimming. I tried to scrub at my face with my sleeve for a moment, cursing this sudden and unwarranted onslaught of emotions and the attendant involuntary physical reactions. Annoyingly, the more I rubbed at my face and eyes, the more the tears flowed. Why was this happening to me?! I hadn't been this upset by my mother's early rejections, by the Conquest, by being forced to move into the ghetto and drop out of school... This certainly wasn't caused by my mother's death, she'd been practically a stranger to me... So why did I feel so hot, and hollow, and prickly inside?
I jerked with shock and panic as a pair of strong arms wrapped around me and pulled me into a worn leather jacket. For a moment I struggled and fought, certain that Naoto had taken advantage of my ill-timed emotional display to break my neck and save himself a bullet, before realizing that the arms were wrapped around my shoulders and not my neck. I stayed tense and alert, still not entirely certain what was happening or why. Naoto was... hugging me? Why? He was about to kill me, right? And even if he wasn't, he was a rebel leader, not one of the nuns from that long ago orphanage! Although... even they'd barely touched me more than they'd had to, back in my previous life... There were just too many children for them to spare much time, and I'd been happy about that, since I still had the mind of an adult...
"It's okay to cry, Tanya. It's okay. Just let it out." Naoto's voice was pleasantly deep, and I could feel the rumble of his chest against my forehead. I tried to reply, to express a polite thankfulness for his care but to also make it clear that I just needed a moment, but it all just came out as a thick sobbing burble, completely incoherent. I felt so ashamed of my complete inability to communicate, on top of my inability to control these sudden emotions.
Wait, that's it! Puberty could start at age eleven, right? I know that teenagers are more frequently associated with moodiness and overly emotional outbursts, but perhaps I was simply an early bloomer this time? That would explain these unwarranted reactions, as well as the soppy, maudlin turn my thoughts had taken when I remembered Visha. Just the early signs of puberty, nothing to worry about.
Now that I had figured out what the cause of this outburst must be, it was simplicity itself to calm myself back down from the near hysterics I'd indulged in. A few deep, calming, cleansing breathes, and I managed to get my trembling body back under control, although my cheeks were still unpleasantly damp. Scraping together the tattered shreds of my dignity, I managed to force out a muttered "Thank you. I'm fine now."
Gingerly, Naoto let go of me and stepped back. He'd apparently either forgotten about the incriminating sack of grenades or no longer cared, since he didn't resume his position between me and them, instead moving to stand beside Ohgi. For some reason, Ohgi looked far more comfortable than he had before I'd started crying uncontrollably – had I misjudged him, and he was one of those men who relished suffering in others? If that was the case, it was quite concerning, as I doubted any sadist would take particular care to preserve his human resources.
The way forward became clear to me. Naoto was clearly a trigger-happy and manipulative rising warlord, and Ohgi was a closeted sadist who'd let his mask slip. I was locked in a room with battle maniacs. In some strange way, I felt like I'd finally come home.
"I said I'm here to join you! I want to fight Britannia, and avenge our home!" My delivery was crippled by a damnable waver in my voice, but bolstered by the very real anger channeled through my words. Anger at myself for my weakness, anger at Ohgi for putting me in a position where I once more had to volunteer to fight to save my skin, anger at the Britannians for ruining my attempt to return to the safe and cushy life... Anger at Being X for letting me die alone and maimed, anger at Visha for not being there when I was scared and alone and hurt... Deep breaths. Don't lose your cool in front of the battle maniacs.
"Umm... Tanya, look..." Naoto began, before Ohgi burst in. "Absolutely not! You're a child – we're not going to put you in danger like that!" Now it was Ohgi's turn to pause and take a breath, before continuing on in a calmer tone. "Besides, you don't' know anything about fighting, do you, Tanya? You were just a kid when the Brits invaded." He smiled sympathetically at me. "I know you're upset about your mother, but I can't just let you throw your life away."
