"The Prologue and a Mockery of Classic Poetry."
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Inkosi Moro sat quietly in his exquisite velvet chair, sleeping softly with a book askew on his lap.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
"Eh? Who the hell is gently rapping on my chamber door?" The young shinobi sprung upwards, the book falling to the floor with a soft thud. "LENORE! Bitch, if that's you, you'd better have a good Raiden-damned reason for gently tapping, whilst I was napping, you, rapping on my chamber door!"
He quickly strode; his feet were shuffling, advancing toward his chamber door. The door flung open, almost breaking; his fists were clenched, surely shaking ready to return the rapping, the irritable tapping upon his chamber door. As he peered into the darkness, searching with his eyes of sharpness, he saw no one, no future carcass. Had it been his mind a wander? Perhaps of lust, his heart grew fonder. Even still, his fists sought donder. Time escaped, as he pondered for he heard a knocking yonder, but on his window not his door. 'Twas but a raven, sent from bosses here to delegate his losses, of his time spent sweetly sleeping. Sleeping near his chamber door. Heart of malice, walking madly as the Raven tap-tapped gladly, that he was here and needed badly, to convey a message- nothing more. The window up (somehow unbroken), the foul in hand scared and croakin', his words were bad and loudly spoken, "SHUT THE FUCK UP."
Moro took the message from the Ravens foot and tossed it back through the window. It flew away, mentally taking note to shit on his window ledge the next time he was nearby. He unraveled the small scroll and read,
"Bodies of low level representatives of anti-shinobi groups have been mysteriously appearing in public venues of the Port Cirrus Harbor. The murders are being carried out in stereotypical "shinobi methods." ie; slit throats, kunai left in vital organs, etc. These are small time, unimportant people. They were not considered to be threats and as such, we have issued no orders to take them out of power. Someone is making an attempt to frame the Kumogakure Shinobi Council. The party carrying out these acts is unknown as of yet, but there is an informant in the area. His name is Shushu Taki. See if he knows anything. Find the culprits responsible for these heinous acts and send word back to HQ. Do not engage without consent."
Just as soon as he'd finished rereading the letter a second time, the self-immolation seal on the back activated and ignited the scroll, eliminating the chance of anyone else reading it. Moro inhaled deeply and closed his eyes. While exhaling, he quickly reflected on the mission details and then began to pack his bags.
~Port Cirrus Harbor~
"The ocean breathes salty, won't you carry it in? In your head, in your mouth, in your soul."
-Modest Mouse
Mmmn. The salty smell smell of the ocean filled his nostrils as he took a deep breath upon entering the harbor. He'd been to the Port Cirrus Harbor before, and he enjoyed the salty air. It was a nice change from the somewhat polluted air of Kumogakure. He peered out over the ocean, again taking in the salty smells, this time mixed with the sweet smell of blood. He could smell the blood of the villagers around him as they carried on their daily tasks. Oh, if he were lucky he'd get to feel the warm splash of blood upon his face as it left his enemies. The enemies of the Council of Kumogakure. That is, of course, if he were lucky. He had not, as of yet, received orders to kill. Then again, he hadn't figured out who is target was yet, either."The ocean breathes salty, won't you carry it in? In your head, in your mouth, in your soul."
-Modest Mouse
It was dark by the time Moro had arrived to the Port Cirrus, so he quickly made his way to a modest inn, rented a room for the week and deposited his bags into it. This mission wouldn't take a week. It couldn't. With his rank, he was not allowed to be gone for that long unless otherwise told to do so. With his bags safely locked in his room, Moro made his way to a bar by the pier. The Rusty Trumpet, named either after the aged instrument of a long deceased local jazz musician or a scandalous, secret sexual technique known only by the most depraved of all the whores of Kumogakure no Sato. Coincidentally, Moro had heard that one could inquire to receive such treatment at a nearby brothel. The Rusty Trumpet was the usual hangout for Shushu Taki, the local informant for the Council. It was also a popular place to be if one were a depraved sailor, murderous pirate, tax collector, or mercenary. Probably a few petty criminals thrown in there as well.
