Chapter 3: A Fortuitous Meeting
(AN: Thank you to Siatru for beta reading this chapter, and massively improving the quality as a result. And thank you for all of the comments, and for reading.)
Fortunately, my introductions to the other two members of the organization were significantly calmer. Nagata and Inoue were both relatively quiet, and seemed haunted by some sort of horrible past experience, judging by the fear in their eyes and how they twitched slightly whenever I moved. I could sympathize – I too had been a peaceful person driven by circumstances far beyond my control to take up a gun and fight. If this pair of obviously sane people had been forced by their experiences under the Britannian occupation to sign their own death warrants by joining the Resistance, their suffering must have been truly unbearable.
As I did my best to soothe them with light conversation about their time with the Kozuki cell of the Resistance, Ohgi attempted to get a cursing Tamaki's shoulder back into its socket. Clearly, the sadist was taking his time with it, drawing a relatively simple if painful procedure out to maximize the suffering of his patient. I was tempted to interfere and simply pop the joint back into position myself, as I'd done many a time on the front or during training, but I didn't want my well-meaning actions to come off as an attempt to undermine the leadership. Plus, I knew how proud and stubborn diehards like Tamaki could be, and I didn't want to appear condescending towards him. It had been very kind of him to help Naoto in his interview process, and I didn't want to compound the injury with inadvertent insult.
In fact, now that I thought about it, I hadn't thanked Tamaki for being my sparring partner yet. That was rude on my part, and might unnecessarily complicate our future relationship. As I chattered on, trying to encourage Nagata and Inoue to open up with me and share more about themselves, I mentally cast around for a good way to thank him. It was too late to openly thank him, as the conversation had clearly moved on, but maybe I could do some small task or errand for him?
I looked down at the pistol I was still holding. I'd checked the safety as soon as the match was over, planning to re-engage it, but I discovered that Tamaki had never actually switched it off before putting it in my face. Of course he hadn't, it was all just a test, but I was glad to see I'd never been in any real danger. I intended to return it to Tamaki, of course, as soon as Ohgi stopped toying with him, but perhaps I could show my appreciation by doing a bit of maintenance and cleaning? In my experience, even the most dutiful of soldiers disliked the constant cleaning and maintenance that are part and parcel with the military life, and exchanging small favors like boot polishing were common forms of social currency in the barracks.
So, as the conversation with Nagata and Inoue gradually petered out, I made my way over to the armory once more, and began searching for a gun cleaning kit and the requisite supplies. To my shock, I didn't find anything of the sort – no brushes, or cleaning rods, or wiping clothes, not even a single bottle of lubricant was available anywhere on the shelves. I eyed the higher shelves, wondering if perhaps the cleaning supplies were stored beyond my reach or sight, but that seemed unlikely. With a growing sense of consternation, I returned to the lounge area and knelt by the coffee table, and began disassembling the pistol.
I noticed Naoto and Ohgi were off in a corner of the target range, apparently arguing about something, but I couldn't make out what they were saying. Apart from the vague hissing sounds of suppressed yet still clearly angry tones, the basement was generally calm. Tamaki, Inoue, and Nagata were seated on the couches around the coffee table, but none of them were saying anything. Tamaki, for his part, appeared to be sulking. I wondered if he was upset by Ohgi's complete lack of professionalism when it came to first aid, or if Naoto had put a bee in his ear about being too easy on me. Looking back, it should have been impossible for a young girl to disarm an armed guerrilla like that, even with magically enhanced reflexes and strength. I could only assume that he hadn't wanted to push too hard on such a young recruit, or perhaps Naoto had told him about my unfortunate emotional outburst back in the apartment and he considered me mentally fragile. Either way, he didn't look happy, and possibly Naoto and Ohgi were equally unhappy as well, considering their ongoing dispute, which had evolved to arm-waving gesticulations on the latter's part.
I'd screwed up somehow, that was clear, but I couldn't see how. I had thought my actions would impress Ohgi with their ruthlessness and decisiveness, and I'd hoped to prove to Naoto that I was a valuable asset to him and his father in their quest to gain power in Japan at the expense of the Britannian establishment. Instead, I'd managed to introduce disharmony into the group, potentially upsetting the working relationships between the various members of the cell and reducing the operational efficiency of the organization as a whole. Sighing with irritation, I reminisced fondly on the smooth machinery of Imperial bureaucracy, and how such personal drama was replaced by the impersonal wheels of cold logic and resource allocation.