Inside, I started to panic. Ohgi had shown his true colors earlier, so that smile of his must be at my expense somehow... What was I missing...? I've already seen the grenades and heard them planning! I realized. They can't let me leave unless they're confident in my loyalty. This is a test! They were trying to see if I'd back down in the face of opposition, or if I really was just some sort of emotional child! Truly, this cell must be hardened professionals, to have such an insidious testing mechanism for prospective recruits! That must be why they'd survived the five years since the invasion. I idly wondered how many failed infiltrators had been unmasked by their tests, and how many sincere recruits who didn't have my appreciation for interview strategy had ended up garroted in an alley somewhere.
"This isn't about my mother." I began. Happily, my voice had finally firmed up, and I began to carefully inject the cadence I remembered from giving speeches to my men before training or battle. Not too much emotion, but enough bombast to tug on the heartstrings, that Achilles' heel seemingly shared by all but the most emotionally dead.
"This is not about my mother. This is about all of us. What opportunities are there for us Japanese? None! There is nothing for us, here in our own homeland! Everything the Britannians could take, they've stolen already. Every petty cruelty they could dream up, they've inflicted on us. They've razed our shrines, executed our leaders, even stolen our identity as Japanese! And what about our dreams, our hopes?! They're crushed! We're forced to sweep streets and accept their beatings and thank them for their fists!"
I realized I'd lost control of my mouth again, but I just couldn't stop the torrent of vitriol rushing out. Memories of years of carrying rubble, of finding smashed bodies between the cement slabs, of seeing bullet holes in stained walls... Memories of hunger, of going to bed so empty I felt like my belly would implode, of watching strong men and women give up and crawl into bottles...
"No more! I can't stand by and watch helplessly anymore! I can't see any more mass executions, any more kidnappings, any more death! Not without doing something! Anything!" I turned toward Ohgi, whose mouth hung ajar like he was trying to prevent his eardrums from rupturing from the concussive waves of explosions. "You say I'm too young to fight, just a child? I'm not too young to be put up against a wall and shot! I'm not too young to be beaten to death in the street for some young thug's fun and games! I'm not too young to die in the damned crossfire between you rebels and the Britannians! So why am I too young to actually do something about it, instead of simply waiting to be victimized once more?!"
I turned back to Naoto. "If you don't think I can fight, teach me! Or let me be a messenger, a lookout, a distraction! Just let me help you help our people!" As I spouted belligerent oratory, I tried to think of a clincher, some personal hook to land my pitch... Ah, there we go. "Naoto, sir, you and I are alike in one way – we're both half-breeds, Britannian bastards! But our last names say that we've made our choice, don't they? Sir, Hajime isn't a Britannian name! You and I both know we might not look as Japanese as Ohgi, but you're willing to put your life on the line for Japan! Let me prove myself Japanese too!"
Abruptly, I ran out of steam. As I stood there, gasping for breath in that small apartment, looking at the terrorist across from me, I hoped he'd bought my pitch. I'd done my best to follow the same strategy that had endeared me to my superiors back in the Empire – rephrasing the propaganda and spouting it back with as much vigor as I could muster. The closer was a product of my corporate experience – whenever you're trying to sell an idea, you must localize it to the buyer's interests. Hopefully, two lives worth of experience of social manipulation would preserve my third life.
I was gratified to see that Naoto looked quite thoughtful, and was presumably mulling over my jingoistic pitch, though Ohgi was giving me a strange look, like he hadn't seen me before. Hopefully this meant I'd been moved off his potential victim's list and into the category of helpful allies instead.
Naoto sighed, and my eyes snapped back to him. "You're younger than my little sister, Tanya. I can't let you join us. I'm not going to risk your life." My stomach dropped , and it felt like I was standing on the edge of a precipice once more. If I wasn't useful to him... "But, you've made your point, and you're really passionate. And you're quite the talker, too!" He flashed a casual wink and a smile at this. "Tell you what, how would you like to help us out in other ways? We could always use a lookout, and I bet you'd make a good recruiter too!" He chuckled, and leaned back against the table, clearly pleased with himself. "After all, if a little girl can be this fiery, how can any true son of Japan avoid the blaze, huh?"
