Youtou Shinnoken
A Rurouni Kenshin/Yuyu Hakusho Crossover Fan Fiction by Chester Castañeda
Original Concept by Chad Yang
One of the three questions that Daiji was asked in the last chapter was directly lifted from Lewis Carroll's "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland". All rights reserved.
Disclaimer: Yuyu Hakusho is the rightful property of Yoshihiro Togashi, Shueisha, Fuji TV, and St. Pierrot. Rurouni Kenshin is the rightful property of Nobuhiro Watsuki, Shueisha, Shonen Jump, Viz, Sony Studios, Fuji TV, Studio Gallup, Studio Deen, and ADV. This disclaimer also covers all the other copyrighted material that are far too many to mention here. Don't sue me please, I'm very poor.
Chapter 28: Tactics (Part 3)
"Lo and behold, the Blue Meanie has arrived. It took you long enough."
Daiji's one-eight-ten marking on his chest that was carved by the man in front of him flared as though it were set on fire by the mere sight of Itsumi's murderer.
"You're the one who got away, aren't you? Have a seat, Detective," the One-Eight-Ten Killer prompted, motioning towards the chair in front of him.
"Oh shit. Did he just call you 'Detective'? Dammit, Matsudaira-kun, you got to get out of there! Abort the mission! Over!" Inspector Taniguchi's voice crackled over Daiji's ear, but the policeman ignored his superior's orders.
Daiji flinched at the One-Eight-Ten Killer's insinuation of him being the sole survivor of the latter's murder spree. So much for the sting operation. Nevertheless, the detective did as he was told, setting his briefcase of cash aside as his eyes wandered over the walls that were decorated by pinned butterflies of different species and colors.
He fidgeted; he could've sworn that some of the displayed insects were still alive, wriggling underneath pins that held them into place. It must've been his imagination.
Contrary to Daiji's instinctive expectations, the raven-haired tuxedoed man didn't hand him or the One-Eight-Ten Killer any menus or did any other waiter-related duty; he berated himself for thinking so, since the Kamurocho nightclub presently had a "hospital theme" going for it, and the server he had earlier was a girl in a nurse's outfit. 'She seemed rather familiar to me, though.'
Instead, the masked stranger remained on standby, guarding the Kanji Killer and the undercover cop by sitting at a nearby table with one leg resting over his other leg and his arms crossed.
The detective focused his attention back to his original target; he didn't expect him to be the one to personally greet him as a representative of the mysterious Earth Club. His fingers tingled as he waited for the murderer to make his move.
"Relax. Do you not like what you see? You're too tense," said the man in fluent although accented Japanese as he took a cigar from his coat pocket and had his emaciated cohort or subordinate light it for him.
The strange speech pattern made Daiji conclude that the reports regarding the murderer being a Chinese national were all true. "I'm unarmed. Let's talk for a little while. It's been four years since we last met. We have a lot of catching up to do."
Upon hearing the claim that the One-Eight-Ten Killer is unarmed, the Shinjuku Inspector warned Daiji, "I don't know what's going on there, Matsudaira-kun, but be careful. You've already blown your cover, so stay alert. Remember, we have the entire area surrounded. Just say the word, and we'll come storming right in."
Meanwhile, Daiji kept in mind that he had a gun holstered inside his coat and a wiretap within his person. Even though the sting operation was essentially rendered null and void because the perpetrator already knew who he was, he decided that he would complete this mission one way or another.
"How precious. You actually thought you're fooling anyone with that load of cash of yours and that monkey suit? I bet you're armed and wiretapped as well, right?" the Chinese man sneered while rubbing his lantern jaw. "It's too bad that your little sting operation failed. Do you have any idea how to salvage your mission without making it look like a case of entrapment, Detective?"
"So this is a trap. You intentionally told Shimamura Houjo-kun to give me the keycard to the Earth Club if ever he was found guilty of his crimes and interrogated in regards to your criminal organization," Daiji surmised as he straightened his coat and waited for the perfect opportunity to signal his cohorts to surround Kamurocho.
"Bravo! As expected of a master detective! You sure are quick on the uptake!" The East Asian man of indefinite origin clapped his hands in a slow, deliberate manner. "What else have you figured out about me? Please, don't disappoint. You've been hot on my trail since 1991, so you should have all sorts of dirt on me by now," he further mocked.
"What else can I say? You're nothing but a second-rate, trying-hard copycat. You called me a Blue Meanie because you were quoting one of the letters of the Zodiac Killer. Every one of your confirmed murders are based on the Zodiac Killer's serial killings more than twenty years ago. Someone else must have taught or used against you that kanji-based sword style... probably the original Kanji Killer whom you used to hide your murders. In the end, you began committing the rest of your crimes by creating or manipulating your own copycats in order to cover your tracks, hence the birth of the Earth Club."
"Ah. Much better. Brilliant deduction. Now tell me something you've realized just now after meeting me face-to-face," the man goaded while licking his lips and showing off his significant underbite.
Daiji frowned at how flippantly the Chinese immigrant talked while somehow taking over their entire conversation by asking all sorts of probing questions about himself without divulging anything that could implicate him to any crime. "It figures that you're operating within Shinjuku's Kabukicho, whose sangokujin population exploded way back in 1950." By sangokujin, the detective meant Taiwanese and Korean colonials.
"It's not a stretch to say that you're a member of some sort of organized crime syndicate, like the Chinese Mafia, because going underground serves as your best protection against the police. Then again, I'm guessing your Triad bosses don't even know about your little side project. Judging by your accent, your native tongue is probably Mandarin, so you may have come from Taiwan or Mainland China as opposed to Hong Kong, which has Cantonese as its vernacular."
Daiji spread his arms wide. "You're likely using this nightclub as your base of operations for designing hard-to-solve murders for rich clients. You may even be its owner. Finally, the butterfly motif of this room symbolizes the stolen 'souls' of your victims after you've made them your 'slaves', which is just like what the Zodiac claimed to do way back when."
Of course, it didn't escape Daiji's notice that the one other immigrant from China and transfer student who helped him with the case... Natsuki Shinkai... was probably linked to this man as well. It must have been a personal connection, judging by how much she knew about him.
"Amazing! Most of your theories are quite accurate! I am from Taiwan. I am a member of the Triad. I am an immigrant."
"You weren't always a Triad member, were you?" prodded Daiji.
The burly East Asian man shrugged. "I change identities the same way people change clothes. You've been stalking me all this time. You should know that by now."
