The Asian youth stepped off the bus, having traversed a great ways to Tokyo, in order to fulfill his Destiny. He had nothing to his name but the clothes on his back and the envelope in his jacket pocket. Yet despite having so little, he knew his various skills and abilities would always be able to provide for him, if he would use them.

He walked quickly, looking about him he couldn’t help but feel slightly claustrophobic. He had never seen so many people walking the streets in his entire life. The number of people indeed gave him stress, but also made him feel small. It was as if he was invisible even just by walking down the street. He enjoyed the fact so few seemed to pay any attention to him at all.

Yet soon enough he came upon the doors of a large Estate in the northern hills of Tokyo, where the rich and privileged seemed to make their home. Yamamoto took the envelope from his jacket and looked once more to the address, before glancing up and confirming he was indeed at the right place. Taking a deep breath, he knocked heavily on the great door of the manor, and found a servant open it immediately.

[b]“What may I do for you today, young man..?”

“I am here to speak to a Katsu Kikagawa.”

“I am afraid Mr. Kikagawa is busy at the moment, and doesn’t accept walk-up’s even if he wasn’t. If you’d like to make an appoint-“[/b]

Yamamoto rolled his eyes and pushed the door open regardless, moving past the shocked servant easily. The interior of the home shocked the youth, finding velvet carpet and a chandelier in the center of the room. A duel staircase lay before him, and voices were heard speaking behind a great oak door. The servant rushed past Yamamoto to a marble bust of what seemed to be Katsu’s head; opening the top revealed a secret red button, which he pressed harshly.

[b]“You’d better leave, sir! Or else Mr. Kikagawa’s security forces will force you out! And I can promise you that’ll be most unpleasant!” [/b]

Wordlessly, Yamamoto ascended the staircase, and opened the oak door. Inside, an aging man with wispy greying hair sat behind a large desk. In front of the older man sat three separate men, roughly as old as Yamamoto or slightly older.

[b]“Atticus has been searching far and wide for Harada. He won’t get away with deserting us like that. Who does he think he is..?”[/b] Spoke one of the men, his voice bitter and resentful.

[b]“Atticus says he’s got a lead, a bar in Tokyo that Harada was seen in a few hours ago. You know Atticus and his way with things. We’ll know where he’s going by this time tomorrow.” [/b] Spoke the second, older and more burly.

Yet the man behind the desk was paying no mind at all to his visitors, instead his eyes locked on Yamamoto, standing in the doorway behind the guests quietly. The man looked pale, as if he had seen a ghost. Yamamoto was confused, but did not wish to speak and alert the others of his presence. But It didn’t matter. One of the men turned around to see what the apparent boss was looking at, and stood up almost immediately. The others did the same.

[b]“Hey! You’re not supposed to be in here!”[/b] Cried the burly man, approaching angrily. 

Yet Yamamoto did not say a word. Instead, he began to walk forward with a confidence that even seemed to unnerve the thugs before him slightly. When the burly man was in grabbing distance, the thug attempted to slam a haymacker into the youths chin. Years upon years of training had prepared Yamamoto for far worse than these urban scum, and he dodged to the left effortlessly, bringing a kick up to the mans ribs. He grunted painfully, and the youth gave him a spinning backfist in a flash, sending him spiraling backwards into the chairs. 

The other two men seemed shocked, and reached for the pistols in their own jackets. Yet Yamamoto was faster than them, and quickly swept the legs out beneath one, before a fist connected with the throat of the other. They both fell to the floor, their balance lost and in pain. The youth gave each man a swift kick to the head, and they were out cold before they even knew what was happening. 

The burly man was on his feet again now, but the assassin darted forward, kicking him fiercely in the chest, sending him flying backwards and out a large glass window near the desk of the old man. Yet through this brief scuffle, the man did not move, nor appear surprised.

[b]“I knew you would come one day.”[/b] He said with a nod of his head. Standing up uncertainly, he looked the youth in the eye.

[b]“Then you know who I am.”

“I do, my son. You move similar to your mother, you know. She would be proud…”

“You know nothing of my mother.”

“More than you, boy. Now, I am still alive. So what do you want from me..?”

“I am here for answers.”

“And you shall. But first, I have something to show you.”[/b]

The old man rose from his seat and approached a book shelf near his desk, against a wall. Pulling a book out of the wall titled “Bushido: The Way of the Warrior”. The book shelf began to sink into the floor, and in the space behind it was a dimly lit and cramped hallway. The pair entered the hallway together and walked a short ways before entering a slightly bigger room. The room was dusty and bare, except a single large metallic container in the center. Glass was on the front, allowing the men to see inside at what hung on the rack. 

It appeared a suit of black and yellow, the material a form that Yamamoto had never seen before. A black visor was over the face, obscuring the identity of the wearer. There seemed to be more to it than a simple material though, as a small and compact generator appeared on the lower back of the suit, allowing electrical impulses to run through it. 

Next to the suit was a belt filled with variations of grenades, as well as several pouches containing things Yamamoto could not see. Next to it was a seemingly standard pistol, as well as a large sniper rifle equipped with a scope, seemingly up to 50x magnification. Yet none of this interested the young Assassin nearly as much as the last weapon. 

A one-handed sword of pure black hung against the rack, it shimmered even in the dull light. It appeared to be made of a strange metal, perhaps obsidian. It looked similar to a Katana, yet crafted with much more care and intricacy than any Katana he had ever seen. Upon the blade was an engraving, the words stylized and clear.

[b]“Sting like a Bee.”[/b] Spoke Yamamoto, reading the blade. He had to admit the display was impressive, seeming to be cutting edge technology, and probably ridiculously expansive.

[b]“Yes. This was a suit worn by your grandfather during World War 2 against the Americans. It has seen more combat than either of us will ever know. I acquired it recently, and refitted it for the modern world. But I do not have the skills to adequately use it. I have connections, power, and wealth. But I do not have your skills, nor your way with Death. If you are half the Assassin your mother was, you are more than worthy to carry on the Legacy of Beesting.”[/b]

[b]"Hmm... I don't know." [/b] Spoke Yamamoto hesitantly, the suit [i]was[/i] alluring.

[b]”Yes, you wish to bring Glory to our Ancestors, do you not..? And why not make some money while you’re at it..? Come my son, you may have been gone for many years, but you are here now, with me. What do you say, eh..?”[/b]

[b]”Who is my first contract…?”[/b] responded Yamamoto quietly, putting a hand up against the glass of what he felt was his Destiny.

[b]”A man named Riku Somasa, part of the Hokkaido Clan. We have been in a territory war for several years now with them, and I think with your help, we may just push the scale in our favor.”[/b]

Yamamoto nodded and looked to his father, prepared to become the instrument of Death he had been born to be.

[b]”We are going to make a lot of money together, my son!”[/b]