~The Rusty Trumpet~
Moro had looked up a picture and brief description of Taki before he'd made his way here to make things a bit more plausible. It didn't take him long to find the man. Shushu Taki was sitting in a booth sipping slowly on a colorful drink. Across from him was a mildly attractive woman who was clearly trying to make a buck. Moro approached the booth and addresses the woman. "You, out. Now." Confused and frightened, the woman scurried off, much to Taki's dismay. In fact, Taki was very vocal about his disapproval of Moro's presence in place of the woman's. "Mother fucker! What's the deal, shit head?" "Calm down little man or I'll put you down." Moro discreetly flashed his headband which had been tied around his neck, loose enough so that it couldn't been seen without him wanting to show it. "Are you fucking kidding me?" Taki's loud words had quieted into an angry whisper. "You know where you are, boy? One word for me and everyone here will tear you to shreds." Moro tilted his head back slightly and smiled. "Of course, and I'm sure they all love taking orders from a snitch." Taki bit his tongue. The shinobi was right. Neither of them would be well-received of either had revealed who was who here. Carefully considering his words, the man spoke, "What the fuck do you want?"
"As you've no doubt heard, locals have been murdered here a lot lately and the heat is on the shinobi as the perpetrators. I'm here to find out who's really behind it." Taki sneered, seeing past the young shinobi's bravado. He was young, inexperienced. Possibly stupid. "And what makes you so sure that it isn't your people doing this? Maybe you're here to take the fall for it all." Truthfully, Moro hadn't considered this possibility. Would it be that unbelievable that a government could be corrupt and put blame on an innocent? "Did I fucking stutter? Tell me what you know about these murders or I'll make a report of you being an accomplice and rip your fucking head off in the alley out back."
Young. Inexperienced. Scary as hell. Taki decided that he no longer desired to push this guys buttons. It was probably an empty threat but better not to risk it. He leaned in closer to the young shinobi and spoke in an even quieter whisper. "If someone hired anyone here for a job like what you're describing, there's no records of it to prevent future blackmail. However, all of the jobs go through Mr. X. He's got an office in the bathroom. Well, there's a hidden door leading to his office in the bathroom. Stall 3. Flush the toilet six times, quickly and the door will reveal itself." "If you're lying to me, I will find you. And we will visit that alley way together." Taki swallowed the rest of his drink and left the booth. He'd better not be lying.
Following Taki's instructions, Moro made his way to stall number three and flushed six times, quickly. Immediately after, he activated his snapshot jutsu, a secret ANBU jutsu that would record everything he saw for later observation. A seal appeared on the wall behind the toilet and a door knob was revealed. "Neat," thought the shinobi as he opened the door and stepped through.
The walls were a dark shade of a blue. The floor was a recently polished light wood. All that sat in the room was a lone generic houseplant, a beautiful mahogany desk, and a single shitty plastic chair in front of the desk for any visitors to sit at. Behind the desk, standing tall- very tall, was a man who looked to be in his early forties. Streaks of grey ran through his dark hair, his grizzled face adorned with numerous battle scars. This man had seen beyond his fair share of action. To his left sat Mr. X. He wore a simple black suit with a black mask hiding his entire head. Dangerous job, can't be too safe. His chair was much nicer, too. His guard's face tightened as Moro walked in, no doubt suspicious of a new face. Mr. X, however, spoke calmly as if he hadn't a care in the world. Was it an act? Or was he just that confident in his hired help's abilities? Mr. X greeted Moro, "Why hello, to what do I owe the honor, Mr....?" "Romo," he replied as he took his seat. "Whoever is putting the hits out on local public figures. I'd like to buy his name." "Oh..?" Mr. X leaned back into his executive chair and chuckled. "I'm afraid he's already paid me to ensure my silence on that matter." Moro's brow tightened, "I'll double it." Mr. X laughed harder this time. His security enforcer withdrew a small cross bow from his belt. Moro did not much more time here. "I suggest you leave now, before my associate here shows you the way out." Moro sized the guard up. He could be a problem. And with a bar full of mercenaries and murderers behind him, this was not the place to cause a scene. He nodded, stood up, and made his way to the exit. As he did, Mr. X warned him, "Mr. Romo, the eyes and ears of the rich and powerful are everywhere. Asking questions is a dangerous game. Don't waste my time again."
Moro's paranoid eyes darted between every person in the bar. Was what Mr. X said a warning or a threat? Hopefully it was a threat and not an empty one. Moro had no reliable contacts here. The only way he was getting an audience was for he, himself to be sought out. To do that, he needed to piss the right people off. And he'd done just that.
~The Hotel Room~
"Patience is bitter, but it's fruit is sweet."
-Jean-Jacques Rosseau
"Patience is bitter, but it's fruit is sweet."