The Chinese man then chortled, producing thick plumes of tobacco smoke after every chuckle. "Now, without quoting serial killers, tell me who I think I am underneath all the copycat MO." He winked. "You sound like a competent criminal profiler. Even if it's not in your job description, humor me. Profile me."
"You're an arrogant son of a bitch who thinks yourself as some sort of superior being who can expose the hypocrisies of the world because you believe that you're above everyone else. You think yourself as a mirror that can reflect the awfulness of humanity while you stay atop your own pedestal, free from judgment because you consider yourself a judge that's beyond reproach. You deem yourself as an improved version of the Zodiac Killer and even the real Kanji Killer even though all you do is copy them. In other words, you're a hypocrite through and through."
"You have me all figured out. I'm so proud of my little caterpillar. Even though you're still in your larval stage, you've shown signs of greatness and hints of who you really are," the One-Eight-Ten Killer marveled while his bony bodyguard choked back his own laughter.
"Caterpillar," Daiji mouthed as the murderer's muscles flexed while he took hold of the table's edge and leaned forward, his bulging, lidless eyes staring straight into the policeman's narrowed blue ones. "Now, can you tell me something I don't know?"
For once, Daiji couldn't answer straightaway, and before he could open his mouth, the One-Eight-Ten Killer already cut him off.
"I guess not. Now it's my turn. No, I won't answer any of your questions, because you'll probably ask me boring ones like 'How long have you been using the Earth Club to mastermind your murders' and so forth. I'll instead tell things you don't know. Things beyond your ken. Things that, hopefully, will wake you up from dreaming that you're a man so that you'll realize you're a butterfly... or about to become a butterfly... after all."
Taking Daiji's silence after hearing the Kafka paraphrase as assent, the One-Eight-Ten Killer pontificated, "I am beyond humans now. Thanks to all the slaves I've accumulated through the years, I was able to raise my stock and become one of the most powerful, non-hybrid humans around. Just this year, I've reached what the Spirit World considers as S-Level or a being with superpowers far too great for them to scale.
"Only two other pure humans in this century ever achieved this level, and both of them did so by mastering a skill considered by the ancients as powers from the Servants of God themselves, the Angels. In turn, I've mastered a power Christians would've sworn came from the Devil himself."
This time, Daiji truly was at a loss for words, his mouth slackened and his entire body stock-still. "You're crazy. Are you suffering from some sort of psychotic episode? Are you mocking me? Are you taking me for some sort of fool? Shouldn't you be taking your meds by now?"
"Negative energy is a power considered by many as 'evil', but is instead a natural destructive force of nature that allows the universe to exist; the 'yang' to spirit energy's 'yin'. Thanks to the suffering of my victims and the sins of Chikyusei's disciples, I was able to do what no other demon or human was able to accomplish within the Chojin's army: Produce my own supply of jaki. My slaves have made me strong. If heaven is a state of mind, then I truly am in paradise right now!"
Daiji rested his face over his palm. "I didn't realize that your delusion ran this deep. You think killing innocent people who can't fight back makes you some sort of god? It's amazing how someone so diabolically brilliant as yourself could be this out of touch with reality."
"Flattery will get you nowhere... and your reality and logic are the very things that limit you." The One-Eight-Ten Killer shook and shivered, as though suffering from the side effects of whatever drugs he'd been taking all that time. "Besides, you and I are more alike than you think."
Daiji wiped his hand over his face and raised an eyebrow at the brute. "Are you really going to go that route? 'You and I are more alike than you think'? You must've been watching too many action movies before this meeting."
"I admit that the line is a bit hackneyed, but given the circumstances, it's quite appropriate. Let me explain. Don't you remember what happened four years ago that fateful summer night when we first met? How you were able to survive my attack when none of my other victims ever did? As you said, I wanted to be an improved Zodiac Killer who left no witnesses behind. Yet, like Michael Renault Mageau, you managed to live. Did you really think I intentionally did that to follow the Zodiac killings to the letter?"
"The thought crossed my mind that maybe you didn't," Daiji admitted. "Maybe you committed the same mistake the Zodiac did and left me for dead."
"Do you remember how you got away and survived?" the One-Eight-Ten Killer queried again, smiling from ear to ear.
"Adrenalin rush. Like with Mageau, I was able to fight you off before you slashed me apart. I may have even broken your sword because of my rage and survival instincts. You're just too arrogant to admit that you made a mistake there, like the Zodiac did."
"It's fascinating how you can casually describe the events leading to your wife's demise and your 'rage' against me as though you were reading the morning newspaper. I find it doubly intriguing how you're comparing Mageau to what happened to you even though the only thing that allowed him to survive back then was luck and the Zodiac overestimating his injuries."
Daiji harrumphed before saying, "The charade is over. Thank you for confirming your identity as the One-Eight-Ten Killer. It's time." The "It's time" phrase was his signal for the undercover coppers to swarm Kamurocho and arrest the serial killer. He then drew his Colt Python out of its holster and aimed it at the head of his wife's killer.
The fact that Daiji wasn't able to make the Triad member admit to the Chikyusei killings and the other fact that he'd broken his promise to the Inspector in regards to treating the sting operation as a mission separate from the Kanji Killer case gnawed within him, but he wasn't about to let an opportunity like this pass him by.
The One-Eight-Ten Killer stared back and forth Daiji and the cold barrel of the gun aimed at him. "Was that your signal for your cohorts to arrive? It's useless. The Gatekeeper won't let them pass."
"You're under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do can be held against you in a court of law," recited Daiji. He grinded his teeth together after a whole five minutes passed without the presence of his fellow officers. What was taking them so long? Did they honestly have trouble subduing the womanly bouncer in front of the nightclub?
Daiji glared at the One-Eight-Ten Killer's masked bodyguard as he stood up from his seat, but then relaxed when he saw him raise both his hands in surrender. His ears subsequently grew warm as his wiretap crackled with gasps and exclamations of surprise.
"Eh? I've been here earlier. How the hell did I get here? Oh look, a soapland," said one policeman that Daiji recognized as Officer Uye.
"This is Detective Tsunemoto. I've ended up somewhere in the middle of Kabukicho, in front of the Koma Theater Complex. I don't know what happened, I was waiting in the wings all this time. Over," came the sheepish yet professional drawl of Daiji's compatriot, Aiko.
For one reason or another, all the officers gathered to support Daiji's attempt at ensnaring the One-Eight-Ten Killer ended up lost within the maze of Kabukicho, so none of them even made it to the entrance of the targeted establishment.
