Comfort

by VanGuard6

When Ayane is hurt, Jake Kashima is enlisted without much of a choice to help her. Now harboring a fugitive from a ninja clan and his life turned upside down he has to navigate his way through this world which he was dragged into or be swept away by the waves. Rated MA.

14. Chapter 13

I do not own Dead Or Alive or it's characters. This story is fiction and any names, and whatnot are purely coincidental.

First off, I'd like to apologize for the long absence. I have been busy with getting my life together and sometimes that tends to get in the way of things you love - like writing. Anyways, here's a new chapter and I hope you all enjoy it. Because I spent such a long time writing it.

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Slim-pickings, is what Stumpy called it when seeing the recent candidates for DOATEC security division. Gunnery Sergeant Donald 'Stumpy' Iverson is an interesting character in his own right. A former Marine, he wasn't what you'd called a learned individual. But it wasn't calling him stupid either, he was learned but on the bare-minimum side of education – he calls it, learning only the essentials. Though the meaning behind that differs individual-to-individual. But to Stumpy, it just means exactly what it means.

That was also how the new team earned the name 'Slim-pickings' according to an observation he had made when the group was called to muster. They were not exceptionally bad recruits, neither were they exceptionally good – just plain ordinary recruits without any defining characteristics or features or anything that would set them apart from those that have ran the course. There was notable hesitancy from the commanding officers of the other teams like Ghost, Lucky Charlie, and Echo-6.

Gideon remarked, "I know they're not exactly MARSOC material here, but if you could just see them run the…" But Stumpy held up a hand stopping him saying, "I know what you want me to take a look at this and that at who and which and what they could do." He had gone through their files earlier on and seen the training footage and he lent credence to some of the benefits of the doubt Gideon was asking him to cast onto the few chosen recruits (which he safely assume who) and try to mold them up to a standard that only he might able to achieve and mayhap get the gears going for these guys.

"I don't see Helena's premier squad here eager to poach recruits from established teams and the sorry pile beneath us," Stumpy relented and said he'd do what he can and just hopes they, slims, will do whatever it takes to make it.

Gideon listed the names of those he wanted for Hitman (which was only one), and he had certain standards that would put his requirements up there with those from Navy SEALs. "You really think he's got what it takes?" a nod was the answer gave to the question.

That day, the class of 2-1-8 Bravo, completed the first phase of training. The overseers – the – came forward to pick their cut of the feast of recruits. Jake Kashima was headed for Hitman. Shinzo Seijiiro to Ghost. Goto Hizashi to Ghost. Katagiri Milo to Lucky Charlie. And so on and so on, until the 27 recruits of Trainee Class 2-1-8 Bravo were placed in teams to advance their training.

For this phase, Stumpy had given a speech to the members.

"Do not be so glad thinking you are in a team now that training is over. It's not. One might say, and I'm sure anyone that has worn the uniform knows what I mean, it has only just begun. You trained but you haven't trained yet. Not like this. The training you had was merely a preparation for what lays ahead, the training for the training. You started as a class with 64 members, and that number was cut down to what's standing in front of me. That by no means impresses me, simply because it doesn't. You're either very lucky to made it…barely or just don't know when to quit. From here on out, it's going to be double everything. Double the push-ups, double the running miles...double everything. There is no avenue for mediocrity. No room for just barely made it. It's giving it all you have, or going home. And I will be expecting more from you the further we go into training. Do you get me?"

The 27 recruits all shouted after him, "WE GET YOU, SIR!"

Jake stared up at the doctor sitting in front of him, "Excuse me?" he asked.

"The past," the doctor repeated her question. "Do you find yourself thinking about the past a lot lately?" the words themselves may as well have been alien to him too. Judging by how he seemed to frown his brow a bit as if he was considering his answers very carefully.

Present time found him in the office of DOATEC psychologist, Doctor Kirigaya Jun, sitting across from him with a notepad and pen in hand. She hasn't noted down anything for the past 20-mintues. He just hoped that meant maybe there was some improvement on his part (at least that's what he hoped for from past sessions where her pen never stopped scribbling down after he spoke or while he spoke) but maybe his hopes had been too high as they were dashed with the sound of her pen scribbling across the pad when he answered of occasionally reminiscing of days past.

"Good days?" she asked.

"Good and bad both," he answered, coolly.

More scribbling followed that. And a part of him wished he could ask what it was she was writing but he was not privy to that information. At least, not until the weekly results came back in. It was only Tuesday.

It might as well have been the last few miles of his life before the electric chair coming from the offices' of Doctor Jun to go to the locker room where he'd have to his marksmanship training in. Was it wrong to feel guilty? No. No one had said he was. It was how combat worked, as Gideon told him the days following the funeral. Sat him down, opened a beer for him and told him to drink and started telling of his experiences, but at the same time, not downplaying the severity of the operation and the results that presented themselves.

Losing someone had hit them all equally hard. But he was closer, so someone had said. It's hard for the team, but harder still for the one who was closer. He can't stop thinking about that night. What else could've gone different? A lot for sure. Things like: The driver not messing up their delivery area, those extra muscle from the bad guys not showing up soon after the fireworks had started and ended, and the bullet not hitting Yukio…but that blame shouldn't be on him! So why is it that he's acting as if it's all on him when there had been other things involved? Things he had no control over?

Helena and anyone at DOATEC involved in the operation: Staff in the situation room (constant satellite imaging, drone, ISR feed etc.) the CIA Spooks whom sprung the op on them, and Helena who signed off on the mission. The mission itself (how it was a baptism by fire kind of deal for them), a field test of the team's capabilities. It was all up there, all at the same time, and that must weigh heavily on them as well.

It had been Helena's signature on the operation. He'd only seen the woman a few times, twice if not mistaken: the first was being led to the barracks and training fields of DOATEC security division. Then there was the celebration of their completing training. Then…the funeral, that makes 3 times instead of the two he thought.

The two bad guys they nabbed were a goldmine of information – whatever that information is, it wasn't privy to the ears of hired guns like him – and from murmurs circulating in the SIT-ROOM there might soon be another operation (if murmurs could be believed), but this time, depending on the results from his sessions he might or might not be on the next one, it all hung on the doctor signing off on that.

A small part of Jake hoped he wouldn't be on it. He never hinted at it to anyone, not even the doctor. Why should he? They were his thoughts. Was it cowardice? Does it matter to anyone else – they were words in his mind. His not anyone else's.

Jake sighed, slamming his locker shut. His body armor comfortably tight on him. Rifle in his left hand, and everything and anything he needed for the range was on him. He doubled checked, making sure that indeed everything was where it needed be.

The thump thump thump of muffled gunfire could be heard as he stepped across the hallway to the indoor gun range that they used. This would be the first time he was seeing his friends again, those that were with him during basics and selection, it would be nice to catch up. Nothing wrong with the team he had now, but he just seemed to miss the old friends more. He wondered how much they had changed in the few months since those days.

Well, he didn't have to wonder long when the door to the range opened and the resounding cracks of rifle fire to accompany them are lending themselves to soundtrack the thoughts he was having when Seijiro walked out. Oh, not this idiot again. Who is he? Come to gloat?

"Huh, you actually came." Thought snide as that remark was, he was still unprepared for the friendliness from the man known as Seijiro, who had been a rival of his during basics and then selection, who greeted him with a hug and a, "good to see you," with hands on both his shoulders as if he were seeing him for the first time in a long time. Like he were seeing an old friend, never mind a rival and the times when they almost came to bouts.

Jake held out a fist to bump and Seijiro bumped it.

"How's it going, Jake?"

"Good as any. You?" He answered, unsure of what to make of this new character before him. Seijiro the glory hog. Seijiro the suicidal blockhead. Seijiro the….-who was this person standing in front of him. Tried as he did to wrap his head around it, he couldn't. The shift of character trait was too jarring. The laws of dynamics in personality changes were moving at too quick a pace for him to even solve the simple mathematical equation of who the fuck are you and what have you done with the asshole I knew?

And it must've been pretty apparent on his face too when the reformed asshole took to asking him if he was okay because his face must've twisted itself into an expression of shock and confusion and whatever else emotions these thoughts in his head were conveying to his facial muscles. "Team's treating me well, but we…- I know we had our differences in the past, and I think we should put them aside for the future. We're in different teams but….I'm sorry about what happened to Yukio, I hear he was a good man."

Jake nodded, "the finest. Thank you." Thank Christ, he managed a small smile that put behind the earlier awkwardness on his part behind them before anything else could be said. There was too much happening and he lacked the words to be for a sentence for half of them.

