Jul 20, 2024 0:50:38 GMT
Post by Akita Fujimori on Jul 20, 2024 0:50:38 GMT
Mercenary, assassin, muscle, henchman. You could call Akita a lot of things, but one of the things you couldn’t say is that he was bad at his job. Akita was efficient, well-resourced, manipulative enough to gain access to whatever he needed to get a job done, and effective at terminating whatever threats there were. Thankfully this time he didn’t need half of those skills. The guy who hired him was also his guy in the van for this mission. He provided logistical support and tracking for the scientist that Akita had been sent after. The guy was gnarly. Getting your bag was never bad per say, but selling drugs that eventually robbed people of their Quirks was just taking advantage of desperation.
Akita could never make the mistake of giving into something that could ruin you like that just because he didn’t have enough juice to take on a pro hero, but he understood if someone came from lesser means and never learned about the dangers of it. He didn’t get it if they just wanted fame, or power. What is fame or power if it goes away? I mean, maybe if you get lucky and get a merchandising line - if you never get caught and can ride on that forever. That’d solve a money wound, but your power would evaporate like water - and it’d more than likely come back down on you as consequences in the same way that the ocean’s water returns as rains.
Regardless, he sat here in a fire escape in the dead of night. It was raining, but he had no umbrella. The only thing in his hand was the pommel of his club, his hand stretched straight out to the side to balance the weapon on its striking tip. He moved his hand, fidgeting with it and making circles with it, to pass the time. Some communications from the scientist’s security team that were intercepted mentioned this area as a place for them to walk through discreetly. It had no cameras, and was largely uninhabited at night as most of the buildings here were businesses that operated in the day.
Nonetheless, the lights of 22nd Tokyo never quite went away. This part here, though, was in the backend delivery section of some business he was watching from nearby. Here the scientist and his guard could walk through with little more than a dim light highlighting their presence until they made it to where they needed to go: probably one of the local laboratories. He didn’t imagine the scientist did little shit like pickups and deliveries himself, so odds are it was either late night work or, more worryingly, a meeting. The type of people he’d be meeting wouldn’t be good, which would explain the security. Without security the person you’re selling your drugs so they can sell it to the network of customers most scientist’s lack would very likely have their own lackeys force you to start making the drug for free. Akita would, if that was his type of thing, anyway. He’d kidnap him, stick him in a lab, and force him to work endlessly to produce the drug while having him teach others how to make it - testing the batches that came from his ‘students’ - and then disposing of him. That way you made all the profit.
Shame about the lights of Tokyo. Rain or not, even at night you still couldn’t see the stars - not even the big ones. Akita learned from his grandfather that you stopped being able to see the North Star in the brightest parts of Tokyo a long time ago. That was before they stole him away though. Akita chewed on his lip. If anyone could see him up close enough, they’d notice that despite the costume as he had his mask pulled up so that he could better vape. Speaking of…
”Yo, when’d you say they’d arrive again, nerd?” He asked over the comms he was given. Fancy gear. The person who hired him obviously knew what they were doing - they just couldn’t or didn’t want to fight. His employer’s quirk was shit for combat
”Do you speak to all your employers this way? What if I don’t hire you again?” The guy quipped back.
”If you’re getting this mad that I called you a nerd, I don’t want you to hire me again. Answer the question.” He said. He had already been paid half of what was supposed to be his, and he didn’t care for repeat clientele that were unable to take a joke. Akita never left a job undone, but sometimes the older types that wanted to help him with life lessons were just begging to be ditched. Thankfully for the nerd that hired him, he was a consummate professional.
”Soon. Be patient. Didn’t your parents ever teach you that being early was being on time and being on time meant you were late?” It was a harmless enough question, but nonetheless Akita still rolled his eyes, and scoffed through a smile before shaking his head.
Akita would call the guy an asshole, paralyze his throat, and watch him die after this, but how was this guy supposed to know what happened to Akita, the spider-themed villain reminded himself.
”You know I heard that even from here. I apologize. I didn’t know until now.” The employer said. His employer’s quirk was reception. The guy could hear thoughts as if they were conversation. He couldn’t hear anything other than surface thoughts, though. It was a perfect interrogation ability: ask a question, and the surface thought might be the urge to keep their lies together, and that’d tell him enough. It was great for intel, too, which he supposed is part of why this guy dealt in the information trade. How a glorified spy ended up angry enough to hire an assassin to kill a scientist and come along on the journey, Akita never knew, and he’d never ask. He was still curious though.
