Deals with Dragons

SETTING: Parlor room of the abandoned Shinto temple
TIME: Present day
CHARACTERS: Rapture, a handful of Yakuza
PLOT: After strategically isolating ten members of the western United States Yakuza chapter, Ryuuzaki intends to do a little good with a little bad.

“Thank you for coming,” a strangely-accented voice came from an unlit spot in the darkened room, only sticks of lit incense providing any light. The air had a bit of a chill to it, compliments of mother winter and the proprietor’s penchant for the cold. The young woman had been born in a land of ice and snow, welcoming the temperatures in her new home. Her slanted eyes gleamed like the northern lights, never staying one color for too long. They scanned the room, noting each guest as she cast her icy gaze. New territory had been scouted and claimed. Her prey, well-dressed men who once ruled the streets and underground circuits both in their homeland and abroad. They sat with purpose and with fear, having been bullied by yokai to the point where they sought the vigilante powerhouse.

Tonight, the top ten-ranking Yakuza of the western United States threw themselves at the mercy of the Great Red Dragon, the one who seemed to be able to control demons as well as she could slay them. Young, but seasoned. Small, but mighty. Rapture had worked hard toward this. At the end of a table, one of the men stuck a cigarette in his mouth and went to light it. Seconds later, a small spike zipped past the guests and lodged itself into the cigarette, sending it flying until it was pinned to the wall.

“I’ll thank you for not smoking,” the older teenager sighed. For someone her senior, they sure were dumb. “Now, on to business. It’s no coincidence that the top ranking members of the Yakuza are superhuman, and it comes to no surprise to me that you don’t want to comply with DOMA. That’s cool with me. Now, unless you want your asses haunted for eternity, you’ll listen to what I have to say.”

Four. Four individuals were all she needed to run a smooth operation. Today’s meeting simply stood as a test of resolve. The one with the cigarette had already lost his position, and had been removed by phantom means known only to the Red Dragon. For the rest of his unscrupulous life, he would be haunted by yokai––the price for such insolence. The tension in the room had become exquisitely unbearable for the petite powerhouse, who reveled in this sort of chaotic atmosphere. Members of the dwindling group were beginning to choke, but not all, as Rapture noted. Pulling a tome from the floor beside her, the black-haired woman pulled out a dossier of the candidates, unceremoniously tearing out cigarette guy’s mug. Flipping through the book, she nodded her head occasionally while giving the unnerving wincing motion at some. Truly, she had only gathered the ten as a powerplay; she knew the majority of them were too weak to serve under her clawed fist, but the fact they had been invited gave them the false sense of superiority from other candidates she needed in order to manipulate them in further endeavors.

After a long silence, Rapture snapped her fingers as two underlings emerged with trays of Sencha –– the most common green tea in Japan. Of course, the cups were not sealed and therefore could have been tampered with. Another test. Receiving her own, the yokai priestess blew on the hot drink, took a sip, and gestured for the others to do the same. Surprisingly, they all did, but some hesitated a little too long. Two yakuza failed her, and were promptly whisked away. Next, a more direct approach.

“Everyone who wishes to follow me, indicate so. If you do not wish to work with me, no harm will come to you directly from me. Be honest. Liars will be penalized accordingly,” Ryuuzaki stated, and after a little hesitance from her guests, she continued. “C’mon, raise your hand like an American!” All but one raised their hand uncomfortably high. The woman who didn’t looked like a complete wreck. “Good,” the hostess continued. “Drink your tea, and leave without reproach.” She did as she was told, then exited the building. Rapture would keep her word, despite her inclination to do otherwise. Saving face amongst so many faces stood imperative above petty personal preferences.

Six remained. Two to go.

“Voodoo, Smoke, Mirrors, Komorebi, Claymore, Vendetta,” Rapture looked over the remaining candidates, naming them as a way to seal their bond. “You’re all fit to serve, but the last thing I need is excess in my life. I need to know that you’re willing to delve into shadows darker than black, to bend over backward. Underneath your cups is a small pouch of ingestible herbs that will cause you to undergo a phenomena similar to facing a yokai one-on-one. It will not be pretty. It will not be painless. But if you can handle it, you’ll be all the stronger and resilient.”

Voodoo, a man with anatomically correct skeletal tattoos across his body, looked incredulous. “You want us to get high?”

Rapture, for the first time in ages, laughed audibly. “No, no. Getting high indicates a sense of pleasure. There’s nothing pleasurable about this. Now, same rules apply. You don’t do it, you’ll be off scot-free. When those who return are grounded, I will personally cleanse you of the fear.”

So much for a settling pep talk. But one by one, the remaining candidates took their respective stimulants. Their screams proved promising.

Three. Three individuals were able to stand the psychological testing, just three. Rapture had higher hopes but would not employ anyone under-qualified. Voodoo, a man who could inflict pain upon others by inflicting pain upon himself, passed the test easily and predictably. Twins Smoke and Mirrors surprised the yokai priestess by their resilience despite their lack of experience. Claymore and Vendetta, however, had to be rehabilitated before being sent back to the shadows. A disappointment for sure, but she had been picky enough. Four members had been the goal due to her lucky number being four and a fine, solid even number. Four cardinal directions, four corners to a square, et cetera. Ironically, in most Asian countries, the number served as the equivalent of the western superstition for the number thirteen. However, the yokai priestess thrived off the supernatural and always countered what could be considered taboo.

After the commotion had settled, Rapture turned to her chosen few. “You will be my eyes and ears for superhuman and DOMA activity. In your respective prefectures, you will carry out your business as usual in addition to my orders. You will be paid based upon your progress and usefulness. Report to me immediately,” she continued, “until then, we wait. I have a potential asset in mind to team up with, but it will take some adjustments. Now, finish your tea and leave. And do not, for one second, believe that you are free to roam around. You may be my extended senses, but I have my thumb on all of you." Truly, she did; she had laced the tea with a spell that would allow her to locate their souls nearly immediately.

The cups were emptied, customary bows were had, and nervous farewells were said. Rapture finally had the room to herself. Well, other than the man who blended seamlessly in the shadows. If he were trying to hide from Ryuuzaki, he would have succeeded. But his presence stood to be known on purpose. With gravitas and a sense of importance, a young man in his twenties made his way into the light, illuminating his painted face and immaculate makeup, dress, and black polished fingernails. He smiled genuinely and pulled up a chair, then proceeded to put his elbows on the table and fold his hands beneath his chin. Such an informal gesture would usually elicit a negative response, but Rapture simply rolled her eyes.

“Vell?” the man began casually, a heavy German accent weighing his voice. “Are you going to say ze zing? Oh do please say it, mein fraulein. It’s vone of my favorite little qvirks of yours.”

Rapture rolled her icy eyes. “I already did on the phone,” she continued. “And you will address me as Rapture should you want to stay in my good graces.”

The man frowned, then shrugged his shoulders. "Fine, fine. At any rate, I found out vhere ze zree oni hold zhere little zherapy sessions.”

The vigilante raised an eyebrow. That was quick.

Golden eyes gleaming in the dim light, the enigmatic character grinned. “Tut, tut, tut! You vound me. Have I ever failed you?”

“We just met.”

“True, but I never failed your grandmozer, und you vere ze vone who called me.”

A pause, a long sigh.

Finally, she had her forth man. “Alright, Facade. Tell me what you know.”