"What the hell are you bumbling idiots doing? Matsudaira-kun has the Kanji Killer right where we want him, and you're screwing up the mission! He even had him confess his crimes, for Buddha's sake! Over!" screamed Inspector Taniguchi to the point of ruining the audio of Daiji's wiretap.
"Let me guess. Your backup has ended up lost all over Kabukicho, hasn't it? I'd explain to you how that occurred, but you'll probably call me a crazy drug addict again." The serial murderer stood and pushed his forehead right onto the tip of the Colt Python. "So I guess you've truly forgotten what happened that July night. Let me refresh your memory," he said as he cocked a beefy fist at the officer and swung.
The widower pulled the trigger and fired his gun off at pointblank range as memories of his fading, white-as-a-sheet wife haunted him in a flash. A spray of the One-Eight-Ten Killer's blood showered the table, his eyes rolled back so far into his head only the sclera were visible. However, his irises quickly returned and focused their attention on the detective.
"I want you to remember who you really are so that I can achieve power even beyond that of Class-S. I want to be able to beat that bastard Tenro and his supposed elite corps, the Dai Shin Kan. I'm not yet the most powerful Shin Ju around, but once I force you into your pupal stage and have you emerge from your chrysalis as a beautiful butterfly, I will have power to rival that of Tenro or the Chojin!"
Did his shot lobotomize the One-Eight-Ten Killer? He was spouting even more delusional gibberish at the moment. Instead of falling, the bloodied fugitive mocked, "I wish you'd died back then. I would've had my way with your dying wife. I bet she had the prettiest lips down there."
Although he didn't scream or let his tears fall, Daiji nevertheless poured lead all over the Triad member's vital points and emptied all six of his magnum rounds. The last thing he wanted to happen was for the Taiwanese national to pull a Mageau on him and survive. Damn the consequences. He didn't care if he was jailed or kicked off the force for preemptively shooting an unarmed man. It was worth it.
Just as Daiji backed away, reloaded his pistol, and took aim at the twitching mass of giblets and blood before him, the One-Eight-Ten Killer's svelte bodyguard chose that instance to act, leaping towards the detective and grabbing hold of his weapon. By instinct and by training, the police officer aimed and shot at the tuxedoed and masked man right at his covered mouth, but his Colt Python chose that inopportune moment to blow up in his face.
The room spun. In Daiji's mind, he idly noted that his well-maintained gun made of high-grade steel wasn't supposed to produce an explosive impact of a worst-case scenario shotgun misfire that was strong enough to hurl him across the room and into the one-way glass windows that kept that section of the restaurant shielded from inquisitive eyes. Nevertheless, that was what happened. 'This is ridiculous.'
The next thing Daiji knew, he was back outside the main lobby of the Kamurocho nightclub, his eyesight a mere blur. Several nurse-costumed waitresses screamed at his unexpected entrance while bits of glass ripped through his two-piece business suit and ruined the reception of his wiretap. "Matsudaira-kun... to you? Are... Was that... explosion? Help is on... Answer me! Ma..." came the barely coherent mumbo jumbo of Inspector Taniguchi.
Daiji gasped and hissed as the "Hei" wound on his chest bled underneath his collared shirt like a freshly burned cattle brand. Did the glass rip the scar apart? Did his scar tissue tear itself open because of the impact of his sudden unceremonious trip care of the Tuxedo Man Express? He didn't know what to expect anymore.
As his vision cleared, he was helped up by a familiar face. "A-Are you okay, Mister...? YOU! You're the guy who was looking for the boss earlier!" the buxom beauty whose name Daiji had forgotten at that point exclaimed as she gulped and massaged her neck. "Goodness! You're bleeding! Help! Someone call a doctor!"
Daiji stood upright upon seeing the reed-thin tuxedoed man sashay out of the nightclub's decimated VIP room, his shoes crushing the broken grass underneath his feet. He afterwards took off his strange face mask with crab-leg-like straps, inhaling air so quickly it condensed into fog around his mouth.
"There are no ten righteous people within this place. There probably aren't within the whole city. It's time for the filth to be cleansed with the vengeance of eternal fire. Take care, Lot, and don't look back." Afterwards, the tuxedoed bodyguard's black, straight hair turned curly and blond in a couple of eye blinks while his skin glowed like sunlight.
'Am I really seeing this? What am I looking at?' Daiji mused to himself, wondering if the waitress beside him slipped in drugs in his glass of water earlier. Perhaps everything that had happened up until he met the waiter-looking bodyguard was all an acid trip of some sort.
If everything that had happened so far were true, was the One-Eight-Ten Killer dead? Did the detective succeed in his revenge, only to be avenged by a now-unemployed bodyguard?
It was at that moment that Detective-Specialist Tsunemoto arrived at the scene with several other plainclothes officers. "Freeze! This is the Shinjuku Police! Put your hands up, dirt bag!"
'Tell them to get out,' a voice inside Daiji ordered. 'That man is about to explode like a bomb.' What did he mean by that? Was the Tuxedo Man with self-bleaching hair about to go on a rampage? Was he going to self-combust instead? At any rate, what the voice in his head couldn't explain through words, Detective Matsudaira understood through instinct.
The policeman afterwards screamed, "Tsunemoto-kun! Everyone! Get out! This man is a suicide bomber!" before tackling the waitress beside him to the ground and shielding her from the oncoming blast.
"What? Oh shit... MOVE OUT!" came Detective Tsunemoto's double-take before she holstered her gun and ushered away the handful of dumbstruck undercover cops with her before the cackling and maniacal Tuxedo Man erupted into a great ball of fire that flung the bodies and body parts of waitresses in nurse outfits, businessmen, and salarymen all over the Kamurocho building.
"Wake up. You can't die now," were the words Daiji expected the voice in his head to say. Or perhaps the ghost of Itsumi could've said that. Or an apparition of Likka, Aiko, Natsuki, Inspector Taniguchi, or even that waitress he saved.
It was probably something Officer Uye would never say, though. All the same, those encouraging words were instead spoken by the last man he wanted to hear them from. "I don't want you to be an ordinary slave. I let you live for a reason. Stand up and fight."
The numb and trembling Daiji pushed himself off of the pale and sickly nurse-costumed waitress below him, turned, landed on his posterior, and witnessed something straight out of a science fiction movie, nightmare, or acid trip: The One-Eight-Ten Killer emerging from the flames produced by the Tuxedo Man's suicide bombing, his naked body covered with black and purple fire that dimmed the bright light produced by the conflagration.
