Anyway, back to third person narrative.
When you think about it, this entire story has been driven forward by random shit coming out of nowhere and then trying to kill you.
Guessing that this time wouldn't be any different, you take a battle stance, preparing for an incoming blow.
From what you have observed, this tiger lady/lord person posses some agility in face breaking velocity.
That's a fancy way to say that she/he could wreck your shit in a very fast manner.
So you take a general defensive pose, holding Kogasa upside down in front of your body at a diagonal, prepared to parry attacks from any direction.
"I'm scared. Can't we just run?"
Run? Yeah? Running away would actually be a good idea at this moment. Maybe you could just?you know, point your ass at her/his direction and run the opposite waaAAYYYY!!
Well, guess it's too late to consider that as an option. The tiger person has taken the initiative for a preemptive strike, which you manage to block, barely in time, using Kogasa's shaft. She was fast, faster than anyone you faced before. She's not faster than bullets you have to constantly dodge back in the outside world, but still, she's fast. More than that, the blow was strong. No, if there's a word that could describes the attack that you have just experienced, that would be ?explosive?. You would know. You've been exploded a few times in the past. You have enough commentary to give the tiger person to fill an entire paragraph, but all that comes out of your mouth is;
In fact, you are so surprised by the speed, momentum, and overall ferociousness of that single attack, that you forget entirely about moving.
In a blur, the tiger person quickly moves for your head. You try for a parry, but the tiger is too strong, you only manage to awkwardly block hir steel pole. You can feel yourself losing grip of Kogasa from the sheer force of the strike.
The tiger person's attacks are relentless. He or she is not giving you any sort of chance to break through his or her defense. He or she does not giving you a chance of taking a breather, or even to reaffirm your grip on your weapon.
If you to voice your mind out loud right now, it would be just a long string of ?fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck?"
You don't know how long you've been busting your shit from trying to block all of the attacks, but you sure that it doesn't take long until you lose your grip entirely. One hit from the tiger?s, and Kogasa get flung away from you, leaving you with only your fist for defense.
And now that you look at the tiger's up close, you feel that you might as well be naked.
She's tall, about a head taller than you. And that clothes leaves a lot to the imagination, but you sure that he or she is pretty muscular under that, judging by the sheer size of his or her silhouette.
You look upon his or her face. She or he has a short blond hair with some black stripes. Definitely not a human, if that's the natural hair color.
Also, it almost a common knowledge that eyes could tell you the intention of the owner, and that pair of golden eyes with feline like pupil clearly send the intention that this person is about to wreck your ass.
"I'm boned, aren't I?" you asked.
A single swing from that big metal pole to the side of your head said ?yes, you are boned."
But a single earth cracking blow to the skull by a giant metal pole that should belong to a main battleship is not enough to bring you down.
It takes three.
As the world becomes a white blur and you feel your consciousness fades away, you collect the remains of your strength to step towards the tiger, and grabbed on her or his clothes. The tiger doesn't react as she can feel that the reaper, once again, is upon you, and that she doesn't need to waste energy to make faster of the inevitable.
With what is possibly your last breath, you put your middle finger at her face, and say;
And then everything fades to black.
HAHA! Just kidding! I can't write a bad end! I don't know how! I'm too idealistic and naïve! Heck! I don't even know how to write a proper conflict! (Ideas would be appreciated.)This is actually?BACKSTORY TIME!
"It was a dark and stormy night?" you mumbled to yourself as you run across the empty road that makes the central intersection of the downtown. There's no one here but you. And looking at the skyscrapers looming above you, you feel truly alone.
You look at your wrist watch. 8 PM. This place is not supposed to be this empty at this hour. There was a road block installed somewhere along the four branches of the intersection. It seems that whoever calling you here has quite the influences, at least in the traffic department.
You keep on walking, following the mental map based on that hand written map on a piece of paper left at the front of your door this morning, alongside some notes offering you a special job with a special pay. You just wish that the time of the meeting doesn't have to be the time when the weather forecast said to be the worst storm of this month.
Fortunately, you have just the tools to help you keep dry even when being shoved down the corpse of The Titanic. First, is your special made leather duster. Although you called it leather duster, its base material is actually not leather at all. No, leather won't be bulletproof enough for you. and no, it's not Kevlar. Second, is your very reliable unbreakable umbrella you got from the internet. And yes, it is literally unbreakable. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bO8G5zsQohg
You keep on walking in a relaxed pace under the heavy torrent of rain, enjoying the sound of each water droplets hitting one by one on the fabric of your umbrella. You try to make out every single one of them to no avail. So, you decided to hum the song of Gene Kelly instead.
