Long time, no post. But I ended up with an idea and some free time, so I wrote this. I'll leave it here.
The Unseen
Duluth, Minnesota, UCAS
The Amateru Restaurant in Duluth was buzzing with people eating the authentic Japanese cuisine. It was late into the night, meaning those that gathered were mostly upper-middle class families looking for good, genuine food in a quaint – if minimalist – restaurant that they did not need to make themselves. The public dining places within the two-floor restaurant hummed with conversation, the kitchen thrummed with activity. There was only one truly quiet spot in the entire restaurant.
The private, soundproof, eastern room on the second floor of Amateru was reserved for “special guests.” That term referred only to the Yakuza who privately owned the city’s premier Asian eatery. A room with excellent security – a Faraday cage, one-way glass it would take a cruise missile to reliably pierce, and built-in white noise generators – packed into a room comparable to a fairly sizable boardroom. And for the syndicate, the room was only for the elite.
The elite were what waited there, in the room that looked mostly like it could have come out of feudal Japan. Mostly was only because the top man tonight, Hayate Maki – COO of Mitsuhama Midwest and oyabun of all Yakuza in Minnesota – was far too old to kneel on a tatami mat. His saiko-komon, chief administrator, knelt without discomfort beside him, eyes on the far wall. Daiki Iori’s neutral expression could have been carved in stone, and his greying hair showed him to be not far behind in age to the silver-maned Yakuza overboss. At windows that were not windows from the outside, the shateigashira Jackson Tanai paced impatiently. The dwarf underboss in charge of the syndicate’s operations in Duluth was imposing for his metatype’s height due to the high-grade but obvious cyberware he sported.
The only other presence in the room was the elf Sayomi, adopted daughter of Daiki Iori. Clad in a conservative kimono, she knelt facing the opposite wall, waiting for guests to arrive as the others did. A traditional Japanese tea-service sat before her on a low table whose legs resembled sword-holders, and held what appeared to be mock-ups of katana.
Sayomi could see none of it. The Osaka-born elf was born blind. It was why she was adopted – her parents likely had taken her lack of sight as reinforcement to anti-metahuman fervor as a reason to cast her out to die in the cold. Iori found her and raised her, though early on, he had no money to correct her vision. Later, Sayomi had refused any repair to her sight the Yakuza could find.
Jackson Tanai – the only one present actually born outside of Japan – sneered out the window. “Are we sure the Irish have the balls to show up?”
Iori answered for him, his accent clear but his English easily understood. “Franklin Halloran himself will not. But he will send a lieutenant along to speak with us. To do otherwise would be to anger the Cabrini Cartel for risking the underworld treaty. The Irish will come. Be patient.”
The dwarf snorted, but remained otherwise silent. The shateigashira was not known for his patience – loyalty, skill, and pride, but certainly not his patience.
A beautiful, but otherwise nondescript Asian woman in a waitress’ garb came in and bowed low to occupant of the one chair in the room. “A Thomas Cleary and two guests are here to see you. Should I send them in, Maki-sama?”
“Do so.” The two words were reedy, but full of command nonetheless, coming from the oyabun’s mouth. The waitress bowed low once again before she left to obey.
Hayate Maki turned his head a fraction to his subordinates, though his eyes never came close. “What do we know of Thomas Cleary?”
“He’s a bastard lieutenant of the Halloran mob. Doesn’t like non-humans, magic, or technomancers, but adores augmentation. Cleary also really hates having to play nice. Most of the problems we’ve been having with our BTL distribution in Duluth can be traced to him. And probably Halloran, who he’s as loyal as a trained monkey to.” Jackson Tanai nearly spat his description of his opposite number in the Irish mob.
Sayomi’s mouth twitched up from her neutral expression for a split second. Maki’s yakuza was odd in that it was not a biased one. Simply put, their overboss valued talent – measured by results – over everything else. As a result, though their syndicate was small it was filled with skilled people from anywhere other yakuza groups couldn’t stomach working with an ork, elf, dwarf, or troll. Thanks to the oyabun’s high place in the regional MCT offices, most of them had a legitimate SIN as well.