In response to the ridiculous sight, the one-eight-ten scars on Detective Matsudaira's chest flared anew. "You're supposed to be dead. I shot you six times. Then your bodyguard used himself as a human bomb. Why are you still alive?" Daiji queried, the only evidence of his shock were his saucer-wide blue eyes.
"Death is psychosomatic. What's more, I knew it was a great idea for me to steal the Onmyouji's shikigami technique and Tenro's jaki flames. I can do almost anything with a familiar," rambled the One-Eight-Ten Killer as the tendrils of black and purple flames swallowed the surrounding inferno created by his lackey's explosive end.
"How is this possible? How are you doing this? Did you drug me? Us? Everyone? Is this room filled with hallucinogens?"
"Ah, I guess it's my turn to flatter you. You're one of the most brilliant minds I've ever encountered in the world of law enforcement, but when faced with the idea of the supernatural, your brain couldn't process it at all. You're limited by the constraints of what your brain considers as 'reality'."
Daiji shook his head as if to clear it. "No more nonsense. The waitress and I are getting out of here," he beckoned towards the paling girl that flirted with him earlier, but stopped dead on his tracks after he remembered her name. "...M-Mitsuko."
"You shouldn't have saved me. You should've saved yourself, handsome," the waitress smiled with lips as pale and white as her skin.
Daiji recognized who she was. She was one of the suspected victims of the One-Eight-Ten Killer and the analog of Zodiac victim Cheri Jo Bates: Mitsuko Nai. More importantly, this was the same Mitsuko who died back in October 30, 1986; now alive seven years later. 'She is alive, isn't she?'
"That sounds like a familiar name, doesn't it? Does she not look familiar to you? Maybe this will jog your memory."
With a snap of his fiery fingers, the One-Eight-Ten Killer made good on his promise. The waitress's head was soon quickly removed from her pallid body with a clean cut over her neck by an unknowable force while the oh-so-familiar copycat markings of the Kanji Killer etched themselves across her abdomen by a seemingly invisible blade.
Daiji resisted the urge to vomit. The postmortem pictures of Mitsuko Nai featured all the major injuries that this doppelganger of hers exhibited, right down to the decapitation. He was sick and tired of asking what was going on, so he didn't bother. However, nothing made sense to him at that moment.
The One-Eight-Ten Killer's black flames traveled towards Mitsuko's body, instantly turning her form into an ashen silhouette on the ground. Meanwhile, the bullet wounds on his forehead, chest, temple, and other parts of his body closed up after absorbing his "slave" back into his person.
"My name is Xinhai Feng. Remember it," the One-Eight-Ten Killer revealed from behind the shivering detective.
"Why are you giving me your identity now of all times? Do you intend to finish me off now?" demanded Daiji. "I won't go down easily. Once my comrades retrieve this wiretap recording with your name on it, the entire Shinjuku Police will be hot on your trail."
Xinhai guffawed as he turned his back on the injured police officer. "Let them. I don't give a damn. There's nothing they can do to me that I fear. Xinhai Feng is but another identity of many. I expect you to find me using only that name and what you've discovered about me so far. I'll be wearing this mask till we meet again."
"Why won't you kill me now? What's the point of this trap?" Daiji spat and coughed, the creaking beams and the crackling conflagration converging upon him while the One-Eight-Ten Killer walked into the nimbus of smog, the kanji scar on his back flaring red as plumes of his jaki fire roared over the normal flames.
"Will you sink or swim, Detective Matsudaira? I want to know, even if I have to force you into your pupal stage. Let your hate and anger turn you into the butterfly I know you'll become. I'll catch you later."
"Pupal stage...? What are you blathering about? Come back here and face me, XINHAI!" Just then, as he stumbled blindly into the tongues of fire and the thickening blanket of gray, a rabble of luminescent Blue Triangle Butterflies caught his attention. Without thinking, he followed the insects' trail... half-wondering whether or not he'd gone over the edge in delirium and despair... which had him end up at Kamurocho's main entrance.
The next thing Daiji knew, he'd stumbled back outside the nightclub, his raw and bleeding hand holding onto the Chikyusei card that brought him head-to-head against his personal white whale in a nightmarish place filled with bugs, fire, and blood.
A second before he returned into... well, reality, for lack of a better word... he passed out in the arms of Detective Tsunemoto, the distant siren whines of police cars and fire trucks drowning out his confused thoughts.
Several whispers from four distinct voices inside Daiji's mind woke the detective from his dreamless slumber. His head pulsated as a vision of blue butterflies ushered him out of the Kamurocho hellhole after the flaming naked One-Eight-Ten Killer left him for dead... just like before... filled his mind's eye.
'That must've been the point where the fumes of the burning building got to me. Am I alive? Did I make it out in time? Am I dead? Have I gone mad?'
'Don't you realize who you truly are?' said his other voice... his other self. From there, he remembered the rest of what had happened way back that summer night when his wife and unborn child died, on the twentieth anniversary of the Zodiac Killer's attack in Blue Rock Springs Park in Vallejo, California.
As soon as he saw that damnable stranger stab his wife in the chest with his sword and fling her out of the car like a rag doll, her glasses clattering across the asphalt, Daiji flung himself at the heavyset murderer, the mind-crumbling pain of his car-related injuries numbed by a cocktail of adrenalin, stupidity, panic, and endorphins.
"Get away from my wife!"
The last time he remembered himself getting so physical was during basic training at the National Police Agency. Thank the gods for the classroom-heavy method of the NPA when compared to the more balanced approach of Western Police Academies.
Nevertheless, there he went... or rather, flew... at the lanky height of six feet two inches and at the weight of one hundred fifty-four pounds soaking wet against a man he gathered was the same height as him yet outweighed him by eighteen pounds or so.
He expected his head to fly off a second too late after leaping at his wife's assailant, only to see his body perform a martial arts move he couldn't identify. He managed to avoid the four feet blade aimed at his throat by its short hairs by bending backwards and sliding onto his knees before delivering a stinging uppercut at the behemoth's jaw by pure instinct.
He heard the man grunt something about bloomers or something, which he later on realized was him calling the rookie a Blue Meanie.
"It-chan!" From that awkward angle, Daiji saw Itsumi's chest create a fountain of blood that blossomed like a flower and sprayed itself all over her body like dancing petals in the wind. Their attacker must've hit an artery. She needed him. He had to get her to the hospital, even if it cost him his life.
