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The perpetual grey that blots the earth are like blinds that shield Japan from Ameratsu, the sun. The kami rarely peaks through the dense, polluted cloud system, so the sky towers made by man bless us in her stead. LED fixtures swirl and dance in holographic ads and billboards, coalescing with accented colors that reflect against building windows, and sleek cars in aerial transit.

The mega city of Edo Tokyo stands like a bioluminescent mountain, and at the very top, is the massive Shogun Conglomerate Fortress, rivaled only by Mt. Fuji. This massive structure is an ancient design, a gargantuan relic amongst a futuristic landscape. Like many other buildings, shrines, and gardens littered throughout the country, it serves as a friendly, but bold reminder: preserve tradition.

Another entity serves as such. The Shinsengumi, the Shogun’s special police, have been dispatched from their Sky Tower headquarters in central Edo, to remind those who’ve forgotten how things are run.


Hmph! Tatsuya hammer fisted the portable heater, burying it deep into the middle compartment. If he wasn’t in vector traffic, 3,000 ft up rainy skies, he would’ve chucked the useless thing out the window of his Hamlet Impala. Never mind the loitering citation that would instantly ping from surveying traffic drones; with his luck, it would most likely land on top of the head of an unknowing pedestrian down below. That wasn’t polite. Nobody else should be inconvenienced by this piece of shit product.

“Uzai!” He sneered, giving it another whack, shaking it with frustration, then doubled the intensity after hearing loose, tiny pieces juggle around its insides.

If it wasn’t broken before, it definitely is now. This marks the third heating appliance from Ichigan products he’s used. Third times a charm! The family owner pleaded, bowing in spasm, making promises the stupid thing couldn’t even keep for a week. No more chances. After this job is done, he’s going to submit a very harsh review online. Such a critique from a Shinsengumi officer, one who is ranked high on the social pyramid, will no doubt bring dishonor to the Ichigan family. There was no remorse left to give. They had to learn, like his family, the Mashiba’s, had to learn...



“Shut up!” Tatsuya punched the dashboard console with one hand, white knuckling the wheel with the other as he course corrected his trajectory.

The black Hamlet classic fell back in line with the rest of the commuters. He let out a sigh and began to inhale and exhale, slow and smooth, just like his automated therapist prescribed.

Tatsuya rubbed the dashboard, quietly apologizing to his beloved car. She was a very old model, a foreign import in fact, that dated all the way back to the early generations of cars with flight capabilities. The Hamlet Impala has a timeless look to it, but unfortunately, its rare parts, made even rarer 70 years after its production, makes it a pain in the ass to upkeep.

Hence the broken heater, and the chore of having to buy second hand alternatives to compensate for a problem he doesn’t have time to fix.

“Gomen.” Tatsuya said aloud.

“N-no worries, Tatsuya-sama!” Issoji said.

“What?” Tatsuya frowned at the new recruit through his rear view mirror, still rubbing the dashboard with his hand as if soothing a frightened dog.

When Issoji realized his mentor wasn’t who he directed his apology to, he broke away from Tatsuya’s intense gaze, and stared out the passenger window.

“Nothing.” The young man was sweating bullets. Never mind the car ride from hell. Heading towards a hostile situation in the Kenshin District, on his first day, was triggering his anti-anxiety stimulants.

The Kenshin District in Edo Tokyo wasn’t technically owned by The Kenshin Corporation; they had their own piece of land up north in Echigo-Niigata province. In fact, all of the districts named after the major Daimyo corporations in this city served as a secondary base of operations. While they didn’t own these districts, the Daimyo Corporations still had to govern them. And with Chairman Ueseugi Kenshin’s priorities focused on business affairs within The Kairo, Japan’s regulated cyberspace, he’s allowed The Skullfire Gang to run amuck.

Issoji cleared his throat at the thought of being face-to-face with those maniacal cultists. He’s read articles about their savagery, watched live feeds of them wreaking havoc in Hannya masks, a symbolic honor meant to appease their Serpentine Goddess. I should’ve taken that assignment in The Kairo. Damn it! What the hell was I thinking?

Tatsuya shrugged at the greenhorn, then turned the radio on. The sounds of Smiling Fox, a female folk artist, filled the stuffy cabin with her beautiful voice, and melodic strums from a shamisen.