"Come on, the others will be happy to see you again." The gears in his head were shifting to and fro trying to process the things that were smacking him dead in the face Jake didn't even notice he was being pulled into the gun range pass the other teams there to where, just left of the water cooler, his old trainee class was sitting in full tactical gear and chatting animatedly, joking and revisiting old days and comraderies of their training days.

Seijiro announced, "Speaking of fishing, look what I caught!" Cheers of 'HEY!' went up over the sound of the gunfire within the indoor range and Jake could not help the smile that crept up his face as he shook, clasped or hug the men who were his mates during basics stood up from their seats to welcome him.

"Good to see you, brother. You look well."

"Long time, man. How you been?"

"I remember you being a little more…green behind the ears."

And so on, and so on, the exchanges went as old team mates took turns to tell of their lives and what else they have been up to. Sometimes one conversation overlapping into another. It was hard to think of them as anything but the recruits of various uniforms – cops, soldiers, sailors, pilots and coast guard – clawing their way through basics and then some. But here they were, hardened and highly trained contractors of DOATEC Security Division.

"So, did they say how long you're gonna be out of the field?" That question came from Seijiro who had left during the catching up to bring back some waters. He handed Jake one who took it without opening it. He wasn't thirsty yet.

Jake shook his head, "No. It's all in Doctor Jun's hands now. If she says I'm solid then I'm solid but if she says I'm not then…" they nodded understanding. It is an unspoken fear amongst the community, when the fate of your days as a soldier of any kind, soldier of fortune or soldier of a nation, was within the hands of someone whose never seen battle. A single pen stroke and all that you are, and all that you were, would either flourish or be cast upon the anvil of life and hammered mercilessly until your next session where you're in more of an uphill battle against elements that (by all means should be helping you) seek to destroy every bit of you until you're a shell of a human. A warrior no more.

Omitting this and that as per nature of said operation, Jake still found it easier to talk to his old battle buddies about the loss of Yukio than it was with Doctor Jun. By all means, she is a terrific therapist but there's just something of brotherhood through hardships in training that no psychologist could ever hope to understand much less help with.

"Jake, I think your number is up…" Goto pointed to the instructor standing a few lanes down. Jake nodded a parting to his old battle buddies promising that they'll catch up soon again and made his way to where the big burly man was standing.

"Think he'll be alright?"

"Oh yeah, if we all know him, we know he's one tough son of a gun."

Instructor Pyro stood by range 12 waiting for the young man making his way toward him. "Jake." He greeted with a curt nod and looked on as Jake went through the motion of taking his rifle out the bag and getting on the range.

Pyro stood a menacing almost 7 foot tall and built like a barrel. He was HUGE which is both a statement but also understating his size. A former SEAL with 7 years of service on his belt, he was considered a certified badass by the man operators of DOATEC with his wrap around shades and dark beard that hid any facial expression on his face. He had come originally as a liaison from SPECWARCOM on Helena's invitation to, in certain ways, build up the security program for her. He along with a few other military liaisons from around the globe.

Pyro, name unknown to all except Helena, never went anywhere in the building without his rifle hanging from his front. The tan HK416 assault rifle, a favorite of the SEALs, looked like a toy in the man's hand whenever he was downrange. He played a huge part in training the teams on marksmanship, seconded only by Gunnery Sergeant Owen Hart, United States Marine Corp, who was a scout sniper and Marine Force Recon – it's been a wide debate as to who was the better shot – where a rivalry soon sprang up between the two and held every 5th day of the new month to put it to rest. The question of who shoots better? Marine Scout Sniper or Navy SEAL?

And last time he checked, they were neck to neck on the scoreboard. Jake took up his position as Pyro punched in the settings on the pad next to the wall. "We'll start with warm ups first, then we'll move onto more intense exercises," he always told Jake just before he hit the button that sent a loud buzzer sounding through the range and targets popped out.

Jake squeezed out shot after shot as each target popped themselves out, single-fires no full auto, or very controlled bursts. "Very good, very good." Pyro remarked. Now the real exercise begins as Jake heard the 'beep beep' of Pyro inputting new settings. "Simple setup, moving targets and cover – nothing too advanced, you'll breeze right through it. GO" Again that buzzer noise that sent a jolt up his spine and chattered his teeth every time he heard it.

The bullets flew.

"Final score, 560. Top marks, kid. Top marks." Remarked Pyro while punching away on the data-pad. "If anything I'd say you're cleared for duty, but that decision lies with Doctor Jun and Boss Lady." He said referring to Helena.

He managed a smile, "get some food. It's Friday, I hear they're serving chicken curry, barbecue and lasagna. Go get something to eat and the report to Hart for PT with the rest of your team."

Just as Pyro had said, it was indeed chicken curry, some barbecue pork/chicken/beef (depending on what you're feeling like having) and lasagna. Jake enjoyed his lunch, any other day, he would go for seconds but knowing how hard Hart was going to drive them decided against lest he felt like puking a trail during PT which he reported to an hour earlier before they were all due which game him ample time to rest himself before he needed sweat his meals out.

Which of course wasn't' the case as 'the enemy isn't going to wait around till you're good and ready so MOVE!' and move he did that day with a belly full of food along with other members of Hitman all of whom puked.

It was a miracle itself he kept his food in amongst the heaving and the groaning of his other teammates struggling themselves just to make it through the 3 mile run through some of Japan's most populated centers.

"Drop and push 'em out!" Gunny called out.

"DROP AND PUSH!" Hitman team echoed out falling into resting push up position with arms straight as can be.

"Drop!"

"One!"

"Drop!"

"Two!"

"Drop!"

"Three!"

Every 1-mile Gunny would have the team to drop and do 20 push-ups. By the third set of 20, their arms were burning, aching and all matter of painful it was hard to even keep them straight when told to drop without them shaking like the legs of a newborn.

"Fuuuuu…." Someone groaned when Gunny had everyone remain in resting position after completing their 20 push-ups, all the while Gunny had a smile on his face. He blew his whistle once, "RECOVER!"

"UP!" cried Hitman team and in a flurry of varying motions of getting their legs underneath them going into standing position. "Alright, back to base!" They ran again.

He was sore all over, and everywhere that could hurt was hurting. "Oh…" Jake hissed sliding himself slowly on the bench until his behind felt the flat and hard wooden surface. He sighed glad to finally be seated after the brutal body breaking physical exercise.

Left of him, members of Hitman team were sprawled all about their locker room with towels draped over their heads, or shoulders and holding a water bottle. "I don't think we've ever been driven that hard…have we?" The only suitable answer to that question is no answer as driven that hard is a broad term and one might even consider as affection given the nature of the training program currently being drafted, edited and for future use of application by the Gunnery Sergeant Donald Iverson, known as Stumpy, by everyone whom he considered friend.

And no one within the ranks of Hitman (with the exception of Team Overseer and Leader, Gideon) was a friend of Iverson. Therefore, the term Mercy was struck off from the annals of every dictionary in existence in every language, for there was none to be found held within the blacker than the darkest black hole in the universe heart of the Gunnery Sergeant.

As far as Team Hitman was concerned, this was a warm-up. At 0500, not a second more, the team was called to muster once more, this time, on the beautiful sandy beaches of Okinawa for Iverson's Hell Camp.

Team Hitman had been knocked down a couple rungs of the ladder, from Mission Ready Status to Stand-by status and flown out to DOATECs Okinawa training base 2 days ago. Or, as the other already established teams of Ghost, Lucky Charlie, Echo-6, Saber and Demon (not to mention Helena Douglas's premier team, Arrow Wind) calls it, GROUNDED.

So as Team Hitman stood freezing in the early morning hours on the Okinawan shore, out of the darkness he emerged like the reaper come to reap, in all black climbing down the rocky hills with a smile that would chill an Eskimo, "Good morning, worms." Gunnery Sergeant Donald Iverson had come.

-0000-

Hitman Rehabilitation Program – Day 2

Location: DOATEC Security Division Okinawa Training Complex – Call sign: Camp Sparta.

Day one had seen Hitman team served like fresh meat into a grinder running through the island in full gear from sun up to sun down – it was one evolution to the next with a side serving of 20 push-ups (it was either 20 push-ups, or if Stumpy ordered them 'up', that they would stop). Mercilessly pounded to the ground by a hammer known as Gunnery Sergeant Donald 'Stumpy' Iverson. He promised they would suffer, and they suffered indeed.

