The Hunted One

...of Hiroyoshi Masamori and his life to date.
A short story set in the "Shadowrun" universe by riprjak.
The martial art "KenjuuJutsu" is inspired by "Gun Kata" from the fantastic movie "Equilibrium"
Shadowrun is a registered trademark of WizKids Inc.

Born early in the 21st century, 2025, Hiroyoshi should have experienced the full fury of the collapse of the old world along with everyone else. However, being born in a Northern Japanese city ensured that he was typically shielded from the chaos, particularly from metahumans; considering the Japanese policy. Hiro's family had a long and proud tradition; one into which Hiro was initiated at a young age. They were Yakuza. Not criminals, not thugs and drug dealers; traditional Yakuza with a history stretching back over 300 years; defenders of the small people, solvers of problems and networkers. Hiro's grandfather was the Oyabun locally and his father a "secretary", a colloquilism for problem solver. Hiro's father mostly worked within the local workers community to maintain spirits and address conflicts. He was also an exceptional martial artist, perhaps one of the first physical adepts. It was from Hiro's father that Hiro gained his own prowess, starting to train at a young age with blade, hands and Pistols. Hiro's father has another distinction, he was one of the first Japanese martial artists to use KenjuuJutsu ("Art of the Pistol") and undertook to ensure his son shared his mastery of the art.

Up to his 15th birthday, Hiro's life was a stereotype straight out of a Kurosawa film. Traditional Japanese manor house, family dojo out the back where he trained daily with Sword, Body and Pistol; honing his mind and his art and training to take over from his father when his father became the next Oyabun upon the passing of Hiro's grandfather. Raised to respect the common people, ensure the safety and integrity of the community and keep them safe from the effects of crime. Raised also to solve the problems of others with quiet negotiation and the unstated threat of violence, to finish all fights yet to start none.

Unfortunately things had been changing over the preceeding 50 years, tides within the Yakuza had been shifting; branches overseas were becomming more overtly criminal due to conflicts with Medditeranians, South East asians and Russians. Honour and discipline were being replaced with Expediency. Several of the most senior Oyabun supported this cause as it enriched them and their families; a minority clung to the old ways wherever they could. Some misplaced their loyalties with the Organisation of the Yakuza instead of the Spirit of Yakuza. When Hiro's father killed the depraved son of one of the "New Yakuza" oyabun in an honorable but embarassingly short duel, the die was cast.

Realising that the new bushido warriors, these KenjuuJutsu masters, were critical to the future of the Yakuza and its dominance over other networks; a plan was hatched to use one against the other; to root out the purity of Hiro's family whilst retaining the majority of the KenjuuJutsu masters through loyalty. A loyalty to the organisation which could be more easily guided by the removal of the last of the Oyabuns who still respected the Old Ways; Hiro's family, his Grandfather, father, uncles and their wives and children.

2040 was a bloody year in the Northern Half of Japan as the Yakuza's civil war, the war which forever ended the rule of tradition, real tradition, in the Yakuza. The old forms were still respected, of course, they were Japanese after all; but few remained who understood what it was that the Yakuza existed for, their true role in Japanese society. Hiro's family ceased to exist in a single, well planned night. Only Hiro's Grandfather, his father and mother surviving the initial attack; Hiro's father dispatching the cybernetically enhanced, reflex wired Ninja with their predictable, chipped skills with the ease of a true master; sustaining no wounds at all yet littering the family compound with hundreds of expensive bodies.

As Hiro's grandfather struggled to connect with his counterparts and negotiate a peace; failing to understand, unable to understand that there was no negotiation of a reasonable resolution possible; the final act played out.

Aikira Shoshiru, Hiro's father's closest friend and brother in arms walked through the gates of the compound. It was he who had been manipulated by their enemies to destroy the family of his most loved friend in the name of the organisation, to be rewarded with elevation to Oyabun in Hiro's grandfathers place. Had the night gone as planned, he may never have realised the duplicity of the Senior Oyabun and the lies that manipulated him to this point. Hiro's father demanded parley and challenge, as was his right and the Honorable Aikira accepted. Hiro's grandfather rapidly dispelled all of the claims against the family and offered to yeild to Aikira should he accept the grace of the Gods and carry the old traditions forward.

Aikira accepted and Hiro's grandfather committed seppuku with Hiro's father assisting; then Aikira and Hiro's father fought. Blade met Blade until Hiro's family Katana struck a shattering blow destroying Aikira's blade; then Hiro's father sheathed his katana. They both drew pistols and continued to battle, it was horrific; rounds flying everywhere as the two masters deflected the pistols from each others bodies. Then, the duel was sealed as Hiro's mother collapsed; struck in the neck by a ricochet; she was dead before she hit the ground.

Hiro's father was devestated and the fight drained out of him. He yielded to Aikira on the condition that Aikira protect Hiro and allow him to survive. Aikira accepted through his tears and took his head.

