Chapter 10: A Market Trip
(AN: A big thank you to Siatru for beta reading this chapter, and for the input of the folks on the Tanya Writers Discord. Also, it should go without saying, but I do not endorse or in any way support acts of terrorism or the execution of injured combatants.)
It was Tuesday, and for my next plan to work, the Kozuki Organization needed to be ready by Saturday. We had four days. Four days to get Souichiro and Chihiro up to scratch... To get the pipe bombs from Asahara... Four days until the market.
Inoue had been pulling double duty lately as both the organization's logistics officer and as something of an intelligence officer. I recognized it was outside of her core competencies, not to mention the scope of her role as quartermaster, but so far she'd managed to pull through while still doing most of the legwork to keep the Rising Sun Benevolent Association moving. I'd been very impressed by the depth of her knowledge when she and Ohgi had briefed me on the Shinjuku black market scene, so two days ago I had asked her to find out where the next weekly gang-hosted market would be hosted, and by whom. Only a single day later, she'd arrived at Ohgi and Naoto's apartment and briefed me. It's such a pleasure to have competent coworkers.
Apparently, the Kokuryu-kai, freshly victorious over a pair of smaller street gangs, were hosting the next market on the coming Saturday, in the ruins of the Shinjuku-gyoemmae Station. As per normal, the hosting gang would guarantee the safety of the attendees and provide security, and would get to charge a gate fee plus a tax on all business conducted during the market. Hosting these markets, according to Inoue, was of incredible importance to the gangs because it gave them both a source of funding and a chance to get first pick of the wares, as well as prestige with their competitors. It was also a way to show off to potential employers, as frequently representatives from out of town criminal syndicates and factors for various shady Britannian interests would attend.
Of particular interest to me was the fragility of the foundation of this new, rising gang. The Kokuryu-kai had just swallowed up a significant amount of territory, proving their strength, but were still in the process of fully consolidating their new conquests. The consolidation process had temporarily diluted their ability to project power or actively defend all of their territory. This combination of a bloated portfolio of holdings coupled with an apparent inability to vigorously fight off challengers had led other gangs to smell blood in the water, and small skirmishes had already been fought as rival gangs probed for openings. As a result, the Kokuryu-kai had volunteered to host this market as a display of strength and prestige, which meant that anything going wrong would confirm the impression of weakness and had the potential of kicking off a new round of gang warfare.
To sweeten the pot even further, the particular focus of this market would be arms and ammunition sales. Each week, the various gangs typically hosted markets that had particular focuses – that way, buyers could easily connect with vendors carrying the goods they were looking for, and could compare the various wares at hand. Having these focused markets also made things easier for the various gangs and independent players that were selling products; catering to specific markets would make it easier to tailor their inventories, and would give vendors the opportunity to gather intelligence on their competitors. While weapons wouldn't be the only wares available, there would be an abundance of arms and ammunition that could be seized and added to our growing arsenal, not to mention the Britannian currency and drugs that the gangs used as their preferred mediums of exchange.
I had honestly been surprised to learn how structured the Shinjuku underworld was, at least in this way, but I supposed it made business easier for everybody to have common, centralized exchanges with mutually understood rules. Fortunately for us, this underground infrastructure also made it possible to attack a medium-to-big street gang by essentially pinning them down in a vulnerable spot, at a defined location and time, giving us the opportunity to prepare the ground and tactical approach well in advance. While risky for a number of reasons, a successful attack on one of these markets could lead to all kinds of possible benefits for our organization. Besides the possible spoils, the market was an ideal target because it presented a potential mass casualty opportunity with a minimum of collateral damage. This wasn't a public market; it was invite-only, so the only people likely to be in attendance were gangsters or people who had gotten in bed with gangsters. It also was neither a slave market nor a brothel, so we wouldn't need to worry about hostages being caught in the crossfire.
Everyone who attended that market would be a fair and easily justifiable target, and everything we took would be a legitimate spoil of war. An ideal operation for a rebel organization that had yet to be truly blooded.
Of course, there would be repercussions for an attack like the one I was planning, and I had no intention of letting any of the fallout touch the Kozuki Organization. We were too small in number to truly fight the gangs, so I'd have to find a scapegoat to pin the responsibility for this attack on. Done correctly, the infuriated gangs would blame whoever I chose as our fall guy, and our cell would remain unknown and unconnected to the attack. Ideally, the gangs would blame and attack each other, causing further chaos to ripple out into the ranks of my enemies and sowing the seeds for future false-flag attacks.
And so, four days of intense preparation began. Or, at least, intense preparation for some - Naoto, along with Inoue and Tamaki, took over the task of operating the Rising Sun Benevolent Association's day to day work. Those lucky bastards spent the four days engaged in productive and constructive work, handing out food and filling in potholes.
After I'd filled her in, Kallen had agreed to keep an ear open at Ashford, and had found a potential scapegoat to offload responsibility onto in the form of a Lord Kewell Soresi. A captain in the Britannian Knightmare Corps, Lord Kewell was freshly transferred from the Britannian Homeland to Area 11 and had already gained a prickly reputation, according to the daughter of a Britannian officer who enjoyed playing tennis and had a habit of blabbering whenever she was on the court.
Apparently, Lord Kewell was a minor unlanded and untitled noble, a member of a small cadet branch of a dynasty that controlled the area around what had been Quebec in my first life. More importantly, Kewell was a member of a faction of the Britannian military known as the 'Purists', who apparently were dogmatically racist even by the standards of Britannains. Their central plank seemed to be a general disdain for Numbers, and they supported efforts to drive Honorary Britannians and Britannians of mixed heritage out of the military. The faction the man represented was known for casual violence, ham handed tactics, and for going off the reservation on independent missions without bothering to seek approval from the official chain of command. Combined with the man's rumored haughty personality and penchant for explosive violence, Kewell would be an ideal scapegoat.
As soon as Kallen let me know about him, I had her start typing up an 'official notice' from the Purist Faction claiming responsibility for the 'attack upon the subhuman criminal gathering', and claiming that the attack was retaliation for the robbery of a Britannian military storage facility. The notice ended with Lord Kewell Soresi's name, printed at the bottom and identifying him as the local head and spokesman for the Purist Faction. Kallen had even managed to find a copy of a press release the Purists had published a few years ago denouncing the appointment of an officer of mixed heritage to command the Buenos Aires garrison, and had managed to edit her fraudulent notice to have the same style and appearance as the press notice. While it still wouldn't look like the real deal to anybody with much first-hand experience with military or legal documentation, I was positive it would dupe at least some of the dumber gangsters.