3 mile runs in full gear – obstacle courses – water drills – land navigation – ruck marches – combat simulation and maneuvering exercise – and night time march. The aforementioned does not begin to describe the absolute ass kicking and soul crushing hell they were put through on their first day. If anything, that was just the tip of the ice berg. By the end of it, they were too tired to even hit the showers, but Gunny Iverson wanted everyone clean as a baby's buttocks and ordered them into the showers where a host of 3 other instructors hosed them down with power washers that felt like heaven against their skin. The cold water washing their aching bodies and soap had never felt softer on their skin. And then it was off to the chow hall for a meal of lasagna and steamed mix vegetables with a quick recap of performances of the day – throwing in some constructive criticism/insults/hazing for flavor – and a reminder of another early day for class tomorrow, which brings us to the present.

"So what the fuck went wrong here?" Gunny Iverson hit the rewind. Scrolling far back to . . . "….driver fucked up and dropped us 3 blocks from the target building!" Then paused the screen.

It was silent in that darkened room. The kind where we are all just watching and waiting for someone to stand up and say something…or to throw the first punch.

Their first operation was on display in full HD on the large white board sized monitor display through a projector in front of the class.

Some light enrichment to start the day, Gunny Iverson had remarked as they filed into class and took their seats. "So tense," Stumpy shuddered playfully, "…but is anyone gonna give me an answer? Or, do I keep hitting the replay on this piece of down memory lane for you all to see?" he spoke with a voice cool with an icy edge.

Hard faces studied the screen, but they were not watching it to find what their 'fuck up' was as Stumpy wanted. No. They were just watching and reliving that god damned night.

A hundred thoughts going through each and every one of their heads like an M249 going full auto. BRRRTT. It was only when the replay had reached the point where they were prepping for a breach that someone finally said 'stop' and raised their hand.

Donald Iverson perked up, "Ah, finally! Mr. Kashima, please enlighten the class if you would," Stumpy said with arms stretched out in a 'the floor is yours' gesture.

Jake nodded, "we detoured…and we got emotional." His eyes never leaving the screen that showed the breacher paused in the middle of setting up his kicker charge.

CLAP! The sound of Stumpy slapping his palms together cracked like thunder that made two of Hitman's members jump in their seat. "10 points to Mr. Jake Kashima, gentlemen. Interesting answer, but right on the nose with that one." He grinned. "You never let it get emotional – stuff like that is out there everywhere. It's life and it's death – c'est la vie ET la mort – bad things happen every day! Iverson un-pauses the video, this time fast forwarding till the screen shows the team inside the helicopter en-route back to base. "This is what happens when you let it get emotional…" he stops the fast forward and lets the rest of the video play out with the audio on.

"GET THE MEDKIT! BASE, WE GOT A CRITICALLY WOUNDED EAGLE. GSW (Gun Shot Wound) TO THE LOWER ABDOMEN! WE NEED EMERGENCY MEDICAL ON STANDBY, OVER!"

Jake lowered his gaze as the video paused on Yukio's face that was equal part blank and equal part confused as to what was happening around him. Why was everyone panicking? Why couldn't he feel anything? And why is Jake being hysterical to the point of almost tears and talking to him? That didn't escape Stumpy's gaze as he turned his sights back on the screen and hit the end play button. The screen flickered before turning blue.

"Seeing as you all lost your tongues," he said lowly, fixing his gaze at everyone from the back of the class. Though he couldn't see it, he could tell he had their attention, eyes on him or not, even if it's just the back of their heads. "You all forgot the one cardinal rule when it comes to these operations…covering your 6 – the man behind you is responsible for you, and you are responsible for him. It's simple physics. When you made your breach, you should've been keeping an eye out for the man in front of you." Stumpy brings up the remote clicking it again this time bringing up another helmet camera footage showing the perspective of someone on the ground looking up at a huge black male holding a machete. Then he rewinds it back a few minutes before then showing a shaky footage of an operator being tackled earlier on.

-0000-

Later.

"Stumps, I brought 'em to you because I know you can sharpen them up for me. Get them combat ready but this…."

Gunnery Sergeant Donald Iverson cut in between Gideon's words with his own, "Brother, you want me to sharpen them up? This is the way to do it! I am both hammer and avil…"

"Yes, but this…" Overseer Gideon frowned, distrusting this process every step of the way.

"…is necessary! The same way failure to a terrorist is a dress rehearsal for future success. This works for us too. The good guys!" Gideon clenched his jaw. He was unsettled by the whole thing. God, he hated this but….what else is there? "To build them up is to break them down. Not physically, but mentally…" And Stumpy nodded, "Yes." Placing a hand on his friend's shoulder, he tells him the reassuring words, "this will work, Gideon. It will. It has to."

Begrudgingly, the Overseer of Team Hitman nodded, "Fine," he sighed.

There was another matter to discuss to. One that required privacy far from any wandering eyes or perked up ears. "Walk with me," the gunnery sergeant nodded down the hallway. The Hitman team would not be missing him this time.

He handed them over to another drill instructor, also former marine, a Staff Sergeant Nantz – 1st Force Recon Battalion – for firearms and tactics training. The kill room will keep them busy. And this needs to be discussed now or not at all.

"So which agency vetted this operation?" Stumpy was saying in a hushed tone now. Gideon shrugged, "The usual. CIA. This op was right up their alley."

The former marine nodded, "it would be. Except, you guys nabbed the wrong people – the brothers, those two are low level guys. Gun runners. Only thing they got going for them is their large arsenal of small arms – rifles, pistols, explosives and stuff. Things you can buy off the black market and for cheaper prices too. They're quality, but the Igorov twins they are hardly worth the CIAs time. That's all they are, just glorified street vendors that deal in arms. But somehow where JSOC and WARCOM could hardly concern themselves with the Igorovs. Central Intelligence greenlights a capture operation for non-tier 1 targets? Something doesn't' seem right there already." Iverson frowned.

"And this other guy. Roozer. Now he's high level. This man, from the files I pulled on him, he's like a booking agent for bad guys. He's a treasure throve of information. But he is also the money for all these scumbags. Definitely a top 20 for a lot of 3 letter agencies."

Gideon shot him a look, "I'm sensing a 'but' here."

Iverson shrugged, "Roozer is a top guy for sure. But he's not the type you'd green light an operation at the slightest bit of actionable intelligence. Who was your CI (covert informant) on this?" But Gideon didn't know that. All the intelligence was funneled through CIA channels before being passed onto them. Briefing packets. Target packets, the works, all through the men and women of Central Intelligence Agency and a number of different OGAs (Other Government Agencies).

Still he answered, "From what I gather, it was a lieutenant of one of these guys that fed us the Intel. Why?"

The marine had a look of deep thought on his face, "An operation hinging on the words of a low level lieutenant of some bad guy head honcho? Nothing else?" The DOATEC Security Division mercenary shook his head. "Which makes me question the whole legitimacy of this thing. It's all too sloppily put together. You got blueprints, time of the meeting, but the enemy number estimations amongst other things look a lot like guess work, meaning it lacks the finesse and attention to detail that the CIA is known for."

Gideon frowned as he considered the words being fed to him, "What are you getting at?" He asked. His friend was seeing some big picture and piecing together the pieces of this weird puzzle he had presented to him. While the former was just trying to make heads or tails of the entire conversation and its continued development as the talk went. The pair of them had walked out the base using the loading dock used mainly for trucks carrying supplies for the base. They were going in the direction of the woods he saw then as they stepped on a red brick path used by locals to jog.

Gideon was thinking back hard. Trying to find that one thing that stood out. If much of the planning stages of the operation had felt rushed too fast. Whether there was any proper foundation laid out for them to consider the operation as properly put together? "I don't know," Iverson answered. "I just know this, when the bullets started flying, they were hitting the wrong people. Pyat Pree and Saul, put together were worth more than those 3 you nabbed. The real heads of the snake, if you will. Saul had connections to a lot of higher ups from Boko Haram to Al-Qaeda. And Pree was part of a golden circle of human traffickers from South East Asia to Turkey and Albania. Interpol has been trying to slap the cuffs on them for a while, and you guys just set them back a decade with just a couple rounds of 5.56. And it will be another decade before that circle is wiped off the board for Interpol."

The overseer was quiet as he listened, ever looking around, scanning his surroundings the same as Stumpy was doing. "You want my opinion?" the marine asked rhetorically, "I don't think this was a capture or kill. This was a hostile takeover using your guys as tools."

"Tools?" He was incredulous. Can't believe what he was hearing! Why?

Stumpy nodded, "DOATEC private security division works closely with the ninja clans of Japan, if I'm not mistaken, right?"

"R-right," Gideon nodded, "but what does that have to do with…-"

The marine interjects, "I am getting there," he said, digging into his chest pocket for his cigarettes. "There it is!" he exclaimed, smiling. Pulling out a pack of opened Lucky Strike cigarettes and a lighter. "Have you heard about the attack on a ninja outpost recently?" Stumpy takes a drag of the cancer stick and sighs.