"-I'm laughing at clouds, so dark up above, the sun's in my heart, and I'm ready for love?"
It doesn't take long until you reach the place mentioned on the note, a generic, derelict building about five stories tall, sandwiched between two much bigger skyscrapers. It seems to be an old abandoned hotel, with two big, old style wooden door at the front that you assume would lead to the lobby. Standing at guard at the front of the doors is a man. Big, burly bald Russian, wearing an expensive black suit. A pretty stereotypical ex-KGB character, if you ever saw one.
You approach the man and fold your wet umbrella.
"Pardon me? I believe that I was expected?" you asked in the most polite manner possible. Even the most ruthless ?problem solver? need to have standard, after all.
The man does not answer your question. Instead, he asks another question for you.
"Are you packed?"
"If you meant whether if I am armed or not, I have enough firepower to occupy Somalia for two months, or to survive in Detroit for two seconds."
"And that means..?"
"I own a Glock."
You give him your gun. Well, actually, you throw it at his face, distracting him long enough for you to just walk past him and go through the doors, unaware that you actually have a second handgun tucked in behind your leather duster.
You walk into the lobby. It looks surprisingly well furnished for an abandoned hotel. You can see that the small receptionist table still have some of that little pen that is attached to the desk by a string. And you can see the remains of a red carpet on the ground. There are also a few comfortable looking chairs around, and couch and a sofa.
The man in black does not follow you. you guess that he was assigned to guard the door. "ALLONNNNS-Y!! ANYONE HOME!?"
You screamed, but you get no response. You sense no presence other than yourself in that dark room.
"There's no need to shout."
Surprised, you turn on your heel and point your folded umbrella at the source of the voice. You see?a woman?
This is not just any woman. You did not sense her presence before she announces it herself out loud, and with a skin that light, it should be hard to sneak around in this dark room?
You look again at the woman, no, more than a woman, it's better to say that she's a girl. She's a Caucasian, with short red hair trimmed in a bob cut. She's wearing a business suit, with pants and a pair of sneakers. Overall, she looks like a tomboy, with a lithe body and short stature. If her suit weren't that thigh fit you wouldn't even recognized her as a lady.
But what interests you most is her face. That electric blue eyes?she looks so familiar?you sure you saw that face on TV before?
Then, a wave of realization hit you like a brick fired by the third Reich at Stalingrad, and you can't help but move your mouth and say:
Far back before the world war one, then exist a clan of Russian nobles called The House of Putyanin, descendants of Prince Mikhail of Tver, a Russian Orthodox saint and Mediaeval potentate. To evade the watch of communist Moscow back in the era of the cold war, they abbreviated their name.
Nowadays, they go by the name ?Putin?.
"It is nice to know that my father's name has a meaning to someone such as you, Mister Zero." She said in thick Russian accent. Russian accent usually gives you a feel of exoticism?but this time, it just feels..friendly, like she's been my neighbor for years.
Mister Zero? she's going to use that name, huh?
Zero, by the way, is your nick name in the underworld. You see, United States Armed Forces? alert state, The defense readiness condition (DEFCON), goes like this;
DEFCON 5, is the lowest level of readiness. DEFCON 4, means that Increased intelligence watch and strengthened security measures are needed. DEFCON 3, means Increase in force readiness above that required for normal readiness. DEFCON 2, means that nuclear war is possible. DEFCON 1, means that nuclear war is inevitable.
DEFCON 0?is you.
Having nothing else to say, you decided to complement her taste in clothing.
"Thank you. Yours too."
"Pardon?" There's nothing exceptional in your clothing right? it's just a functional duster?
"it's generic enough not to attract any attention, yet unique enough to make a?let just say?your trademark, letting you build your fame and reputation in the underground while at the same time remaining anonymous. Isn't that right, Mister Zero? Or should I say'mister Dresden?"
"You know my name?"
"Of course! You should not underestimate our modern intelligence, Mister Zero, especially our facial recognition camera. We know everything about you?"
She burst into a smile, revealing a row of well maintained teeth.
"-including your sister."
You feel a mixed reaction from this. Your initial panic makes you regret that you ever get into this line of work in the first place, endangering your only family left. On the side note though, you know that there's nothing you can do to fix that mistake right now, if you can even call it a mistake. The only thing you can do is trying to fix this problem with every available resource you have right now.
"I suggest that you stop talking now."
"Oh? And why I would to that?"