Between coordinating all the other efforts, Ohgi and I trained Chihiro and Souichiro as best we could. Personally, I wasn't expecting much from them this time around – not because either lacked the passion or desire to fight, they were both hateful battle maniacs lusting for violence – but because a few days of training just wasn't enough to develop even a minimal degree of skill. Still, everybody has to start somewhere, and having two extra guns backing us when the plan inevitably went wrong could be useful. Ohgi and I did our best to improve their accuracy and speed with the military surplus coilgun pistols, switching to the basics of knife fighting when the recruits began to flag and their shots started going wild, and leading them on short jogs when the CQC drills grew stale.
Ultimately, while neither were up to the admittedly high standards of the 203rd, both made solid gains in the three and a half days of training I was able to give them. Chihiro had already begun to pick up the rapid speed necessary for urban combat, and could draw, aim, and shoot her pistol in an acceptably short time; unfortunately, her accuracy was entirely unacceptable. She tended to blaze through her ammunition, rapidly pumping rounds downrange but only managing three or four hits from each thirteen round magazine on a stationary target before having to stop and reload. Souichiro, by contrast, could reliably get at least ten hits on his target before reloading, but moved and aimed painfully slowly, far too slowly to be useful or responsive in real combat. Both were better at close quarters combat, Souichiro benefiting from his police training and Chihiro drawing strength from her harnessed rage, but CQC tended to be of limited utility when your opponents were more than a foot or so away.
"They've got some good potential – especially your prized pupil." I remarked to Ohgi, as we made our way back to the apartment after another long evening of watching our two trainees practice with their newly issued pistols. "It's a pity we're having to shortchange them with this crash-course, instead of some proper training."
Ohgi had looked contemplative at that, before asking me what I'd meant by 'proper training'. What followed was a remarkably pleasant conversation about educational methods, as I drew on my memories of training the 203rd and floated ideas past him, and he proposed various changes or alterations inspired by his teaching skills and experience. He seemed to tend towards coddling his students more often than I'd have thought, considering both his personal inclinations and my vague memories of my primary schooling back in my first life, but we could both agree that the teachers from the Shinjuku School for Elevens were absolute incompetents lacking any proper teaching methods. It was a nice break from planning bombings and the like, and I hoped I'd be able to focus on such constructive questions at some point in the future.
"You do?" The shocked tone of the reply jolted me back to awareness, and I cursed internally as I turned and looked up at Ohgi. I got too comfortable talking shop! I forgot who I was talking to! Of course a battle maniac with a taste for inflicting pain would be shocked by my desire to add value to society instead of destroying it!
"I'm glad to hear that. I think you might make a good teacher someday, Tanya." My breath caught in my throat, and I realized Ohgi was smiling down at me, without any obvious hint of recrimination. In fact, he looked... proud? Of course, he was a teacher before he was a fighter – he has an eye for the future. That type of man is always happy to see people following in their footsteps. I wondered if he'd be equally enthusiastic about imparting every bit of his sadistic edge to his students as well, and considered bringing in someone else to help me train the new recruits – the last thing I needed was more sadists in our organization who would love nothing more than to maximize the number of war crimes we committed. No, he's too good of a teacher. Instructing the recruits is the best use of his skill set. Of course, then he patted my head as we continued on our way, and I lost my train of thought as I forced his hand away from my already unruly hair. The bastard just laughed at my outrage, and I longed for an easily-shelled pillbox to force him into.
Nagata helped out at the Benevolent Association for the first day, before vanishing into Mister Asahara's apartment building until Friday afternoon, returning to the hideout with a knapsack full of very well-padded and carefully packed homemade explosives. They were things of beauty – each about a foot in length, fashioned from steel water pipes whose exteriors had been deliberately roughened to reduce reflection and improve grip. Each had steel caps at each end, which had been carefully fixed into place with waterproof caulk, sealing the explosives into the pipe and waterproofing the device. Each device also had a number stenciled onto it in black paint, from one to five. Curiously, there weren't any obvious exterior detonators, which I asked Nagata about.
"First of all, here, take this." Nagata handed over a folded piece of paper. "It's the numbers that will activate each of the bombs in order. Hopefully no telemarketer tries them – they'll detonate as soon as the call connects." He chuckled weakly at the thought, and shivered slightly. I couldn't really blame him – I could only assume that carrying a backpack full of bombs across Shinjuku that could detonate at any moment would be quite nerve-wracking. "Anyway, there's about half of a disassembled phone inside each of these things, along with three hundred steel flechettes. Mister Asahara guarantees that anybody within fifty meters will die, unless they're behind cover, and anybody within a hundred and fifty meters is probably going to die too."
Hmm... The Shinjuku-gyoemmae Station's two platforms are about two hundred meters long... "Well, I guess that's about as good as we can reasonably ask for." I replied, opening up the paper and checking that all five phone numbers were clearly legible. "I suppose we'll just have to make sure they overlap." I looked up from the paper and smiled at Nagata. "Good work putting us in contact with Mister Asahara, Nagata. This plan wouldn't be possible without you." He smiled back at me, although he seemed unaccountably nervous. Of course he is! I internally scolded myself as I carefully tucked the backpack full of bombs on a shelf in the armory, He just carried enough anti-personnel explosives across a city to turn everybody in a block around him into well-done hamburger! I hoped his nerve wouldn't fail him when it came time for the actual mission, but I'd give him a break and not make him handle bombs again. At least, not for the duration of the mission. There's always tomorrow...
And soon, it was Friday night, and time for the first active step in the execution stage of our mission. Ohgi, Naoto and I had crept our way up to the top remaining floor of a heavily damaged office building near the station earlier that afternoon, and waited there as a handful of gang members had gone down into the station and rousted the colony of squatters sheltering from the bitterly cold winds in the comparative warmth of the tunnels. We watched for about an hour as the men four stories below went into and came out of the station, hauling garbage away and carrying a variety of collapsible tables and chairs down into the station. Eventually, the activity slowed to a crawl and the majority of the gangsters headed off down the street, presumably to find the nearest warm room to den up in with a bottle of rotgut or three. The lone remaining gang member took up a position in front of the tag plastered on the wall of the above-ground station entrance, the black circle and white claw of the Kokuryu-kai warning passersby to steer clear of the otherwise inviting shelter from the wind. The guard looked like he wanted to take advantage of that shelter himself, as he huddled into himself, shivering as another wintry gust swept down. Presumably, his job was to ward off any wandering vagrants rather than keeping a serious guard on the station itself, as the eastern secondary staircase was left entirely unguarded. He was too busy shivering to notice a trio of bundled up figures carrying backpacks cross the road a block down from his location, and so the first stage of the night's skulduggery was complete.