Turning my thoughts back to the present, I began to examine the pistol in my hands. To my surprise, it was nothing like any pistol I'd ever handled before. Instead of the familiar breech mechanism I was familiar with, there was a round cylinder attached to the butt of the gun, behind the slide. Ejecting the magazine proved similarly surprising – instead of the cylinders of chemical propellant capped with the rounded projectile cones I'd expected, the bullets appeared to have been reduced to only the projectiles themselves. Upon closer examination, I noticed that the bullet container in the magazine didn't extend all the way to the base. The bottom third of the magazine appeared to be a large rectangular block of unpainted steel. I carefully emptied out the shells, and peered into the empty compartment. I couldn't clearly see what was at the base, but it appeared to be some form of electrical assembly. Perhaps the block is some form of battery? Wait... are all the firearms in this world electrical? The idea seemed absurd, but it was the only thing that made sense. Perhaps this is a result of the existence of Sakuradite? An abundant natural superconductor could make all kinds of peculiar technologies feasible... Honestly, I should have realized that point long ago, if only because of how quiet the Knightmare Frames had been during the Conquest. Admittedly, I'd had other things on my mind, but compared to the ear shattering sounds of heavy construction machinery I'd heard in my first life, they'd been remarkably low-key. Until they started shooting, at least.
I couldn't clean it as I'd originally planned to do, not without the requisite supplies and a greater degree of familiarity with this universe's weapons systems, but I could at least refresh my familiarity with the tools of the trade, and perhaps assess the quality of equipment I'd be working with.
I looked up at Tamaki, who was still sitting in sullen silence across the table. I could sympathize, I supposed. I'd had a hard time losing, even if it was for training missions, and nobody liked being taken advantage of. While I supposed it was below Naoto's dignity as the leader to be manhandled, the lack of positive reinforcement and incentivization for Tamaki after our test was a disappointing misstep as a leader. After all, having your shoulder forcibly dislocated was never a pleasant experience, and nor was suffering at the hands of a sadist allegedly providing first aid.
Well, if Naoto wasn't willing to smooth over this potential source of intra-organizational discord, I'd have to step up instead. I quickly reloaded the magazine and reinserted it, before seeking out Tamaki's gaze and making deliberate eye contact. Smiling, I slid the pistol back across the table towards him and stood up and jerked my head towards the firing range, where the dispute between Naoto and Ohgi had apparently subsided. "Want to show me what you can do with that thing?"
Tamaki was gracious enough to accept the gesture of reconciliation, and was soon introducing me to the finer points of using motorized guns. Apparently, modern small arms were generally motor-powered coilguns, with chemical propellant guns phased out to the realm of antiquarians and hobbyists. I had been partially correct about the design being the result of Sakuradite, but not correct in regards to the battery using the stuff. No, apparently a small amount of Sakuradite lined the barrel of the gun, electromagnetically accelerating the bullet as it passed, while a more mundane battery powered the motor that provided the initial kinetic energy for the round.
These motor guns were both significantly easier to use as a result of the sharp reduction of the kickback force, and both much lighter and quieter than the firearms of my previous life. The sound they made was louder than an airsoft compressed air rifle, but still significantly quieter than my memories led me to expect. The basement firing range made much more sense in the light of this new discovery, and now didn't seem like quite the blatant security hazard it had before.
Despite the lightness of the firearm, Tamaki still wasn't going to be able to shoot today. Dislocated joints were no joke, and my overeager take down had more or less rendered him unable to fight for the next three months, unless he was willing to risk permanent injury. Still, he seemed pleased by my clear interest in listening to him explain how the gun worked, and he carefully walked me through how to disassemble and reassemble his pistol. Another fortunate byproduct of the alternative technology was that firearms required far less cleaning. No chemical propellant meant no risk of unsafe accumulations of unburnt propellant in the mechanisms, which explained the complete lack of gun cleaning supplies in the armory. Apparently, it was important to regularly check that the rail was still completely straight and fully intact, lest a magnetically accelerated bullet rip itself out through the side of the barrel. Plus, the motor, while designed to be as rugged as possible, was just as vulnerable as any mechanism with small moving parts, and could easily be damaged by rough treatment.
I idly wondered if there were any communists in this world to design a coilgun Kalashnikov. As far as I could tell, the radical departures from world history as I'd previously known it had stifled much of the development of modern political and social theory. While I wasn't particularly familiar with the specific ideology of the Europeans, the Chinese appeared to retain an emperor complete with a court of eunuch ministers, while Britannia obviously ran on the same principles of absolute monarchy and the divine right of kings propounded by the Sun King in Versailles. No socialism meant no communism, which in my mind was a strong point in this world's favor, but that also meant no rugged assault rifles that could survive even the roughest treatment a peasant could met out.
