Bitstu Kyuzo licked his thumb, and flicked through the pages of his minimal paperwork.
He usually had more, but the new legislation act from the government offices eased the majority of his workload upstairs to the higher ranking officers.
He curved his rough lips and rubbed one hand over his rugged jaw. That meant the new Chief, Fugita Goro, had a pile as high as an Ox with its head in the air waiting for him on his desk when he arrived, courtesy of himself, and three other Junsabucho.
In the new police order under the Imperialist regime, police ranks were more official, and not solely dictated by the sword and wealth.
At the top was the Commissioner General, head of the entire police department in all of Kyoto. Beneath him was the Superintendent General, usually a second in command, who helped relay reports and decisions to the rest of the organisation.
Next came the Superintendent Supervisor and the Inspector General, the Keishikan, the third in command, and in charge mostly of moral, along with other duties. He had fewer ties to the main government body as the two higher ranks, but still had his ear looming close to the door of operations.
Below him was Fugita, the Chief Superintendent, the Keishicho, with no access to government acts and plans, nor involved in any major strategies or decision making. But he had to ensure the efficiency of the entire police body, and held responsible when the shit hits the pan.
Kyuzo couldn't think of anyone more worthy of that position than Fugita, that snarky bastard. It was about time he was taken off the streets, that mad man! he came in here, with that high and mighty swagger and special permission slip close to his chest, giving him the right to carry a Japanese sword. And he never let anyone forget it.
Below Fugita, was the Keishisei, the senior Superintendent. He was the Chief's lackey, or Fugita's walking kicking target. Poor bum, always rubbing his sore arse after telling Fugita he had yet another stack of proposals to approve before they were sent above his head.
The last time he had to tell him this, he couldn't sit down for a week.
And that was the last time Kyuzo had seen the new Chief.
Then below him was the superintendent, the Keishi, a comfortable position with the lead in some squads, yet a comfy office job for the most of the time. The current one. Omatu Kinta, was a spineless government assigned cowered that never left his office until the end of his shift.
He hadn't once gone into the field, and then men despised him for it.
Below him was the Police Inspector, the Keibu, who was more involved in the filed, but mostly in checking Intel, an observational and diplomatic position, but potentially a physical role with the authority to lead the men into battle if a strife ever kicked off.
The last Police Inspector did a great job, and got fast tracked up a few ranks, to General Inspector. He wasn't one for physicality, but he was very good for the moral, interested in the men's welfare.
Below him was the Assistant Inspector, the Keibuho, the name self-explanatory, followed closely by him, Bitstu Kyu, the police sergeant and the Junsabucho. Kyuzo was very much down to the ground, at the lead of the men and head of his own squadron, the revered 6th Kyoto battalion, as he liked to call them.
He had a squad of 30 Junsacho men, all able and all skilled.
Kyuzo laughed. No, 29 men, and one hell of a woman.
The 30th officer under his leadership, was the first ever woman in the force. The daughter of Keishicho Fugita Goro, Shishi Goro, was more skilled with the sword and the art of battle than anyone he had ever seen. As soon as he saw her perform in the Youth parade, beating up a mugger who tried to steal something from one of the audience so swiftly he thought it was a crane flying past his eyes.
Her abilities were remarkable, and he snatched her up then greedily, not wanting anyone else to posses her in their squad.
She enrolled as officer 66, of the 6th Squad. Giving her every right to carry the numbers 666 on her police badge. Because her talent was wicked evil, relentless, and unforgiving.
She was the daughter of the devil, Fugita himself. And she had obviously inherited his eager violence and twisted sense of justice.
But that didn't matter.
She was in his squad, no one else's. And she did as he told her to do, no one else.
Come to think of it, he hadn't seen her in a week either, and her salary was due.
Below him were the senior policemen, the Junsacho, who were skilled and experienced, without being past their prime like he was. He was only 30, but that made a difference with criminals getting younger and younger in these chaotic times. It wasn't the revolution or the Shinsengumi era anymore, and they had been at peace for over a decade now. But with these bad blood murders popping up more frequently than before…but of course the official statement is that these are all unconnected and dealt with.
If that were true, why hadn't they caught the perpetrators, and why were they all killed in the same way? At the same time of night? All with their arms and legs hacked off hurriedly, and all with their heads unaccounted for? At least the limbs were scattered around them to be buried, but without the head, it made identification all that harder for them, and the family. And all had the sign of the Shinsengumi crest burnt with oils and fire into the chests of the corpses, and always the victims belonging to the imperialist government or officials.
The last one was an officer, one Kyuzo had spoken to time and time again in the station hallways briefly, never staying long enough to catch more than a smile or a nod. Never a name.