It rapidly became clear why the eastern staircase had been left unguarded. As we crept down the filthy and rubble-choked stairs of the secondary entrance, I realized that the station was already structurally unsound. The ceiling had collapsed in several parts of the staircase, and we had to clamber over piles of rubble in several spots just to get down the stairs and into the station. When we finally reached the platforms themselves, we discovered that most of the southern side of the station, the old Platform 2, had collapsed at some point in the past as well. The office building that had stood directly on top of Shinjuku-gyoemmae Station had taken a major hit at some point, and during its collapse the southern and western parts of the station had been filled with rubble from the half-destroyed structure. The west end of the tunnel was equally choked with rubble, reducing the five original ways of egress from the station down to three, two if you discounted the mostly blocked staircase.
Fortunately for us, the tables and chairs we'd watched the gangsters diligently haul down into the station earlier were arranged around the center of the platform, just past the lobby where the shattered remains of ticket machines were still bolted to the wall. Even more fortunately, despite the many loads of assorted trash we'd watched the gang members haul away, the subway station was still fairly messy. It looked like every Japanese who'd sheltered here in the last five years had left something behind, and the reek of feces and rotting garbage hung heavily in the fetid air of the station. I could hear rats scuttling down over the old tracks and on the darkened platform, and smiled slightly. How nostalgic! It's just like the Rhine Front, minus the artillery.
Neither Naoto nor Ohgi appeared any more bothered by the mess than I was. Naoto might be of noble stock, but he'd lived in the Ghetto for quite a while now, while Ohgi was just as much of a creature of the Ghetto as I was, in his own way. Instead of commenting on the filth, the two men opened Ohgi's backpack and began to unfold a collapsible ladder purchased by Rising Sun Benevolent Association. I'd never encountered that particular gadget during my first life, but as soon as I'd seen it in a catalog of construction supplies I'd immediately added it to the purchase list. Sturdy and lightweight, the ladder would be invaluable for planting explosives in the one direction that I as a former aerial mage knew people always forget to look – up.
The ceiling had once been metal panels, lined with lights and padded with acoustic muffling. Now, the previously hidden utility space gaped open for the most part, with isolated panels clinging on at various locations. Everything was coated in soot from campfires, torches, improvised ovens, and lamps. Much of the old lighting wiring had been stripped away at some point, as had some of the old fire suppression water distribution pipes, but plenty still remained to provide camouflage for Mister Asahara's products. Using rough twine, we carefully hung two of the pipe bombs from the old pipes over the area where the majority of the tables were set up, roughly thirty meters apart. As soon as the two men had a pipe tied in place, I climbed up and carefully rubbed some of the same soot that coated the exposed plumbing over the twine and the pipes until they blended in with the rest of the ancient plumbing.
After securing the first two bombs to the ceiling, we repeated the process in the antechamber room at the base of the main staircase, where the station office and turnstiles had once been. This area had plenty of heavily rotted acoustic tiles still in place, which made concealing the bomb itself easier but hiding evidence of our activities harder. After Naoto barely managed to catch a tile that unexpectedly crumbled at a touch, causing the damned thing to disintegrate even further, we had to spend a frustratingly long time policing up all the acoustic tile crumbs and rearranging garbage to hide the scuff marks where we'd been forced to use our hands to sweep up all the fragments.
The final two bombs would be placed at ground level, concealed in garbage at either end of the platform area. Due to the rubble covering the northwestern region of the station, in practice the western floor-level bomb would be about forty meters away from western hanging bomb, while the eastern floor-level bomb would be roughly fifty meters east-southeast from the eastern hanging bomb. The abundant garbage made it easy to conceal the pipe bombs, and at my direction Ohgi and Naoto carefully used rubble to angle the devices towards the prospective center of the market. I added a further layer of rubble behind and slight above the bombs as well before we artfully draped garbage over them, hoping to produce something of a claymore effect and channel the majority of the blast towards the most likely enemy location rather than the ruined Platform 2.
If Mister Asahara had been good to his word, and his estimations of the effective range of the devices were accurate, the market should be hit simultaneously by two vertical and two horizontal bursts of flechettes and shrapnel, with the guaranteed kill ranges of the two vertical spheres overlapping by twenty meters over the most densely populated area and the the horizontal spheres overlapping with the edges of the vertical spheres. A few seconds later, the pipe bomb concealed in the much smaller antechamber should pulp anybody unfortunate enough to be inside when the detonator is activated, hopefully killing any guards drawn inside by the initial blasts, or any survivors fleeing from the main platform area.
Of course, all of this relied on the Kokuryu-kai being either incompetent or arrogant enough to not sweep for bombs again tomorrow morning, but I was reasonably confident that we'd hidden the bombs well enough to evade the disinterested and unprofessional gaze of whatever low-level gangster got stuck with the scut work. And so, Ohgi, Naoto and I carefully policed up all of our gear and snuck back out the eastern stairway, taking care to leave the rubble as undisturbed as possible, and vanished into the night.
The next morning, Kallen knocked on the apartment door bright and early, come to drop off the 'claim' she'd faked up. Naoto quickly ushered her inside, giving her a brief one armed hug as she passed. After tolerating this for a moment, Kallen squirmed free of her brother and made a beeline towards me. The radiant smile on her face was somewhat inappropriate, considering the bloody work ahead for us today, as was her vest, short-shorts, and leg warmer ensemble, but I couldn't resist returning her smile. This damned girl has enough charisma to raise an army – she and her brother both do. I idly wondered if the propaganda about the natural superiority of nobles didn't have a grain of truth. Perhaps the state Social Darwinism is backed up with eugenics?
I quickly shook that tangent away and returned to the task at hand, quickly reviewing the document Kallen handed over. It looked just as good as the pictures she'd sent during the editing process, and far more authentic than I'd expected. This sort of above-expectations work by an employee requires praise and incentivization.
"This is some good work, Kallen." I began, warmly smiling at the older girl. Alright, that's the praise handled... but how to incentivize her? What are her levers? Money was out of the question – I didn't have any funds of my own, and as a noble Kallen already had plenty of money. Suddenly, the answer dawned on me. Respect and inclusion. She wants to be part of the cell, and not just as an intelligence asset. She's her brother's sister – she wants to kill and to conquer just as much as he does.
I hastily considered her skills, aware of the precious seconds passing as my smile became steadily more fixed. She's good with her knife, and she's an accurate and quick shooter. She's athletic, and probably faster than me unless I pour all my energy into my enhancement suite. Overall, more qualified to help out today than either Chihiro or Souichiro – or Inoue for that matter.
