He hated America.
He hated their disrespect, he hated their materialism, he hated their obsession over mindless entertainment, he hated their disregard for the past, and their disdain for the future. He hated their constant shouting, he hated their vanity and undeserved arrogance, he hated their culture and their politics.
He hated their needless warring, both against others and themselves. He hated their food and wine. He hated how thoroughly they managed to destroy their own lands, once brimming with life and abundant in resources enough to propel nearly anyone who controlled it to dominance over the whole of the world. Resources that they managed to completely squander with the inelegant policies and inefficient solutions.
He knew the nature of the American. Brutish and violent, at home in war and restless in peace, constantly seeking to shed the shackles of any authority that comes to bring them a better future. Their love of getting drunk and loudly celebrating even the smallest and least noteworthy occasions. Their hypocrisy in allowing themselves to become livestock so long as their bellies were full, throwing away all their previous demands for freedom.
He hated how far the once mighty Onis had fallen. Where were the warriors that he dueled in the skies upon eagles of steel and with bolts of fire? Where was the empire that could bring the world to heel, and force the Emperor to look small next to their statures? Where were the people who managed to force Japan to kneel with spears of sunlight dropped upon their cities?
As Arasaka rose, he was not greeted by the worthy enemy of his youth, but the rotting carcass of it being picked at by cardinal scavenger birds.
Onigashima had fallen, leaving only the worthless America in its place. There was no glory to be had in destroying them now, no worthy adversary to overcome. Just teeming masses of American cattle, patiently waiting for chains to bind them. Consumerist dogs, willing to buy anything with a pretty label and served with a smile, even if that thing was a leash. Willing to buy comfort at the cost of their warrior pride.
He hated America.
His eventual conquest of them is a mercy.
Yojimbo had been an idle experiment of his, so long ago. Take one of the Americans that still embodies a fraction of their Oni lineage, brutish, violent, proud, and see what can be done with it. Even if the Oni cannot be revived, perhaps the American can be turned into an effective vassal warrior.
For a while, it looked to be rather unremarkable. About what he was expecting. Yojimbo was still as brutish as he was before, still as violent and prideful, still just as American as before. His unique capacity to remain unchanged by the traumatic process was the only thing that prevented him from ordering his early dismissal.
In time, Yojimbo was used more and more often by his son, Kei. Elimination of problematic rivals and groups, search and destruction of a particular escaped subject, the occasional bodyguarding duty. Kei eventually confessed to him that he found Yojimbo's candor charming in its own right, a willingness to speak his mind that occasionally aided Kei in dismissing certain courses of action. All sons need allies, and more importantly, a friend to trust their secrets to. He was not impressed with his son's choice in confidant.
All boys are quarrelsome with their fathers, this is nature.
It was for this reason that he stayed his hand when his granddaughter started to court him. Seeking to dominate his attention and time with her chatter and insults, it was quite obvious that she held affections for him. Still, his behavior around her remained appropriately respectful, which was rare. Yojimbo respected him, Kei, and few others. This was a good thing to see, so it was allowed to happen.
Then his granddaughter was tricked, and a traitorous assassin used her naivety to get close. Both of them nearly died, and an altercation broke out between two hot-blooded fools.
It ended with his granddaughter missing an arm, and Yojimbo screaming, chained to the floor.
A setback of such severe proportions like that could not be allowed to happen again. Kagekaze was ordered to find all those who might do the same, and remove them as threats. Over the course of the next three years, everyone who Yojimbo once knew before Arasaka was quietly executed in the night. They had doubtlessly missed some, but he needed Kagekaze to perform other duties after that point.
Namely, teaching Yojimbo the finer arts. The ways of fist and courtly manner, the tongue of Japan and its ceremonies, and similar. Yojimbo improved in mannerisms and combat, but his bubbling fury for all things remained obvious to all who looked.
So Saburo deployed him far away from Japan, and waited to see if he would one day master his fury.
