~***~
Long ago in a distant land, I, Aku, the shape-shifting master of darkness, unleashed an unspeakable evil. But a foolish samurai warrior, wielding a magic sword, stepped forth to oppose me.
"Before the final blow was struck, I tore open a portal in time, and flung him into the future, where my evil is law.
"Now, the fool seeks to return to the past, and undo the future that is Aku.
~***~
The Central Hub cannot decide whether it should bustle or just strangle itself on the spot. Jack feels that it is certainly trying to strangle him – in the two weeks since his arrival he has been subjected to various abuses, among them being hunted by the Imikandi and later being forced to spend nine days as a chicken, fighting in an underground arena to entertain persons of rather dubious character. He will never look at poultry the same way again.
He had come to the city on the advice of a soothsayer, who had told him that he would find something important here. All he has found thus far is trouble; therefore, he thinks that it would be best for him to leave as soon as possible. To that end, he is making his way through the maze of sewers and maintenance tunnels below the streets, so as to avoid any bounty hunters or other hostiles prowling in the night-darkened city above. He is carrying a small compass, which he checks every now and then to make sure he is on course – to the east, where the sewers dump their contents out into a great river that flows into the sea several miles away.
Jack opens yet another maintenance door at the end of a narrow passage that branches of one of the larger sewer pipes. On the other side he finds a high, wide tunnel, running along an east-west axis. This one is not a sewer tunnel, but a route for trains – in the eerie illumination provided by the orange fluorescent lights along the walls (those that are still functioning, anyway), he can see a set of tracks running straight down the middle of the passage. And judging by the thick layer of dust that covers the ground here, and the cobwebs that drape from the walls and ceiling, this tunnel has not seen use for many years and probably never will again. Satisfied that there is nobody else in the tunnel, Jack steps out of the door and closes it after him, shutting out the sound of flowing water from the tunnel he has left behind. He turns right to follow the tracks in an easterly direction.
The tunnel is unnervingly quiet. The only sounds are the faint buzzing of the fluorescent lights and the sound of his own sandals going clok-clok-clok against the ground as he walks. He brushes a cobweb out of his way with one hand, then wipes off the clingy gray of it on the wall beside him. The walk is monotonous; however, since most of his life is anything but, the quiet sameness of the tunnel is something to be grateful for.
But the silence did not last long. He has not been traveling in the tunnel for more than five minutes when he hears the sound of gunshots in an adjacent tunnel. He has his sword drawn before the gray-clad man bursts in through a door about fifty feet away from him. The man is pursued by a black spider robot, which spits a burst of machine gun fire from the small turret mounted on its head. The gray man is right in its path – he jerks as the bullets hit him, then falls to the tunnel floor. By that time, Jack is already charging the robot.
The thing turns to face the samurai and fires its gun, but Jack has already taken a great leap in order to avoid just such an attack. He snaps the blade down as he pounces on the robot, slicing it neatly in half. He steps away from the broken machine as oil begins to leak out of its guts, then goes to the side of the fallen man.
The man is still alive, but he will not be for long – there are multiple bullet wounds in his chest and abdomen. Jack turns him over so he is lying on his back and not his stomach, lifts his head, tries to make him as comfortable as possible before the inevitable end comes.
"It's you," the man gasps, his eyes widening. He coughs a few times, flecks of bloody foam appearing at the corners of his mouth. "There is…something important…"
Jack does not know what the man's last request might be, but he will fulfill it if he can. "What is it?"
With a pale, trembling hand, the man reaches into a pocket on his belt and withdraws a flat case of clear plastic it contains a silvery disc with a little hole in the middle. "This," he rasps, "Take it."
Jack does as he is bid, taking the strange object in his hand. He can make out his own distorted reflection in the surface of the silver disc. He looks at the man, whose eyes are starting to cloud over.