"Kallen, you'll be coming with us on today's mission." Incentive delivered. Now I just had to fast-talk my way through the reasons why a teenager should come along with us into battle. "We'll need all hands on deck today, and you're a better shot than either of our two new recruits." Good start, but not enough. Naoto's not going to be happy about this. "We're going to need as many people as possible to carry off whatever we can salvage from the market. I'll get another go-pack together."
The go-packs were a number of canvas backpacks Kallen had found in some warehouse, and thrown into the donated clothing for Rising Sun Benevolent Association. While prepping for this mission, I'd retrieved them and stocked each with the costume for the day: a knit cap, a pair of latex gloves, swimming goggles, a surgical mask, and the top of a set of hospital scrubs. The medical supplies had been smuggled into Shinjuku as part of the humanitarian aid, and would help hide our identities while being instantly disposable. We would change into our gear in the same ruin Ohgi, Naoto and I had used as an observation post last night, and the empty backpacks would serve as containers for whatever spoils we could pillage.
"Absolutely not!" Naoto yelled, before quickly getting control of himself and continuing in a quieter if no less fervent tone. "Kallen doesn't need to come with us on this mission, Tanya." He paused for a moment, clearly doing the same quick thinking I'd done to come up with reasons for my course of action. "You said it yourself – she's a valuable asset at Ashford, and there's no reason to risk her safety here in Shinjuku."
I began to reply to Naoto, but stopped. Do I really want to argue with my boss? As much as he might trust me, that's probably a step too far. Especially in front of other people... Ohgi looked acutely uncomfortable, his lips pressed together tightly enough to start going white, and Kallen looked... furious. Perhaps I don't have to...
"You're not gonna hold me back, Big Bro!" Fortunately, the younger Kozuki didn't yell, so the neighbors probably weren't aware of the brewing spat, instead hissing her words like a cobra. "I have the right to fight for my country too! It's all for a free Japan – everything we do!"
"I'm not going to let you throw your life away for nothing, Kallen!"
"You're not Dad! Tanya said I was a good fighter, and she'd know – she was there when I had to fight, Big Bro!"
Realizing that this family argument was about to get ugly, I decided to try sweet reason. "Kallen, Naoto has every right to be concerned about you – he's family, and has at the very least an emotional investment in your well-being. He also has a good point about your value as an intelligence asset."
Kallen wheeled on me with an expression of betrayal, but I was already turning towards Naoto, letting my perspective drop into the emotional detachment I'd always tried to maintain during combat. "Naoto, Kallen has to come with us. Every other member of the cell is going to be risking their lives today – if you protect her, you'll mark her out as different. She will never truly be one of us unless she shares the same risks."
Based on my three lives' worth of experience, I knew that people tend to prefer emotion to logic. Unfortunately for everybody, when push came to shove most people would follow an emotionally fulfilling argument over a logically superior argument. However, I had first-hand experience with Naoto taking the logical path when it was offered to him, and he had a knack for surprising me by not taking the angry, emotional path that I'd expect from a terrorist leader. I hoped my calm tone and reasonable appeal would convince him to put aside his familial concerns.
Naoto began to retort, looked from Kallen to me and back again, and visibly swallowed his words with a sigh before trying again. "Look, I get that, Tanya, but..."
"Big Bro..." The anger had left Kallen's voice, and she walked across the room to her brother, putting a hand on his shoulder. "It's okay. You did a great job looking after Mom and I when I was a kid, but... I'm grown up now, y'know?"
Naoto let out a wet sound that was half-chuckle, half-sob, and hugged his sister close to him. "All grown up, huh? Kallen... you're fifteen. You should go back to your school. Have fun with your friends. Enjoy your life, just for a bit." He let out another sob, and rested his forehead on top of Kallen's head. "You've got a chance. You don't need to be here."
I wanted to look away from the emotional display, but I found that I couldn't. The prickling in my eyes and the sick feeling roiling in my gut told me that I'd caused this, and I supposed I had, but it was too late to take back now. Besides, I told myself, I was right. Kallen is a good fighter, and keeping her safe on a shelf would mark her out as different. I might have been right about that, but I still felt like scum. In some small way, I'd just helped bring another child into a battle, just like the Empire had once done to me. Am I really so lonely that I'm willing to drag another child with me into the mess?
Finally, the moment passed as Naoto spoke again, this time his voice was somewhat clearer. "Alright. I can see you've made your mind up. If I can't convince you to just keep being a spy, then I guess you can come with us." He put his hands on Kallen's shoulders, and gently pushed her away. "You'd better come home safe, Kallen. If anything happens to you, Mom's never gonna forgive me."
Sensing the touching moment was finally ending, Ohgi and I quickly took the opportunity to grab our packs and start heading out the door, leaving the Kozukis to catch up. We'd all be meeting at the hideout anyway, and I needed to get gear for Kallen and a pistol together before we could head out anyway.
The Kozukis caught up quickly, and a short time later we met the rest of the cell at the hideout. Soon, Kallen had an identical backpack as the rest of us, and we began moving in a loose strung-out group to our jump off point. Everybody walked along quietly, trying to look generally unassuming as we passed through the crowded Shinjuku streets. I was pleased to see that nobody looked overly troubled by the prospect of what we were about to do, and refocused on the road ahead. It'd be bad to trip over a random cinder block and twist an ankle on the way to a mission. The hand that suddenly landed on my shoulder was a complete shock, and I was halfway through firing up my enhancement suite before I realized it was Naoto standing beside me. Before I could get a word out, he'd already begun dragging me to the side of the road, and after a quick moment of indecision I decided to follow him. No need to buck the chain of command immediately before we get to work.
The "conversation" was as short and unpleasant as I'd feared.
"Tanya, my sister's going to risk her life today, and it's partially my responsibility and partially yours." Well, I'm glad he didn't blame me for everything. He's still the leader, after all. It's his call, even if I did open the door. "You think in terms of missions, right? In terms of objectives, and goals, and all that? I know you do. Well, here's an objective just for you: Kallen gets home alive, safe and sound. Hopefully in one piece. Got it?" Just like every boss, the unreasonable demands always come. I'm not trying to get her killed – she's a valuable colleague! I'm not just playing around here. "Look, you're a smart girl – scary smart, in fact. I've got no idea how you know everything you know, or do everything you do, but I don't care. You clearly care about other people, and you've already shown that you can be responsible – take responsibility again, okay? This is your plan, and knowing you I'm sure it'll be effective. Just remember that a leader is responsible for the well-being of his, or her, followers. Got it?" Of course I understand the importance of maintaining human resources. I'm not Being X, just throwing people into jobs well outside their core competencies without consent ! "You're responsible for Kallen today, okay? Get her home safe. I don't know what I'll do if... something happens to her."
