[h3]Tokyo[/h3] [b]7:34 PM[/b] Kobayashi always marveled at the coordination of his countrymen when it came to the subway platforms. Like a beautiful ballet, packs of people exited and entered the cars with minimal touching, so minimal it was almost non-existent. Men in uniforms and long sticks walked up and down the platform, guiding commuters with their sticks like conductors. Kobayashi was among the last to squeeze on the car before the doors shut. Even though work had ended at six, plenty of salarymen were packed in the car as it rocked down the tracks. That didn't surprise Kobayashi and made him smile slightly, recalling the days when he himself had been fresh out of university and worked long hours to try to get ahead. That was before his wife and family drew his attention away from work. The sudden thought of them wiped the smile from his face. He wasn't here to walk down memory lane. Tonight, he was on a mission. Two stops later, Kobayashi stepped out with two dozen others. Again, in the synchronized display of order, they left the train and dispersed along the platform as a pack of newcomers stepped up. Kobayashi climbed the steps out into the street and turned his collar up. It was chilly for July, a good twenty degrees cooler than usual. He wasn't the only one wearing a jacket tonight, which worked in his favor. Nobody would think twice about the middle aged man in the trenchcoat. Kobayashi reached into his coat pocket and clutched the gun resting there. It wouldn't be long now. Maybe a few more hours. --- [h3]Hiroshima[/h3] [b]9:34 PM[/b] Dokuro Abe looked at the lights of Hiroshima with a hint of revulsion. He rode in the backseat of a taxi and smoked a cigarette. The driver knew exactly where to take Abe once he flashed the tattoos on his arm. It'd been six years the last time he set foot in this hell hole. He thought then that he would never have to see the place ever again. Once you got called up to join the [i]Inagawa-kai's[/i] Tokyo operations, you went and never looked back. "You a big Yakuza?" the driver asked from the front seat of the car. "I always drive Yakuza around Hiroshima, but I never seen you before." Abe was struck by the old man's straightforwardness. Yakuza were treated with a certain amount of deference. They no longer existed, but Abe always assumed the samurai of old were granted the same respect. For this old man to point out that he was a Yakuza, and then to ask how important he was, was something nobody who valued their health would do. "Where do you--" "My son," the old man continued. "He big Yakuza in Hiroshima. Goro. You know Goro?" Abe cursed silently. Of course he knew Goro. Everyone in Hiroshima knew Goro. He'd been a mid-level player when Abe left, but in the six years he'd be gone Goro climbed the ladder and became the city's top Yakuza. If the old man was Goro's father, then of course he could do whatever the hell he wanted. "We're here," the old man announced. "Pleasure district." Abe started to hand money over the seat, but the old man held a hand up. "Yakuza, no charge. Especially out of town Yakuza." Abe said his thanks and the old man wished him well. He climbed out the taxi and stepped on to the street to look around. Hiroshima's pleasure district still looked the exact same. It was filled with neon lights, Japanese ads for western products. Massage parlors of soaplands stretched down the street as far as the eye could see. Yakuza in flashy suits patrolled the streets with girls in short skirts and bare-midriffs. A police car sat parked off to the side, the cop behind the wheel napping with his cap shielding his eyes. "Hideki," Abe said with a sigh. Two days ago, Abe got the news. His brother Hideki was dead, killed by persons unknown, and Abe was needed back home. Both their parents had been dead for years and Hideki's wife was too grief stricken to take care of the arraignments. That meant Abe was the only one who could take care of family business. He planned to do that and then some. Lighting up a cigarette, Abe started down the street he swore he'd never walk down again in search for the nearest cheap motel. --- [h3]Korea[/h3] [b]Keijō 3:31 AM[/b] Shinzo looked through his metal-rimmed eyeglasses at the four young men on the floor. They were all Korean, all naked save for their skivvies. All four were on their knees on the dirty concrete floor, looking dirty and bewildered. By contrast, Shinzo looked immaculate in his black three-piece suit and perfectly parted hair even though he hadn't been home in two days. The chrysanthemum button on his lapel let everyone know that he was in service of the emperor. Along with him were six soldiers, four Korean and two Japanese. Shinzo led all six of them in the raid that netted the four men. "The four of you are accused of treason towards the Emperor," Shinzo said in Japanese. He laughed when all four did not react. They looked at him curiously and shrugged, saying in Korean that they did not know Japanese. "Yes, you do," Shinzo said, again in Japanese. "You all speak Japanese as fluently as I can speak Korean. It is not listed anywhere official, but it is known by me. The same way that I know..." Shinzo stepped forward and pointed a long, bony finger, at the chubby young man to his far right. "Mr. Cho here has dandruff so bad that he has a prescription shampoo." He moved down the line, pointing his finger at the other three men. "Or that Mr. Kim cheats off his classmate in engineering class, or that Mr. Park's bicycle has a rusty chain, or that Mr. Song has a massive crush on the girl in his university study group. Yes, when it comes to your lives there is not much [i]Kenpeitai[/i] doesn't know." He stepped away from them and adjusted his glasses, giving them a warm smile. "Continual denial of both your language skills and crimes will only incur my wrath. Now, let's start again. You four are accused of treason