And so, just like that, I joined the Kozuki Cell of the Japanese Resistance. Apparently, joining a band of bloodthirsty terrorists is easier than I'd expected. Naoto and Ohgi hadn't made me kill a bound captive as an initiation, like in action films I could dimly remember from my first life, but they also hadn't given me any sort of weapon I could potentially turn against them either. Probably a wise move on their part, but it made me acutely aware that I was still a probationary member at best, cannon fodder at worst. Hopefully they weren't going to demand that I bomb a checkpoint or try to embrace a Britannian soldier with a grenade in my hand or something.
Fortunately, the remainder of the day and the night passed without any further life or death situations. Ohgi and Naoto prepared a simple dinner for us on their ancient electric hotplate, which presented me with yet another test of will. The day's events had kept me from work, so I hadn't eaten all day, and even the simple scents of boiling onions and carrots were enough to make my mouth water. Somehow, they'd even managed to get their hands on real chicken's eggs – an extremely rare ingredient in Shinjuku. I assumed they must have some sort of black market connections, being resistance fighters and the like, but Ohgi revealed they'd actually been part of the take from a burglary of a noble's apartment in the Concession. On one hand, their willingness to take valuable resources where they could appealed to my rational sensibilities, on the other hand prioritizing something as fragile and simple as eggs while robbing a house made me start to question their priorities and planning. Ultimately, I decided this must be a simple and easy way to keep morale up, which was a worthwhile objective.
My desire to simply enjoy the protein rich soup had nothing to do with my willingness to see the silver lining of their operations, before you ask. My growling belly had no input into my sober analysis of the machinations of my new supposed comrades.
The next day, Naoto and Ohgi took me to the cell's "headquarters", a grandiose way to describe the leaky sub-basement of an apartment building that looked decayed even by Shinjuku standards. The cement walls and floor were illuminated by a handful of lamps with bare bulbs, powered by an ancient gas powered generator. The remainder of the basement not occupied by the generator was broadly divided into two small sections and a third larger section. The first section was dominated by a series of mostly bare shelving units, and appeared to pass as the group's armory. Naoto swung the old gym bag containing the grenades up and onto one of the shelves with an alarming degree of nonchalance, and I winced as the sack landed on the metal shelf with a muffled clank. Clearly, nobody had given them instructions in the safe handling of explosive ordinance. The second section appeared to be a primitive living area, with a pair of disreputable bunks that looked like they'd seen service on the Rhine Front a century earlier, as well as two badly abused couches and a coffee table. The third section appeared to have been set up as a primitive firing range, with crude paper targets nailed to the east wall and a table with an open ammunition box near the west.
The entire setup was amateurish, to put it politely, and the two men displayed a worrying lack of concern about the secrecy of their allegedly hidden base. The echoing chug of the mechanical beast of a generator was clearly audible from the lobby of the decrepit building as we'd entered, and I marveled that neither seemed to care about any possibility of detection from that clamor alone. Mix in the sounds of pistol fire echoing in a room mostly comprised of bare concrete, and I was shocked that the Britannians hadn't torn this place down around our ears yet.
Perhaps this is all a trap? I wondered, casting a sceptical eye over the handful of rifles and pistols, pair of RPGs, and disorganized boxes of ammunition randomly stashed on the shelving units. Maybe the Britannians already know about this place, and are just keeping tabs on who comes and goes? It's what I'd do, if I were trying to weed out committed insurgents from an uncooperative population. That said, it wasn't really the Britannians style – in my experience, their arrogance prevented them from ever believing that any of the Elevens would actually strike them, until it happened. At which point they'd take their anger out on whatever unlucky bastards happened to be nearby. A wall, a bullet, and not even a pretense of military justice, and they'd call the situation pacified.