I'd hoped he wouldn't feel the need to threaten me. I was doing my best to make sure everybody came home alive at the end of the day already, and I'd done everything in my power to advance his and his father's plans... Except I'd just potentially endangered their heir, the queen in waiting if Lord Stadtfeld managed to usurp the real power of the Britannian Administration of Area 11. In light of that, not to mention the stress all big brothers are stereotypically saddled with in regards to their younger siblings, I could easily forgive a threat or two. Dammit, why the hell did I shoot myself in the foot?! I raged at myself, suddenly appalled at my poor decision making. I'd impulsively invited Kallen to join our murderous little adventure, and in doing so had squandered all the hard-won trust I'd built up. I should've just left well enough alone. Why the hell did I do something so stupid?
For the first time in a while, I truly did feel my physical age. For my own stupid emotional needs, my desire to impress a girl I wanted to be friends with, I'd pissed away all of my credibility. All I could do is nod numbly to Naoto and slump back off into the crowd of humanity, no longer needing to mimic the typically dejected stance of the typical Shinjuku Ghetto dweller. It wasn't until I was in sight of the building we'd be using as our jump-off point that I managed to get my head back into the game. I had a major act of terrorism to pull off and a market to raid. I could beat myself up over my stupid, hormonal, juvenile choices later.
"Alright, once more from the top:" I surveyed the crowd of masked figures before me, nodding in satisfaction at how completely their features were obscured. Between the masks, the goggles, and the caps, even the incredibly distinctive Kozuki red hair was out of sight. Hopefully it'll be enough. "Kallen, Tamaki, and I will be Unit 1. Naoto, Nagata, and Inoue are Unit 2. Ohgi, Souichiro, and Chihiro are Unit 3. As soon as the bombs go off, Unit 1 will sprint ahead and hit the outside guards while they're still surprised by the explosion. We'll incapacitate them as quickly as possible and head down the stairs. Unit 2 will follow, and Unit 3 will ensure all guards are dead and communication devices smashed before following us. Once we hit the platform, Unit 1 will go left, Unit 2 will go right, and Unit 3 will give back up to whoever needs it."
I paused for a moment, looking around to see if anybody's body language looked confused. Chihiro looked so fired up she was practically trembling with excess energy, and I decided to speed up the rest of my last-minute prep session. Wouldn't want her to go off to early. "Hit anyone still standing first, and then make sure everyone on the ground is really dead. We don't want any survivors who can identify us or call for help. We take as much as we can carry, starting with Britannian currency and other money makers, then ammunition for the assault rifles, ammunition for the pistols, and finally any intact weapons you can stow in your backpack. We'll head up the east stairwell if it's still clear, or down the tunnel if not. As soon as we get away from the station, ditch the costume and split up. We'll all meet back up at the hideout."
Another chorus of grim nods were the only response, any expressions of disgust or horror hidden away from view by the masks and goggles. Everyone barring Kallen had known this plan for the last four days, but I was both pleased and appalled that nobody had questioned my plan. This was terrorism, and the execution of the wounded by itself was a war crime in the eyes of any civilized country. But this isn't a civilized country. This is Area 11, and Britannia killed civilization here 5 years ago.
"Alright, everybody pair up with a buddy and check your buddy's equipment. Take a minute and make sure everything's ready to go." Each of my urban insurgents was equipped with a small arsenal – each had a 7mm coilgun pistol, three extra magazines, a knife, a flashlight, and two fragmentation grenades from that stash Naoto had stolen so long ago. Inoue, Ohgi and I all carried small first aid kits in our packs as well – not enough to save a life, but enough to stem the bleeding, hopefully.
As the flurry of activity slowed to a halt, I moved into my final motivational speech, doing my best to summon my inner battle maniac persona to give a hint of sincerity to the presentation. "Comrades," the word felt wrong in my mouth, but it seemed like the most accurate term for the other members of the cell. "This is not the end for us or for our war, this is the beginning. We are taking our first major step against the vermin that gnaw at the vulnerable bellies and tender wounds of our families and friends, and who help the Britannian invaders in a myriad of small ways at the expense of our own."
A pause to let them remember why we were about to kill these men and women. Everybody nodded, clearly on board with killing. Considering how much I'd hammered home that the gangs were parasites sucking the life out of Shinjuku in the last few days, that was hardly a surprise.
"I'm not asking you to enjoy this, but I am asking you to follow me. Do not feel sorry for these people – show them no mercy, for I promise that they will show none to any of us if this doesn't work. Every one of those criminals could have found a way to help our people, just as we have, but they chose to grow fat off the suffering of others. By removing the gangs from Shinjuku, we improve the lives of every single innocent trapped in this cauldron of misery by the Britannians."
Ignore the fact that many of those gangsters had joined up just to get a stable source of food, and ignore the fact that so many of them were addicted to the same drugs they peddled to the rest of us. They'd made their choice.
Looking at the eight other men and women in the room, I considered giving them an out, a chance to back out with honor, perhaps an opportunity for some flicker of respect for the common humanity of all to come to the fore, but quickly decided against it. Just like our victims, they'd made their choice to be here. I hadn't forced anyone to be here – there were no draftees in this particular trench, only volunteers. I'd only be insulting them and their Japanese honor by saying they could leave and I'd be happy to let them walk.
I could feel Naoto's eyes on me as I continued. Don't worry, I don't want any of you to die either. "Be careful out there – watch out for yourselves, and for your comrades. We walk the path of righteousness – and I hope to have the privilege of congratulating each of you back at the hideout in a few hours for a job well done." I took a moment to look around, and meet each pair of goggles looking back at me, nodding at each of them.
Internally, I mostly just felt numb. I was back in the company of battle maniacs again, well and truly. None of them had spoken out, none of them had so much as flinched. And just like them, I too had no choice at this point. I was committed, and there was no going back. The only way to my cushy position in the rear was to slog through everything the world threw at me until I could finally collapse onto a generously upholstered office chair. Under my sense of numbness, I felt a pulse of seething emotion, one I couldn't quite identify. But the thought of the flechettes that were about to scythe through the crowded station below us made that roiling pool of emotion shudder with bestial satisfaction. Finally... I'm not going to be the victim. Never again – you hear me, Being X? - Never again.
Naoto stepped forward, and I stepped back, conceding the emotional center of the group to him. He looked from face to face, goggles to goggles, and lifted his up to reveal his own eyes. He looked vaguely ridiculous, holding the swim goggles away from his face, but his gaze was serious, and I could feel the pull of his charisma just as much as every other person in the room, all unconsciously leaning inwards, waiting for what our leader had to say.