"Get out of my way. I have to save my wife's life," hissed the policeman while pummeling the swordsman with his fists and feet for good measure.
"Who are you supposed to be? A superhero? Her savior? You won't survive like your counterpart," pledged the man Daiji would later know by the names of the Kanji Killer, the One-Eight-Ten Killer, and Feng Xinhai.
After recovering from the shock of the blows and countering with a sword swing, Xinhai discovered that his weapon's tip was broken off by the rookie cop. "WHAT THE HELL...?"
Officer Matsudaira didn't have time to ponder what his attacker meant by "counterpart". By reflexes and instincts he never knew he possessed, the policeman used the shard of broken metal he took from the serial killer to run him through in every which way and at every possible angle before dashing straight towards his injured significant other.
...Or he would've done so had the serial killer not pierced his foot with the broken nodachi to trip him up and force him to the ground.
The rookie clenched his chipped teeth together as his throat went ragged over the guttural scraping sound it made from withholding his scream. Meanwhile, although the spray of blood had already subsided, Itsumi had begun swimming in her own blood, her mouth gasping for air like a fish out of water.
The officer fought tooth and nail in the most literal of senses... part of his fingernails went missing and a couple of his teeth were chipped... as he wrestled against the gigantic bear of a man who wielded a longsword.
Bit by bit, the beefy assailant carved Daiji up. A flat slice just below his clavicle. A crucifix-like marking on his chest. A pair of converging slices on his pectorals. Soon, Matsudaira's body convulsed with its own red geyser.
"JIJI-CHAN!" shouted the raspy Itsumi while covered in liquid crimson.
"IT-CHAN!" he rasped, his body prone as he held out his free hand towards the blur he presumed was his wife before the criminal stomped on it and kicked his ribs so hard he flipped to his side and lay on his back, the kanji on his chest reminding him of a more fatal version of Zorro's mark.
"I don't know who the hell you're supposed to be, but I won't let you get in the way of my fun, you Blue Meanie!" That was the first time Daiji heard the weird moniker clearly enough to understand it, the pronunciation of the English word mangled by the man's accented Japanese. "Goodbye, Officer Matsudaira."
"OKASHIRA! Watch out!" a voice unfamiliar to Daiji shouted, and before he knew it, several gashes from a three-clawed weapon dug deep into the growling One-Eight-Ten Killer's already scarred body. The detective couldn't believe his eyes; the already strange situation became even stranger.
In a matter of minutes, he saw a rotund golem who breathed fire, a short dwarf who spewed darts that may or may not be poisonous, a strongman who could compete against the One-Eight-Ten Killer in a bodybuilding contest, and a thin man who sported a hannya mask, striped sleeves, and three claws on each hand arrive and pounce on the monster that stabbed his wife.
"Okashira...? Who the hell are you freaks of nature?" the serial killer demanded as he shrugged off the quartet's combined attacks and stabbed at anyone within his range.
"Everyone! Hold that bastard off while the Okashira escapes!" Daiji's eyesight cleared in time to see the nodachi-wielding muscleman surrounded by the dwarf, the human flamethrower, the wrestler, and the masked acrobat with three-pronged claws on either fist.
"Who are these circus performers? Why are they so intent on saving my life?"
The memory Daiji had forgotten or otherwise waved off as a fever dream the first few times he remembered it had at last resurfaced to haunt him anew.
This was also the moment when the present-day Daiji realized that his past self's survival was nothing like what had happened to Michael Renault Mageau at all. The One-Eight-Ten Killer told the truth; he planned none of this.
Although his memory remained blurry for the most part, Daiji did recall several things: The quartet's acrobatic perfection, great teamwork, and spellbinding cadence that would've left him breathless even without the fact that he was bleeding to death; a demonic dance from youkai that emerged from the pits of Makai itself.
The other three followed the lead of the slender man with the horned Noh mask, striped sleeves, and swimmer's build who used his martial arts expertise to keep the serial killer from cleaving him and his compatriots into ribbons, blocking every wild strike with precision and, from time to time, stabbing his three-pronged claws at the villain's bulging muscles.
He was a noble demon straight out of a folktale. For one reason or another, the One-Eight-Ten Killer couldn't find the right range to strike the thinner man down even though he had the reach advantage with his nodachi.
'His name is Hannya,' a voice inside Daiji said.
Just behind the demon-masked (or perhaps masked demon) Hannya was the dwarf or imp with beady eyes, a hooked nose, a widow's peak, and anesthetic/sleeping/poison darts that the muscular assaulter did his best to deflect or avoid after being hit by one.
'His name is Beshimi,' Daiji's inner voice supplied, to which the detective replied, 'They're inordinately fond of Noh masks, aren't they?' referring to the way both Hannya and Beshimi were named after Noh masks.
'They're spies. They don't have real names or identities. Then and now, all they knew was how to fight...' trailed off the voice.
"My rasen-byo isn't affecting him at all!" the dwarf complained to Hannya. "And you better be careful! I might hit you instead!"
"It is affecting him. That's why he doesn't want to get hit by them anymore! Keep on throwing those darts. Don't worry about me. I can dodge them all day," the clawed one reassured Beshimi.
With the impact of a Mack truck or perhaps even a freight train, the One-Eight-Ten Killer abandoned his sloppy strikes (which, in hindsight, Daiji realized as the murderer's attempts to emulate the real Kanji Killer's fighting style) in favor of one that produced a strong gust of wind that sprayed the pooling blood beneath the detective all over him and also knocked both the clawed Hannya and the dart-throwing Beshimi back, their clothes torn and the ground filled with deep ruts for some reason.
However, before the copycat killer could follow through his strike, he got burned by the cloud of flames emanating from a fire-breathing, buck-toothed monstrosity. No, wait. This plump human flamethrower wasn't a monster; he was only a man.
Furthermore, he wasn't breathing fire either; he blew it through his mouth like a flamethrower thanks to a combination of a hidden fuel source inside him (the smell of oil was everywhere) and his flint-like teeth that acted like igniters.
'His name is Hyotoko, for obvious reasons,' Daiji's other self informed while the round "Fireman" spewed fireball after fireball with his flaming mouth.
"I'll hold this bastard off with my Kaentoiki Technique as long as I can! Go make sure that the Okashira is still okay!" the gargantuan blob of a man declared while literally spewing fire at the One-Eight-Ten Killer. Alas, with one swing of the broken nodachi, the flames split and a cut appeared on the giant's face and belly.