After our little bonding session over the finer points of firearm maintenance, I felt like I'd established a good working relationship with Tamaki. Admittedly, our rapport was somewhat stifled by his clear discomfort in working with me. Initially, I figured this was due to his clear hatred for Britannians, but he seemed to follow Naoto without any complaint, so it must be my age that was putting him off. Hopefully I could find some way to overcome his unwillingness to work with an apparent child, but there was no sense rushing it.
A week later, and I was back in the basement. After Tamaki had introduced me to the details of motorized guns, I'd begun a strategic campaign of coercion using available assets to secure a weapon of my own.
More specifically, I had turned up every "cute little girl" trick I'd been taught by the Imperial Bureau for Propaganda and wheedled a pistol out of Ohgi. I had considered focusing on Naoto, but I remembered that he had a younger sister and thus was likely more inured to the impact of strategically deployed cuteness than the single child Ohgi. So, for days, I'd dimple-smiled for all I was worth and "teehee"d every other sentence. I wasn't sure if my charm offensive had worked or the simple irritation had become unbearable, but by the fourth day Ohgi had surrendered a pistol carrying case into my custody. I had, of course, immediately wanted to familiarize myself with it, but I bided my time until Naoto announced we'd be meeting back up with rest of the cell again. I didn't want to burn too much social capital by being any more pushy than I had to be, so I focused my energies on my old daily routine once more, sniffing out random day jobs that paid in food to reduce my impact on my new roommates' resources.
But now, I finally had the opportunity to get some range time with my pistol. I remembered the long hours from my past life on Imperial ranges of all types, from the standard arrangement of a line of targets at the same distance in Basic, to the variable location targets from the Advanced Marksmanship course, to the pistol range from OCS, to the miles wide training areas from my mage training. In some small way, standing on the line facing a row of targets felt like a homecoming. Never thought I'd be so nostalgic for a simple training exercise. I mused as I vaguely listened to Naoto lecture about range safety.
After an interminable lecture, where Naoto seemed to be really going into detail about the importance of treating every gun as if were loaded at all times, it was finally time to see what I could do. It had been years since I'd shot a gun, in a totally different body, so I was fairly anxious about my skill level. It would be embarrassing if my skill level was at the level of a true eleven year old girl, but I hoped at least some small part of my skill had carried over from my past life. Fortunately, since the motorized guns were so much quieter than the firearms of the 1900's, I didn't need to bother with clunky hearing protection, and so I simply assumed the old familiar shooter's posture and announced "Range is hot!" in my annoyingly piping and high-pitched voice.
I looked down the notches on top of the barrel, and slid the safety switch off with my thumb. I centered my sight on the center of the target in front of me, braced myself, and carefully squeezed down on the trigger. My first shot of my new life crack'ed out across the range, and the flutter of the paper target and puff of concrete dust heralded its impact. The gun had gratifyingly barely jerked in my hands, and I hadn't even required the strength enhancement to control it. I waited a moment for the air to clear, and refocused my sight down the notches at the target. To my slight annoyance, the hole was below the center of the target – I'd over-corrected for the anticipated kickback, and undershot the center ring. I must break myself of that habit soon.
To my pleasure, the next round punched straight through the center of the target, as did the subsequent eleven bullets of the thirteen bullet magazine. It's like riding a bike, I mused to myself as I re-engaged the safety and declared "Range is clear!" you never really forget the basics.
My detached calm was suddenly disrupted by a burst of cheering and applause from the sidelines of the range. I blinked and looked over to the couches, where my comrades were all sitting or leaning and watching me. I'd momentarily forgotten about them as I'd focused all my attention on the gun in my hands and the target on the wall, but they'd all been keenly watching as I tested out my new gun. I was gratified by the bonhomie they were displaying, but I didn't take it too seriously. Shooting a stationary target from twenty feet away was no great feat, and they were just being supportive of a new recruit coming to terms with the tools of the trade. Still, I smiled back at them in thanks and bit my tongue as Tamaki began bragging about "teaching her everything she knows". No need to take his joking too seriously, I decided as I walked down-range to retrieve my target, especially when my results were likely nothing to write home about.
And I was indeed correct, my shooting was barely acceptable at best. The first shot was, of course, entirely outside of the center ring, and the grouping of the remainder of my shots was sloppy at best. Considering that the target had only been twenty feet away and completely stationary, I had a lot of lost ground to make up. Hopefully my comrades didn't rib me too much about my results – I was, after all, just eleven and a complete newbie.