It took decades, decades before that happened. He had all but given up at that point. His empire had no appropriate heir, his ancient enemies were dead and forgotten for the rest of history, and more and more of his projects seem destined for failure.
A hairsbreadth before death, he was once given a vision of fire. Not in the sky above him, of Japan ascendent over the whole of the world, but across the sea. A vision of his vassal American, soul set aflame, reborn as an Oni, tempered as a Samurai. A vision that his ancient enemy could return, and could be trained and reforged into warriors loyal to Japan.
He felt young again, reinvigorated and brimming with the rejuvenated fires of that vision.
The Heavens had answered him with resounding approval. Victory was assured, he had only to continue his path.
A red sun, suspended in the sky above a red tree, whose roots encompassed the whole of the world.
He had felt like celebrating, but that first required an adequate reason. It would not do to celebrate simply for the sake of celebration, he was not an American after all. To his delight, the Heavens answered once again with an uprising of locals near Yojimbo's trial holdings, a perfect opportunity for Yojimbo to ride out, destroy the enemies of Arasaka, and for his return and victories to be celebrated.
The Heavens only continued to shower him in gifts, as Yojimbo was struck down by a hideous Namazu. A mere few minutes later, Yojimbo's spirit was retrieved from the underworld and cast back into his body to continue fighting.
When it seemed like he could no longer bear the weight of any more fortune, the Heavens bestowed a final miracle. A Dragon.
A Dragon!
Yojimbo had quested forth to recover his apprentice, and in the process slain a dragon! Not only that but uncovering a vast network of tunnels in the region, and slain the dragon's allies to a man.
He would make an offering for the rest of his days for all this, the heavens would know his gratitude in full. He would make it a national holiday when revealing this was no longer a potential legal risk…
Ah, what was he saying? He'd ask the Emperor to declare it a holiday the moment he got back to Japan. His old friend would surely make it so, the boy demanded a game of shoji at least once every month, he could do at least this for Saburo.
He knew how much the slight smile on his face alarmed his servants and vassals, he couldn't quite find it in himself to suppress it as usual.
Upon the gentle rocking of the Kujira speeding towards America, he looked out to the relatively calm seas, and sipped his tea.
The Kujira was a five-landing deck supercarrier, one of the only ships of its class. This is mostly because it was relatively worthless for its intended design parameters. The spaces between each deck was ultimately too narrow for any human pilot to reliably land or depart off of, requiring each aircraft under Arasaka control either be modified to include an AI pilot for landing and lift-offs, or repurposing the ship in its entirety.
It was only the fortuitous creation of a practical flight-capable ACPA that prevented him from executing the entire design team responsible for the Kujira's flaws. They were docked five years of pay and warned to not make the mistake again. They have yet to make such a mistake again
So the Kujira was partially remodeled, half of the hangars refitted to service a vast army of the new Arasaka GEV ACPA, and the outer half reserved for smaller, one-man jets and drones.
The main advantage of the Kujira was not its ability to transport massive quantities of war material, although that was great indeed. No, the main advantage of the Kujira was its speed.
Forty-five knots.
A standard one-deck supercarrier typically ranges from twenty to thirty knots. Some of the more efficacious designs from Militech could travel up to around forty knots flat. The Kujira, with its five landing decks, could travel five knots faster than even that. In the grand logistics of a proper war, that was a substantial advantage indeed.
The second advantage was it was one of the few ships hard coded to never be targeted by the Ryujin Sea-Mine AI. He still loathed the wasted potential of that project.
A series of sea-mines and underwater mining facilities, managed by a network of Master-Slave AI, and intended to halt all oceanic travel save for what Arasaka allowed.
Unfortunately, those that programmed its initial parameters gave it an ironclad logic system. There was a non–zero chance that any ship could hold passengers that Arasaka did not permit, and thus it would target all ships, even those belonging to Arasaka itself. The emergency patch uploaded to try and correct this was rejected by its systems as a net-attack, and from then on they could no longer communicate with it.