A knock on the door interrupted any reply the other occupants of the room may have had to the crass dwarf’s analysis. Hayate nodded, and Daiki beckoned for them to enter.
Thomas Cleary entered, followed by two obviously vatjob Irish toughs and the waitress who had announced them, who stayed near the door. There was a look of disgust on the mob lieutenant’s face, particularly when it lingered over Sayomi and Jackson.
Sayomi did not react in a way any in the room could follow. She switched to astral sight – the reason she had not turned to the fairly crude methods the yakuza could employ, or even the more advanced methods her ‘security specialist’ role at MCT granted. Sayomi – known on the streets as Tsukuri – did not want to risk any of her talent to the vanity of being able to see the world as the mundane could.
The three Irish mafia goons were not awakened, that was certain. The dark smudges that made their otherwise colorful astral forms feel slightly…empty to her did show they were augmented. Even the mundane could see Cleary’s obvious high-grade cyberarm – likely a Hollingway Viking from its resting state, as if holding a sword or an axe.
Only Cleary himself knelt on a tatami mat, close to the halfway point of the room. His bodyguards stayed standing a few paces back from him, keeping a sharp eye on Jackson Tanai – who they knew to be dangerous.
But apart from a few glances at what little her outfit – a traditional kimono – showed of her pretty elven features, they ignored Tsukuri. Those who saw her as only a blind, pretty elf often did. Those who were prepared with one who could see into the astral rarely did. Cleary’s distrust and disgust towards magic had blinded him to a threat.
The Irish mob underboss spoke without preamble. “Franklin Halloran sent me to assure you that his family has done nothing to harm your organization’s interests.”
Tanai snorted loudly at the bald-faced lie. Tom Cleary glowered at him for a millisecond before continuing. “If associates of his acted without permission, my boss will see them censured.”
The saiko-komon, as he often did, spoke in lieu of his superior. “We know Franklin ‘The Boss’ Halloran. If he were displeased with his…associates he would do far more than censure them. Please do not speak as if we are fools.”
The mob lieutenant scowled. “You slitch yaks. We’ve been taking it easy on you. I think it’s a mistake, but my boss doesn’t think you’re worth the trouble. So I’m here to wave an olive branch under your fool noses. You’ll take it, if you know what’s good for you.”
Iori narrowed his eyes, looking almost as if they were closed. “You will stop ruining our profits, if you know what is good for you, Mr. Cleary. The treaty of the Syndicates War is on our side of this, and we both know the Hallorans answer to the Cabrinis and the LaGuardias. They do not wish more war, not with Yakuza.”
“Just because those meatball-eatin’ upstarts got so many extra hands when Chicago fell doesn’t mean they can ignore good Irish stock. We ruled Minnesota’s underground before the first Italian even thought it was worth a damn! We’ll get back on top. Then we’ll go back doin’ things old school. Killin’ meddlers like you.” Thomas had risen – easily – off his tatami as his voice rose. “Halfers, we’ll cut into quarters. As for the dandelion eaters, we may keep a few of the prettier women – have to fill the demand for whores somehow. Your tiny mixed bag of freaks won’t stand a chance.”
Kyodai Sayomi Iori – Tsukuri – had lowered her head, leaning slightly forward over the low table, hands still at her sides. Violence was brewing. The way Cleary was ranting away, it would erupt very soon.
To the amazement of all present, oyabun Hayate Maki started to laugh. The awakened elf almost turned to look at her leader. Everyone else certainly had – except for Daiki Iori, still staring straight ahead.
When the old yakuza boss finally stopped chuckling, he spoke louder than he had in many years. “As much as I do not believe Franklin Halloran’s assertions that he had nothing to do with the attacks, I now know why he sent you here Mr. Cleary. You are his scapegoat. In one decisive move, he satisfies both our need for vengeance and the need for closure of those he answers to. I will call him afterwards to praise his quick thinking.”
Daiki Iori caught the smile from his boss. “Daughter. Kill them.”