"Attack?" By that answer alone, the former concluded he hadn't.

The word itself felt like some foreign sounding thing to Gideon coming from his own lips. But who would openly attack a Mugen Tenshin outpost? "I'm asking that myself too," Stumpy answered after seeing the puzzlement on the Overseer's face.

He goes on, "Some monsters attack apparently, I have my reasons to doubt that claim. And so do a couple other ninjas and one Navy SEAL."

Navy SEAL? Thought Gideon. When did SOCOM and the Navy have assets embedded in the clans? The overseer nodded but said nothing else as the marine took his queue to filling in the blanks for him. "It's all too convenient. The timing, I mean. That and the operation; it all just reeks of one big conspiracy. I don't know what it is just yet, but I know for certain that there is a storm brewing up in Japan between the clans, and this is just the start of it. Like it or not, your team is a part of this."

The message though unintended still sounded foreboding, "A storm?" and the Marine only nodded. They both did not quite understand it. Whatever it is, call it a tension or deep rooted rivalry on the verge of spilling out into full blown war, his knowledge of the clans are mostly just what was fed to him by Jeremy who's been with the clans for some time now.

"An outpost and all its personnel massacred. Not to mention, the use of a new type of weapon, or should I say weapon. Some toxic fear gas. Bad stuff. And….monsters."

'Monsters' Gideon weighed that thought against the logical side of his brain. Frowning. Yes, he was familiar with the weird creatures that roamed the mountains of Japan. Hell the entire country was founded on myth and folklore. Most true, if being in the land of the Rising Sun has taught him anything it is that myth and folklore come to life in this strange land and it's collection of islands.

"How do you know all this?" Gideon asked.

"Jeremy Hawkins. He's our Navy asset embedded with the clans as part of a new warrior program and he's heading that program alongside one Hayabusa Ryu."

"Hawkins?"

"Yeah. You know him?"

The Overseer nodded, "Once. We used to run ops back in my SPECWARCOM days."

"Ah, a brother SEAL." Said Stumpy, understanding now." Technically, if we're being specific, Gideon started out as a marine who got out of the marines to join the Navy SEALs. His old buddies in the marines still give him hell for it. But that was a decision he would make again if given the chance.

All love and only love for the United States Marine Corps, but the SEALs is where it's at. Gideon nodded at Stumpy's words. "Still can't believe you got out to become a frogman. Who'd have thought that a jarhead like you would go frog. What the hell…" Gunnery Sergeant Iverson chuckled at his dark haired colleague. He meant the remark as a joke, of course. Somewhat. Because deep down, to him at least, it stings a little when a fellow marine opts instead to join another brotherhood.

"Guess I can't call you a jarhead anymore now can I, Squid?" Iverson said. And his friend, the former Marine turned SEAL turned DOATEC Security Division Overseer of Hitman grinned.

The former asked, "Did you ever find out where they took Juno Roozer, and the Igorov twins?" Overseer Gideon shook his head no, "I assumed they took 'em to some Black Site in the middle of fuck all and just threw 'em in a hole and buried them." Now it was Stumpy's turn to frown. He considered the words. Deeply. The pieces were coming together but they seemed to still be missing a whole lot more for a complete picture to take form.

Elsewise, he could just hazard and exhaust his guesses and probably come up with some logical explanation that might make this whole thing into one linear way of viewing that made sense but it's like running your hand through river water. If your hand ends up causing a slight disturbance with the mud beneath then you cloud the water.

An idea came to him that seems worth a shot, "I still got contacts in the CIA. I can call 'em up and see if maybe I can get them run down and maybe find some leads on where they took your guys. IF they took your guys." The pair stopped. Stumpy was looking around the place they were at. Both of them were pretty far from the training complex it seems having taken a path splitting off from the jogging trail that leads deeper into the forest.

Gideon watched the man pull on his face into that look of deep concentration and alertness he's known to do whenever he was about to do or say something. "What I'm about to tell you is highly classified and I will get fired or worse, go to prison, if it is discovered that the leak came from me." He takes a deep breath. "Helena and I have been looking into a new emerging group ever since the operation. Before the meeting, we intercepted a transmission from an unknown location – they were smart, bouncing the signal off so many channels and satellites to avoid a trace. I am not gonna say what was said, but the best way I can describe it is….well, there's something more going on. But what we gather is, these guys are some serious high rollers. Buying up underworld businesses like it's a goddamn real estate. Aggressive. Rumor is, anyone unwilling to see is…" The marine drew his thumb over his throat mimicking a slashing motion. Gideon nodded.

"Its pure conjecture, but I believe this operation was probably part of some larger scheme. The Igorov Twin. Juno Roozer. Just fits, weapons and money. Two things to make the underworld go round." Stumpy tossed the butt of his cigarette off to the side.

Gideon added, "And bodies to spare. You mentioned the other guy we nabbed was a booking agent/accounting-type figure in the underworld. Meaning he knows where to find and recruit people – muscles. And to fund them. Meaning whoever nabbed our guys, if they are who we think they are, has got a ledgers of all his clientele, suppliers and…" Stumpy nodded, and finished the rest of the overseer's sentence.

"…everything one needs to build a small, but substantial force. They're building an army." The overseer frowned. God, he hoped this was all just pure coincidence. Separate events. "But it's all guess work. Nothing solid yet." Tried as Iverson might to reassure the DOATEC PMC, he couldn't stop the gears from spinning in his head. "But your OP shed some light on some of the shadows and now things are starting to piece themselves together. Albeit, a little too slow for my taste. But I give you my word as a brother-in-arms, you'll be kept up to date. And this has got to stay between us until Helena decides that you've got a part to play in the plans to come."

'The plans to come…' Gideon prayed to whatever deity high up above. Jesus. Allah. Buddha… Hell, even the eldritch gods too if it means dissuading these thoughts coming to him of this entire thing being part of some big grand conspiracy.

But Iverson had the right idea. He's a man that prides himself, even if he doesn't say it, on thinking fifteen steps ahead. That's what makes him a good marine. They needed to start chasing down some more leads. The Two agents that came forward with the operation! They can start there and work their way up the board.

If there is any merit to be given to this conversation, they needed to start with the two agents. They had to be some serious high-rollers (if they weren't CIA) in the underground if they could pull in the US Army Nightstalkers. An Airbase. Jesus, the list goes on, and it's making him break out in cold sweat. Al-Qaeda, the Taliban, and even Boko Haram didn't have this many resources at their disposal.

"Wait a minute…" NORA! The agent in the field was Nora. They can start with her. But that means finding her. Luckily enough for Gideon, he was in a company with all the latest and greatest of technology. He could approach Analytics department and run a facial recognition for Nora. With their level of access, it was doable. Time consuming. But doable.

God, did he hope this would all just be a dud. He Hoped.

"This new group…do they have a name?" The DOATEC PMC asked.

Gunnery Sergeant Iverson looks him in the eye, clicks his tongue and says, "They call themselves the Shepherds."

-0000-

Team Hitman was still preoccupied with kill room training and would not be free for another 30 minutes, giving the Gunnery Sergeant ample time to make one last errand before he had to take over from Nantz for PT.

"So, how did it go?" The voice of Helena Douglas spoke from the other end of the encrypted call.

Gunny answered, "About as good as any. I think he's a good pick for the task force." The marine could feel Helena smiling on the other end as she spoke, "You've always been a good judge of character." In response, Stumpy only smirked and said, "Hmm."

"How goes the training with Hitman?"

"It's been two days but I'm getting them into shape."

"And Jake Kashima?"

"He still needs work. He needs to learn to trust himself, cannot really run an efficient team if one member is doubting themselves."

Helena reassures him, "If anyone can instill a confidence in one self, it's you – don't forget, I wouldn't be where I am today if it weren't for you. I owe you a great deal."

Stumpy nodded, "I'll keep you updated on everything. In the meantime, I got another call to make."

"Alright, good luck, Ives."

The marine dialed up the number for one Jeremy Hawkins and waited as the line rang.

-0000-

Hayate swallowed another yawn as the hour drew to a close. These meetings have taken a large part of his life. His time! He barely remembers when at last he was out in the yard going through his training. Ages ago maybe…

He cannot remember because life nowadays was just him being inside the council chambers surrounded by the same old faces and saying the same old words. Even sitting in seiza was already killing him. These things were not meant for him. Leadership and diplomacy, as Ryu would tell him, "The makings of a clan leader rest not on their skill with a blade. Or, their prowess in hand-to-hand combat. Neither does it hinge entirely on their abilities with their ninjutsu/ninpo, but also in their abilities in both leadership and diplomacy."