Those responsible for that failure were publicly executed after an open-and-shut trial. Some of the first public executions in the world in decades, as was appropriate for their mistake. They were not offered the honor of seppuku, they lost that right.
The oceans of the world were now locked off to everyone, even Arasaka, with but a few lonely ships hardcoded to never be targeted by it.
To assuage the rest of the world, all but one of these ships were gifted to the various powers of the world, leaving Arasaka with exactly one that could still cross the seas controlled by Ryujin. The Kujira now swam through an ocean empty of enemies, its only use now was to deliver war material and warriors to distant battlefields. It would never battle upon the open ocean, as all other things would be struck down long before by the uncontrollable sea-mines.
All the effort of creating Kujira, and it would never be used to its fullest extent.
Another disappointment. Another failed project. Arasaka's history was filled with them, all he could do was repurpose them as best he could.
He took a second sip of his tea, idly noting how cool it had gotten as he sat in thought. The seabreeze swept across him, bringing nostalgic memories of a war more than a century ago. That was fine, even cool tea was delicious and healthy. Not the sugar-filled abomination of America, but the proper rejuvenating tea of Japan.
"Takemura." He spoke, starting a conversation in idleness.
"Yes Arasaka-sama?" Dutiful and efficient, Takemura immediately responded.
"Yojimbo spoke well of your performance. Upon reviewing his and your memories, I am inclined to agree."
"I am honored, Arasaka-sama."
"You are aware of the rising tensions among the powers of the world." It was a statement, not a question. He had full awareness of what Takemura knew and didn't know. "If you were leading the armies of Arasaka, how would you take advantage of the coming conflicts?"
There were a few moments of silence as Takemura considered the question carefully. Saburo took another sip of his tea in the meantime.
"I would deploy agents to gently inflame the tensions between neighboring powers, once they begin warring, only occasional action would be required to keep them focused on eachother. With attention not upon Arasaka, I would deploy our chiefest assets to disable or take control of as many ortillery platforms as possible, negating such as a potential threat. The primary bulk of Arasaka's forces would be recalled from their working among other factions and deployed defensively. From there it would be a matter of endurance and selective strikes on key targets with our ACPA and Shinobi."
Exactly as he taught him then. Good. In a wide range of failures and disappointments, Takemura Goro was a resounding success. He continued without indicating his approval or disapproval yet.
"The selective nuclear strikes on Indian soil, how many objectives do you think that achieved?"
Another moment for Takemura to think, another moment for him to take a sip of his tea.
"It caused a large disruption in a rival power, forcing the factions within to focus internally until resolved. It damaged many rival schools of martial arts, slowing the rate of their training and growth. It crippled a corporation focused on budget-option weaponry, indirectly increasing the demand for such and sales of Arasaka budget options. It distracted a great deal of surrounding powers long enough for a larger raid on the AI-city in Korea."
Hm… not quite everything. "Take in account India's historic policies and relations."
"...Once India recovers enough to become an external threat, they will likely blame Pakistan and go to war for that reason."
"Correct. Two less powers for Arasaka to worry about for the upcoming conflicts."
"I apologize Arasaka-sama."
Saburo nodded in acknowledgement. "You will be attending lessons in such matters in the upcoming months. It will be important for your role."
"...Arasaka-sama?"
He took another sip of his tea with a small smile.
"When we arrive in America, there will be a ceremony for Yojimbo's successes in the past year. During which I will gift Muramasa to him, and he will be elevated as a branch member of Arasaka."
"Yes Arasaka-sama." A small degree of jealousy, but there was no real need. This experiment had proven to be a great success, so it was only proper to try again.
"After we return, you will be assigned a new holding to govern on my behalf."
Takemura's breath caught in his throat, Saburo didn't need to look to know that. He didn't need to say anything more, Takemura knew full well the implications of what he was saying.
Saburo finished his cool tea, and Takemura dutifully poured him a refill from the hot pot. The stream had exactly one stutter in its pour, evidence of Takemura's sudden nerves.