"Let's see how you did, Tanya!" Naoto's jovial voice broke on my ears and forced me to turn and return to the group. Despite my signature cutesy smile, internally I cursed my rotten luck. I'd hoped I could just show this to Tamaki to reinforce my bond as a comrade in arms without embarrassing myself in front of our leader, but no dice. I supposed having an actively involved and hands on leader was an asset, but I wished he'd just let me slink back to the couches without making a production out of all this.
I handed over my target, and did my best to prepare myself for the inevitable criticism. It's not fair! This is my first time using a motor pistol! How was I to know the kickback would be so minuscule?! I kicked myself and stopped my whining inner voice. Fairness had nothing to do with war, and I needed to shape up in a hurry before the leadership decided I needed to ship out.
The criticism I had expected didn't come. Instead, Naoto practically gushed with compliments about my shooting, even complimenting my grouping. I kicked myself again, this time out of shame at how badly I'd underestimated Naoto's managerial skills. I figured a warlord in the making like himself would be quick with the rod and sparing with praise, but clearly he had mastered the art of the barbed compliment. His comments on the grouping were clearly a veiled reference to my sloppiness, but at least he did me the courtesy of sugarcoating it so the strip he tore off my back wouldn't be so visible to the other members of the cell. I wondered if he usually practiced such social manipulation, or if my young appearance had tugged on his big brother instinct, so he was giving me a bit of grace. Either way, I understood the unspoken message here: My work was barely acceptable, and if I wanted to continue being a member of his cell I needed to improve in a hurry.
Message received. I'd have to badger Ohgi into letting me come to the basement on my own, so I could practice my shooting as much as possible before the next meeting. I couldn't fall behind – I had nowhere else to go, and I was in too deep to turn back now.
By the next week, I was fairly confident in my skills with the pistol. I'd managed to hit the inside of the ring with every shot I'd fired for the last two days, even if I wasn't able to hit the same hole with all of my shots each time, which meant I'd finally mastered basic proficiency with my first weapon. The stationary nature of the targets significantly lowered the difficultly level, however, so I'd likely have to find something else to shoot at to further improve my skill level.
Tamaki was apparently feeling good enough to shoot again, and had started off our little meeting with a cheerful challenge of "Lemme show you what some real shooting looks like!"
Tamaki began to blaze away at the row of paper targets nailed into the far wall. This was the first time one of the rebels had practiced their shooting while I was present and not focused on my own practice, and as I saw the concrete chips fly from the designated target wall, I grew increasingly surprised that nobody that practiced their marksmanship in this hole had hurt themselves. Between the flying shards of concrete and the possibility of ricochets, this range suddenly seemed unsafe and shabby. Why they hadn't nailed some lumber to the wall, and then nailed the targets to the wood to provide some form of primitive backstop was beyond me.
The others were sitting on the couches, eating something out of a pot that Ohgi had brought back, some kind of savory stew by the scent of it. My stomach was growling with discontentment, and every time I heard the sounds of spoons hitting bowls I felt myself get a bit hungrier.
Lucky bastards.
Eventually, Tamaki emptied his magazine, and engaged the safety. As I tore my thoughts away from lunch and back to the matter at hand, Tamaki dramatically blew away an imaginary wisp of smoke from the barrel of the gun, and looked down at me with a confident smirk.
"Pretty cool, huh? Wanna see me do it double-gun style?"
Visha, why couldn't you come with me? I wish you were here, so I could pass the burden of training basic aiming into his thick skull. I considered pointing out that only movie cowboys fired from the hip and hit anything, or that the sights on top of the gun were there for a reason, but I bit back those responses and focused on improving resource efficiency instead. "That doesn't sound very accurate."
He rolled his eyes at me. "You've got no sense of what looks cool, none at all. Now, lemme show you what quality shooting looks like, kid." And with that, he turned his back and headed down-range to retrieve his target, leaving me standing at the table. How rude. Naoto seemed to have been inspired by watching Tamaki shoot, and got up and headed to the armory, presumably to get his own gun. Figures. No true battle maniac is going to miss an opportunity to flaunt his skill with a weapon. I only hoped he also chose a pistol, and didn't decide to try asserting his dominance by firing off an RPG or something in the closed confines of the basement.
Tamaki came trotting back, waving a perforated target in one hand. He slowed to a walk as he got close, and slammed the target down on the range table, crowing "Check it out, Brit! Not bad shooting, eh?" as he did.