"First, let me say that I am very proud of each and every one of you. We've all worked hard to make Tanya's plan work, and it's thanks to each of your efforts that we're about to take a great leap forward. This is far and away the most important mission we've had to date, and it's going to change everything for us if we pull it off." I thought that was a bit much, but I could understand why such claims would pump up the members of our little guerrilla band. Everybody likes feeling important, after all, even though this small act of mass terrorism was small potatoes to actually fighting the Britannians. As far as pre-battle speeches went, I'd heard far worse. Weiss's comment before the Legadonian invasion, 'well, hopefully we won't all die.' holding a special place of shame in my heart.
Unfortunately, Naoto kept talking and my satisfaction with his oratory vanished. "We walk a righteous path, the path of the gods, the path of kami." My stomach began to sink at the words, and a terrible premonition swept over me. Did that bastard reach out in Naoto's dreams, like what happened to Schugel? I crainned my head, trying to get a clear sight of his face and cursing myself for the idea of masking up. Fortunately, Naoto's expression didn't appear twisted in religious ecstasy; he looked calm and collected as he continued his speech. "Bishamon and Amaterasu are with us today, as we unleash fire and suffering on the running dogs of Britannia. We will bring a small piece of the cleansing fire of her Sun down into Shinjuku today, and burn away the rot that bites deep into the bones of our people." This... this is a sermon! A sermon declaring holy war!
Honestly, I should have expected something like this. People need an excuse to give in to their savagery, and while petty gain and personal beefs were enough for an odd murder or robbery a bombing campaign presumably required something a bit more substantial. Dammit! I knew I should have introduced an ideological program! I'd hoped the outline of objectives I'd given our new recruits, coupled with the focus on providing for the people here and now would have headed this off at the pass, but somehow religion had wriggled its way even into the agnostic minds of my countrymen. Gods are even harder to keep out than cats… But if this is what it takes to get them fired up… As long as nobody started proclaiming the glories of Being X personally, I supposed I could swallow it as a means to an end. At least both sides won't be claiming the same god is siding with them, I suppose.
After about a minute of further exhortations, Naoto wound down with a final message I could get behind. "...And now, let's make sure we can all go home tonight, and none of them can. For Japan!"
"For Japan!" We murmured back, no less fervent for how quiet we were. Finally, it's time.
We left the building at speed, walking with a purpose as a group, moving straight down the street past the crumbling shells of buildings. Civilians took one look at us, at our hidden faces and clearly visible guns, and bolted. As the waves of people turning, looking, and fleeing began to ripple out, I raised my hand, the sign for Ohgi, Naoto, Nagata, and Inoue to press the 'dial' button on their burner phones, calling the numbers they'd carefully entered into their phones as we left the building.
Even from a block away, the sound was unmistakable, and immediately whisked me back to the Rhine. The sound was higher pitched than the detonations of artillery shells, but an explosion is an explosion. And 3... 2... 1... My thumb jabbed down on my own disposable cell phone, and the echo of a secondary explosion burst into the street as I shoved the phone into a pocket.
As planned, Unit 1 – Kallen, Tamaki, and I – immediately drew our pistols and began sprinting. There'd be a limited window of opportunity to get in close before the surviving guards figured out what had happened, and we needed to get as close as possible before we opened fire. It's going to be all about keeping the momentum up.
My heart thundered in my ears as my magic strengthened my legs, barely letting me keep up with Kallen and Tamaki's longer strides. Up ahead, I could see two men with the typical scarves marking gang affiliation wound around their arms, both staggering around and holding their ears. The blast wave must have been channeled straight up the stairs, I realized, I wonder if they've been deafened? If so it made my job just that bit easier.
My first shot caught the further gangster in his right side, just below his floating ribs. Already unbalanced, he turned with the shot, pulled by the momentum of the impact, and teetered on the cusp of falling to the filthy street. Still running, I helped him along with a second shot that looked like it hit his sternum, but by that point my attention had already moved on to his comrade. Fortunately, my competent subordinates had skidded to a halt and opened fire a second after I had, and at least three rounds had hit the man. Within four seconds of the first shot, the three of us were already pelting down the main staircase into Shinjuku-gyoemmae Station, Unit 2 hard on our heels. I could hear gunfire behind me, which I truly hoped was just Unit 3 was just putting a bullet into each of the guards' heads and taking their phones if they had any. Getting trapped in the station by gang reinforcements would be a hell of a complication. As we ran down the stairs, I fumbled with my flashlight but managed to switch it on, remembering the subterranean darkness of the station the night before.
As soon as we reached the foot of the stairs, any doubts I had about Mister Asahara's guaranteed quality were dispelled. It was hard to get an exact count of how many people had been in this room when I'd detonated the secondary explosion, as the flechettes had ripped through the close confines of the antechamber and shredded everybody inside. The reek of blood and feces from the ruptured entrails blended with the scent of explosives, and hung heavily in the air along with a thick cloud of concrete dust. Water pipes and bent girders swayed and hung down from the ceiling at odd angles, and above us the abused ceiling groaned and creaked. Clearly, the detonations of five pipe bombs were the final straw for Shinjuku-gyoemmae Station.
My concerns about the structural integrity of the death trap we were hurtling into aside, we weren't alone in the ticket room. Two gangsters, probably part of the guard detail from the entrance above, had their backs to us as we entered, one on his knees and vomiting, the other looking around wildly at the viscera splashed against the walls.
Kallen and Tamaki with their longer legs had reached the room just before I had, but hadn't delayed waiting for orders. Kallen had immediately thrown herself forwards, knife flashing in her hand, and had already stabbed the kneeling man twice in the back of his neck by the time I jumped down the last two stairs. Tamaki had opted for the less flashy option of simply pistol whipping the standing man, who had turned at the last minute and caught the barrel of the pistol along his temple. Stumbling back and bleeding from a head wound, he tripped over the bottom half of one of the unfortunates who had been in the room when the pipe bomb had gone off, and landed badly on his right arm.
I pumped more energy into my enhancement suite and sprinted through the room, heading out onto the platform, yelling "Leave them! Hurry!" to Kallen and Tamaki as I passed them. Behind me, I heard Unit 2 reach the bottom of the stairs, guaranteeing that our backs were protected. And so, riding the moment, I led Unit 1 out onto the platform of Shinjuku-gyoemmae Station and made a hard left turn, into what had been the center of the Kokuryu-kai weapons market less than two minutes before.
