Pain Case

Part VII

I could hear his heavy breathing from four kilometers away before he ever graced my disheveled hole in the wall.  I knew he had an ocular implant because I could feel the presence in my heart beat.  The same way a normal person senses someone standing behind them on a crowded platform.  His biological code was American and go figure they'd plop this technology into an average soldier boy.  Americans would have no idea the kind of power our kind could achieve.

Our kind.  It felt eerie to think about let alone believe in.  Who, Для черт возьми, were "we," anyway?  What set "us" apart?  It was a question I had been размышлял since doing some independent work for a powerful Yakuza named Hayao Mitzurugi (or Mitzu-Sama) for short.  He was quite into his honorifics and respect but what really got me on his case was an incident that happened in late 2002.  

The year was 2002, and I remember being drenched in the blood of some грязной итальянской, thinking about how good I felt to be torturing again.  We had taken refuge in an abandoned hospital somewhere in the New York state countryside.  Mitzu-Sama had had some run in with the Жадные Черт and had been insulted in the process.  Also insulted, however, were his group of wealthy Japanese businessmen.  For this, I had cut the man 2000 times with a piece of paper and doused him in a jug of lemon juice.  This was just the beginning as well.  Ребенка игра if you will but it pleased Mitzu-sama so much that he began to laugh uncontrollably and with such frivolity that all his associates began to laugh the same way.  It was in that moment that an overwhelming feeling of Чистое зло all of a sudden made me drop to my knees.  It felt as if someone with immeasurable power were pressing on my shoulders.  Shortly after they all got their composure back, I felt it lifted.  It was as if it never existed and I had simply lost трех или четырех секунд from my life.

The reason I even recall the story is that my apartment is now basically barren.  I have the money to buy things and furnish it, however, I do not need such things as others might and my wall paper wouldn't match anything anyway.  Across the walls, I have followed Mitzu-Sama's life since 1995 when he arrived in this country.  As far as I can surmise, from my studies, he was an assassin before coming to The States.  The unforgiving and almost ambivalent trail of bodies within the Yakuza ranks, that were the reason for his rise to power, were enough to say, and loudly I might add, that he was not afraid of people knowing he was dangerous but to what degree.  Obviously he killed people but he made it look, every time as if he had caught them by surprise and was simply in the right place at the right time.  In the underground world, the cases were solved but the police were clueless.  All of these killings could not be proven but the M.O. was always the same and he was always to benefit.

If Mitzu-Sama had come for me now, I'd have ghosted away but this Тесто мальчика intended me no harm.  After years of torturing, I had learned to recognize the instinct in a human being and the nanites that he had communicated no irrational thought besides the drive of a child to make it to the top of a hill.  It was as if the Americans had implanted this poor soldier with unimaginable technology (most likely stolen from us) and then planted him on an empty playground in order to test it.  It was obvious no one had trained him other than in the state of combat.  I know there's no manual for the potential power we reserve, but the least they could have done is told him what he was given.  It's so sad when a nation knows nothing about the art of war and only the war of it.  I'm sure it had kept him alive through several of those but the невинного ребенка had no idea what he was carrying inside him.

Please understand, the Japanese, and if my assumptions are correct, in specific, Mitzu-Sama are artists in their craft.  In addition to his assassinations, if he is able to control his visibility in "our kind's" eyes then he is indeed a master of this device instead of the other way around. Черт! He probably could see me for what I am while masking his own presence...

The American was down the street now.  I felt him as he neared me. Come, Тесто мальчика, let us see the metal of your American soldiering.