For a moment, I couldn't move, exerting every ounce of my self-control to hold my rage in check. Brit?! Brit?! I live in a Being X damned slum! I've got a Japanese name! How dare this incompetent waste of oxygen slander me in such a manner? I felt like I was suddenly back in that damned indoctrination facility masquerading as a Britannian sponsored school, being told that I would never hold a job above a menial level on account of my dirty blood and mixed heritage. A Britannian to the Japanese, and a Number to the Britannians. Somewhere, Being X must be laughing to himself. I couldn't believe he'd find a worse moment to reincarnate me into a world than Germany immediately before the Great War, but somehow he'd managed to prove me a fool once again. I was stuck in the middle of a brutal war, where both sides believed I was intrinsically part of the other side. Time to nip this in the bud.
I turned towards Tamaki, Imperial discipline tempering icy anger into bleak clarity. I would treat this as calmly and professionally as possible, using my HR experience to communicate that this behavior was both uncalled for and unproductive in a working relationship.
"My name is Hajime Tanya. I am not a Britannian. I am as Japanese as you are." I chose my words with as much care as I could, remembering that we had an audience, and the long-term goals of our organization. "But that's beside the point. What are you doing here, Tamaki? Why are you fighting Britannia?"
He looked surprised for a moment, then drew himself to his full height, a foot and a half taller than me, and smirked down at me. "I'm here to bust some Brit heads in and make a name for myself! I'm gonna free Japan, and nobody's ever gonna forget me!"
I smiled back up at him, a thin and joyless expression that any good personnel manager cultivates to deploy against excuses for tardiness and poor performance. "To rephrase that, you're a selfish blowhard who just wants to hurt people to try and prove everybody who said you'd never amount to anything wrong." I felt my lips twitch, a quick flash of teeth quickly hidden under icy professionalism once more. "Is that all? Nothing about liberating our people from their chains? Nothing about bringing peace to our shores, so nobody else loses their families or friends? Not interested in feeding our hungry people or rebuilding our broken cities?" I waited a beat – letting my criticism sink in and baiting him to react to it.
He promptly gave in to his hot-blooded impulses. "Now listen here, you lit-"
"Enough!" I barked, using the strength enhancement to force the word out just a bit louder than an adolescent girl should manage. "You can't even defend yourself – you just fall back onto bluster and intimidation! What happens if we do free Japan from the Britannians? Would you respect our people's wishes, and let them decide who should rule? Or would you simply become the new Britannians, another uncaring foot on the broken backs of our suffering neighbors?"
I stormed out of the basement, doing my best to keep my detached mask of expressionlessness as I left. I'd just shot myself in the foot, and I didn't fully understand why. Tamaki likely hadn't meant anything by the initial comment, minor slur though it was, but I had wildly over-reacted to it. And then, instead of displaying any degree of good sense, I'd doubled down and personally attacked him about his motivations and personality. I was a fool, and I'd forgotten that I was the new hire at a closely-knit organization formed from personal ties to a leader I'd just meant two weeks previous. Plus, Tamaki's motivations weren't even that bad – many soldiers had fought for worse reasons, and there was nothing inherently bad about wanting to make your mark on the world. I'd flown wildly off the handle and gone holier-than-thou at the drop of a hat.
I almost checked my neck to see if the Type 95 had emerged from the ether and fastened itself around my neck. Of course, there were no computation gems in this world, much less the cursed 95, so I didn't have the luxury of blaming this particular bad decision on Being X. What a shame.
I made my way out of the decrepit apartment block concealing our hideout and started aimlessly walking through the streets. I needed to wait for tempers to cool a bit before returning and apologizing. I'd need to couch the apology carefully – I wasn't going to apologize for objecting to racial slurs, but I truly had gone overboard. I hoped I wouldn't need to start back from square one when it came to rebuilding my working relationships with the rest of the cell. I didn't have any money to buy forgiveness presents or whatnot, for one thing. Plus, if Naoto and Ohgi thought I was a basket case, a psychological loose cannon, the likelihood of them including me in field operations plummeted. I'd be stuck back minding the base in the best case scenario, relegated to logistical support if I was lucky, simple maintenance and cleaning if I wasn't... Wait, wasn't that exactly the kind of safe, rear-echelon job I wanted? I would be well out of the line of fire while still providing a vitally important service which would play well to my past-life experiences with both Imperial logistical proposals and corporate resource management.
At the same time, I couldn't let myself just take a backseat logistical support role like that. First, there wasn't much promotion potential in such a role – I wasn't anymore interested in being stuck in a dead-end career track under Japanese management than I was in a dead-end job under Britannian management. Second, if I was really getting in on the ground floor of a hostile takeover of the Britannian administration, I needed to carve out a leadership position as quickly as possible. As more new employees were on-boarded, remaining stationary ran the risk of reducing me to just another face in the crowd. Another expendable face in the crowd, that is. Being an early investor who had maintained an active relationship with the middle and upper management would provide far greater security in the long-term.