One unlucky day on the Rhine Front, the Francois mages had obtained a rare moment of aerial supremacy in a sector adjacent to my own. By the time the sector commander had called for reinforcements, the Francois had already had the opportunity to blast away at the recovery area a half mile behind the secondary trenches for a full five minutes, raining artillery spells down all over the cowering infantry below. Making the situation even worse, the Francois unit had been commanded by an officer wise enough to quit while he was ahead, and by the time I'd arrived the Frankish mages had already retreated back across the lines.
My unit was detailed to survey the damage and report back to the sector command, and I could still vividly remember the sight. It had been the first time I got an up-close view of what the aftermath of a mage raid on infantry positions unsupported by anti-air weaponry looked like. I particularly remembered the sight of a broad, shallow shell crater that had been used as an open-air mess hall by the units rotated back from the front; the Francois had detonated their artillery rounds about twenty feet over the heads of the surprised and trapped soldiers, and the explosions had essentially liquified the three hundred or so soldiers who had been eating lunch at the time.
That was the only experience that even compared to what I saw on the platform. The overlapping cones of shrapnel and flechettes had done everything Asahara Hiyashi had promised and more. Shreds of men dripped from the walls, and the few men unlucky enough to not have been killed immediately screamed and screamed, blood gurgling in ruptured chests and torn throats. The things writhing on the ground were all mangled and pulped, less men then horrible worms, studded with shards of bone and glimmering steel needles. How many had been down here, when the bombs went off? A hundred? A hundred and fifty?
For a moment, I couldn't move, the sight of what I had wrought like a window into some hell; if it wasn't for the lack of half-animal, half-human demons, I'd think that I was looking into the mind of Hieronymous Bosch. There a man had wriggled up against a wall, and was holding his own spilled intestines, looking at them with a detached marvel and seemingly ignorant of his missing legs. Over there, half fallen off the platform onto the old subway tracks, was an old man, his skin spotted with liver marks and his back shredded, as if someone had flogged him to death. At the center of the market itself, no bodies had survived intact. All that the steel rain of the flechettes had left behind was a pulped mass of bone, sinew, and meat, steaming and bloody.
And then the stench hit. The blood and bowel smell of the smaller office was matched and exceeded ten times over, and the reek of burning garbage and the preexisting rot of the decrepit subway station blended with the heavy stench of spent explosives and terrified people. It was an overwhelming assault on the sensorium, and only my own long experience with death stopped me from dropping to my knees and vomiting just as the guard Kallen had knifed had done.
Enough! You've got a job to do. I slammed my eyes shut, and shook my head, desperately trying to reclaim my equanimity and detachment. Don't think about it – they were the enemy, and they'd kill you too. That's right. 'No mercy', that's what I'd said, right? Well, maybe I can give them a bit of mercy.
I walked over to the man staring at his own guts, doing my best to ignore how my stomach turned as he fiddled with the loops of intestine hanging from his ruptured abdomen. It's almost like he's playing with them... He couldn't have been much older than Kallen, and I could see his ribs, both through the skin of his exposed chest and protruding out from the deep gut wound that had disemboweled him.
I shot him twice through the chest, and felt only relief as he twitched and gasped.
Turning back to Kallen and Tamaki, I saw that both were standing still, as was Unit 2. Kallen had begun to shake, and Naoto had wrapped her in a hug. Gotta get them moving again. If they start thinking too much, they'll shut down.
"Hey! No slacking!" I winced internally at my own harsh tone, but I couldn't take it back, nor could I find the emotional energy to control myself. "Unit 1, we'll put the wounded down. Unit 2, start looking for anything usable! Hurry up, people – we need to be out of here in five minutes."
As one, the group seemed to jolt back into the present, and slowly the cell members began to move. Their previous speed and precision was replaced with jerky motions, but hopefully that would start to smooth out as they got absorbed in their tasks. I wonder if there's any psychologists in Shinjuku? Considering what I remembered about the Japanese attitude towards mental health, probably not, but it was worth a look. It'd be a shame to lose anybody to untreated shell shock, after all. Myself included. After all, back on the Rhine Front it was... easy to rain shells down. I was just a tool in the Empire's hand. This, on the other hand, was all me. None of this would have been possible without my planning and coordination. Shut up and stop wallowing! They need a leader, not a little girl who can't fucking cope! You're the veteran here – act like it and stop being a damned victim!
When did I start talking to myself like that? I idly wondered as I walked over to the next skinless half-man quivering on the grimy platform, the gang scarf still tightly wound around his left bicep despite the limb below the elbow being nowhere in sight. I don't remember when my internal monologue became a dialogue... almost just a harangue. Is this some kind of lasting effect from the Type-95? That seemed unlikely, considering how I hadn't felt less interested in praising Being X since the day I'd been born yet again.
"H-Hey! Tanya! C'mere!" Tamaki's shout from the far end of the platform startled me out of my stupid fucking idiotic self-reflection, and I hurriedly shot the wounded gangster twice in the chest before holstering my pistol and hurrying down the path, doing my best to avoid stepping on any pieces as I went.
Tamaki stood at the end of the platform, staring at what looked like a gigantic statue of a man in the dim light of his flashlight. As I got closer and added the illumination of my own flashlight to his, I realized that the casus belli Kallen had put in Lord Kewell's mouth in the faked message in my pocket amazingly contained a grain of truth. A Glasgow, a 4th Generation Knightmare Frame, the rapid action units six-year old me had marveled at during the Conquest, stood in Shinjuku-gyoemmae Station. It was clearly Britannian surplus, with fading unit markings and a serial number still painted in white across its slate-gray frame. The cockpit, or pilot block, was open, the seat protruded, just waiting for a pilot to step up and twist the key visibly protruding from the ignition. Looking under the block as I approached, I saw the blinking orange light of a partially charged Sakuradite energy cartridge, indicating the vehicle was gassed up and ready to go.
I wonder which gang was trying to sell the equivalent of a light tank? The east-most floor-level bomb had clearly ended whoever had been standing nearby the Knightmare, but equally clearly hadn't done a thing to damage the mechanical beast itself. I could see several scuff marks where flechettes had ricocheted away, doing nothing but marring the paint. Note to self, don't use anti-personnel weaponry against Knightmares.
"We're totally gonna take it, aren't we?" Tamaki chattered enthusiastically. "Man, this is gonna be so awesome! I've wanted to ride one of these things for years!" I was happy, if a bit disturbed, to see that any sort of stress he might be feeling as a result of the hundred or so dead bodies scattered around us was no match for his enthusiasm. I never would have pegged Tamaki for a mecha otaku – just goes to show how important it is to keep an open mind.
Unfortunately for Tamaki, I was fairly certain this thing was a poisoned chalice. No need to crush his hopes and dreams, though, so I'd walk him through the cons to try and temper his giddy joy. "Well, I'm not sure, Tamaki; got any ideas where we'd store the thing?"