He blinked. God, he could feel a migraine coming but couldn't do anything to alleviate the pressure. Not even to massage the bridge of his noise because it would be seen as disrespectful. Truth be told, he would rather be anywhere else but here.

The young leader swallows another yawn, tucking his chin in slightly and then relaxing. Nodding, he speaks, "This council has recognized and discussed the issues that have been brought forward today. Rest assured now, that I will move swiftly and ably to resolve them to the best of my abilities." Those words had been rehearsed and said so much he could probably say them in the 6 languages he was fluent in – Russian, Dutch, Chinese, French, Spanish, and English – and not to mention sign language too, making it a total of 7. Hayate stands up, a relief washing over him that he hid well, the feelings coming back to both his legs. "I hereby call this meeting adjourned. Let it be when we reconvene next that much of what we have discussed here today has been resolved and up to standards of satisfaction of all parties."

The elders stood up and bowed, "we serve you well and true, Lord Hayate."

"I serve the council, honored elders." Hayate bowed.

One by one, they filtered out. Each elder stopping to give a good word of praise to him.

'Your father would be proud, Hayate.'

'You are the future of the clan!'

'We expect many great things from you, Lord Hayate.'

And on and on, the ass-kissing goes he feared they might actually one day drop to their knees, pucker their lips and lay a wet one on his cheeks. "Yeesh," he finally said after the council chamber had emptied. Finally, he could deflate, for a lack of better words, leaning back until he was lying down and closed his eyes while bringing a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. It felt good to drop the leader/lord face just for a moment before he had to return to his estate.

"I wonder if dad ever felt like this?" he said out loud. No way. His dad was born for this thing. Leadership, diplomacy, which was all his dad. Not him. He's a warrior, always have been. Trained from a young age in the art of combat. Exceled in spy craft. Deception. He could hit any target and they wouldn't even know what hit them until it was too late. That's what he was good at. Being a ninja. He knew it.

But somehow, the notion that he was just a fighter was something that escaped his dad's mind entirely. "You're my son, and this is what you were made for." No, dad. It was not. This is what his father was made for. Not him. Hayate was not his father. He just wished….just wished his dad would see that. Things that his father was groomed into do not necessarily mean they are gonna work for him. If anyone had the makings of the leader his dad was looking for in him, it was Ryu. He sighed. 'I shouldn't be thinking of this,' Hayate thought. He had other things to think of. And do, such as…

"Hiroto," Hayate called out. Within moments, his squire slid open the council door and was kneeling by the entryway, "My lord," he said dutifully.

"Fetch my swords and armor," he said. "We're going for a stroll." Hiroto nodded, "At once, my lord." And was gone within a blink of an eye. Hayate picked up on the sound of his feet going 'thump! Thump! Thump!' down the hallway as he went about to complete his lord's will.

Hiroto was insisted upon by his father. The son of another noble ninja clan loyal to the Mugen Tenshin. Which clan he wondered? Hayate made a mental note to ask. Hiroto was a good man, dutiful. Respectful. Honorable. All the qualities all men should have. "This really isn't the job for me…" he said, surprisingly the words coinciding with the arrival of the young squire now bearing his armor and sword while also having donned his own. "My lord, your sword and armor," he announced.

Hayate nodded, "Good. Let's get started."

-0000-

This is a feeling which cannot be put into words no matter how one tries. The closest, if one were to hazard their own guess, would be freedom. That's it. It's freedom.

Pure, unfiltered, and adrenaline fueled freedom. The freedom of choice. The freedom of the mind. The body. And the spirit. Out here, up amongst the trees, he was a hunter. Soaring through open air like an eagle. With the grace of an acrobat. The speed of a striking pit viper. He was deadly. Fearless, and free.

"There are…no strings…on me," Hayate said with a comical low growl as he grabbed a branch and swung himself up into the taller parts of the tree. He noted the squire keeping pace with a slight struggle, 'he's never been pushed this hard before,' thought the veteran ninja as he whistled twice for halt.

"A small break, Hiroto."

"Yes, my lord…"

"Hayate!"

"…." The squire gave him a quizzical frown. "When it's just us, you can call me Hayate," talking to the young squire at that moment was not Hayate the lord, but just Hayate. The shinobi-warrior, and brother to Kasumi and Hayate.

Hiroto seemed to puzzle this moment, "Hayate…" he tested the feel of it. The former only nodded at him, "take your time. No pressure, bud."

Bud? This more casual Hayate and Lord Hayate are like two different people, noted the squire. "A friend of mine used to say that. She uh…yeah, she was a good friend." Images of shoulder length blonde hair, blue eyes, and body built like a goddess and a red, white and blue bikini top and that southern belle accent flashed before his eyes. She was more than good. Tina was a breath of fresh air he didn't know he needed until their first bout in the second half of the DOA tournament after she had eliminated her father, Bass Armstrong.

'Used to?' Why past tense? The young squire wondered. "Ya fight like ya got the whole world on those shoulders of yours!"

"Pretty damn good, I imagine." He was trying to sound cocky. But it comes out sounding forced.

Tina Armstrong smirked, "damn stupid more like. You look stiffer than the broad side of my daddy's barn!" The look on her face was just screaming, 'now that's how you sound cocky' to his face as the female fighter stalked herself slowly over to where he was methodically.

Their bout was the talk of the table that day with many complimenting the Texas cowgirl wrestler for making the smug ninja lord of Japan sweat his eyeballs out. He'd asked her where she learned to fight like that just before she left Zack Island to go home. To Texas.

And her answer was, "when you grow up in Texas, the daughter of a pro-wrestling champion like my dad, and look fine as I am, you gotta learn to stand up for yourself." She spoke the words to him with a grin.

Then adds, "Hayate, yer a great fighter. Hell! Better than anyone I've ever seen. But ya ain't there. Your head's screwed on tight and in the fight, but…" she places a hand over his chest where his heart beat, "but your heart ain't in the fight. And that's a sad thing, coz that ain't no way a fighter should be. Fighting is freedom. It's a dance that shows the world who you really are, an expression of the soul. But you're not showing the world who you really are, you're not baring your soul. You're showing the world who your clan wants you to be, and not who Hayate, that's you, wants to be." Tina turns to look down the pier where a red, white and blue seaplane was waiting for her. Bass Armstrong in the pilot seat.

The large man, whom miraculously managed to fit his gigantic muscular frame into the aircraft, was giving him the meanest look a father could give any male fancying his baby girl. The ninja was not sure what to make of that, so he instead just smiled awkwardly and waved.

That only seemed to make the big man sneer even deeper. Quickly he looks away to stare at the bikini top wearing cow girl in daisy duke shorts, her slim and shapely curved figure fitting nicely in her rather skimpy outfit now currently entering the plane that would take her back to the mainland.

Tina must've known he was staring based on the extra sway she put in her hips as she walked the last few meters to the plane and even made a small show of suggestively entering the plane, topping it off with a wink at him. "That woman…." Hayate sighed, shaking his head, watching as her plane started down a small stretch of ocean until it was in the air going further and further till it was nothing but a fading black dot in the endless stretch of blue sky. Hayate turns around to start his way back to the resort to check the roster to find out who he'll be fighting next.

"You speak fondly of this lady Tina, my lord. Were you lovers?"

Hayate sputtered, flushing red. He answered, "N-no, we were just friends!" said the ninja a little too loudly and a touch too defensively. Hiroto thought he liked this casual Hayate more than Lord Hayate.

The former was just hoping that the squire didn't catch him in a lie.

"Hayate…ugh~ AH!"

He just didn't think anyone was ready to find out about that part of his life just yet.

"Ah…ah…! Yes! YES! It FEELS GOOD LIKE THAT! MMM~ AH-HA!"

Today sure was hot though. He was sweating a bit. 'Maybe I should call it a day, huh?' Hayate thought. Maybe it was time to head home. It's been a long tiring day, and council meetings have sapped much of his energy to continue with his stroll.

Yes! Rest. That's right – that is what he needed. Rest.

'And maybe a certain cowgirl writhing underneath you, you dog!' What was wrong with him today all of a sudden!

"Okay, Hiroto," Hayate stood up, "That's enough for today, we should head back now." Said Hayate trying to channel Lord Hayate in that moment.

"As you command," Hiroto noted the lack of firmness in the voice, but nevertheless went with it. His lordship had a long day and was probably very tired. He'd see to that the cooks prepared some herbal soups and foods that replenish his energy. And maybe have a special meal of barbecue brought up to him. A knowing smile pulled at the edge of his face as he leapt off the branch he was perched on and started ahead, best not to let his lordship see the look on his face. 'I could do without the extra push-ups today,' thought Hiroto.