What sloppy work on the Britannians part. Even the Republic Army wasn't so... half-hearted when it came to carrying out their duties. Which, now that I considered it, standing in this basement, begged an interesting question: How did the Britannians conquer a third of the world if their men are so disinterested in working, and their officers too unimaginative or incompetent to actively pursue counter-guerrilla operations? I could only conclude that the Britannians here in Area 11 were garrison troops, possibly even reservists, and thus the bottom of the barrel. Presumably any elite units stationed here were guarding the Sakuradite mines instead of patrolling the Number ghettos.
Naoto and Ohgi sat on one of the couches, and called for me to join them, distracting me from following that train of thought any further. Apparently, the other three members of their cell – Nagata, Inoue, and Tamaki – were on their way and would join us shortly. As we waited, Naoto filled me in with some more information about the cell. Apparently, contrary to my previous assumptions, they'd only been operating for a few months, and weren't part of the older, more established networks that had sprung up in the wake of the Conquest. Indeed, Naoto's cell wasn't affiliated with any network at all, and were instead a merry band of independent freedom fighters, in his own words.
Apparently, he and Ohgi had been friends since high school, while the other three members of their group had been friends from university or the jobs they'd had before the Conquest. Naoto had established the cell with Ohgi after returning "from a trip abroad", and they'd subsequently reached out to their old network of friends. Apparently, this time overseas had also been when Naoto had gotten the seed money together to buy the first batch of Britannian military surplus small arms and ammunition through his father's connections back in Britannia proper, where apparently such things were possible. Which led to the further revelation that Naoto was not, in fact, the half-breed son of a lowly soldier, or a sailor like myself. No, Naoto was in fact the half-breed bastard son of a noble, a Lord Stadtfeld. Curiously, unlike most such fathers, Stadtfeld apparently cared for his son, as well as his Japanese mistress, and was sympathetic enough to their plight to help sponsor his son's insurgency. Or at least, that was Naoto's story.
I immediately smelled a rat. It was one thing for a noble to be fond of a bastard son, particularly if the bastard in question was skilled and not interested in usurping the place of his legal offspring. Such noble bastards had frequently found commissions in the Imperial Army in my previous life, and plenty of them even earned those epaulets honestly, admittedly with their father's connections greasing the wheels. Caring for a bastard to the point of sponsoring his armed treason against the state, however...
That was simply unbelievable. So why would a Britannian noble pay to arm and equip a Japanese terrorist cell, and why would he use his own deniable asset, a bastard son, as the head of such an organization? My eyes widened as I considered the possibilities.
Perhaps any Britannian targets we attack would simply be his business rivals? I mused, but it didn't seem like the kind of objective that would involve setting up a whole guerrilla operation. Simply putting any of the violent gangs in Shinjuku on his payroll would presumably have the same benefits with less risk. Maybe he wants the credit for exposing and arresting all of us, to expand his own political base in the Concession administration? Setting up an enemy for you to knock down when convenient would be a very appealing strategy for a savvy and amoral operator, like any Britannian noble who'd survived this long must be. Perhaps he wants to carve out his own shadow kingdom, using the combat strength of the Japanese Resistance to become the defacto ruler of Area 11? It would be an ambitious plan, one with great risk but potentially incredible reward. It would also conform to the Social Darwinism I'd been instructed on back in the Shinjuku School for Elevens, which might even mean that the nobility and monarchy would consider such actions moral and legitimate.
This opened up a whole new vista of opportunities, as well as introduced a very dangerous rival into the equation. If this mysterious 'Lord Stadtfeld' really was trying to set himself up as the shadow ruler of Area 11, using his hafu son as a cipher, I could be in very real danger if he decided that I was a risk. There was no running from such a man, not with the resources I had on hand. That said, if I was correct about his plan... Perhaps this could be a route to that legendary, ever evasive, rear echelon position? If I could impress the son, and through the son the new shadow governor, the sky was the limit!
