Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ Pistol-whipped ❯ The Masters and their Puppets ( Chapter 5 )

Thanks for the reviews so far!

 

Know Your Enemy
is by Rage Against the Machine

 

Enjoy. =)

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Know your enemy!

 

 

A slow process, building trust.

 

The transfer student had been in Tokyo for a few weeks, and finally, he was in the swing of things. He had quickly caught on to the language, much to his classmate's dismay, so he could bite back with equally insulting quips. He had become friends with a great variety of people. Variety was good; he needed variety in the people he chose to talk to. He needed as many different angles and views on the students as possible, a clever approach. It was methodical, objective, calculated.

 

It was the way he had been trained to be.

 

 

Born with insight and a raised fist
A witness to the slit wrist, that's with

 

 

He expected by now though that he would have more than one lead. And he did, sort of. Other than Ryunosuke, who was steadily becoming less of a mystery, a student, a new student, had caught the agent's interest. Interestingly, this boy was as new as the attacks on the girls. But still, thanks to his receded and shy nature, there wasn't much more he could wring out. Alexander stared at his new suspect with more than a passing interest as the Geography teacher prattled on about Europe's mountain structure. He was an unusual character, he looked much younger than he probably was and his mass of hair nearly took command of his head. It got increasingly difficult so study him, however, the boy sat right behind Arai Naomi, who was right in the line of the agent's sight. It got increasingly difficult to disguise his suspicious interest.

 

And Ryunosuke's threatening glare from the other side of the classroom got increasingly dark.

 

Alexander remembered the day he had confronted Ryunosuke about his relationship with the voluptuous virgin; and he was still nursing the resulting verbal lash on his pride. She's not his girlfriend, she's his friend. They act like a pissy couple in the middle of a spat, and he spits fire whenever other boys think about her. But no, she's not his girlfriend, she's his friend. Touchy subject.

 

No, you think?

 

 

As we move into '92
Still in a room without a view
Ya got to know
Ya got to know

 

 

Another puzzling prospect: if Ryunosuke were a rapist, wouldn't he have taken advantage of the girl already? If Ryunosuke were a rapist, he wouldn't have schoolgirls kissing his feet for a fuck. If Ryunosuke isn't the rapist, who the fuck is?

 

This sucks.

 

He slumped over his desk, the position quickly becoming uncomfortable for his above-Japanese-average height. The teacher, now that he was paying attention, was writing out a list of homework and reminders. A rather long one that made it from the top to the bottom of the blackboard in chalked kanji. The bell rang and set off a chain reaction of events. Ryunosuke's earphones quickly moved from around his neck to the top of his head, the girls sprung out their Hello Kitty and Pooh Bear lunchboxes, the strange new kid pulled out a book with a blank cover, the basketballers stripped into gym clothes on the small classroom balcony, and the usual huddled mass of boys swept Alexander away to the oval. All in the time the teacher took to dust the chalk dust off his hands, and walk out the door.

 

“Oi!” Kaji tossed a bread roll to a friend as the group sat on the grass, ready to enjoy the short period of lunchtime they were allowed. Bass guitar pumped from headset on Ryunosuke, tuning himself out of the conversation, leaning against the tree they sat beneath. “Gaijin,”

 

Alexander Craft, the foreigner.

 

 

That when I say go, go, go
Amp up and amplify
Defy
I'm a brother with a furious mind

 

 

He mumbled in response, chewing on the doughnut he had bought from the canteen “Mm?” Sugar was not the best choice, and the fake smiling got to him too, but hey, he needed to look like a normal kid while he was at school. They didn't know he dreamt of his girl with another man and then woken up to vomit blood. “Nanda?”

 

Ryunosuke smirked at the mimicry of his `catch-phrase'. He turned the volume up higher. He shouldn't be able to hear these things.

 

Alexander looked up at Kaji, trying to chew the doughnut at get the taste of icing out of his mouth as soon as possible. The short haired boy looked around for a moment, before he snuck his hand into his pocket. “Want one?” He wasn't surprised when he saw what his classmate had offered him.