'Am I seeing things? That bastard cut the overweight man apart without his sword making contact with him at all!' Daiji thought while waiting for the voice in his head to explain what was going on; all he got was an unsatisfactory confirmation of, 'That man is using a kamaitachi-based move.'
The only times the police officer heard the word "kamaitachi" was when it was used to describe weasel-like, fairytale creatures with sharp claws that rode the wind or special moves from little boy's comics.
The serial killer raised his sword until its broken tip touched his back. "I don't know who the hell you people are, but fun time's over. TOBI...!"
"You seem to be forgetting something. Me." A heavily scarred bodybuilder who at the time was even more cut and well-defined than the less beefy One-Eight-Ten Killer came up from behind the murderer, grabbed him by his waist, lifted him up, and then fell backwards while bridging his legs and back to form an arc.
'He did a German Suplex!' Daiji noted, before correcting himself and thinking, 'A Release German Suplex,' because the muscleman let go of his opponent in the middle of the move.
'That's Shikijo. I'm the person responsible for his scars. They are the Oniwabanshu,' proclaimed Daiji's inner voice as the four fighters gathered together while their designated nemesis skidded to his feet and stood, his back turned from Daiji, his matching "Hei" scar glowing bright red in the dimly lit part of the off-road patch of land.
Daiji winced. He'd been so busy observing the action that he realized too late the drizzle that turned into a midsummer rain, his stinging wounds reminding him of the oft-remembered part of his recollections. His memories stopped at that point; he'd already seen what'd happened next, and he had relived those nightmares countless times before.
'Oniwabanshu...? You mean the Oniwabanshu? The Oniwabanshu we've read about in history books?' asked Daiji as time froze; the silhouettes of the government spies and the exiting One-Eight-Ten Killer burned in his retinas while, just past his line of sight, his bleeding wife lay motionless in a pool of mud and blood.
'Just who the hell are you? Who are they? What are Tokugawa Yoshimune's shogunate-employed ninja doing in this present time? Why are they protecting me?' Daiji probed the voice in his mind. Everything then blurred and faded to black.
Afterwards, amidst pitch blackness save for light with no source that illuminated him and one other person, Daiji came face-to-face with a trench-coated, longer haired, and more athletic version of himself.
'I am the Last Okashira of the Oniwabanshu after bakufu rule ceased to be. I am the leader of the men who saved your life back in 1989. I am Shinomori Aoshi. You are my reincarnation in the twentieth century."
At the Matsumoto Hospital in Shinjuku; on Saturday, March 20, 1993...
Natsuki Shinkai sat up as soon as she felt the presence of someone walk at the foot of her bed. She relaxed her guard after recognizing who had come to visit her. "Oh, it's you, Minamino-kun."
Kurama... also known as Shuichi Minamino... raised an eyebrow at the half-Chinese girl. "Didn't I tell you my name is Kurama? You should call me that."
Natsuki shrugged. "As if I would buy into your farfetched fantasy of being some sort of half-kitsune hybrid. You can call yourself whatever you want, but your 'human' birth certificate still lists your name as Minamino Shuichi."
Kurama smirked as he offered a plate of carved apples to the bedridden Natsuki. "You still haven't come to terms with having an 'other self' reside in you?"
"He's obviously a hallucination I had after losing so much blood a few days ago. Has it already been a week?" she asked as she accepted Kurama's offering and took tentative bites out of the fruit.
"No. Three days. But I can understand why you'd think it's been a week. You almost bled to death and you were even electrocuted to boot. You were lucky to survive," Kurama corrected Natsuki as he took a knife and began peeling a second apple.
Right after the Quintuplet Murder Case that Natsuki and her friend, Likka, helped Detective Matsudaira solve, she went forth to investigate yet another alleged Kanji Killer murder... that of Akio Oogata, who was a witness to the case who was under the protection of Shinjuku's Officer Takumi Hamada at the time of his murder.
Her suspicions were confirmed later on as Officer Hamada offered her a ride back home to her apartment in the Shinjuku Skyscraper District. He revealed himself to be an imposter with twin swords stashed inside Officer Hamada's motorcycle. More importantly, she discovered him to be the infamous Kanji Killer himself, or at least the scrawny version of the serial killer who proved to be even more elusive than the One-Eight-Ten Killer.
To make a long story short, Natsuki almost died battling the serial killer, but with the help of the mysterious Shuichi Minamino, his bubbly blue-haired girlfriend named Botan, and a redheaded swordswoman named after the great Daimyo of the Echigo Province, Kenshin Uesugi, they forced the monster to retreat. She would've defeated the Kanji Killer too had his hidden comrade not blindsided her with a taser or some other electroshock weapon at the last minute.
She harrumphed. Although she'd been hunting down the Kanji Killer for most of her preteen to teenage life, the Kanji Killer she ended up confronting wasn't the one she was looking for in the first place. 'But I was close. He knew him. He confirmed that he was around Shinjuku, at least. I'll find him soon enough.'
"Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to tell you my human name... but I guess I had no choice, since I had to register something at the reception desk while getting you to this hospital," Kurama mused, remembering how worried his mother was when she found out that he had to send a sixteen-year-old girl to the hospital, fearing the worst. 'I can't believe mother thought she was going to be a grandmother.'
"I told you, you didn't have to! I would've footed the bill myself," Natsuki protested as she took bigger bites of the apple slices, but winced as her injured and bandaged stomach grumbled. 'Ah, that goddamned stab wound still hurts.'
"You're going to pay with what? You're a Chinese immigrant who's staying at an apartment, and as far as I can tell, you're going to school and have no job to support yourself," Kurama pointed out while throwing the peeled skin to the nearest trashcan.
"Half-Chinese." The petulant Natsuki pouted. "I have a savings account from an international bank. I'll pay you back. I can take care of myself. Really."
"The fact that you have an international savings account in your name that helps you pay rent for an apartment at one of the most expensive districts in Shinjuku raises even more questions than it answers," Kurama observed, to which Natsuki answered with a shrug of her shoulders and a blithe, "It's really none of your business."
The injured Natsuki pushed away her plate of half-eaten sliced apples on the table beside her, for some reason remembering a vague memory of Kurama's companion, Botan, holding up a fruit and looking conflicted about eating it or not.