He was identified quickly, with his badge left on his person. If you could call him a person anymore.
One thing he knew for sure, is that the cereal killer kept the heads as trophies, he could feel it in his gut. It was like a fetish, when it came to repeat killers. They took something to either represent or remind them of their kills. The heads in this case, the gruesome medal. To think people thought killing and keeping a head to display in their home or hide out with pride was some sort of award to their skill, sickened Kyuzo. He was a swordsman by family rite, and had studied as such even whilst he enrolled as an officer. But he saw no honour in depriving your enemy or intended target's family of burying their son or daughter, by keeping a part of their body. A part as important as the head. It was not honour, but shame, tainting the way of the sword into nothing but a bloody fornication of the old ways.
That is why he treasured Shishi so much, that young girl with so much skill, and so much potential. He had no doubt in his mind she would easily taste blood if given motive. Because she already had the means, though her intense training with her father.
At times, Kyuzo wondered if Fugita had intended to have her only to ensure his sadistic view of justice would be passed on. He wondered if Fugita wished she was a boy, the way he spoke to her as such.
He had never heard him flatter her, speak of her as a woman, worry of her safety at night, or show any concern about her working closely, alone, with over 30 men at a time.
Yes, she was more than capable of taking care of herself, but was that really the point?
Kyuzo was a father, of 4. 3 girls and one newborn baby boy. Each daughter was like a precious porcelain doll, so delicate that he could cradle them to his chest and rock them in his arms forever, in fear of them breaking. They were all younger than the mid age, all below his waist. And all so fragile to the cruel world their father worked in.
But to think of them in this world, wielding weapons, beating down criminals, seeing death in its most primitive, brutal form…
It made him sick.
And yet Fugita didn't bat an eyelid at his only daughter, his supposed porcelain doll, holding a sword with crimson blood spattered across her face.
Like Kyuzo had seen her many times in the past.
She had never killed, but had come too close too many times to count. Luckily, the law braking bastards realised damnation was flickering like a silent promise in those amber eyes, and submitted to arrest before it consumed them by the cold blade of her sword.
Those amber eyes, that never shone.
Except on special occasions, when Fugita walked through the door and in that instant, her face lit up like one of the many candles around the enlightened one in the golden shrine.
But recently, those same eyes had burned with ambition, of her judgement day dawning ever nearer.
On document, Shishi was a Junsa, a police man, approved by none other than himself.
But that same document laid dusty in his draw, as it had done for at least 3 years now. At the age of 14, he had enrolled her, insisting she was past the pedestal of child naivety of joining the police youth for killing spare time and socialising. But she had taken one look at the document, and scowled at him. He could remember her words exactly.
"I am not ready."
"Not ready? You took down only 20 of my best Junsacho only this morning! With your bare hands! You are more than ready."
"No, I am not. Not until my father says so."
"But-"
"NOT until my father says so, am I ready."
She had simply bowed, and walked away.
Yet Kyuzo could see the burning desire to take the document in her amber eyes, held back by something more powerful.
Her father.
It was only in later years did Kyuzo realise she did want that paper, but only if it was handed to her by Fugita's hands. And no one else's. Not even Kyuzo's.
Kyuzo lit a cigarette, smiling in memory to himself as he drummed his fingers on his desk.
His squad was going out on an assignment again tonight, and he burned for it.
It was not said publicly, but the 6th Kyoto Squad was rivalled in skill by only the Third troop of the late Shinsengumi.
This was actually once whispered in the presence of Fugita, who looked half infuriated and insulted, and half…dare he think it…proud? Because even as the flash of outrage flickered in his keen amber eyes, the next comment of it being solely down to the ferocity and fire of Shishi that it became that way.
Kyuzo had tried to read his features, to see if he did feel any attachment or pride over Shishi…but saw none.
The mission tonight should be just what we needed. The men have been getting jittery with the lack of missions, but right after Fugita approves the invoice on his desk, we are off to the underground. And thug central.
Bitstu Kyuzo was of an average build, an average size. But his skin was honey dark, his hair thick and leathery black, spiking in a sweeping motion to the right side of his face. His eyes were a dark mahogany, his teeth like a dog, and a bark like one too. He shaved very rarely, always with a fuzz of stubble along his jaw. He wore the same uniform as the other officers, but also had the red stripe cascading down from one shoulder, to his hip. This design was solely for the 6th Kyoto squad, the special division, with the elite fighters under his control.
But he had earned their respect through countless missions, insisting on leading them into all out battles in the shadows, and monitoring undercover operations in the flanks, shoulder to shoulder with them.