-Jean-Jacques Rosseau
Two days had passed. Awaiting a reaction to his inquiries, Moro sat in his room. He had moved the chair away from the lone window but left the lights on to indicate that someone was home. He'd rented the room with his fake name, Romo. He was struggling to stay awake, the fatigue from the journey here setting in. Just as he was about to nod off, there came a tapping upon his door. "Room service," said the voice behind the door. "Seriously? How cliche." Moro turned the lift off and opened his door slightly. Standing before him was a child. She looked to be around ten years old. She had light brown hair and wore a cliched maid's outfit. The young girl was unable to make out the details of Moro in his dark room. "Nice try," Moro whispered as he pulled his left arm back. He threw a hard punch that landed directly on this child's right temple. The child dropped to the floor with a thud. "Heh. You'll have to do better than the ol' fake kid routine."
Just as he finished his sentence, he felt a sharp pain in his right shoulder followed by a warm sensation trickling into his back. Blood. He was bleeding. He could see the shuriken still stuck in the back of his shoulder. He looked behind him to see a man behind his window, readying more projectiles. This was who had been sent to stop him from digging up information.bit was difficult to see the details of the man, but he saw the green gleam of night vision goggles. Moro threw himself to the floor beside his bed and turned it on its side, saving himself from the multiple shuriken making their way to him. Moro rolled onto his back and placed both feet on the upturned bed. He pushed hard and sent the bed flying towards his assailant. The other man effortlessly dodged the attack, rolling underneath. He wasn't a common murderer. He knew what he was doing.
Now standing up, Moro removed the shuriken from his shoulder. Almost subconsciously, his blood had clotted up slowing the bleeding. He hurled the shuriken at the attacker, just hardly able to see him. 'siiiiiiiickk- CHING!' Hard to tell, but that sounded awfully like the assailant had deflected the shuriken with a sword. Not good. With haste, the attacker lunged forward delivering several direct slashing attacks to the torso of Inkosi Moro. "AHHHHH SHIT!" He could feel the blood leaking out of his body. He instinctively slowed some of it down, but he was losing a lot of blood. What could he do? He could hardly see his attacker to return the favor close up and any of the jutsu he knew with a big effect would demolish the room and blow his cover. Hunched over in a half-assed attempt to hold his blood in with his hands, the young ninja leaped backwards putting some distance between the two.
A light bulb appeared above Moro's head. Both figuratively and literally. He had an idea to gain the advantage against his attacker and he'r also bumped his head on a light fixture. He lunged for the door, using the lighted hallway as a guide. As he landed, he furiously threw the light switch into the 'on' position illuminating the room in the sweet sweet fluorescent lighting. The irritating hum was music to his ears as the assailant screamed, the bright light magnified by the night vision goggles, temporarily blinding him.
As the man pawed at the various latches attaching the goggles to his face, Moro took action. He leaped towards his disabled aggressor, arms wide and bleeding chest exposed. Just as Moro was about to collide with him, a plethora of blood spikes erupted from Moro's chest impaling the man. The wounds were not deep, themselves, but the extra jutsu that Moro had used would deal out its own excruciating pain. It was 'The Gift.' An ability known only to those of the Chigokai clan, it allowed them to transfer their open wounds to an unfortunate victim. The holes in Moro's chest sealed immediately as his attacker's clothes became drenched in his own blood.
The man's vision steadied and he took a defensive stance. His dark clothes became even darker now, filled with his own blood. Metal. Moro put an almost-clenched fist to his slightly wounded shoulder and drew a sword from the hole. It was crimson red, almost like a ruby and it looked similar to the generic sword that the now-bloody attacker wielded. The onlooking assailant's face remained steady and emotionless. He'd been around the block. He knew to expect some weird shit.
Both men cautiously stared at each other and simultaneously leaped forward, each slashing and stabbing at each other, ripping skin from one another spraying blood all over the cheap hotel room. Both men jumped back returning to their original positions. They were both physically exhausted and bleeding profusely. Moro was not nearly as concerned about this as his adversary. He could simply pass the wounds over to someone else. Probably this guy. For being a dick. To the assassin's surprise, Moro released his ruby sword. As it colided with the floor, it returned to it's original state, blood. His chin sunk, slightly as he displayed an evil grin. He'd beaten this nosy shinobi, time to take his life. However, Moro was far from beaten and before the assassin could attempt to finish this fight, Moro unleashed the most powerful blood technique he could muster. Blood Break.