”Thanks, old man.” He said. He meant it. He was sure if the guy had detected even the slightest sign that King Spider wasn’t who he was said to be by Japan’s underworld that he would have never handed him money. Akita was a professional. He’d always get the job done, whatever it was - rain, sleet, snow, or pro hero. It didn’t matter. It was just easier sometimes to do so. He let another puff of smoke leave his mouth, ready to pull down his mask at the slightest sign of his target.
Akita could never make the mistake of giving into something that could ruin you like that just because he didn’t have enough juice to take on a pro hero, but he understood if someone came from lesser means and never learned about the dangers of it. He didn’t get it if they just wanted fame, or power. What is fame or power if it goes away? I mean, maybe if you get lucky and get a merchandising line - if you never get caught and can ride on that forever. That’d solve a money wound, but your power would evaporate like water - and it’d more than likely come back down on you as consequences in the same way that the ocean’s water returns as rains.
Regardless, he sat here in a fire escape in the dead of night. It was raining, but he had no umbrella. The only thing in his hand was the pommel of his club, his hand stretched straight out to the side to balance the weapon on its striking tip. He moved his hand, fidgeting with it and making circles with it, to pass the time. Some communications from the scientist’s security team that were intercepted mentioned this area as a place for them to walk through discreetly. It had no cameras, and was largely uninhabited at night as most of the buildings here were businesses that operated in the day.
Nonetheless, the lights of 22nd Tokyo never quite went away. This part here, though, was in the backend delivery section of some business he was watching from nearby. Here the scientist and his guard could walk through with little more than a dim light highlighting their presence until they made it to where they needed to go: probably one of the local laboratories. He didn’t imagine the scientist did little shit like pickups and deliveries himself, so odds are it was either late night work or, more worryingly, a meeting. The type of people he’d be meeting wouldn’t be good, which would explain the security. Without security the person you’re selling your drugs so they can sell it to the network of customers most scientist’s lack would very likely have their own lackeys force you to start making the drug for free. Akita would, if that was his type of thing, anyway. He’d kidnap him, stick him in a lab, and force him to work endlessly to produce the drug while having him teach others how to make it - testing the batches that came from his ‘students’ - and then disposing of him. That way you made all the profit.
Shame about the lights of Tokyo. Rain or not, even at night you still couldn’t see the stars - not even the big ones. Akita learned from his grandfather that you stopped being able to see the North Star in the brightest parts of Tokyo a long time ago. That was before they stole him away though. Akita chewed on his lip. If anyone could see him up close enough, they’d notice that despite the costume as he had his mask pulled up so that he could better vape. Speaking of…
”Yo, when’d you say they’d arrive again, nerd?” He asked over the comms he was given. Fancy gear. The person who hired him obviously knew what they were doing - they just couldn’t or didn’t want to fight. His employer’s quirk was shit for combat
”Do you speak to all your employers this way? What if I don’t hire you again?” The guy quipped back.
”If you’re getting this mad that I called you a nerd, I don’t want you to hire me again. Answer the question.” He said. He had already been paid half of what was supposed to be his, and he didn’t care for repeat clientele that were unable to take a joke. Akita never left a job undone, but sometimes the older types that wanted to help him with life lessons were just begging to be ditched. Thankfully for the nerd that hired him, he was a consummate professional.
”Soon. Be patient. Didn’t your parents ever teach you that being early was being on time and being on time meant you were late?” It was a harmless enough question, but nonetheless Akita still rolled his eyes, and scoffed through a smile before shaking his head.
Akita would call the guy an asshole, paralyze his throat, and watch him die after this, but how was this guy supposed to know what happened to Akita, the spider-themed villain reminded himself.
”You know I heard that even from here. I apologize. I didn’t know until now.” The employer said. His employer’s quirk was reception. The guy could hear thoughts as if they were conversation. He couldn’t hear anything other than surface thoughts, though. It was a perfect interrogation ability: ask a question, and the surface thought might be the urge to keep their lies together, and that’d tell him enough. It was great for intel, too, which he supposed is part of why this guy dealt in the information trade. How a glorified spy ended up angry enough to hire an assassin to kill a scientist and come along on the journey, Akita never knew, and he’d never ask. He was still curious though.
”Thanks, old man.” He said. He meant it. He was sure if the guy had detected even the slightest sign that King Spider wasn’t who he was said to be by Japan’s underworld that he would have never handed him money. Akita was a professional. He’d always get the job done, whatever it was - rain, sleet, snow, or pro hero. It didn’t matter. It was just easier sometimes to do so. He let another puff of smoke leave his mouth, ready to pull down his mask at the slightest sign of his target.