Only a few more hours before they arrived in America. For perhaps the first time in his life, Saburo was excited for it.
—
Doc Borge was a simple man. He liked to make money, he liked a good XBD, he liked cutting people up and putting in all kinds of metal in them. He wasn't really an exception to this, what with his quick-change mounts and a whole bunch of specialty arms.
A few months ago, some gonk had bought out his rented building, and forced him out at gunpoint. It was against his philosophy to pick fights over things like that, so he packed up his things and moved out. He was lucky that whole 'ripperdoc guild' popped up, otherside he might be on the streets right now.
Heh heh, well, more on the streets than a ripperdoc already was. Still, they gave him enough time to set up a new shop, albeit with a lousy deal to give 'em a percentage of his profits for the guild, but soon enough he was back in business. Chipping in chrome for sorry gonks with more eddies than sense.
Shame he had to actually give 'em painkillers now, guild rules. Buncha pansies, he didn't use painkillers when getting his own chrome chipped in, and his customers didn't neither. All that did was dull the senses, the corps put shit in those that kill your brain cells you know?
Right now, he was almost chuckling to himself as he casually strolled around behind the building he used to work out of, the one just across the bridge from Heywood. He was pretty good at pulling off the drunk malaka, so nobody paid him no mind as he stumbled into the alley.
Slumping against a particular section of wall, he slowly slid down until he was sitting still, head hung low.
A thin wire extended from his left wrist, a liveware, interface cables with just enough motive capabilities that you could move them around on their own. It snaked its way across the ground, up through a small hole in the wall he put there when he first moved in…
And plugged into the back of the camera on the otherside. Dumb gonk that forced him outta his shop must not've done a real thorough sweep of the wiring, otherwise he might've noticed. Heh, if he didn't notice, then tha sucker deserved to be screwed over by it.
Not that he was doing much screwin' right now, he was just kinda curious is all. A couple days ago the gonk closed the doors and locked himself inside, no customers in or out, and Doc Borge wanted to find out why.
He let the camera zoom and adjust to the interior, his vision in his left eye replaced with the interior of his shop's underground.
Inside there were a couple of suspicious looking guys (not that he was really one to talk) working on two bodies. His eyebrows furrowed and the camera zoomed a bit more.
…Was that ol' Davey?
He didn't end on the best terms with the kid, what with him losing it by the end. To his big surprise, the kid took it all the way to the top in a practically storybook ending. Kid fought up to Arasaka Tower and they called in Adam Smasher to take him down.
That's where the twist came in, Smasher took the kid on as an apprentice, and that shocked just about everyone.
It was a little bittersweet. He tried his best to not get attached to anyone he works on, but the kid had ended up growing on him by the end, even if he was slowly losing himself. It was his job to install parts for the customer though, so if the kid wanted to ignore his warnings, it wasn't his place to refuse to chrome him out. That's the professionalism of the ripperdoc right there.
He still kept up with tha' kid, what he was doing and all that, but kid didn't need a streetdoc no more. He was running around with Smasher and his 'Saka docs.
…or at least, he should be. These didn't look like no 'Saka docs, and the kid wasn't moving.
He was breathing, but he was a nugget right now, all four limbs detached, and helpless even if he was awake.
It didn't sit well with him. He debated getting involved for a moment. It really wasn't his place to get involved with other peeps screwing each other over…
He detached the livewire, drew it back into his wrist, sat up and sighed. He rubbed the back of his neck for a moment, warring with himself over it.
He didn't even know 'Smasher's number, no way of contacting the legendkiller regardless. He pushed himself up and brushed himself off…
He paused as he felt his most recent purchase in his coat. Pulling it out and looking at it.
An Official DangerGal sponsored 'Pretty Kitty' XBD, featuring Romeo herself. DangerGal was run by a 'saka chick, wasn't it?
He flipped over the case and looked at the back.
A hotline number for official business and leaving tips.
He sighed and ran his fingers through his greasy hair.
…Yeah alright, he'll help the kid out on the house this time.