Hiro stood stoically, as only a fifteen year old boy could, terrified beyond comprehension by what he has witnessed. He grasped his family sword as Aikira gave it to him, "Keep this safe, it is the honour and history of your clan; you are the headman now Hiroyoshi". Aikira then knelt and swore on the soul of Hiro's father that he would honour the Ninjo and protect Hiro throughout his life from the Yakuza.

Hiro started to the sudden sound of his cell phone ringing in his ear. He was on his feet scanning the room before his brain caught up with the fact that he had a phone call. Wiping the sweat from his brow from the nighmare; his only nightmare, remembering the day his childhood and his family died; and answered the call. "Hiroyoshi, son of my heart, you must move; and quickly, they have discovered you" The voice at the other end, Aikira, now Oyabun of the Northern provinces, "12 men are coming, you must leave Japan; they are getting too close you you. Flee to North America; Seattle, Los Angeles, St. Louis or another sprawl... go tonight". "Hai" responded Hiro and he hung up. Hiro, called Hiro no longer, simply known as Seito, Student, he had lived his life quietly in Tokyo; helping the little men and forming his own network to balance the new imperial powers; the Zaibatsu's; including the Yakuza. The last few years it was getting harder to stay ahead of the Yakuza; now he knew Aikira was right, he had to leave his beloved country and enter the barbarian wilds of the western world. Hiro gathered his few belongings into his shoulderbag; dressed in a simple black turtleneck and pants (his chosen atire since the death of his family, always in simple, unadorned black), strapped on his twin ARES Viper pistols and his families Sword and unlatched the window. He threw his armoured overcoat over himself, shouldered his pack and secured it then silently slipped though the window; dropping the single floor to the alleyway, he made his way into the night; barely a whisper as he went.

The skyline of Tokyo, 2045, winked with bright lights of the Zaibatsu towers and none but a single elderly monk and his young student noted Hiro's passing. Only one knew who he was; "See, there" pointed the old monk to his student from where he sat in the old shinto shrine. "The hunted one leaves; but for the grace of the spirits, we shall not see his like in Japan again". "The hunted one, master?" asked the student, unsure if the old man was speaking of the mythical warrior who fought the Yakuza, the triads, the corporations in the name of the common man and, moreso, if such a great warrior could truly be that small, unremarkable man drifting through the night's shadow. The old monk smiled, "Surely you realise that street tales are amplified in the telling", knowing the students thoughts from the intent expression on his face, "that man is indeed the Hunted One, although I doubt he himself realises it, though he, too, knows the tales.". The old man smiled once more and said no more on the topic, despite the questions from his intent young student. The old man silently wished his great grandson well, he prayed for the men of the west too; for KenjuuJutsu and the last of the honourably upright men was leaving the islands of the sun and the world may not be the same for his passing. The old man chuckled to himself for his own hubris, but he had taught his grandson well and his great grandson was well on the path; better than he himself knew. The old man stood and went inside, soon the winds would be up soon and he couldnt risk a passer by spotting his ears, the Japanese weren't that keen on elves, on any meta-humans.

Hiro sheathed his pistols as the last thug hit the ground, twelve he had been told; there had only been 11. Where was the... Hiro was rolling before he even registered the sound of the shot; he had always been like that, able to feel things coming; ever since his father died and that strange old monk had taken him in and concealed him on his trip to Tokyo... Hiro tore down the side alley; snipers, he hated snipers; no honour. The warehouse door was opening as Hiro rounded the corner; looks like he had guessed correctly. The tall man had a briefcase and a sword. Hiro was going to enjoy this.

"Surrender your weapons and I will let you live", Hiro stated as he took his stance a few meters behind the man. His opponent dropped the briefcase and turned, Hiro gasped when he saw the two pistols and the reloading rig at the mans side. A KenjuuJutsu student without a doubt, but one who had used a rifle; Hiro reeled at the insult and fought down the rage inside of him. They quietly faced off as the tall man sneered, then drew his katana and charged Hiro; this was going to be easier than Hiro thought. Hiro held his ground, channeled his rage until the last moment and screamed a Kiai that shook the docks, He drew his sword like a whip and it passed through his opponents sword almost unhindered, taking his arm with it shortly after. Hiro spun and took his other arm as he fumbled for his pistols. A student this man may have been, but one who failed to focus properly on his training.

As the large man fell to his knees in shock Hiro quickly fashioned a noose from his rope and swung it over the power cables overhead; he would not let this man die a warriors death. The Yakuza sweepers found their "Samurai's" body suspended the following morning along with Hiro's message "Live in dishonour, die in disgrace". When they saw the two halves of the sword on the ground along with their warriors arms, their urge to investigate further vanished. They were even more puzzled at the wry smile their Oyabun made whilst rubbing the stump of his little finger, a single joint had been cut from his left little finger, as they explained their failure to a Secretary. One wondered how a man with a disgrace, even a single one, could have risen to be Oyabun. Aikira saw that man looking at his hand and smiled more broadly, such a one could never contemplate wearing dishonour as a badge of honour and understand that sometimes a man can only gain honour in failure. He also appreciated the irony of Hiro's removal of his student's arms, he doubted any other Yakuza in history had recieved such a punishment for dishonour; He had warned his student against the use of longarms, after all.

