Valkyr
Lancer
October, 2005 - Osaka
The room shakes violently as beams of light cut through the grates above. The train above roars, brakes screeching, metal screaming against metal. Orochi stands calmly in the middle of the room, smoking a cigarette and resting his left hand in his trouser pocket. He is flanked by Naoko and Shinji, both watching the door ahead like hunting dogs straining at a leash.
Two men pushed the door open and stepped through, one of them a westerner carrying a bag marked with a medical symbol. They stopped across from Orochi.
“Oho, look who had the nerve to show up.” Orochi spat toward the Japanese man in front of him.
“You’re the one with nerve, Orochi. Hoshikawa-oyabun was our father.” The man’s tone dripped venom.
Orochi smirked, his eyes sliding to the foreigner standing stiffly behind the man.
“Oh, you brought your pet? Does he do any tricks?” Orochi asked mockingly.
“Are we going to do this, or do you just want to fuck my associate? I always knew you liked boys, Orochi,” the man sneered.
Shinji stepped forward, reaching into his waistband. “What the fuck did you just say?” he growled in Japanese.
Orochi’s arm shot out, stopping him.
“You heard what I said, traitor,” the man replied, lips curling.
The foreigner spoke up in English, “Can we all just calm down, please?”
Orochi pointed at him, voice sharp. “If you’re going to speak, speak Japanese, gaijin!”"
The room shook again, dust drifting from the cracked ceiling as another train screeched above. The foreigner flinched, his grip tightening on the medical bag. Orochi, unfazed, drew on his cigarette, the ember glowing in the dim light.
"Fine," the foreigner said in clumsy Japanese, bowing his head slightly, "let’s… make this quick."
Orochi tilted his head, smirk widening. "Good boy."
The Japanese man stepped forward, fists clenched. "You act superior, but we are all slaves now. There is no Hoshikawa-gumi, no Takahashi-gumi. Yakuza is extinct. Why do you think otherwise? Do you really believe power still matters when we’re cattle to the Combine?"
"Yet here you are, crawling around in the tunnels with us, playing gangster like the old days. Except now instead of heroin and cash, it's medicine and food. Don’t act like you are any different. We were brothers once, remember? You just hate that I was the one smart enough to survive," Orochi says, his tone calm but cutting.
The man’s jaw tightened, eyes flicking to Naoko and Shinji before returning to Orochi. "Whatever, I’m sick of hearing your voice. Let’s make the trade before I do something we’ll both regret," he said, voice low with restrained anger.
Orochi smirked and waved his right hand toward Naoko. She left his side, her shoes clicking softly on the cracked floor as she retrieved a large duffel bag from the corner of the room, dust rising in little clouds.
"There’s enough food there to feed thirty for a month. Now the meds?" Orochi said, his cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth as smoke curled lazily upward.
The foreigner carefully pulled his bag from his shoulder, hesitating as if second-guessing the exchange, then slid it across the floor.
"Morphine, antibiotics, disinfectant, painkillers, everything you asked for," he said in broken Japanese, his accent thick.
"You butcher our language, gaijin," Orochi muttered with a dismissive snort as Naoko crouched to check the med bag, her fingers moving quickly through its contents.
The man opposite Orochi bent to check the food bag, yanking it open and staring at its contents before his face twisted with rage. "What the fuck is this? This is dog food!"
"Oh? Well, you didn’t specify. Food is food," Orochi laughed, his grin mocking.
"You bastard!" the man shouted, his voice cracking with fury as he pulled a pistol in one swift motion, causing Naoko and Shinji to draw their weapons instantly, barrels trained.
The tension snapped like a wire pulled too tight. The man fired a round, grazing Naoko’s cheek and spraying a line of blood across her jaw. Without hesitation, Naoko and Shinji unleashed a storm of bullets into the pair, the sharp cracks of gunfire echoing in the cramped room. The two men crumpled to the ground, their bodies jerking as the shots tore through them.
For a few seconds, ears ring and smoke fills the room. The foreigner flails on the floor, smearing the blood pooling beneath him as he gasps and chokes, his eyes wide with panic. His hands paw weakly at the air, slick with crimson, before slapping helplessly against the concrete. The man beside him lays motionless, blood gushing steadily from a head wound, forming a dark, spreading halo.
Orochi exhales, his expression cold as he watches the foreigner’s struggle. "What the fuck just happened?" he finally asks after the smoke settles and his ears stop ringing, his voice low, almost conversational, as if he were asking about the weather.
"Your old friend just fucking shot me," Naoko groaned, pressing a sleeve against her bleeding cheek. Her eyes flicked to Orochi, narrowing with irritation. "You think maybe you could’ve warned me he was that stupid?"