As I weighed my options, I continued to wander in a vaguely circular pattern, slowly spiraling away from the hideout building. It was easy to see why Naoto had set up shop in this corner of Shinjuku, and why we were meeting in the late afternoon instead of under the cover of night; the area was desolate, even by Shinjuku standards. Crumbling warehouses and shelled apartment blocks bore witness to heavy combat, either during the Conquest or after, and gang tags were plastered on every flat surface available. Considering the lack of even the rudimentary economy that had sprung up in the more livable sections of the ghetto, the only people likely to come here were the desperate or the criminal, and both would likely be more active after the sun went down. Meeting during the day cleverly reduced our exposure to potential informants or violent gangs.
Quite the clever move on Naoto's part. I wondered if his father had arranged for him to be educated in urban tactics, or if this was simply inborn talent.
My thoughts were disturbed by the sounds of coarse laughter and slurred shouting, instantly recognizable as the hallmarks of belligerent drunks in any of my lives. I abruptly realized that I had wandered quite a distance away from the basement hideout, and consequentially placed myself far from my only source of backup. I immediately turned on my heel and began walking back the way I'd come. It was past time to stop pouting and return to the hideout to make my apologies. I hated the taste of humble pie, but I'd count myself lucky if a bit of groveling was all it took to get me off the hook.
I'd taken three steps before I heard feminine shouting coming from the same direction as the drunken laughter. I paused and focused on the sound, just in case I had to step in. Formalized policing in the ghetto was non-existent, and justice, or what passed for it, was generally inflicted by mobs of irate family members and neighbors on the accused. I had, of course, been too young to be obligated to take part in such impromptu exercises in social correction myself, but something of the ethos had rubbed off on me. Much as I respected authority and the rule of law as the bedrock of civilized society, I had been forced to admit that civilized society had been essentially destroyed via the Britannian policies regarding Elevens. When authority itself turned the law into an implement that was not only unjust but also inefficient, and when such law was only capriciously enforced when it benefited wealthy Britannian interests... Frontier justice began to make a lot more sense.
And since I'd only noticed a handful of derelicts up to this point in the area, that meant it was incumbent upon me to enforce justice as I saw it. It's only right, I reasoned with myself even as I drew the motorized pistol from the holster concealed under my baggy shirt, a castoff of Ohgi's I'd commandeered for my own use after my previous garment had crossed the threshold into being more patches than original fabric. I'm trying to improve the lot of everybody stuck in this damned ghetto. Letting drunken hooligans terrorize women is counter-intuitive to that goal.
Safety off, I began to carefully walk towards the intersection ahead, listening to the incoherent confrontation and trying to avoid making any noise that might betray my advance. Suddenly, a clear shout of female anger cut through the hubbub. "I'm no damned Britannian! I'm Japanese! Kozuki Naoto's my big bro, so don't you mess with me!" And just like that, the whole strategic situation changed.
I started moving before I'd clearly thought through what I was about to do. I'd spent two weeks living with Naoto, and every other sentence referenced his little sister, Kozuki Kallen. I knew the man adored his sibling, and cited her as his motivation for fighting against the domination of the Britannians. Even violent men loved their families, I supposed, even if I doubted she was really his sole reason for fighting. I'm sure serving as his father's red right hand when they came into their kingdom was a hefty incentive as well. That said, he was clearly attached to the girl, making her of strategic value to me. If she was hurt or killed, he'd be devastated and might become emotionally unstable, which would impact his ability to calmly plan out operations. Worse, if he ever learned I'd been in a position to help her but had remained aloof, nobody would ever find my body.
Plus, I thought as I broke into a sprint, dropping my attempt at stealth in my urgency, if I make friends with her, my past screw-up will surely be forgiven entirely, and my future as a trusted associate of the Stadtfeld family will be assured! My steps became faster and surer as my enhancements spun up fully, every scrap of mana I had fed into the inefficient mental calculations I was tethered to for lack of a gem.
As I turned the corner, I rapidly assessed the tactical situation. Kallen was easily distinguishable by her bright red hair, so bright I would have thought it was dyed if I didn't know her brother. She was up against a wall, surrounded by four men dressed in shabby clothes but with matching blue rags tied around their right biceps. She was brandishing a knife at the four, and clearly had every ounce of her brother's bloodthirsty personality and fearlessness, as she didn't appear the least bit cowed by the thugs slowly approaching her. I noted that all the targets were equipped with melee weaponry, indicating that the optimal tactic would be engaging them from a distance. As they were threatening a high-value target, I decided that deadly force was acceptable, so long as the target was not harmed.