Before either of the Irish guards could show their bewilderment, Tsukuri had pulled her katana, a strong weapon focus, from the decorative leg of the low table. She vaulted it so quickly after it was a blur, coming up standing before the rightmost mafia tough. That tough’s head was quickly removed from its body.
Cleary – to his credit – managed to overcome the shock quickly, raising his cyberarm and firing a shotgun from the palm, straight for Maki. It hit an impressive physical barrier, one that, if you could see the astral, also provided cover for the saiko-komon.
Again, to his credit, the lieutenant didn’t gawk, instead twisting and pulling a bowie knife from a holster in his arm to fight Tsukuri with.
The last bodyguard pulled a baton and made as if to square off with Jackson Tanai. The dwarf just smiled as several exploding bullets hit the guard from behind. The supposed waitress at the door had pulled a Browning Ultra Power out and was emptying its clip into the vatjob’s back. The impressively-augmented and armored goon stumbled forward. Into the cyberspurs the shateigashira had extended.
Thomas Cleary was wired up. That much was clear. He was keeping up with the Tsukuri’s adept-gifted speed, though not overtaking it. And his cyberarm’s tricks apparently included great armor, since he was essentially using it as a shield. The lieutenant even kept fairly close to the yakuza adept, limiting the utility of the katana’s length, and preventing the not-waitress from firing upon them with her explosive bullets.
Sayomi was fairly certain she would wear out before he would – the man’s deeply smudged aura showed he had much cyberware, and some might grant him an endurance beyond even hers. She had to change the rules before she lost.
Risking losing out to the stronger arm, she let go of her focus’ grip with her off-hand. With it, she reached into her hair, pulling on a long needle that was actually a tanto-style knife. It also loosed her meter-long hair from its traditional hairdo. Tsukuri was certain Cleary could see her do this, as his eyes were obviously high end cyberware this close, the kind that missed almost nothing.
She made as if to stab the lieutenant with the tanto. A move he triumphantly blocked with his cyberarm, sneering as if to say he was not that foolish.
The triumph left Thomas Cleary’s eyes as she levered a slice with her magically-enhanced blade that laid his guts open all over the ground. A few weak strikes later, and the mafia razorboy was on his knees, upon both the tatami mat, and his own viscera.
The Halloran lieutenant grunted. “Bested by a blind keeb, of all things.”
Many others in this position would have made a retort. Tsukuri just cut his throat. What use were words upon the dead?
Once the little light Cleary had faded from his spirit in the astral, Sayomi turned and bowed to the fake waitress. “Arigato, Mirror-san.”
Maureen Shafir, the shadowrunner known as Mirror, smiled as her skin color changed, her breast size doubled, and the Asian features faded from her face as nanites fell away. “Tsukuri, we’re a team. Of course I backed you up. Besides, I’m getting paid.”
Another human woman appeared as if from thin air and stepped out from behind the oyabun’s chair. “What. No thanks for me?”
Hayate Maki slowly rose and turned to her, smiling. “Domo arigato, Miss Rosewood. You saved my life, and that of my friend Daiki Iori. You will be well compensated.”
Susan Rosewood, the hermetic mage better known as Cyanide, smirked. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me. Anyone need medical attention?”
“No one we want to live, thank you.” Shateigashira Jackson Tanai had a big grin on his face. “I’ll have my group clean this mess up.”
Daiki Iori was the only one with no smile on his face. “My only concern is that we have done Franklin Halloran a favor in the long run. Cleary was loyal, but his biases likely drove useful talent away from the Irish. Now, they will be more willing to do work for that family.”
The Yakuza oyabun shrugged. “Then we will make good use of the short term. However, we should not need the services of your daughter and her friends to discuss that. They may leave now.”
The saiko-komon stood and bowed to his superior before walking to his adopted child, extending three full silver-rated credsticks in his left hand. “Their pay is here, with a matching bonus for you. You go out and celebrate a job well done.”
The elf adept took them and hugged her father. “I will see you later.”
Then Sayomi “Tsukuri” Iori led her small team through the undisturbed Amateru restaurant, out to celebrate a job well done.