"Besides which, it's you and your people who have a lot of explaining to do. I'll repeat the questions you weren't able to answer yesterday. Who are you? Why were you looking for the Kanji Killer? What's your connection with him?"
Kurama cleared his throat and looked towards the window, its rays of light reminding him of the glow of intoxicating power that Kenshin's Youtou Shinnoken gave him. "Let's make a deal. I'll answer your questions if you'll answer mine."
Natsuki crossed her arms over her petite chest. "Are you going to give me the same crazy talk the Kanji Killer spouted out in regards to a Spirit World, a Demon World, a Human World, and a super-being bent on conquering all three worlds? Because let me tell you right now, I have no time for that bullshit."
"Yes, but I have a feeling that despite your disbelief, you'll still take my deal. I suppose it'll take some time for a detective wannabe like yourself to come into terms with the existences of demons and ghosts," said Kurama as he pulled a chair and moved it backrest-first in front of Natsuki so that he could have something to lean on while they talked.
"The reason why you and your sempai had a hard time hunting down the Kanji Killer is because you're unable to accept that there are forces at work beyond what you call reality. The sooner that you and your sempai accept the supernatural, the faster you'll find what you're both looking for."
"Wait, were you stalking us all this time? How did...?" Natsuki's eyes widened as though they wanted to jump out of her sockets. "You wiretapped the entire Shinjuku Police Station, didn't you? You've been spying on us all this time!" she deduced.
"Does that count as your first question?" Kurama queried.
"No, no! My first question is... What's your connection with the Kanji Killer?" she asked.
Kurama nodded with a chuckle. That was a good question, because in order for him to answer that, he'd also have to answer who he, Kenshin, and Botan were and hint on why they were looking for the Kanji Killer in one fell swoop. So he filled her in.
"Bullshit," she predictably retorted after hearing some of the "tall tales" Kurama told her. "A grim reaper, a centuries-old demon, and a ghostly guardian of a cursed sword who existed back in the nineteenth century? Are you writing some sort of screenplay or drawing a kid's comic book? At least with the Kanji Killer, he had his insanity as an excuse for believing such drivel!"
"Was it 'drivel' that led you to see hallucinations that we three also saw? Or are you claiming that Kenshin was a magician who could disappear and reappear at will? Do you want to see the 'magic trick' of me turning a rose into a whip again?" Kurama inquired.
"Did those count as your questions?" Natsuki shot back in a tongue-in-cheek tone. "Okay. Let's suppose I believe you and the Kanji Killer really is using powers that cannot be explained by science... then how do I or sempai stand a chance against him? Or... the One-Eight-Ten Killer?" she asked, presuming that Kurama overheard enough about the case to know who the One-Eight-Ten Killer was.
"I thought it was my turn to ask questions," Kurama joked before saying with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, "I don't know. Normally, if you were a civilian who's in over your head, I would've wiped your memories out with a special brainwashing plant. However, I have a feeling you too have a deep connection with one of the Chojin's heralds. You're not an ordinary human either."
Natsuki suddenly found the tiled hospital floor fascinating for a second. "After I ate that fruit Botan handed me, I began to remember memories that aren't mine. Every time I sleep, I remember him. He claims to have met the One-Eight-Ten Killer once before too." She rubbed her right forearm. "He did something to his forearm as well."
"Both Kenshin and Botan... well, Botan's other self... long story... recognized who that person within you is. He's an old friend of theirs back in the nineteenth century." At that moment, Kurama asked his first question. "Who taught you how to fight with that cane? I know it wasn't your past self, because he used kendo instead."
"My father did. He taught me everything I know about fencing," Natsuki confessed after a minute of hesitation. Afterwards, before she could continue, the door to her room swung open and out stood an out-of-breath Likka Ikumi.
"WAH! I finally found you, Tsuki-chan! I was so worried when you weren't able to attend classes for two days! You should've left a message to the guard at your apartment too, he was also worried sick!" Likka prattled as she grabbed hold of the bandaged young woman with the pageboy haircut, her long ponytail nearly hitting Kurama had he not deftly ducked at the last second.
"I only woke up yesterday! Stop crushing my lungs! It hurts! I was stabbed, you know! I don't want to die yet, Likka-tan!" protested Natsuki as she did her best to escape her amorous best friend's death grip.
"I'm sorry! I thought you were deported or something! I can't help but worry!" the tie-dye-shirt-wearing Likka sniffled, her outfit serving as life support to a fashion trend that should've died as soon as the eighties ended. "By the way, who's the hot redhead? OW! What was that for?"
The sheepish Kurama bowed at the new arrival. "I'm... Minamino Shuichi." He sighed. "I was the one who brought Miss Shinkai to this hospital after she... was attacked by a maniac three days ago."
Natsuki interjected, "What are you doing here anyway? How did you find me?" She was then taken aback as, for the second time, her friend's eyes welled up.
Likka sniffled, "Oh my gosh, it's terrible, Tsuki-chan! Uncle Jiji is in the ICU right now! He's the sole survivor of a suicide bombing at Kabukicho during a sting operation last Thursday! He's two floors below your room!"
On the same date as Daiji Matsudaira's momentous confrontation with his wife's killer, right past knocked-out security guards that the detective spared earlier because he took another route to enter the establishment, two figures raced across the steps of the Shinjuku Hisashi Building stairs.
"Any idea why so many people are milling out of the building?"
"It might have something to do with the people we're about to confront."
"Dammit, I can't believe he'd leave the hospital just like that! What was sempai thinking? How'd he figure out where to go anyway or who the One-Eight-Ten Killer is?"
"He probably did it in his sleep, like a master detective would."
"The bombing at Kabukicho was done by a suicide bomber, right? What did he use? A C-4 explosive? Or was it a truck bomb, like in the World Trade Center bombing last January?"
"I have a feeling he used none of those. What's more, I'm fairly sure he's still alive."
"What? Alive? What part of 'suicide bombing' don't you understand?"
"The part where exploding is enough to lead to suicide, apparently."
Back to the relative present; on March 24, 1993; at the forty-fourth floor of the Shinjuku Hisashi Building...
Detective Matsudaira took a knee as he favored the cut through his side. The vacuum wave that caused his wound hit the windows behind him, showering him with hundreds of glassy chunks. Luckily, because the state-of-the-art structure was fitted with tempered safety glass, he only had to deal with granules of glass instead of an explosion of sharpened shards.