Most in his position fain, and have runts and messenger boys relay their success back to them from the safety of their offices. But Kyu stayed right in there, in the thick of it, feeding off the adrenaline and danger wafting through the air like it had a scent all of its own. A scent, his nose was attune to.
It seemed, their murder was in the underground, with all the other scum and assassins.
It was actually funny that, seeming as three his squad came from the very same place.
He had a samurai, he had a ninja, he had an army of imperialist trained swords men, and an assassin. Out of the thirty, he had 4 favourites.
The ninja, the samurai, the assassin, and Shishi. He often referred to her in code as the scarlet angel.
His Ninja had been with him since he enrolled himself, older, wiser, and only more skilful with age. He was in his 50's, but sharper than any of the new bucks joining the force. His name was Toshiro Uehara, with his grey hair always in a topknot beneath his black binding, chaos black face wrap and camouflage uniform. Only his dark brown eyes, so dark, they seemed almost black against the whites of his eyes. Kyuzo found this gave the illusion of him having no pupils, and found himself many a time puzzled as to whether Toshiro was looking at him, through him, or not at him at all.
You never knew what he was thinking, what he was planning. And when he wore no veil, his features were so withered with age, you could never read his expression either.
A trait, Kyuzo had come to reply on as second nature.
But he did, and had, entrusted his life with this man, the same life having been saved countless times in the underground battles in the past. More so in the few years after the revolution, with renegade Shinsengumi soldiers, than in recent years.
But he was always there, always watching and taking in everything about his surroundings, and the people in them. It was very rare a time when Toshiro couldn't tell you exactly where everything was in the room he just walked through, the people in it, or their backgrounds. He was very much apart of the Ninja information network, and was one of the main sources for Kyuzo's mission reports, and more importantly, his resource for everything and anything to do with a mission.
If he didn't have Toshiro's go ahead for a mission, he never put it forward. Or accepted it from his betters.
Toshiro was his right hand Ninja, and Tsuruko Fujiwara his left hand Samurai. 5 years after the start of the Meiji era, Kyuzo found Tsuruko, with his oddly sun kissed brown hair and weary honey eyes, still tied up in the traditional topknot, his sword still on his left hip, and wandering through the mountains, going there to end his life with honour. In his mind, what was a Samurai without his sword? After all, they had been banned in the Meiji era, and he had been denied the right to die an honourable death by the hands of the sword, simply for being so skilled he survived the revolution.
He had been part of the Shinsengumi regime, but outlawed when he refused to fight under their cause, seeing the unnecessary loss of life as outrageous. He had gone to the mountains of (insert name) and lived there for the last of the revolution in exile, and close to ending his sorry existence, when Kyuzo offered him another way.
It was obvious this man was no heartless Shinsengumi enthusiast, wanting peace like the rest of the country. And his skill was so great, it had reached his ears through Toshiro's lips.
And that alone, was enough for Kyuzo to climb a mountain, and stay there for 2 weeks until he had persuaded Tsuruko to join his growing squad.
He was in his late 20's now, but still fitter than the younger generations who had not seen as much blood as this man. it seemed he felt responsible for his fellow man, simply for being apart of the Shinsengumi regime that had caused so much death. And his redemption was through his service to the Imperialist government, keeping the peace through his swordsmanship.
The last two, were Kyuzo's greatest attributes, making his squad the best of the best.
Shishi was like a wicked fiend, possessed in the heat of battle and one with her katana. Merciless, cunning, strategic, and hungry for the fight. Truly an angel of death in the flesh.
But she always followed orders.
And then there was his assassin he 'picked up' from the underground two years ago.
His name was Hakukakotai. He had no last name, and no past.
After a long mission, Toshiro whispered to him that they were being watched and had been for hours. With the briefest of nods, both Toshiro and Tsuruko departed, and arrived from within the shadows, accompanied casually by a tall man.
His face wore a white mask, oval, like his face, but shockingly feline in shape. There were flaming red wisps where his eyebrows would have been, no mouth, and almond shaped eyeholes revealing two irises that looked to have blood flowing constantly like an ocean around dark, empty black depths, that were his pupils.
Sharp, and slightly more slit like than human.
He wore a skin tight black hood covering his head, like any Ninja, hiding his hair and the circumference of his face not covered by the chilling mask. He then wore silent material shoes which wrapped his black Hakame tightly to his shins, and a black Ninja tunic, over a thin, skin tight, black under suit, with black leather binds wrapped around his wrists, and the ends of his thin leather gloves.
No doubt there was an arsenal of weapons under those intimidating clothes too, which showed no sign of humanity from their wearer, other than the smooth, sharp voice that sang from him.
