[center] [img=http://www.strangearts.ru/sites/default/files/u1528/389092-88753-storm-shadow.jpg][/center] [I]Several years ago Kandahar, Afghanistan The final week of Sgt. Arashikage’s deployment alongside Snake Eyes. It was cold in the cave, and damp. This did not bother the two men moving stealthily through the maze of tunnels, however, and their pace was one of caution rather than anger. 1st Sgt. Thomas S. Arashikage cracked his neck, making sure to do so as quietly as possible. He felt stiff, the result of three weeks of capture by the Taliban. He, along with M. Sgt. “Snake Eyes,” had broken free of their bonds and subdued their guards, though not without the cost of the rest of the hostages. Tommy sighed, a quiet sound, and whistled. An enemy, dressed in a keffiyeh, rounded the corner, searching for the source of the sound. The man who would become Storm Shadow kicked out the extremist’s knee, and snapped his neck. Taking the sidearm, he tossed the AK-47 to Snake Eyes. They shared a look, and both men knew what had to be done. Vengeance for the fallen, and justice for the living. Tommy raised the sidearm to eye level, and took point, leaving Snake Eyes to watch his back. Knowing that these extremists wouldn't understand Japanese, Tommy whispered over his shoulder. "" Thus, they pressed on, using stealth and surprise to their advantage, eventually coming across explosives. Tommy grabbed the IED and slung it over his shoulder. Snake Eyes was at his back, laying down suppressing fire while they made a break for the cavern not 50 yards away. Tommy tossed the IED over to Snake Eyes. Shortly, the two were back at the mouth of the cavern, and Snake Eyes was wiring explosives while Tommy laid down covering fire. Snake Eyes tapped him twice on the shoulder and the two started running into the Registan desert. Snake Eyes was faster, and further out than Tommy. The explosives detonated prematurely, scarring Arashikage’s back. "Tommy!" he heard Snake Eyes yell faintly, before blacking out. Three Years ago Arashikage Compound "The way of a ninja is one of skill, of stealth, and of Honor. You were not taught these virtues in the military ruled by governments, Young Arashikage, but rather by your experiences. Those scars on your back are proof." His uncle's words drifted like the smoke from the burning incense, carrying weight, and filling the room with truth. "The pain of your former government dishonoring your friend is what drove you here, and here you will not find retribution. It is simple, what you need, my nephew. You need purpose, and the Arashikage Ninja clan will give you one."[/I] Present day 0500 hours, Los Angeles, CA. The home of Brian M. Forrest Daylight was breaking over the Californian landscape, and the birds were singing sweetly. To most early risers, the sights and sounds were beautiful, and a wonderful way to start the day. For the white clad ninja, however, it was little more than a nuisance. His entry depended on stealth, and these comparatively loud sounds could destroy his element of surprise. Storm Shadow moved silently to the rear of the house, sword drawn. COBRA had contracted him to kill the owner of this home, a JOE codenamed “Wet Suit.” He placed a gloved hand on the door, and slowly pushed it open. It was strange that the back door should be open at so late an hour, but Storm Shadow wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Suddenly the light came on, and Wet Suit had a gun pointed at Storm Shadow. “I don’t know who you are, or whether COBRA hired you, but you’re going to go away, and leave me alone.” Storm Shadow narrowed his eyes, not bothering to sheathe his sword. “You knew I was coming.” It wasn’t a question. “Of course. The JOE initiative has more advance warning than one might think. Although, we didn’t know exactly whom COBRA would send.” Wet Suit stood up, and placed his off hand on the bottom of the gun, the way it is common for US Military and Police to handle a sidearm. “A gun. I really don’t like those things. So unpredictable, and-“ With a single pass of his blade, he sliced off the barrel of the gun. “-Fragile.” Wet Suit dropped the remains of the Beretta and brought his hands up, balled into fists. Storm Shadow sheathed his blade, and widened his stance, lowering his center of gravity. A deadly dance ensued, with Wet Suit sending blows towards his assailant, who always blocked and redirected the force back into his target. It was quick, and lethal. Both men knew only one would walk away from this. Storm Shadow caught a fist, breaking the arm at the elbow, and slamming his own into Wet Suit’s face. Disoriented, his opponent staggered back to the wall. Storm Shadow followed up by unsheathing his blade. Wet Suit knew it was the end, but at least he could try to get a word out. Let the JOEs know that someone was killing them off. He slipped his finger over a distress button built into every JOE’s private residence. Storm Shadow plunged the Ninjato hilt deep into WetSuit’s chest, and the alarm began to sound. Retrieving his blade, he sliced off a finger, and placed it into his pouch. With proof of death secured, he disappeared into the shadows.