-0000-

What could it be to give her such thoughts? It had happened all so fast there were times she found herself asking what it is that made her go into this relationship. There was no chemistry whatsoever. Nothing to say that these two had some sign of getting together – that they would work out.

It was one of those things that just happens. Spur of the moment type of thing.

By which she actually means is a visibly traumatized soldier coming home and tearing her clothes off and ravaging her in ways that had her gasping and screaming for her life lost in the throes of sexual ecstasy. If so, then yes! It was that sort of spur of the moment thing.

Ayane flushed at the memory. "Ghmm!" she cleared her throat and refocused her efforts on her task at hand; grocery shopping with Fumiko-obasan. It has gotten quite lonely at being at that apartment since Jake left for his rehabilitation program with his team. And since her stint as the shadow knight crime in Japan had dropped a few percent down the chart. Criminals were running scared, and thinking twice now about committing any offense fearing her visit should they do. It makes her smile knowing she was making a change of sorts and living her life the way she had wanted to live it for the longest time.

The freedom to make her choices and choose her own missions. "Growing up, I did always want to be a hero and make the world a better place and all." The old woman was quiet as she weighed her option in cereals. Apparently, she had quite a sweet tooth – the old landlady currently was trying to choose either a chocolate flavored puffball cereal or the fruit loops? She chose both.

"I'm sorry you had to find out like that, Fumiko-obasan. I didn't mean to frighten you." The old woman's only response was to hum and push her cart slowly out the cereal aisle. Once clear, she spoke, "I wasn't just scared, Ayane. But also worried and I'm very upset too." The shorter woman puts a hand on the taller girl's shoulder as she says this.

Ayane fell quiet. It was like disappointing a grandmother that spoiled you and felt bad later. So the only thing to do is to be quiet and to take your reprimand and hope she forgives you. "You remind me of my husband. Especially when he was younger. You see he worked as a bouncer for different night clubs when we first started dating. And some nights things would get rough. So rough that I would have to leave home at 4 in the morning for the hospital because he had gotten into a scuff with some drunk patron. And when I heard the door knock last night and saw you covered in blood…" Fumiko pauses to place a hand over where she had stitched the girl back together on her side and sighed, "I saw my late husband for a second. You are a good girl. And I fear this path you've chosen will only hurt you more."

Ayane replied, "Are you telling me not to do the right thing?"

The old woman shook her head, "I'm saying fight smarter. My husband did. After the first few nights of bouncing and having a feel of the types of drunk patrons, he bought brass knuckles and carried them in his pocket. He never used them…much. But they had the effect he wanted them to have. If they had a knife, he had a baton. See, he had a philosophy he believed, if they have a stick, then you carry a bigger stick. What I'm saying, Ayane, is most fights can be won mentally without costing your physical safety."

Ayane nodded. She understood what the old woman meant. "I'm sorry for worrying you…and upsetting you too."

Fumiko-obasan nodded, "Hmm. It's alright, I'm just an old woman worried for someone she sees as her granddaughter." But one question still gnawed at the back of her mind.

"Does Jake know?"

The answer was no. Ayane didn't know how he would react to that if he did. She thought, he's already got so much to think about, it's probably for the best he doesn't know this. It's been a bit of an up and down the hill for of battle with him. "I think being a soldier again hurts him. And it wasn't long ago he lost a friend in battle is also opening some old wounds that never healed properly. I don't think it right to burden him with this."

The old landlady nodded understandingly. "Being a soldier is not an easy cross to bear, but I ask for him, not as someone who is a soldier, but someone who's your lover, does he know?" That question throws her off, but she hides it well enough to shake her head, "No."

Fumiko-obasan let's a small smile grace her gentle old features, "hmm, don't you think he should? He does love you. Quite a lot, I see." Ayane knew she meant well. But she too didn't quite understand what they were. Again, their relationship didn't exactly start out the normal sort of way. Mentally exhausted soldier ravages ninja girl and becomes a couple type of unique.

"Did anyone say that love should start a certain way? Do relationships need to go through some process to happen? I think not. So I don't see why you should feel that your relationship with him should be an exception." Ayane wondered how is it that this tiny old woman knew what was going through her mind so much. "But if you're still confused as to where you both stand then maybe once he returns you should talk to him."

"…talk to him?" the purple haired ninja repeats. And the old woman nods, "Why, communication is key of course," she says with a smile.

The kunoichi takes a moment to herself to consider this, "I think we have enough groceries now." The old woman announces, going over her list again to make sure. Nodding to herself, Fumiko-obasan begins pushing her cart down the aisle towards the checkout counter.

Ayane catches up with her, "Do you think I should?" She asks.

Fumiko-obasan hummed and said, "I believe that's up to you, dear. Things like these, no outsider's advice will ever amount to any help. But the best advice I've followed from my late husband is this, trust your heart and brain to make the right choice for one cannot function without the other. We often believe that the heart and mind are two separate forcs in decision making. When actually they're needed to work together. Any choice made solely by following one or the other often leads to disaster or the lack thereof."

"Find a decision on which both can agree on – the heart follows what's right, and the brain rationalizes what is it about that right is right. Because even a right can be wrong no matter how right it may seem."

Ayane was silent whilst Fumiko-obasan dropped her pearls of wisdom, "the world nowadays functions on the mentality of doing right for yourself is okay even if it hurts others, but I disagree. I think that doing right by yourself should never come at the cost of others no matter what. For any right that comes with the price of hurting others is no right at all. And anyone with such a mindset will often find themselves following the same path as what you youngsters know them as toxic. We must be better, because the right thing should both benefit the individual as it does the collective." The smile that graced her lips then could only be described as ethereal, from Fumiko-obasan's point-of-view, she may as well have been a goddess then with her unique hair color and softened features. In her heart she prayed to God to keep her safe at all times. She knew she couldn't talk her out of her vigilantism. 'Oh you would've loved her, dear,' Fumiko thought of her late husband. Indeed, he would've loved her for she was the daughter they always wished they had.

After their grocery shopping trip, it was a small ice cream detour which Ayane paid for. Today was a good day and she felt a great weight lifted itself off her shoulders.

-0000-

The old outpost. Seeing it for the first time really does give you a sense of it having seen better days.

Ryu had filled him in on the details of the area. This old research station was used by physicians and scholars or as the modern world calls them, Doctors and Scientists, to study shadow creatures.

"That ladder is in no shape or form, safe." Jeremy trailed the ladder, or rather the remains of one, up the tree towards the large circular observation post. It reminded him of the fire watch towers in America.

Momiji chimed in beside him, "this place hasn't been used since the time of magic and monsters. Lost to history." She sounded more in awe.

"Hun, that ladder is a death trap," Jeremy pointed with his rifle. His wife only smiled, "I thought Navy SEALs are supposed to be fearless." Behind him, he could hear 3 of his Slayers and some Berserker warriors chucking amongst themselves.

Jeremy ignored them to eye the ladder once more, growing wary with each pass his eyes made of the structure. "Yeah. Well, fearless is one thing, and having common sense is another and right now, common sense is telling this outpost is a bad idea."

"Well, it was either here or nowhere at all. IF I know her, she'll be good on her word." Ryu's voice assured the Navy SEAL from above somewhere in the observation station of this meeting with this her. And this her they were going to meet, this her who may have information on what happened at this outpost – the other one, not this one.

When asked who this her was, his wife and Ryu only shrugged saying, "best you see for yourself…" which was totally not cryptic at all.

Turning around to the group, Jeremy gave the order to set up camp. "I want tent up and a perimeter 20 meters spread," and there was for once, in a long while, activity at the old outpost. "I'll set up a rope ladder, take Jeremy's mind off the death trap." Momiji playfully jabbed at her husband who gave a deadpan response, "haha" as he broke out his tent and started setting it up.

While the Mugen Tenshin were making ready their shelters, the berserker clan warriors, Johann and Hvitserk, opted to hunt. This side of the mountain bordered the Berzerker clan territories. And it was abundant in game.

Ryu watched the two warriors disappear into the foliage before continuing through the inside of the outpost finding long abandoned notebooks and other research equipment. "Fascinating," he said to himself, taking one of these notebooks, carefully flipping through them as they were very fragile and needed delicate handling. If he weren't a ninja, he would've loved to be a scientist.

He loved science. It was always a favorite of his. Just the way a scientist sees the world, there is a certain magic to the way they study and learn about the world and till this day it never stops to fascinate him how much there is to the world and how little of it he understands.