"They need…what's on that disc…" The man is gripped by another spasm of coughing. "You must…bring…to the Black Sun…"
Jack does not understand this and is about to ask for clarification, but with a final wheeze the gray man relaxes into the sleep of death. Jack slips the disc into his sash, lays the man out gently on the floor and closes his eyes, which were frozen open at the moment when he gave up the ghost. He crosses the man's arms over his chest and, because it is all he can do at this point, says a prayer over him. When he finishes, he goes to the opposite side of the tunnel and takes the disc from his sash again.
He holds it up to one of the fluorescent lights, turns it over and examines it carefully, but can find no clue as to why the man in gray had given up his life for such a thing. But one thing is clear – Jack cannot leave the Central Hub just yet. He could not save the nameless man, so he is bound by honor to fulfill his dying request.
Jack must take this thing, whatever it may be, to the Black Sun. Wherever that may be.
~***~
In the street above the tunnel, three scaly Saurian teenagers are examining a black hovercycle that has been parked near the curb. Their leader, Gorph, is sitting in the seat – the bike doesn't belong to him, but if his friend Nort is successful in his attempts to hotwire it, that won't really matter anymore.
"It's a marvelaceous one," Gorph observes, "A custom job, looks like." He flexes his clawed hands on the handlebars. "C'mon, Nort, hurry up!"
Nort hisses at him. "Don't rush me, man. These things take time…"
Slark, the third in the trio, bares his teeth at Nort. "Quit yappin', keep workin'." Nort turns back to his task with a grumble.
And then, from behind them, a fourth voice speaks: "Get the hell away from my bike." The voice is icy calm but filled with menace.
As one, the three teenagers whip their heads around to face the speaker. They can't see him very well, because he is standing just at the far edge of the pool of orange illumination cast by the adjacent streetlight. But they can make out a few details – he's a tall, lean human, standing with his feet apart and his arms crossed. And he's either very brave or very stupid, to threaten three Saurians that way.
Gorph swings his leg over the bike seat as Nort rises. The three of them extend their claws and stand shoulder to shoulder, between the man and the bike. "It's our ride now, dorfnorb. Why don't you just skiddle off before something bad happens to you?"
The man does not take this advice. Instead, he reaches up his hand to grip something over his shoulder. Nort thinks at first that it's some kind of long rifle, but as he hears the hiss of steel, notices the man change position and the ribbon of steel flash into the nimbus of the streetlight, he realizes that it isn't. It's a sword, a long, slightly curved one. It doesn't look like much, though. What is this guy trying to accomplish, anyway?
"Fine," Gorph growls, "Have it your way." He jerks his head, and he and his two comrades rush at the human with claws raised high.
Something happens, something too quick for the three to perceive, but whatever it is it has changed the situation drastically. The man has slit the fabric of the three delinquents' jackets down their respective fronts without so much as scratching the scales beneath, and he has the point of his sword at Gorph's throat. Now that the four of them are frozen in tableau under the streetlight, Gorph can see the man clearly – he is dressed in black, with a now unoccupied sword scabbard strapped to his back and a smaller sword thrust through the front of his belt. His black hair, glinting with copper streaks in the orange glare of the streetlight above, is bound up in a topknot. His eyes, dark and almond-shaped, are narrowed with anger and irritation.
"You're lucky that I'm not in a really bad mood," the man says casually, "Or you'd be minus a head about now."
Gorph swallows nervously, acutely aware of the sharp metal point oh so close to his neck. The man grins in a way that can only be described as carnivorous. Then the grin fades as the man's eyes flick to the left, and he turns quickly, his sword flashing through the air.
There is a clink and Slark cries out, gripping his sliced hand, as the knife he had just drawn from his waistband falls to the concrete. Gorph takes the opportunity to bolt for the nearest alley before the crazy human decides to cut his head off after all. Nort follows him a few seconds later, while Slark darts off in another direction.
Hiroaki Protagonist watches as the three would-be thieves scatter in fear, hears the sound of their running footsteps fade away into the distance. He waits for a few more moments, just in case – then he shakes his head.
"Punks," he mutters as he sheathes the katana in the scabbard on his back.