Faster than the eye can see, you pull your spare Glock from its holster behind your duster. And point it at the Russian.
"Because I have a gun."
Surprisingly, she did not react, she keep on smiling and snapping her right index and thumb together.
And faster than you can perceive, men start to pour inside that lobby. From doors in the back that you didn't notice before, from behind the receptionist table, from a hidden panel on the floor and wall, men wearing a full military uniform completed with N-Vision goggles and MP5s starts closing in at you, pointing their weapon at you.
You look back at the girl. She still has that smile on her.
"I have fifteen guns." She widened her smile.
"Not exactly. They are just my personal bodyguards. Technically, I'm on vacation here. Now, would you put down your weapon and listen to me?"
Now she looks surprised.
"I would like to remind you that I still have my pistol pointed at your head, Lady Putin. At this range, the amount of guns doesn't matter. What matters is who pull the trigger first. My bullet might as well reach your brain before anyone of your bodyguards even considers turning off the safety of their Heckler and Koch."
"You wouldn't dare. The best possible scenario if you do shoot me, is that we're both dead."
"Maybe. But you know of my reputation, lady Putin. I'm batshit crazy. Do you think that I would not dare to take a risk? Well, maybe I wouldn't. But would you
dare to take that gamble?"
Oh, you always wanted to say this.
"Do you feel lucky, princess?"
The princess, to your surprise, only shrugged.
"So what? Do you want to maintain the status quo and talk while we both point our guns at each other's head?"
She raises her fist while at the same time pulling out her own gun from behind her suit. A small revolver. You don't know what it is, so it's probably a new model made in Russia.
As she raised her fist, the men lower their arms. Now it's only you and the girl pointing your muzzles at each other's eyes.
You manage to maintain that position for about 10 seconds. And just when you considering to use gun kata (Basically Wing Chun with guns), the girl too, lower her arms. And as sign of politeness, you do too. After all, professional have standard.
"It seems that the rumor is true about you, Mister Zero."
"That you are not human."
"But I am human."
"-Human? does not hold hostage of an entire squad of well trained, fully armed men with a Tupperware gun. "Human? does not destroy an entire ecosystem just to get to a single target, "human? does not depopulate an entire village just because he got paid. And most of all?"
She walks closer to you.
???Human? does not use the remnants of the International Space Station as a substitute for a nuclear warhead."
"Well, technically, it just a module."
"Yes, five of them, welded together."
"To be fair, it's not entirely my fault. The ISS has been in course to de-orbit for months since NASA abandoned it. I just nudge it a bit to a desirable direction."
"By ramming it with a space shuttle."
"Okay. What's your point?"
"My point was, that you're crazy. And I need someone crazy to pull off a very difficult job."
You tilt your head to the left.
"So, what does the princess of the Russian Federation need of a man like me?"
The Russian bows her head, trying to steer her gaze away from you. She seems hesitant to say the next few words. You can see conflict is ablaze in her bright blue eyes, but finally, she takes a deep breath, and say what she wants of you.
"I need you to kill my father."
You wake up with the worst headache you ever remember you had, though with this headache you can't remember much.
You are lying on a futon, inside a room with wooden paneling making up for most of the wall. At your left you can see a paper sliding door. That and the light smell of grass tatami tells you that you are somewhere in Japan.
This is probably will be your worst case of hangover yet. How did you ended up in Japan again? Oh, right. Plane crash.
But this is not exactly Japan, right? You don't face the risk of death every six hours in Tokyo, even if Godzilla is real. No, Gensokyo exist, and it wants to kill you.
You realize that your clothes have been recently changed. It still a kimono, but when you examine it, you see that it has shorter sleeve. Does that mean that someone changed you while you're asleep? Well, that's embarrassing?
You also notice that your head is bandaged thigh. Quite a professional job, if you have anything to say about it. You see this kind of binding on people who have their skull cracked on an accident.
Wait, where's Kogasa?
Suddenly, a wave of pain stings your brain. Clutching your head, you try to think of the next course of action without making the pain worse.
 See if you can find Kogasa, maybe then you can either?
-Sneak my way out of here.
-Fight my way out of here.
 Your head is splitting. I think that your skull may actually split. Probably should just stay in bed for now?
 This place probably has an owner, a master, someone you can ask of why your head feels like it has been trampled by Hannibal's entire cavalry. OF ELEPHANTS!
A/N: Looking for a proofreader on the ASEAN region, because last time, time zone is being a bitch. Also last time, my proofreader is a bit of a dick.
I was on something when i think of this plot, but I can't remember WHAT>