"Professor Hayabusa," Momiji would tease him whenever she caught him reading High School Biology textbooks. And he would also, at times, carry a notebook, pen and pencil and walk rounds of his yard identifying species of flowers, trees, insects and whatever animal that happened to be passing through his backyard. Up in the mountains, there wasn't a shortage of flora and fauna to be found, and his notebooks filled with sketches and notes is a testament to its abundance of life and Ryu's curiosity.

"Pack all of these and have them sent to my estate. I'll examine them once we've concluded our business here." Ryu told one of the Mugen Tenshin warriors. The dark clad warrior nodded, "As you command, my lord."

A laughing voice outside went, "That should do for now! Stable enough, dear husband?" It was Momiji just mercilessly teasing away at her husband. The former SEAL Lieutenant said something, though Ryu couldn't quite hear what it was, but it made her laugh away more.

Ryu picked up some grumbling from his friend and shook his head, "Truly you've come a long way, Jeremy." Said the Ninja, referring to a time when they were at odds with one another.

The meeting wouldn't be for another hour or so, which gave him ample time to read through some of the notes he found scattered and the assortment of books that lay about covered in thick layers of dust and time had done its best to preserve them for as long.

Pulling up a chair, he gave the title a once over and frowned. 'The Notes and Accounts of Doctor Thomas Van Zandt' it read in white lettering.

Ryu raised his brows upon reading that name. He knew this man. Not personally, but the Doctor was one of the first outsiders ever to be granted passage into the Valley of the 10 Clans. "I always wanted to read about his travels," said the Ninja warrior, scratching his chin. So read he did.

There was the sound of flapping wings and a cry of "SIR!"

And a woman laughed.

"Give me a damn good reason why I shouldn't blow your head off!" The words shot forth like a cannonball with every bit of ill intent behind it. Ryu emerged out onto the balcony and saw the Slayers doing their best to separate the former SEAL Lieutenant and…

"Nyotengu, you're early." Greeted Ryu from his spot up top. The tall man leaps over the rails and lands on the dirt beneath with practiced ease.

The beautiful woman known as Nyotengu turns away from Jeremy to acknowledge his presence, "Hmmm," she hums and unfolds her fan. Her amethyst eyes peak from behind her bangs as she circled the taller Ryu like she was examining him.

"My, you've grown since we last saw one another," playfully her voice said as her tongue pokes out to lick her lips. "It's been what? 4 years." Answered Ryu and her giggling was all the answer he needed.

"You come to my mountain seeking my help, shinobi. Remember that. And here I do as I please, late or early or on time, I do all as I wish and as I please and I thought it pleasing to be here early; it has been so long since I've had the pleasure to graced by the presence of Hayabusa Ryu, greatest shinobi alive…" she turns away to face his companions. "And his friends," she sneered that last part looking at Jeremy.

Ryu bowed his head, "Indeed, my lady – no truer words have been spoken today. We are in your domain now. And whether you choose to help us or not, is entirely up to you to decide, fair Nyotengu of Tengu Mountain." At that she seemed to relish the compliment as befitting her. Her wings flapped.

Ryu stepped forward, "we come seeking council, Lady Nyotengu. It is urgent for I would not be here if it were not but you know the mountains, the land and the creatures that roam, would you spare us but some of your time to give answer to the questions I bore with me."

The raven haired Tengu folds her fan close, "Very well," she said after much consideration. Then closing in to his ear, she whispers, "But not here. Too many ears about us. Too many eyes. Even the wind carries their voices to our enemies." And steps back from him.

"Follow me," she bid them come and said not another word after.

The company followed her.

"When were you going to tell me it was Nyotengu we were going to meet?" Asked Jeremy, his hard eyes never leaving the Tengu.

"I wasn't," answered Ryu. "But there isn't another soul I trust to know the happenings of the mountains and the land than her, for she is its guardian and as proven in the past, true to her words as well as to others." The shinobi hoped that his answer would calm his friend or at most to turn back the hostility dial between the two. He had to tread wisely and carefully and be as diplomatic as possible should he wish to leave with the answers he seek.

The company's path cuts through a part of the forest known as the forbidden forest. Though time had turned them into myths, nature had made something else entirely. Something…supernatural.

"Here resides all manner of legends and myths that which humanity forgot. But not for the guardians of the land," Nyotengu said to the company.

The forest was much different than the one they came in. It was alive, in its own way. Every leaf, every rock and stone, down to the stream that flows and the wind that blows, everything felt different and much more alive.

"Why is it forbidden to tread upon these lands?" Jeremy asked.

Nyotengu answered him, "Just as there are laws for endangered species, so are there laws for supernatural creatures. Many of these were displaced or hunted to near extinction during the changing of the world. I, and many such as myself, are charged with their protection. Hoping against hope that in time there will be a new age, of coexistence between man and beast." A shrill cry comes from above and the company was besieged first by large shadows then the winds like that of a hurricane.

"DEFENSIVE POSITIONS!" Jeremy shouted for the Slayers, weapons ready. Rifles pointed skyward at the oncoming darkness that carried with it hurricane-like winds and from it issued a loud, long and shrill cry that wound take the heart of any man.

But the Slayers are not any man, for they are ninja selected through a physical trial of great labor, and only those that passed were chosen to be slayers. Indeed, Ninjas they were trained in the ways of the Navy SEALs, the proud clan of warriors of which Jeremy hailed from.

Through the defensive perimeter they had set, Nyotengu burst forth from the walls of people present shouting a halt, "DO NOT SHOOT, FOOLS!" her voice commanded them.

Ryu's voice added itself, "Let no harm befall this legendary beast!" signaling for all hands to stand-by. Down to earth came this mighty eagle and presented itself the way a soldier does before his liege lord. The eagle bowed its great head in greeting towards the Tengu before her. She lifted her hand to touch its head and soft brown feathers and whispered in a tongue unknown to it. As quickly as it came, with a single movement of its wings, he took to the air and once more cried out its shrill cry.

"That was Suzaku, the last of the great phoenixes to roam this world."

And magnificent it was to behold such a creature as was shown in the faces of all present then. "Ever it is said that its appearance brings good tidings for the lord of flame and wind is regarded as a messenger of good fortune in these lands." Nyotengu said to the company. "But now we must not idle here. You come seeking council and you bring with you a burden in your hearts, come and unburden yourselves of it. Take heart that you are all blessed by Suzaku for the wind of his wings cleanses the body, mind and soul of all darkness."

With one last look back, Jeremy carried forth to rejoin the company that started up the path behind the dark clad tengu. It must've been 15 after 4 when they came to a stop beneath a great tree unlike them had seen. White was it from the tallest leaf to the deepest roots. The leaves shimmered in the sunlight and there seem, if his ears were being deceived or not, a song about it. Hidden voices that hum and harmonized about it with each turn of white leaf and sway of the branches. "What is this?"

"We have no name for it. If it had a name, lost is it to time. We simply call it the White Tree of the Forest for a lack of better names, but the Tengu call it, 'The soul of the forest'."

Now she turns to them and bids them sit and from the earth, like a fist through glass and slithering like a million serpents, the roots moved and slithered and took to form of round seats. "Sit," Once more she tells them and seats herself upon the white roots of the soul tree.

The day draws on. Nyotengu listens to all that Ryu had brought with him and his company beneath the shade of the great soul tree. When he was done, she said to him, "Dark be the tidings you have brought indeed." Turning away west, she adds, "But darker be the days in these lands – the grass and the trees, the winds and the earth, the waters and every little thing that dwell here – something has stirred the forest and its creatures. Strange men walk these lands. Shadow creatures roaming unchecked, felling the unseemly. But late is the hour of which you bring these tidings. One month too late." The guardian sits herself back on her seat of roots and her wings flapped behind her.

Ryu inclined his head in an apologetic bow, "Late it maybe, but I had but to exhaust every theory and observation put forth and when none yielded the results. The most probable of results. Hence, I sought the wisdom of the lady of the mountain for she knows all that happens within her realm." The others watched this exchange deeply.

Then a silence fell once Ryu had finished speaking and waited for Nyotengu's response. "You seek answers to questions that which you can find none. Desperate are the days when the old ways are once again practiced, for it was Tenshin Shiraishi, the father of your clan, established that the houses of man and mountain shall be joined in marriage and long since has that been the law of these mountains but many years would come and go and soon the old alliance was forgotten when the white men came to our lands and we who live in the mountains and the forest would pass on into legends."