He announced himself as Hakukakotai, an assassin whom seeked asylum from the Imperialist hunters and wished to lend his services to us instead, in payment. Or trade, as he called it.
At first Kyuzo was weary of this man, not trusting him an inch.
But as soon as Hakukakotai met Shishi, all his insecurities about this man vanished.
Flash back.
Kyuzo had been training his men, and Shishi, for hours that day. It was mid summer, in the year of the dragon and the sun blazed on high, yet another trail to separate the great from the average.
25 of his Junsacho were beat, broken, and sprawled over the forest floor to the point of exhaustion. Only he, Toshiro, Tsuruko, a more experienced officer, and Shishi were still standing. And only the officer showed his fatigue on his sleeve.
Oh, and there was always Hakukakotai, stood in the shadows like one of the many trees surrounding them. Tall, silent, but ever present.
"Well done. The day has been a good one, and grows old. You may all return to your homes now with pride. You have done well." Kyuzo bowed, and watched as the dog-tired men picked up their swords, their selves, bowed, and slowly ebbed away.
Until there were only Kyuzo, his three favourites, and the assassin.
Toshiro took his usual place, by his right shoulder. His shuriken were placed between all the fingers on both hands, and his arms crossed over his chest.
His keen eyes were fixed upon the assassin with red eyes, and used the same thought wave as Tsuruko. He stood faithfully by Kyuzo's left side, his katana drawn from his hilt and angled before him. his hilt was parallel to his left hip, and the point of the sword just longer than his right shoulder. As was his stance. He also looked to Hakukakotai.
But there was really no need, as he was already face to face with the most skilled member of his squad.
Shishi.
"And what are you? A Ninja like Toshiro?" when the assassin didn't explain himself to the 16 year old, she raised a dark brow and flicked the end of her hilt with her thumb, before returning it. "I asked you a question. Do not make me ask again."
"I am not a Ninja." He finally answered, bowing to her. Though there was a hint of amusement in his silky voice.
"A samurai? No, your posture and feeling is all wrong for a samurai." Shishi held her chin, looking him over with amber eyes.
"Feel? How does one feel whether someone is a samurai or not?" he chuckled, and slowly walked from the shadows.
"They just do. And you just don't."
"And what do I feel like to you?" He folded his arms and stood over her, much taller than her. He must have been at least 2 years her senior.
"…I'm not sure yet." But she didn't seem concerned by this, in fact, intrigued would have been the word to describe the gleam in her eyes. "And I have the perfect way to find out."
Kyuzo and his two trusted men watched as the two immediately sprang into action, Shishi drawing her sword and pouncing from the Gatotsu stance, and the assassin in the mask pulling a black Ninja staff from his back. elongated, long and smooth, it seemed perfect for parrying her techniques.
But even more shocking, Shishi was just as capable at blocking any of his attacks too.
Neither gained any ground on the other. Not even when the fight took to the tree tops. A place where you would think Hakukakotai would have the advantage, using his Ashiko foot spikes and cat claws. Yet they were at as much as a stalemate in the trees, as they were on the ground. All forms of his Jutsu were evaded and thwarted, whilst all her fighting forms and surprise attacks were met and countered head on.
It was on 2 hours later, when Kyuzo and the two warriors of old were at risk of losing their eyes for staring in shock for so long, did the two stop in the middle of the wood, trees decimated around them, and both out of breath.
At first it seemed that they were just going to go at it again, both panting, both gritting their teeth and clenching their weapons tightly.
When what they actually did, was more shocking.
Both put their weapons away and walked up to the other casually.
"I've decided I like the feel of you. Tribal Assassin."
"And I you, Shinsengumi pup." Kyuzo didn't understand why Hakukakotai had accused her teasingly of being of the Shinsengumi, and Tsuruko seemed to flinch by his side, but Shishi simply smirked at him, and held out her arm. The masked assassin took it, as if about to lead her into a political banquet, and they walked off into the shadows together, questioning the other casually as to their names and travels.
From that moment on, Kyuzo included Hakukakotai as one of his favourites, one of his most trusted and most involved in his missions.
Because to have earned a smile from Shishi, and her trust, is to be worth more than his weight in gold in skill and character.
End flash back.
26 trained Junsacho men, loyal to the end.
1 Samurai, who owed him his life and reform to.
1 Ninja, as old a friend as an older brother, whose blood had been spilt and mixed with his own in many a battle. Even back in the early years of the revolution.
1 Assassin of unknown origin, with an unknown past. He was as cunning and malevolent to his targets, and smelt of blood. So much blood.
But best of all, he had the most powerful weapon of them all.
1 Scarlet angel, Shishi Goro, his prized fighter.
And here she came now.