But how do I impress Kozuki Naoto...?
I mulled the thought over as the other three members of the guerrilla cell shuffled in, closing the sub-basement door as they entered. Or, more accurately, two members shuffled in, while the third strutted through the entrance loud and proud, self-confident bravado practically dripping as he swaggered into the hideout. I examined the trio of newcomers as they made their way over to the couches. Two males and one female, with the shorter of the two men being the loudmouth leading the way. Already his boisterous personality was on full display, greeting the two leaders of the cell with a loud "Yo!" and an overly dramatic and sloppy salute. As he touched his brow, his jacket pulled upward, revealing the handgrip of an automatic casually crammed into the waistband of his trousers, ideally placed to put a bullet in his thigh if the safety was off.
The other two were both older and quieter then their colleague. Both had long dark hair, in marked contrast to the loudmouth's short dyed red hair, and both were expressionless. And unlike their comrade, both had clearly noticed my presence, and were clearly uneasy with it. I'd have to win them over too – in such a close knit organization, being on the good side of every member was key to maintaining a strong espirit de corps. If they thought I wasn't willing to be a team player, they'd undercut any effort I made to get into Naoto's good books, derailing my only current path to a prosperous life.
Of course, all that was predicated on not being shot this moment by the fool waving a gun in my face.
"You Britannian scum! How did you get into our secret base?!" The fool blathered on, ranting incoherently about the generally untrustworthy nature of Britannians in general and me in particular. While irritating, I wasn't paying attention to any of it, keeping all my attention on the barrel of the gun wobbling uncertainly in my face. Somehow, I doubted agreeing with him about the perfidious nature of Albion would get him to reconsider his snap judgment. When he'd turned from Naoto and Ohgi to throw himself down onto the second couch, he'd finally noticed me, and had immediately gone for his gun.
I'd immediately spun up my pitiful reflex and strength enhancements, but paused as the pistol trained on my face. I was fairly confident in my ability to slap his hand aside and launch myself at him before he could take the shot, but I wasn't positive – I'd never fought before in this body, and I didn't know if my rusty old skills and muscle memory would make up for my physical inexperience. Furthermore, this man was supposedly a friendly, a fellow member of this cell. I couldn't hurt him too badly, otherwise I would never be accepted by the rest of the old guard. So, I had waited for our leader to take him in hand, figuring that respect for the chain of command was integral to the function of any military organization.
But, instead of immediately slapping this fool – Tamaki, apparently – down, Naoto instead tried sweet reason. "Put the gun down, Tamaki! I invited her here!", supported by Ohgi's similar appeals to his better nature "She's Japanese, and a child! Are you going to shoot a kid, Tamaki? What the hell is wrong with you?!" Unfortunately, neither of these attempts to throw water on the situation made much of an impact, and I felt my back breaking out into a cold sweat. This man was a fool, and like many fools, stubborn. Once such a man was committed to a course of action, it was difficult to dissuade them, especially if they felt like they'd lose face as a result.
Unless... Is this another test?
Perhaps all wasn't what it seemed here. If I was a leader of a band of battle maniacs without a firm hierarchy and supporting infrastructure, perhaps I'd want a cipher to distance myself from any punishments or skullduggery. Perhaps Naoto was concerned that testing my combat skills personally would build animosity between us, and had delegated to his designated 'Bad Cop'? I'd thought that Ohgi, with his evident sadistic tendencies and background as an authority figure, would be the natural fit for such a location, but perhaps he didn't want his second in command and chosen successor to be tarred by the brush of personal animus either?
If that was the case, then I wasn't really in any danger here. Naoto just wanted to see what I could do, and if I actually had the spine to stand up for myself when push came to shove. The interview isn't over yet! I realized, and felt myself calm. I was on familiar ground here. I'd passed the first round interview by proving my sincere interest in the cause of Japanese liberation; now, I had to pass the second round interview to prove my utility to the organization to cement my hiring!