"But still, friend do I consider you, and the help and answers you seek shall be given; the answers you seek, I cannot give you fully for I too lack the means to translate their meaning but of only what I understand that the mountain tells me and it tells me this, the foe is among you. A dark viper of gold. Cunning and ruthless. Friendly with deep malice. He seeks that which should not be sought. The old promise of days gone, shall now be called forth to be fulfilled. Look into the records of old, the old outpost, it has stood for a time long under preservation of the forest of which its trees supply the wood that built it and so shall it be maintained in the name of goodwill and the joining of both the houses of men and the mountain. Dark are the days to come, Hayabusa Ryu."

Foreboding are the words fed into his ears. He would consider them deeply. The party, after refreshing themselves with fruits and drink provided by the lady, made their way back towards camp beneath the old outpost offering friendly partings to Nyotengu.

The sun had set behind the mountains and the company arrived back to their campsite. They would stay one night and depart at first light back to the village.

"So you braved the death trap," Ryu chuckled, turning to watch his friend still pale entering the room.

Jeremy, shaken, only said, "I hate heights," as he took and seat and seemed to exhale a breath he forgot he was holding.

The taller ninja nodded to the leader of the Slayers, "well, what brings you up here?" he asked.

"You, actually." Answered Jeremy, turning in his seat to face him, "I thought I'd check up and see you were doing."

A good friend he is, Ryu thought and smiled, "Thank you." He said, "And quite right, I feel the pieces of the puzzle already falling into place clearly and much that wasn't answered has been."

Jeremy thought to say something but turn his head down and pulled his lips into a tight smile and nodded. "Well, I'm glad you're alright. But what do you make of the riddles?"

"The riddles?" said Ryu.

"Yes, the riddles." Answered Jeremy.

"I'm unclear for the rest but 'the foe is among you' could mean that the enemy is someone from within the Mugen Tenshin. But I guess all shall be made clear in the records I have sent back to my estate. When we return, you and I should go through them together."

"Sure thing," nodded Jeremy.

-0000-

"How's Okinawa?" Asked Ayane as she rested her chin on her knee. Before he left, Jake had promised they would have a video chat every weekend night after training/before he slept. This was their second video call.

Jake replied, "About the same as any island – sunny, sandy, windy…" as if he were asked to describe the weather. Ayane giggled at his dry, and bored answer.

She tells him, "I miss you," and touches her finger to the screen of her tablet. As per protocol, the tablet and any calls made are encrypted ergo forestalling and forbidding any leaks that might compromise any information.

The young man tells her, "I miss you too," and mirrors her touching the screen. Jake saw the way her eyes glistened from her screen and felt the longing from her part. "So far, they haven't said anything yet about going home," he added, knowing that was what she was wanting to ask.

Ayane sighs, "Well, I can't say I'm not enjoying the extra leg space but I am," she holds the tablet at arms-length in one hand and spins around the room with her other hand stretched out in a presenting manner, jokingly saying, "don't be home too fast, I wanna enjoy this extra room!" and laughed.

Then there they sat looking into one another as if they were presently there physically in front of the other. Content is the silence that fell between the pair, and Jake broke it saying, "It's going to be okay," assuring her.

"How can you be sure?" asked her. Sometimes she wished she had his confidence in the matter but. Ayane lets out a small breath, "because we're different from other couples," answered her. Describing it as that just did not seem right to her. She felt as if, as if, it were forced upon them.

She says, frowning, "You say that like it's a bad thing," her words and voice came out a little too pointedly and she quickly corrected herself telling him, "Sorry, that sounded…mean." Jake shook his head, no. "No," he replied.

"I should've tried stringing my sentences better," said Jake, abashed. Both looked at one another face slightly red at the cheeks with searching eyes. "Are you alright?" Ayane's soft voice penetrated the veil of his turmoil mind. The troubled far off look upon his face worried her deeply. Seldom has he ever been struck with uncertainty that it brings about an ill feeling to her heart whenever he seemed lost in troubled thoughts.

Absent-mindedly, or rather, subconsciously, his fingers traced the bump of the scar in his side over his t-shirt. Jake glanced off slightly to the left as images of that day flashed before him as if he were there again. He shook his head to rid those images from out of his mind, "I am…" and answered Ayane after a seemingly long pause. Though his answer was meant to assure, the manner in which he spoke was anything but.

She thought to press him on but thought better of the matter. She hummed, agreeing. "Okay," she said to him.

Still the kunoichi kept a read on his face for any changes that might need her questioning. None came. Not for half an hour. Not for an hour. And not for two.

Time ticked by slowly as drops of dew from a blade of grass. They talked and smiled at one another heedless of anything and everything that happened or was happening beyond their walls then and there. And Jake Kashima relayed to her what plans he had in mind for when returns back to the mainland. "We'll figure it out as we go," he answered when the question of their relationship was brought up. And that answer seemed to assure her more than the last and he was glad for that. Uncertainty hung like a cloud above their heads, but brighter thoughts prevailed it seem as Jake touched a finger to the screen wishing to be beside her. "I should be getting to bed now," said the young man for it was almost time for lights out and he would be needing his strength as he had been needing it for every day that has passed since their arrival upon the sandy white shores of Okinawa.

Ayane bobbed her head in nodding, "okay," said her and touched a finger to her lips and pressed it on his face in the screen.

Jake replies, "I love you," and did the same too. Their chat ended and just then the base horn sounded its shrill cry for lights out. "Time for bed," said Jake to himself.

Sleep would not find Jake Kashima as he lay there staring up at the ceiling. Time drew on, tick, tick, tick! It crept and crept and kept on creeping by the seconds agonizingly slow. He breathes, in and out, thinking of anything and everything that would take his mind of boredom and this general feeling of restlessness that's keeping him awake.

Jake slid his arm to the nightstand to his right and nothing. His phone was not there. "I left it in the locker…again," he sighed. The bed held no sway of comfort, neither did the sheets promise any warmth tonight, he may as well be sleeping naked outside.

Giving up, the young operator sat up, rubbed his face and thought, what am I going to do?

-0000-

Excerpt from Ayane's journal:

I worry about him; look at me, worrying about someone else. If the old me could see this new me now, she'd be so disappointed. INot caring often made life easier, at least to me, no baggage. The mission came first, always – you do your job and when you're done, you move onto the next. And then the next, until either you've outlived your uses, or, you get unlucky on the next one and it becomes your last.

That's always been life for me – getting my hands dirty so others won't. Started out as a form of trying to gain some recognition from the elders. But after a while, you realized that, you could take on any mission they could give you – no matter how fucked up – they will never see you as one of theirs. Why should they? I'm the bastard daughter of the man that nearly killed the clan.

Born of rape, once I accepted that I was a stain life in the village became a question of, 'when is the next mission' and so it goes, the daughter of Raidou, Mugen Tenshin's bane.

Momiji often said, teased more like, that I would one day find someone that was going to break whatever walls I built around myself. No matter what I did, it would never be enough because this person was going to find a way into my cold dead heart and I often hated Momiji for the fact that she was never wrong. Is that a power of some sorts that comes with being the dragon priestess? I wouldn't know – I'm just the one they send to clean a mess made by the other ninjas.

In a way, Momiji was right (pains me to admit it) but she is right…I could never let what happened that day happen again…ever.

-0000-

Jake never felt the blade pierce him; Ayane merely saw the quick flash of silver and it didn't hit her until she saw Jake slumped over against the assailant. Whoever they were, they were ninja. But they bore no mark to show what clan they were.

She couldn't think of such things then. Her concern was all focused on the slumped figure propped against this unknown enemy. The sick blade sticking out the back like some horrible metal fist. The gun clattered to the ground, the sound it made may as well have been the death bells tolling in her ears.

"JAKE!" she screamed, rushing forward with as much speed she could squeeze out of herself. She caught him before he hit the ground as the ninja leapt back and disappeared over the balcony on the second floor of the mall.

More ninja lay dead, among the slain were men with guns – mercenaries, she concluded – some had their throats slashed to ribbons. Some riddled with bullet holes they were practically deflating before her, but her attention was focused on Jake in her arms. The blade was still embedded within him. How could this be? Who were they?

She had been careful, like Hayate and Ryu had told her. But how did they know: Who were they? But she knew. Oh, she knew just who would be so bold as to carry out an attack like this, random as it may appear to the untrained eyes. But she knew.

---

A/N: After such a long absence, we return to Jake and Ayane's adventures - we're going forward, and there's so much to unpack. Honestly, I have never had such a case of writer's block that I had taken so long to finish writing this chapter. Either way, here you go. I just hope i haven't disappointed, it's been such a trying time just trying to write.

Jake's life is slowly crossing into ninja territory, his only experience with ninja have been good. But now we're gonna put the fear of shug the Ayane-centered chapter as we speak.

Patience is a virtue. And please enjoy.