Otis looked to this very haughty Japanese man and gave him a very exasperated expression. "Look buddy. This compound is illegal as fuck. Obviously. Your country is disarmed as fuck. There's no fucking guns except the ones the military, the law enforcement, and the criminals have. Forgive me if I'm not all too convinced the rest of your people can handle a gun. I know a FUCK TON of a Americans can handle guns." He paused and held up a finger, "AAAAAND, it's a part of our goddamn CULTURE, so WHATEVER, guy. Obviously you're Yakuza and you guys know how to handle some guns, but the majority of your country men have probably never even seen a gun, much less touched one. It's like you don't even know your country's laws, man. But then again, you obviously break them, so why the fuck does it matter?" His hand movements seemed to go along with his words.

"I know my gun laws, and America has the best in the world. None compare. FUCKING LITERALLY. None. Nada." He finally ended his rant and breathed. "And thank you for your hospitality and doing my fucking homework." He said with a rather forced smile. He then reverted back to pushing cartridges into magazines, filling up his backpack with as much as he could carry. It was like he was going on a one man raid, but it did appear that the entire country might be against them in a little, since so many were turning into raving cannibalistic lunatics.

Otis finished up, and slammed a magazine into the well, racking the bolt back once, and letting it fall forward. "So, mister Yakuza. Got a plan?" He said.