Finally, an opportunity to use moving targets.
My first shot took the target nearest to me in the small of his back, hopefully damaging his spinal cord and rendering him combat ineffective, but in case I had missed anything important I fired a second shot as he began to fall, catching him in the left side of his back, just below the scapula. The first target serviced, I re-targeted the notches of my motorized pistol on the second target.
The three upright hostiles noticed my presence after the first shot, and had already begun charging towards me as I fired my second shot. Gratifyingly, as the last man in the group rushed past her, Kallen lunged forward and tangled her leading leg in his, tripping him up and knocking him off balance. I hoped she knew how to use that knife of hers to fight as well as to threaten, because I wouldn't be able to help her until I dealt with the other two targets fast approaching me.
Realizing that I would likely be unable to shoot both before they arrived, I adjusted my aim away from the center mass of the leading target and shot his kneecap instead. His leg immediately buckled, and with a howl he collapsed, right into the path of the following target. Disappointingly, instead of doing me a favor and tripping over his disabled comrade, the second target leapt over the fallen target and kept running without missing a step. As he was now within ten feet of me, I dropped my pistol as a hindrance in close quarters combat and charged to meet him.
Seeing me run towards him, he began running even faster, presumably attempting to use his greater mass to bowl me over and then kick me to death once I was on the ground. Instead of meeting him head on and likely being crushed, I waited for the moment right before our impact and with my enhanced reflexes jumped to the side, ducking as I moved, and passed directly under his right arm as I had during Naoto's test. Unlike with Tamaki, I wasn't facing an ally in a friendly spar, but an enemy combatant intent on doing me potentially fatal harm, so I didn't bother with anything fancy like dislocating his shoulder, opting instead for a rapid punch into his back, right below his ribs, smashing his right kidney.
The target bellowed with pain but kept moving forward, presumably more because of his own momentum rather than any particular plan, but either way he was now between me and my dropped pistol, meaning I was now on the clock. So I pursued him with ruthless efficiency, firing a follow-up punch into the other side of his back, targeting his other kidney. Judging by his scream, I'd correctly judged the location of the second kidney, and he began to tip forwards. I followed him to the ground, controlling my descent so I landed with my full weight on my knee, digging into his lumbar spine, ideally pressurizing the cord and inhibiting his ability to use his legs to kick me off. Continuing the forward and down motion, I let my upper body continue along its trajectory, arresting my forward motion by grabbing either side of his head.
I had intended to try breaking his neck by twisting his head, but now that I was on top of him I realized his neck was broad and strong, corded with muscle, and breaking it would be a tricky proposition even with my enhanced strength, so I opted for my second choice tactic. I slid my hands down from his temples to his ears, pulled his head back using my newfound handholds, and slammed it back down into the cracked asphalt. I heard something crack, but it sounded too soft and wet to be his skull, so I assumed it was just his nose, and so continued bouncing his head off the pavement several more times until a deeper-sounding crack indicated I'd made a degree of progress.
Calling it an adequate job, I pushed off the target's back and turned to check on the status of the high-value target. Happily, she appeared to be winning her fight, judging by the blood running down her opponent's face and leaking through his shirt. Good thing someone taught her basic knife skills. As I watched, she stabbed the target right below the sternum and twisted the knife. That's definitely going to collapse at least one lung, I thought, as I turned back to my own affairs and retrieved my pistol. It was a good thing I'd managed to get on the Kozuki's good side – the brother and sister were both born battle maniacs, and such people made far better allies than enemies.
I quickly checked my motor pistol to see if dropping it on the street had caused any visible damage, but it seemed to be in good working order. Satisfied, I approached the target I'd kneecapped, who hadn't managed to get far in his efforts to crawl away. I considered taking him prisoner, but realized that the hideout lacked any facilities to hold prisoners – plus, he wasn't a uniformed combatant, which made him a brigand who could be executed if apprehended, according to the Imperial code of military justice. Further, he had tried to attack a family member of an ally, which meant that by the rules of the ghetto mobs I was well within my rights to dispense justice upon him. Finally, leaving him alive did not benefit operational security in any way I could tell, and might present an active detriment to the objectives of the Resistance.
I still felt somewhat bad about executing him, as killing the wounded was against the laws of war, but that didn't stop me. Feeling bad hadn't stopped me from doing what I had to do before, in Dacia or in Arene, and it didn't stop me now. I was at war once more, and I had no doubt that fighting in an insurgency would require me to do far worse than I'd ever done at the front while in uniform.
I shot him in the head twice, and the chest once. I didn't want him to suffer. After all, I'm not Ohgi. I don't enjoy hurting other people.