 

Never smoked a blunt before.

 

 

Action must be taken
We don't need the key
We'll break in

 

 

Ryunosuke was still listening to music, but paying closer attention from his seat in the background. The four other boys leered on, ready to take Kaji up on his offer should their new American friend refuse it. Craft looked around and licked the chocolate icing off his lips, finishing his doughnut, glad to be rid of the sickeningly sweet taste. A slow process, building trust. It had nothing to do with peer pressure, and he definitely wasn't into drugs.

 

But the best way to squeeze information out of a bunch of teenage boys is to get them high.

 

Alexander took a deep drag, the narcotic effects not slipping in unnoticed by the ever-vigilant spy. He had expected the lightheaded cloud, the swimming in his mind. He had expected the boys around him to smile and be impressed, had expected them to pass the joint around at each take a good puff.

 

He hadn't expected Ryunosuke to join in.

 

 

Something must be done
About vengeance, a badge and a gun
'Cause I'll rip the mike, rip the stage, rip the system
I was born to rage against 'em

 

 

But when Alexander spotted Naomi across the soccer field, watching them from afar, he passed the smoke to his friend's already outstretched hand, a fleeting few seconds of momentous eye contact passing between the two. The rest, well. The rest was a blur.

 

I want another doughnut.

 

 

 

***

 

 

“Heh, had a bad day?”

 

The pure white light illuminated the sterile room, reflected off the polished surfaces of the table and floor. Alexander ran his hands over the top of the table, leaning back on a stainless steel chair. The sleek texture soothed his nerves, but did nothing to ebb the migraine. It had been pounding in his head for days. He wanted to vomit, he wanted to scream, just cry, but no luck. Too many things to do, too many important responsibilities thrust upon him. At this point, sleeping didn't even make it go away. It was a state he had been in for a while, during the week or so since he had spoken to Jennifer. Call it homesick, lovesick.

Or whatever the hell you wish.

 

 

Fist in ya face, in the place
And I'll drop the style clearly
Know your enemy

 

 

“Had a bad fucking week.”

 

Alexander leaned forward on the chair, an elbow on the table and a hand on his face, pinching the bridge of his nose as if to focus his thoughts. The thick smell of tobacco was in the air, smoke coming in wisps from the cigarette in the other man's hand. Ben Arc, 47 years old, male, 6'5”, hair colour: brown, eye colour: brown. He was another correspondent from Sigma, in charge of reporting the mission's progress directly to the big guns. Alexander considered him an old friend, a mentor, a father, even.

 

And he didn't even know if Ben Arc was his real name.

 

Sigma.

 

To them, your name is meaningless. The ultimately objective manner in which Sigma deals with its members never falters. You see an emotional, passionate, hard-working individual. They see a weapon with certain abilities and a decent capacity to follow orders. Sigma will pick and choose its candidates from all over America, and like it or not, if someone is chosen, they are part of Sigma. They no longer own their own lives. Alexander was one of the few with the privilege of keeping his real name. He was dragged from an orphanage, thrown into a private school, stripped of his choices. He became part of Sigma at the age of 14, when his abilities started to show. He had been a reluctant government soldier ever since.

 

Soldier?

 

I'm a puppet.

 

Sigma. They stole from this man his real name, stole from him his wife, children, his life. And just like Alexander's, all his records were erased. Not a trace left of the real Benjamin Arc.

 

Heh, maybe heis my father.

 

 

I've got no patience now
So sick of complacence now
I've got no patience now
So sick of complacence now

 

 

Ever obedient, ever loyal. The patriots of Sigma follow their orders willingly, despite the forced entrance fee, because they know they are helping their country, protecting their fellow Americans. When they set off on dangerous, life threatening missions, members of Sigma don't think of their friends and family that were left behind. All they see is red, white and blue. There's a right to obey, and a right to kill.

 

So what does a rapist in Japan have anything to do with it?

 

Well, Ro.