"Umm..." He reluctantly turned away from the Knightmare and towards me, brow furrowed with thought. "In the subway tunnels? Pretty sure there's one near the hideout."
"The same tunnels we'd be using to steal the thing from the gang, and the way they presumably smuggled it into Shinjuku?" The question was rhetorical, and we both knew it. "Wouldn't that be the first place you'd look if you knew somebody had stolen the war machine you were trying to sell?"
Tamaki had no response to that one, but I could tell he still hadn't quite let go of the idea entirely yet, so I continued. "How would we keep it operational? We'd need a supply of spare parts, energy cartridges, and ammunition. We'd also need to find someone who knows how to maintain and repair Knightmares. The Britannians are incompetent, but surely they'd pay attention to anyone asking about Knightmare parts." Tamaki began to droop, and I reached as high on his back as I could reach to administer a friendly pat in consolation.
"Oh, a Knightmare! What the hell's that doing here?" I turned, hand still raised, and nearly ran into Kallen, who had apparently followed Tamaki's shouting too. Her goggles were up on her forehead, and her eyes were wide and fascinated, glued to the contours of the Knightmare's frame. The beam of her flashlight followed her gaze, tracing over the elongated "head" of the machine before following the bulging "chest" of the pilot block down past the blinking diode of the energy cartridge. Internally, I groaned. Great, another mecha otaku. Damn my luck, two in the same terrorist cell!
"Yes, a Knightmare. Seems like one of the gangs actually was stealing Britannian surplus." I realized my arm was still up, and lamely let it fall to my side. "I was just asking Tamaki if there was a place he knew about where we could store it. Got any ideas, Kallen?"
The half-Britannian hmm'ed for a moment, turning the idea over in her head, before letting out an exasperated growl and shaking her head. "Dad's got a boat shed down in the holiday colony on Enoshima, but there's no way we can get this thing all the way there without someone seeing it."
"That's more or less what I'd figured myself." I looked over at Tamaki, who was still staring at the Glasgow with a heartbroken expression, and felt a stirring of sympathy. He didn't need to be here for the next part. Plus, we're running out of time. "Tamaki," I began, speaking kindly and gently as if to a child, "why don't you go help Units 2 and 3 grab everything of value that we can, okay? Kallen and I will handle this."
"But... The chicks would really dig me if I was a Knightmare Pilot..." Tamaki whined, although he obligingly turned and started heading back up the platform, cursing as he nearly slipped on a pool of mingled blood and shit as he left. I rolled my eyes and smiled. It's good for morale to have jokers in the unit, I supposed. I should talk to him about time and place, though – he's good at slapstick, but this isn't really the place for it.
As he left, I turned back to Kallen and let the levity drop from my face and voice. Back to work, huh? Guess the team leader can't slack off on projects. "We're gonna need to disable this thing beyond all repair before we leave. If the gangs start rocketing around in Knightmares, no telling what the Britannians will do to re-establish their monopoly on the technology."
Kallen took the sudden change in topic in stride, and just nodded along. "I'm not sure how we're going to do that," she admitted, as she pulled a grenade out of her pack, "but I bet a few of these in the cockpit will handle it."
A girl after Koenig's heart. "Absolutely. One wedged right above the energy cartridge too." But how to secure and remotely detonate them? "Stay here, I'll be right back."
Fortunately, it turned out that Ohgi still had the leftover bundle of twine from last night tucked away in his backpack. As he dug it out, he let me know that all the Britannian currency, drugs, and ammunition that had survived the blast intact was more or less all packed up, and Inoue had taken it upon herself to task the idle members of Units 2 and 3, and Tamaki, with policing up all the cellphones from the various gangsters on the off chance that any were usable and unlocked. I thanked him for the update and told him to pass the word to Naoto to start the withdrawal up the east stairway.
"...I'll see you back at the hideout." I finished as I pinned the fraudulent notice from the Purists claiming responsibility for the attack to the broken half of a table using a knife requisitioned from a nearby torso. "Remember to ditch the costume before you get too far. No need to create a string of witnesses across Shinjuku."
"Yeah, yeah, we know. We're not old enough to get dementia, Tanya." Figures that Ohgi the Sadist would have no problem cracking jokes at a time like this.
As the rest of the cell streamed past us and up the rubble-choked staircase, Kallen and I carefully wedged the four grenades we had between ourselves into the central joints of the Glasgow and into the cockpit. Before we put the grenades in place, we tied a length of twine to the pins, and tied those lengths of twine to a second, much longer piece. Ideally, we could get to the stairs, pull the string from there, and run as far up behind them as possible before the explosion, avoiding the embarrassing possibility of taking the only injuries sustained on this mission from our own shrapnel. I doubted that fragmentation grenades would be adequate to permanently incapacitate a Knightmare, but I hoped that the Sakuradite core powering the vehicle's Yggdrasil Drive and the Sakuradite in the energy cartridge would be detonated by the grenades' detonations.
And so, two minutes past my five minute deadline, I pulled the sting and sprinted up the stairway, heavy backpack thumping at my ground as I leapt over the chunks of cement and the crooked shafts of rebar that seemed to reach out to trip me, Kallen hot on my heels. Behind me, I heard the sound of something falling and cursed. One of the grenades got pulled out of the Knightmare! Too late now. I wasn't heading back to see if the other three pins had come free or not.
As it turned out, at least one had clearly detonated, and equally clearly it was the one wedged between the pilot block and the energy cartridge. The initial crackling explosion of the grenade was soon followed by a deeper bellow, prompting me to dump all my reserved energy into my enhancement suite, relying on my supercharged reflexes to dive through gaps in the rubble and to leap over the many impediments. Kallen somehow kept up, and I drove the bitter envy from my mind as the athletic noble easily kept up with me. Damn the Kozukis and their superior breeding! Truly, there was something to be said for hybrid vigor. Pity I didn't seem to have any of it.
By the time we hurtled out into the cold outside air, it was clear that the explosion of the Knightmare's Sakuradite, coupled with the pipe bombs, had been the final straw. As we ran down the street, away from the visibly teetering skeleton of an office building that stood atop the old Shinjuku-gyoemmae Station, I could only be thankful that no civilians seemed to be out and about. Presumably the two bloody corpses lying out on the street, coupled with the sounds of gunshots and explosions, had been enough of a hint that the area was dangerous. Admittedly, I hadn't expected the dangers of the area to include the final collapse of one of Shinjuku's many cadaverous buildings, but it was hardly the first building I'd brought crumbling to the ground.
I'm sure, given time, the other inhabitants of Shinjuku would grow equally accustomed to the sight.