Hiro snapped out of his reverie. He still remembered that night, seven years ago, the last time he saw Japan. But now he lived in America and had a new network, contacts across North America; in St. Louis he had found a refuge where he could continue to Honour his father's name and continue his work to aid the little men.

He felt it odd that he heard stories of the Hunted One over here as well, he smiled when he remembered that old monk and his insistence that he, Hiro, was the Hunted One; the great warrior. Hiro Laughed out loud, a few patrons in the bar turned to look but none bothered him; the only armed man in the bar. Hiro knew he was no great warrior, not even a particularly good man; just a student, Seito, and a criminal, a thief of information and money who tried to balance the karma on his soul by serving the Little Men as was his duty.

Seito finished his sake and stood, he still had alot of work to do tonight and it was already nearly midnight. He retrieved his pistols at the door and paused to unknot his Katana; with a nod to the bouncer he was away, dissolving into the evening crowd in downtown St Louis like so much smoke...

The old elf gripped his staff and hobbled off in the other direction, "Not the same for his passing indeed", he grinned at a confused passer by and continued back to his shrine on the cities outskirts; Bad men were going to die tonight...

"The Hunted One, the tales go, is a giant of a man. Some say he is an elf, others a human, fewer still claim him as an orc or a troll; it depends on the teller and their personal bias. All that is know for sure is that the Hunted One is male. He is a martial artist; His hands spit fire which can fell the strongest warrior; His sword glows and is never stained with blood, so powerful is it's magic. He is faster than the zaibatsu ninja, stronger than the yakuza soldiers. The Hunted One fights the Yakuza and the Zaibatsu's; prevents them from stealing from the street people, the poor, the struggling. He kills their soldiers by the thousands, walking the streets every night; all over the world.

Some claim he is no man at all, but rather a spirit of rage, appearing wherever he is needed.

All know that the Yakuza will pay, and well, for The Hunted One; the fact that the Yakuza hunt this legend is the reason for his name, after all..." The old elf paused as his young audience raised their voices in disbelief... "How can there be a hit on a ghost?" says one bold young boy, barely 8. The old elf smiles "How indeed," continues the elf, "Let me tell you of another man, a King who lived long ago, so powerful was he that he believed he could control the very weather, the tides themselves..."

The SINless outside the old elf's shrine huddle around their drums, seeking the warmth of the fire. They all smile at the old elf and his tales of the unstopable warrior, although they all knew the massive reward offered by the Yakuza for a man called Hiroyoki; no one cared, why would a Japanese from the family of an Oyabun, even one with a price on his head, live in the barrens of an American city. It was odd, some mused, though, they werent as hungry as they used to be, and they didnt live in the same fear of the gangs as they did 3 or even 5 years ago... probably due to the new archologies and their corp' police cleaning up, maybe even that universal brotherhood who had that shelter on the other side of town. Either way, it was never the work of one man, couldn't be and besides, if they were that good they would work for the yak; the pay is better...

Elsewhere in the city, a figure stood silently in the shadows watching a deal transpire. The figure would normally not just watch, but there was something wrong; the tall blonde man with the twin pistols. The tall white man. Something in the way he stood, the reloading rig, the way he wore his sword; almost as if he were a KenjuuJutsu student. But not a gaigin, certainly the Yakuza hadn't fallen so far as to pass the secrets out of Japan. As had happened once before, he had almost been overwhelmed with rage at the thought of such an insult. But a wiser man now, he watched and planned. The white yakuza enforcer had only two bodyguards, but the Johnson had ten soldiers with him. Then everything went pear shaped as a team of `runners appeared out of nowhere and assaulted the group.

The soldiers were dealt with quickly enough, even though the four seemed quite heavily reliant on magic for their ilk. Then the tall blonde man spread his legs and drew the two pistols, very nice predator III's with laser sights. Then Hiro knew this man was a KenjuuJutsu student and quite possibly an adept like himself. These four, skilled as they were, are not ready to deal with a KenjuuJutsu student in close quarters; how could they be. Hiro lept from the ledge he was squatting on with a Kiai. Drawing his pistols in mid air he landed hard; drained by the energy required to channel his energies into his strentgh and reflexes. Not an auspicious start to a fairly serious battle.

If the blonde man had noticed him, it didnt show; he was intently moving toward an elf fighting in the melee; the two yakuza bodyguards, however, drew blades and charged. "Surrender or die" yelled Hiro in his accented english. That got the blonde man's attention, as he screamed an order to stand down to the bodyguards; too late since Hiro had already stepped under the clumsy swing of the closest and placed one of his pistols against each of their heads... a fraction of a second later, neither man was likely to continue the fight; nor be buried in an open casket. The Viper does not treat human bodies with much respect. Hiro completed his technique into a ready position and looked toward the blonde man; "I am called SeiTo and you, gaigin," He spat the last word, "are an insult to the art. Surrender or Die."

The blonde man just grinned and charged, firing as he ran. Hiro dove forward and to the side and rolled; coming up close to the blonde man on the left and deflected his pistols upward. This was going to be interesting...