 

Alliances come with certain obligations. Sigma and Ro. Identical organizations on opposite sides of the world, tightly tied together by political ropes and strings. When Sigma has a problem, it becomes Ro's problem. When Ro has a rapist running loose among its people, Sigma sends Alexander Craft to risk his life and deal with it. That brings him here, to the `top-secret' headquarters of Ro for a meeting between the two parties monitoring the situation. Call it a meeting, an interrogation.

 

Or whatever the hell you wish.

 

Alexander exasperated, letting out a grunt of frustration, “How much longer are they gonna make us wait?” He wanted to get it all over with, he planned to go back to his half-assed apartment, swallow another dozen pain killers, and fall unconscious onto his bed.

 

Ben coughed, the dry smoke singeing his throat, he fisted a large hand in front of his mouth and took a few moments to compose himself, “Patience, boy,” heavy footsteps echoed in the hallway outside the room, “Ah, here we go;” Ben doused his cigarette in a nearby empty Coke can and dusted the grey ash from his dark leather jacket. The small American flag sewed onto the front pocket didn't surprise Alexander at all.

 

 

Sick of sick of sick of sick of you
Time has come to pay...
Know your enemy!

 

 

My father, the patriot.

 

The heavy steel door opened without a sound, the hinges polished and new like the rest of the building. A conversation ended as one man walked off, and the other proceeded to meet with the Americans. In stepped a thin, grey, long-haired Japanese man in a white coat, looking much like a scientist. Especially with that clipboard.

 

Am I a test subject now?

 

He bowed; nothing the two foreigners weren't used to, but weren't obliged to return the show of respect; The skinny man's old voice was raspy but held clarity, “Yokoso.” With twin nods from the two Sigma agents, the Ro supervisor took one of the two spare seats at the steel table, and lay out his `important' papers. “Craft-san, tell me what you've found.”

 

What had he found?

 

Alexander went into official mode, willing to show he was deserving of the -san the man had labeled him with, “In the three weeks I have been investigating at Agate High, I established a relationship with one student in particular who I've labeled a suspect;” In all honesty, speaking with respect made the migraine worse. “Other than him,” Alexander lay out an ID sheet of Ryunosuke before the old man, “there is another interesting boy who I've had trouble getting information on,” another sheet with less writing, and a picture of a skinny teenager with dark, sunken eyes, “I think he's worth looking further into.” Craft waited for the official to absorb the information, watching the gears in the old man's mind turn while the gears in his own mind grinded and creaked together painfully.

 

 

Yes I know my enemies
They're the teachers who taught me to fight me

 

 

Lean fingers shuffled through the crisp paper, “Sou...”, he moved slowly, took a long time reading the information.

 

The migraine got worse.

 

I need to start smoking.

 

Alexander leaned forward, losing his patience; “I wanted to get permission to look into Nagara Ryunosuke on Ro's database,” Even though Craft's suspicions of Ryunosuke being a rapist were waning, something about his friend was... “I need to look much further into his history. There's a blank void where his parents are supposed to be, I want to know what happened to them.” He needed to find out exactly what the mysterious school president was about, if not hiding a pile of defecated female bodies.

 

 

Compromise, conformity,
Assimilation, submission,

 

 

The old man sighed, “That cannot be allowed,” even the ever-patient Benjamin Arc quirked up with interest from his place in the background of the scene.

 

Alexander raised a brow, “Sir?” he leaned forward, all of his research on Nagara threatened to be thrown out the window. “He could be the guy you're all looking for!” His eye throbbed in protest to the ache the raise in the volume of his voice had caused, “Why not!?”

 

The door swung soundlessly open again with a smooth whoosh and the muffled sound of music blared through. In stepped a much darker, younger Japanese male, wearing a dark school uniform and a small grin. The old man's voice came stronger this time, answering the many questions in Alexander's head at once.

 

“Because he's your partner in the investigation.”

 

 

Ignorance, hypocrisy,
Brutality, the elite

 

 

Nagara Ryunosuke. Call him bad-ass school president; ladies' man; secret government agent; a `soldier' for Ro.

 

Or whatever the hell you wish.

 

 

All of which are American dreams,
All of which are American dreams,

All of which are American dreams

 

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To be continued...