Feng Xinhai took a minute to admire his handiwork. "I'm no Nikaido Heiho expert, but when it comes to my original technique... the Shinko Ryu... I can pretty much do whatever I want. I dare you to attack me again with that water-like movement of yours or even your precious martial arts. My killing sword can even cut through liquids, if need be!"
Gingerly, Daiji got up to his feet. "Unlike with Kurogasa's Nikaido Heiho, your Shinko Ryu only has three moves. Close range, ground-based, and aerial. I can counter them all."
"You're in no position to be arrogant, Detective," the One-Eight-Ten Killer grumbled as he leaped towards the thinner man before screaming, "Join your wife in the afterlife! IZUNA!"
Daiji blocked the slash by picking up a tile and letting it crumble from the air pressure. He then followed through by unsheathing his other kodachi and blocking Xinhai's second attempt at a slash. Although the detective's counterstrike slash was narrowly avoided by Feng's recoil-assisted dodge, the Triad Dragon Head's mountainous body couldn't avoid the follow-up elbow to his gut.
"Jissen Kenbu!"
Even while winded, Xinhai deployed a punch to the lankier man's temple because there was too little leverage for his longsword to swing a full arc. However, Daiji's blank expression hardly even flinched or registered the blow while he pounded and sliced the criminal in close quarters. 'Shit, the bastard is controlling my attacking range!'
"I've heard of you," Daiji intoned as Aoshi's decades-old memories flooded his psyche. "While I was training for my rematch with Battousai, you were defeated by him. You're the man who claimed to train under the rules of the killing sword, yet you were exposed by Himura as nothing more than a pretender with an unwarranted sense of self-importance."
A headbutt allowed the Triad leader enough legroom and breathing space to deliver several, "MATOI IZUNA!" at the policeman, which the latter countered via his signature move, the Ryusui no Ugoki or Water Flow Movement. But Xinhai didn't intend to hit him with the Matoi Izuna anyway; he only wanted to increase the space between them so that he could unleash the "TOBI IZUNA!"
"And you're the so-called Last Okashira of the Oniwabanshu that was defeated not once, but twice by the vagabond version of Battousai! As far as I'm concerned, you're worse off than me in terms of our records against the Strongest Hitokiri!" Xinhai boasted, his muscles flexing as his collared shirt's buttons popped out from the swelling mass of his ripped and buff body.
"Moreover, I did my research on you. I knew you were Shinomori the moment those lackeys of yours rescued you from getting killed by my hand. There's nothing in your arsenal that I fear. I can overwhelm them all with my might!"
Instead of leapfrogging above the aerial vacuum slash... which would've left him open for another midair strike or leg-slicing Matoi Izuna as soon as he landed... Daiji opted to utilize his Ryusui no Ugoki to sidestep the slash and step outside Xinhai's field of vision.
"You can't run forever. Go ahead and do the Spiral Sword Dance! I've already defeated it earlier on, and I can do it again!"
"Kaiten Kenbu Rokuren."
"TOBI IZUNA!"
Both the combatants actually lied when they delivered their respective battle cries. The only reason the aerial "kamaitachi" wave worked earlier was because Xinhai forced the detective to do the technique in midair thanks to countless Matoi Izuna.
Because Daiji elected to attack the killer from behind like a real shinobi would, Xinhai countered with an iron-cleaving Izuna that would've ripped the recently awakened Aoshi to shreds before he even completed the three turns required for the move.
Nevertheless, Daiji didn't do a Kaiten Kenbu either. Instead, he blocked the air-cutting blade in mid-arc with his faster kodachi before it could gain enough momentum, strength, and leverage to slice steel.
Afterwards, in one fluid motion, the Okashira-possessed detective struck his first kodachi with his second kodachi in order to let the first one go through the tank-like One-Eight-Ten Killer. The Onmyou Kousa's counterstriking abilities ensured a clean hit few opponents could see coming.
"Like I said, you only know three moves," Daiji snorted as he kicked a screaming Feng on the chest while pulling the shortsword that landed mere inches away from the man's jugular. "I thought you were able to research everything about Shinomori Aoshi, yet you weren't even able to figure out when I pretended to do a Kaiten Kenbu. You've failed."
Through ragged breaths, the One-Eight-Ten Killer noticed how apathetic Daiji remained even though this was the first time he landed a significant blow. "I see. You've fully awakened into the Okashira. Magnificent. It would've never occurred to the naive detective to lie, much less attack from behind."
Daiji flinched as, to his chagrin, the Triad serial killer got right up, shrugging off the stab wound near his heart. "Welcome back to the world of the living, Shinomori Aoshi! I'm glad you've finally emerged from your pupal stage and molted out of that shell of a man, Matsudaira Daiji! I never thought you'd actually become one of my slaves! The more you awaken to your true power, the stronger I'll become! Soon, not even the Dai Shin Kan's Tenro can stand against me in becoming the Chojin's top general and undisputed leader of the Shin Ju!"
Another memory flashed inside Daiji's... or rather, Aoshi's... mind after hearing the words "Shin Ju" emerge from the over-muscled criminal's spittle-filled mouth.
"This is no coincidence. All of the important people who were in contact with Battousai during the Meiji Period are now awakening in this new century. I want to know why. I want to know where Battousai is right now and what had happened to him. He's the reason why we've all ended up during this time period."
"Ha! So which personality of yours was able to deduce that? The Detective or the Okashira?" Xinhai raised his sword over his head in anticipation of the reincarnated Oniwabanshu's eventual attack.
"I'm impressed. I truly am. You're the kind of warrior I emulated back when I was Isurugi Raijuta. Unfortunately, then and now, you've been rendered obsolete. You were a man abandoned and betrayed by your master, Tokugawa Yoshinobu. You didn't belong back in the Meiji Era, and you most certainly don't belong in today's Heisei Era either."
"What makes you think an evil monster like yourself belongs in this era or any other era?" Daiji spat with a sneer that would've never had any place on the detached Oniwabanshu Okashira's face. "I will not be defeated by someone who relies on bullying innocent civilians who cannot defend themselves. I for one can actually fire back."
To Be Continued...
Next: Slaves in paradise.
On an unrelated note, Let me just say that Disney's 1951 Alice in Wonderland is an underrated classic despite ol' perfectionist Walt's claims to the contrary. "Has no heart" indeed! Also, the line, "You're nothing but a second-rate, trying-hard copycat," was directly lifted from Philippine cinema's 1985 hit "Bituing Walang Ningning" (A Star Without Shine).
Hindi ako papayag na maghari ang kasamaan sa daigdig!
Abdiel