Shinji crouched to check the bodies, giving the foreigner a light kick to keep him from reaching for anything. "He’s done. Won’t last a minute like that," he muttered, straightening as distant metallic echoes rolled through the walls.
Before they could say anything more, voices emanated from the corridor beyond the door—sharp, mechanical, and inhuman, carrying the artificial masking of the newly established Civil Protection.
"Shit. We got white faces!" Shinji barked, jamming a fresh magazine into his pistol with a metallic snap. His stance shifted, weight forward, like he was ready to charge.
Orochi didn’t waste time. "Grab the meds, leave the food," he ordered, rushing to the back door, his hand brushing the pistol tucked into his waistband. He glanced back once, eyes narrowing as the muffled stomp of boots drew closer. "Move, now, before they pin us in."
"We got shooters in the tunnels under the transit block! Requesting additional Protection Teams to my Location, uh, 10-99!" one of the voices called out, breathing heavily, his words distorted by the comms filter.
Orochi, Naoko, and Shinji rushed through the tunnels, boots slamming against concrete as the echoes of their footsteps chased them. The walls vibrated with distant impacts as Civil Protection units closed in, their distorted orders bouncing through the corridors like angry ghosts.
"These meds better be worth it," Shinji gasped between ragged breaths, sweat streaking his forehead as he sprinted.
The group slowed abruptly at the sound of a heavy door swinging open ahead, metal clanging against concrete. Orochi immediately reached for his pistol, his fingers brushing the worn grip before he snapped it up and checked the chamber with a practiced motion. Naoko darted a glance at him, already raising her own weapon.
They advanced cautiously, the tunnel’s dim emergency lights casting long, jerking shadows. As they turned the corner, two fresh Civil Protection functionaries stood at the far end, blocking the only exit they needed.
"Hey, yo—OH, DROP THAT WEAPON!" one of the officers shouted, his voice cracking with panic.
Orochi fired first, muzzle flash lighting the narrow corridor before he slid back into cover as a hail of bullets ripped toward them, sparks dancing off the walls. The officers, nervous and inexperienced, fired wildly, their shots scattering against pipes and walls.
“Keep them busy!” Naoko hissed, crouching low.
The gunfire slowed, then stopped—both officers fumbling to reload at the same time. Orochi seized the moment, swinging out from cover, his aim steady and calm despite the chaos. He squeezed the trigger once, placing a single clean round into one officer’s head. The man dropped instantly, his helmet clattering against the floor.
The other officer screamed, diving down, trying to crawl for cover. "Oh fuck, fuck, fuck!" he gasped, his voice high-pitched with fear.
Naoko darted forward, her boots splashing through a shallow puddle as she rounded the corner. She fired five quick, controlled shots into the officer’s torso as he cowered, his body jerking with each impact before slumping lifelessly.
“Let’s move,” Orochi barked, scanning the hallway one last time before motioning them forward. The way out was finally clear, but the muffled pounding of boots behind them reminded them they had only seconds to escape.
The group continued to move quickly, finding themselves back on the surface amid the scramble of functionaries. The air was thick with smoke and the distant wail of alarms, and searchlights from patrol vehicles swept across the ruined streets. They moved down the street quickly, keeping their heads low, weaving between clusters of panicked citizens.
"Fuck, this is fucked," Naoko hissed, glancing over her shoulder every few steps.
"Shut the fuck up," Orochi growled, his eyes darting between alleys as his hand stayed glued near his waistband.
"We’re going to get killed," Shinji muttered, his breathing uneven. He nearly stumbled on a piece of broken concrete before catching himself.
"No we’re—" Orochi began to respond, but he cut himself short as a voice barked behind them.
"Hey, you three!" a Civil Protection officer yelled out, his metallic-tinged voice echoing through the empty street.
The trio stopped abruptly, tension coiling in their bodies. Orochi’s hand slipped behind his back, gripping his weapon tightly as Naoko tensed beside him.
The officer stared for a long moment, his mask’s black lenses glinting under the flickering streetlights. His hand hovered near his weapon, but he didn’t draw. When he finally spoke, his tone carried a strange hesitation.
"There’s been a shooting…" he paused, head tilting slightly as if sizing them up. "We need all citizens to return to their homes immediately."
Orochi offered a slight nod, his face expressionless. "Of course. We’ll head right back."
The officer stood there a moment longer, the mechanical hiss of his respirator the only sound. "Be sure you do…" he said finally, his voice almost skeptical, before turning back toward his post.
The three continued on, quickening their pace until they were out of sight. Only when they reached the quiet safety of their safehouse did they let the tension crack, breaking out into hushed, breathless laughter.
Did that officer know? Was he just playing dumb? Or had they just walked past death without realizing how close it had been? How the fuck did they get away with that?