As soon as Tamaki looked away for a moment, turning to yell something back at the two rebels who'd entered the room with him, I moved. My left hand swept up, slamming into the underside of the pistol's barrel and forcing it up and out, rotating my hand towards me as the gun moved away from my head and jamming my thumb into the trigger guard, between the trigger and the interior of the guard. I rose to my feet in a burst, following my left arm up and propelling myself forwards, head first. Tamaki turned back towards me, away from his comrades and straight into the crown of my head. My teeth clacked together as I ran into his face, and I felt something soft give way under the impact. He began to stagger backwards, making some kind of burbling noise, but I ignored that in favor of grabbing the bicep of his gun-arm and bobbing downwards, under his right arm, and rising back up as I pivoted on my heel, coming up behind him.
As I moved, I maintained my grip on his upper arm and on the gun, pinning his right hand in place between the firearm and my own left hand. As a consequence, as I dipped below him, his arm was forced to rotate forward from the shoulder and down, following my own trajectory, and as I turned left on my heel the arm was forced to continue forwards and down, rotating 180 degrees in its socket. At the same time, I pulled the gun hand down and to the left as I turned, ending with the pistol behind his upper back, with the barrel crudely shoved into the meat below his left shoulder blade. I was fairly certain his right shoulder was dislocated as a result of the downwards rotation, but I reasoned that it was a decidedly non-fatal injury, and not even an uncommon injury in friendly spars and training sessions.
I considered letting go of him at this point, as I felt I'd adequately demonstrated my willingness to stand up to potential threats, but then I reconsidered the likely nature of this test. We were a rebel group, either fighting a war for the soul of our nation against a foreign invader, or fighting to install our own secret leader into a position of dominance over Area 11. Either way, we couldn't afford to be squeamish, or really take prisoners. Any threats to our operations or objectives would have to be disposed of swiftly and ruthlessly, and as far as I knew, as irregular combatants, we were under no obligation to conform to the requirements of this universe's equivalent of the Laws of War. If I let him go now, while he was still on his feet and in possession of a firearm, I'd be demonstrating an unforgivable degree of squeamishness, as well as an unwillingness to clean up my own mess. If I were hiring for a campaign of insurgency, that would be an automatic disqualification! So, I decided to take my time and be thorough about this.
I slammed a strength-enhanced foot into the crook of his right knee, forcing the joint to fold and driving him down to a half-kneeling position. As his ear came down to roughly the level of my mouth, I leaned in and growled "Let go of the gun." in my best 'Officer's Voice'. Regrettably, I wasn't able to get the same coarse rumble I'd managed from my previous body, as these vocal cords hadn't been roughened by years of yelling orders over the sounds of wind, gunfire, and explosions, so I sounded closer to an irate schoolgirl than a hardened revolutionary. Apparently, this childish voice wasn't intimidating enough to show that I meant business, as Tamaki just blubbered something about "You crazy Brit bitch!" instead of releasing his grip on the pistol.
So, I let go of my right-hand hold on his bicep, reasoning that the gun was still under the control of my left hand, and used my now free hand to jab at the soft spot below his wrist, between his ulna and radius. This involuntarily forced his fingers to flex, and then relax as I lifted my thumb from the peripheral nerve. As his fingers briefly relaxed, I seized the pistol in both hands, tore it out of his fingers, and took three quick steps back and away in case he tried to lash back with his left arm to contest my possession of the firearm. As I stepped back, I lifted the gun in a two arm hold and pointed it at the base of Tamaki's skull, where the spinal cord and brain stem meet. No more than five or ten seconds had gone by from my first movement to now.
I hoped this had proven my utility to Naoto and his little band of psychopaths once and for all. I was getting tired of all these tests, and wanted to move on to something a bit more productive.