[Point of view: Kallen Stadtfeld/Kozuki Kallen]
I looked down at my bloody hands, and felt like I was going to throw up. The red seemed impossibly bright, shining on my hands in the waning sunlight like a beacon, as if the blood was proclaiming my guilt to the world.
I'd never killed before. I'd never even pulled my knife in anger on someone else before today, and now... the knife my brother had given me was buried to the hilt in his... his neck...
I just wanted to visit my brother at the address Ohgi had given me. I knew I could get Naoto to reconsider, to let me help him out, if I just tried one more time, but he'd stopped coming around to Stadtfeld Manor. I hadn't seen him in weeks, and I just wanted him to let me stay with him. I hated that cold house – Father was never around, always off in far away Pendragon, and my bitch of a stepmother dogged my every footstep, and better her than the weak-willed whore who pretended to just be a simple maid...
"Kozuki Kallen?" Hearing my name in a stranger's voice shocked me out of my building panic attack, and I managed to tear my eyes away from the horrified expression of man I'd just killed. Somehow, I doubted getting that expression out of my head would be as easily as just looking away.
For a moment, I wondered if I'd gone crazy when I'd started stabbing that man again and again and again and... I wondered if I'd gone crazy. A doll-like Britannian girl was in front of me, long blonde hair hanging over bright crystal blue eyes, the only imperfection the pattern of red droplets over the left side of her face and hair. She was small, a good head and a half shorter than me, but her thin frame had long, lean muscle. She was wearing a baggy white collarless button-up shirt that looked just like the ones Ohgi sometimes wore. All of this faded into irrelevance, except maybe for the blood splatter, in the light of two key facts: She'd just addressed me with my Japanese name in the correct order, and she was holding a gun in one hand.
I already regretted leaving my knife in that guy's throat. "Who wants to know?" I tried to sound as strong and in control as I could, but I wasn't feeling strong inside. I just couldn't get that man's eyes out of my head, the way he'd looked when he'd tried to scream but only gurgled as blood filled his windpipe...
The doll girl responded promptly in fluent and Tokyo-accented Japanese. "Hajime Tanya. I'm part of your brother's organization." She casually looked around, and I followed her gaze, noting with a dim sense of shock the other three bodies laying around the street. I remembered seeing the first guy falling, but I'd forgotten all about him or the other two as I'd... Anyway, I'd forgotten them. I turned back to the girl, who was staring down at the thing at my feet without any visible emotion. Had she killed all three of them by herself? I looked back up and around the street. It was deserted except for the two of us, and the four bodies scattered around us.
"Not bad work." The bland comment jarred me, and I looked back at Tanya. She was nodding approvingly at me, and smiling. It was actually kind of a cute look, if you ignored the blood, but it was really unnerving considering the situation. "You're really good at the whole close quarters combat thing, huh?" She paused for a moment, like she was giving me time to respond, but I had no idea what to say. Didn't she care that we'd just killed four men? They weren't Britannians either, just other Japanese, but we'd still killed them all the same. I mean, they were probably gonna do something horrible to me, and they weren't exactly helping the Resistance or anything, but... Still, it felt wrong...
After another beat of awkward silence, Tanya apparently realized I wasn't going to say anything and continued. "We should probably get these guys off the street somewhere. The Brits aren't going to care about a few dead Numbers, but it'll draw unnecessary attention to the district." Numbly, I nodded along. Any other time I'd be enraged by the use of that term for my people, particularly from a blonde girl who looked as Britannian as... Well, as Britannian as I did, but that just didn't seem to matter to me right now. Plus, she was right. I didn't want draw any attention to Big Bro's base...
Soon, Tanya and I were hauling the bodies one by one into a nearby alley and dumping them behind a pile of trash. It wasn't a very good hiding spot, but at least it got them out of sight. She'd even pulled my knife out of the first body when I'd forgotten to retrieve it in my haste to get away from the thing. It had made a horribly wet squelch'ing sound as it came out, but she'd casually wiped it off and handed it back to me like she'd just borrowed it to use in the kitchen. I returned the damned thing to my pocket and tried to ignore the impulse to hurl it as far away from me as I could. Much as I hated even touching it now, Shinjuku Ghetto had just been proven how dangerous it could be for a lone woman, and I didn't have any other weapon available.
After we'd concealed the last corpse and wiped the blood off ourselves though I don't think I'll ever be able to get all that wet, shiny blood off my hands, Tanya led the way to Naoto's hideout. I don't think I said a thing on the way back, I just wanted to see Big Bro and hug him and feel safe and clean and innocent again.