towards the Emperor." Shinzo reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a pamphlet, two actually. One was written in [i]Hangul[/i], the other in [i]Kanji[/i]. Both pamphlets were written in bold red font. The inspector pretended to flip through both of them casually, the warm smile still on his face. "'Friends of Korean Sovereignty?'" He raised an eyebrow and looked over at them. "It's a bit too sugary for my liking, but what do I know? You're the experts on treason." Cho, the fat one, started to wilt under Shinzo's gaze. To their credit, the other three stood strong. Shinzo nodded and three Korean soldiers stepped forward with their rifles. They slammed the stocks of their rifles into the stomach's of the stoic young men. They all gasped and fell backwards, holding their stomachs in pain. Shinzo made eye contact with Cho. Back when he'd been a robbery detective, Shinzo always knew that the quickest way to break up a band of thieves was to find that one weak link and exploit it for all it was worth. Cho, the chubby kid with the bad dander, was his weak link. "Mr. Cho, we are going to play a game," he said. "Tell me all you know about this little group of yours, and you and your friends get to live. Resist--" Shinzo snapped his fingers all all six soldiers raised their rifles and pointed at Kim. "And we kill one of your friends for every thirty seconds you don't answer. Thirty, twenty-nine...." "Fuck him," Kim said in Korean. "Don't answer him! Fuck the Emperor, fuck Japan. Freedom for Korea!" "Twenty-six," Shinzo scowled. "You know what? Fire!" Gunfire echoed through the room as six bullets tore through Kim's prone body. Cho and his compatriots yelled in shock. The soldiers worked the bolt actions on their rifles and moved their sights towards Song. "Forgive my impatience," Shinzo said in Korean. "But I wouldn't be doing my duty if I let such an insult pass unpunished. One friend is dead, Mr. Cho. It would be a shame for us to kill Mr. Song before he has a chance to act on that crush of his. Thirty... twenty-nine." "Wait!" Cho cried in Japanese. "I'll--" "Shut up," said Song. "Tell this man nothing, Cho. He's still going to kill us." "He's right," said Shinzo. "Treason is punishable by death. No exceptions. But the choice is yours as to how far that punishment goes. With such extreme crimes as this, it makes us wonder how deep the subversive streak runs in your blood. You all have families -- fathers, mothers, brothers, and sisters -- and we know exactly where it is they live, where they work, and all their little secrets. The same way we know everything about you. The choice is yours, gentlemen: Do we cut out the infection at the bud, or do we go in and chop down the whole tree?" Shinzo adjusted his glasses and watched the three remaining young men talking rapidly among themselves in Korean. They were a little too fast for Shinzo to make out the entire conversation, but he caught the gist. Cho and Song wanted to cooperate, Park still refused. Growing tired, Shinzo snapped his fingers and all six soldiers went in on Park with their rifle butts. Cho and Song looked away as their friend was brutally beaten by the soldiers. Shinzo called them off when he felt like Park had had enough. "Do we have a deal?" Both Song and Cho nodded. "Excellent. Get Mr. Cho and Mr. Song some clothes," Shinzo said to one of the soldiers. "We have many things to discuss." [h3]Tokyo[/h3] [b]4:00 AM[/b] "Give me money, old man!" Kobayashi backed up against the wall. The boy with the switchblade couldn't be any older than sixteen with his pockmarked face and greasy hair. He was dressed in tight denim jeans and a leather jacket, his hair done up in a poor imitation of a western style pompadour. His eyes were wide and dilated. Kobayashi was sure he was high on something. It had taken him hours to get to this point, walking around in the rough neighborhood and looking confused. Plenty of people stopped to ask if he needed help. He was surprised that it had taken this long for one person to finally take advantage of him. "Be calm," Kobayashi pleaded. "I have in my pocket, please." The kid grinned, pressing the blade of his knife against Kobayashi's cheek. The cold metal against his skin caused the hair on the back of his neck to stand up. He could feel the adrenaline start to race through his body as he stepped back. The blade dug into his cheek and cut the skin as he pulled the revolver from his pocket. "Here!" He said with a growl, and opened fire with the gun. Four shots found themselves lodged in the boy's chest. His wide eyes went wider with shock as he fell back and crumpled to the ground, the knife clattering to his side. Kobayashi put a hand to the cut on his face and examined it. It wasn't bleeding too bad. The cut was deeper than he'd like, but easily bandaged without the aid of a doctor. He stepped over the boy's body, ignoring the wheezes and last gasps of life coming from his mouth. He'd be dead in just a few minutes. Kobayashi let out a sigh of contentment as he quickly walked away from the dying body. Somewhere, he heard a police siren. They'd be in the area soon enough, but too late. They were always too late. Kobayashi knew that first hand. But it didn't matter if the police took all night to get here. One more scumbag was off the street, one less person to prey on the good people of Japan. Tonight marked the fourth time Kobayashi had taken a life. All of them had been muggers and thieves like the one tonight. Some would call him a murderer, but Kobayashi thought of himself as an exterminator. And for the first time in his life, he felt like he was in control. He applied pressure to the cut on his face and whistled a happy little tune as he stepped down the subway stairs to catch a train. A police car, its sirens wailing and lights flashing, raced by on the street as he disappeared into the underground.