His foe would find himself unable to move, his blood now being controlled by Moro. It was a difficult technique and one that Moro had not yet practiced to great extent. This powerful technique could drain the life force of the afflicted and replenish that of the user's, but that's not why he used his clan's most powerful technique. No, this was just to bind his movements long enough to use a technique that Moro was not terribly accurate with. "Who's your boss?" "Fuck off." "Ever heard of waterboarding? This is much, much worse." Flying through the handseals at incredible speed, Moro used a technique he'd recently picked up. This was one he'd been very excited to try out. The blood covering both the men and the walls separated from their surfaces and accumulated around the assassin, trapping him in a bloody sphere with Moro's hand at the surface of it. "Ever hear of the Water Prison jutsu? This is my twist on it. The Blood Prison. Now, I suggest you talk unless you want to suffocate on the blood from your, my, and countless miscellaneous deceased hookers' bodies.
The assassin could hardly move, and couldn't breath at all. His attempt to remain unaltered and stoic was short-lived as he grasped his throat, a strange instinct that comes with drowning. "No, no, not yet." Moro allowed a small funnel of air to reach the man's mouth. He gasped a few short breaths before being returned to a complete orb of blood. Moro's competency with this jutsu was not great and it's constant drain of chakra was more than he was comfortable with. After all, he'd spent his life training his body to withstand damage, not to use complicated jutsu. He'd need to get his answers soon. "I'm on a short schedule here so I'm going to make this even fucking worse for you. Ready? Here it comes!" Moro looked to his empty hand and concentrated on a mixture of his chakra and blood. He joined this hand with his other on the Blood Prison. The assassin's look of confusion was quickly replaced with realization and then pain. Moro's blood was corrosive and causing a great deal of hurt to the helpless man.
Forty-five seconds. That's how long Moro waited, watching the man suffer. His muffled screams releasing precious oxygen. "Are you ready to talk?" The man, now so very close to death, violently tossed his head up and down, words no longer able to be formed. "Good!" Moro released the jutsu, relaxing the strain on his own body as well as his new prisoner's. The man gasping for air, knelt before Moro. The air was once again forcibly released from his lungs via a hard kick to the chest. As he laid on his back fading into unconsciousness, Moro assisted him back into the realm of the awake by grinding his heel into a wound on the man's upper chest. He groaned in agony. "Now, tell me. Who the hell sent you?" Revealing that information would be akin to signing his own death certificate, but with the amount of pain he was enduring, death was beyond welcome. He muttered out the name, choking on blood, "Danida..." Moro dug his heel further into the wound. "Full name, please." "Gahhh! Ryokazu! His name is Danida Ryokazu!" "Thank you, sir. Oh, and who's the kid?" "H-huh? What kid?" "The one you sent to distra- aww, shit."
The kid had been an innocent bystander who'd been at the wrong place at the very wrong time. He hadn't hit her hard enough to kill her, but she was probably still unconscious. He oughta move quick to get her before someone noticed her. But first! "I know you were just doing your job and all, so no hard feelings, but uh, well, this is probably gonna hurt a lot." Moro gave the man a second gift, transferring even more of his wounds to the man. Bleeding so profusely, the man died within seconds. He was low on chakra but he had enough to muster up something basic. He focused, dispersing his chakra throughout the room, lifting the blood from any remaining surface and transporting it to the drain of the bathroom. Even his clothes were dry now. Of course there was a bloodless corpse on the floor, but that was easily enough taken care of. The top priority was the sleeping maid outside of his room. He made his way into the hallway and scooped the sleeping mildly beauty up into his arms. He found an unlocked room and gave it a quick look over. It was devoid of any bags or person effects. In other words, vacant. He laid the maid down on the bed and poured the last of his chakra into his hand and pressed down on her face. The Mystical Hand jutsu was definitely not a technique he'd thought he'd ever use, but it had been recommended to him during the Chunin exams. Better to have it and not need it than need it and not have it. The maid's face sufficiently healed, Moro quickly made his way back to his room before she could see him. He had a body to dispose of and report to write.
"Found the man in charge. Danida Ryokazu. Requesting council on what to do next, as ordered."
He'd spent the better part of the remainder of his night burying the assassin's body out of sight. He'd also managed to stash his bags in an inconspicuous location. He would keep surveillance on the room from outside the building. He wasn't in any shape to fend off more attackers and he needed to wait on the ANBU higher-ups to give him his next orders. They came before noon by carrier pigeon. Same way he sent them out.
"Do not engage. Return to HQ."
"Huh, that's disappointing." Oh well, he was tired anyways.
[[End]]
[WC:3719] [MFT]
Color Code:
Moro
Letters from Cloud
Shushu Taki
Mr. X
Maid
Nameless Assassin
(Ninja Edit: Fixed broken BBCode!)