“Oh!” At the flip of a switch, the middle-aged man went from stern-faced and grumpy, to grinning foolishly with content. He turned to his partner, Reika.

“A classic! I danced with my wife to this very song on our wedding night. We were poor back then, but still very much in love. All we had was each other, you know? Ha! I still remember bumping into the furniture trying to do the tango. You see, we couldn’t afford a venue, so we just had the ceremony in our crammed village apartment.”

A stream of memories lapsed into his mind about the good old days, before his marriage ended up in shambles, back when the Mashiba family clan still believed in pride and honor.

Rukia sat motionless in the passenger seat of the Impala, struggling to maintain her focus as the old man swatted and cursed at his faulty equipment. She was a middle aged woman, although she appeared slightly younger due to the genetic alterations that she's gone through. A master-crafted katana was propped against her shoulder. Her slender frame was wrapped in a series of over sized and baggy garments with all manner of vulgar patches. Her custom made sneakers were casually kicked up on the dashboard in front of her. Tatsuya usually chewed her out about that sort of thing but he seemed too preoccupied to care at the moment. Rukia couldn't help but wince with every strike Tatsuya dealt to the malfunctioning heater. The old man usually didn't distract Rukia when she was meditating but today he was in rare form. Probably because of the new recruits. Setsuna, the recruit that Rukia was responsible for, sat quietly in the back seat along with Issoji. The kid just barely squeaked by her combat readiness exam and figured she could work the beat. She'd probably be better off in data management or intelligence but hey, she'll figure that out soon enough.
The ronin continued to attempt her pre-work meditation, reciting her mantra in her mind. Still as the ocean, Strong as the mountain, The fury of fire.She'd repeat this and focus on her breathing until her train of thought was derailed once again by Tatsuya. The music he was blasting was old and lacked any of the drum and bass that Rukia typically liked. In fact some of the most heated arguments that her and Tatsuya would have were about music and who had the better taste. Her eyelids snapped open finally, revealing two honey colored eyes. She glanced to the left at Tatsuya with a look that could've killed. Rukia wasn't sure if she was just annoyed with the old man or if she was fiending for a smoke, which Tatsuya forbid in the car. Either way it was becoming increasingly difficult to focus on the task at hand. 'I knew I should've just driven to the job by myself', she thought.
"Hey old man", she spoke up finally, "We're on the clock right now. We can reminisce over drinks after we get the job done". Rukia wasn't known for her tact or mincing words. She was always very direct in both her speech and actions. Idle chit chat definitely wasn't something that she partook in when it was time to work. "If you wanna talk, why don't you brief the kids on The Skullfire Gang".
With that she turned in her seat to face Setsuna, who was nervously fiddling with her fingers. "Check your weapons, kiddo", she said, "Odds are you're gonna go through at least one clip if this shit goes sideways". As she turned around, she could just barely make out a look of fear and confusion on the young woman's face. A mischievous grin tugged at the side of Rukia's face as she attempted to resume her meditation.

“Oh, so serious!” Tatsuya jabbed at his partner, closing his eyes to mock her meditation with a tone deaf OM!

“Uh, Tatsuya-sama, please keep your eyes on the road!” Issoji pleaded.

“Calm down.” Tatsuya rolled his eyes, exhaling sharply through his nose like a brat put on time-out. Issoji glanced over to Setsuna with grave concern, winking a message to her private neural inbox: ‘They’re so unprofessional! Is this really what the Shinsengumi are like?’

Tatsuya cleared his throat, and for a moment, Issoji feared he somehow read the message. No, that would be impossible since he doesn’t have a cyberized brain, right?

“The Skullfire Gang,” Tatsuya began, snapping his fingers in front of Rukia’s face, which meant ‘feet off the dash!’ after turning the radio’s volume down, “Are a real piece of work. Probably the worst batch of cultists we deal with here in Edo Tokyo. They’re divided into multiple sects, and the one we’re about to meet is the most vicious of the bunch. The Orochi. Black Market cyberization, real kooks that body mod their faces into Hanya masks. They took over Kenshin’s main R&D facility and kidnapped Uesugi’s daughter, Akani, for ransom.”

“What are their demands in exchange for Akani Kenshin?” Issoji asked.

“For the release of their leader, Bozen Sakai, currently held in stasis somewhere in Kenshin district.” Tatsuya nodded.

“Bozen The Butcher, he’s still alive?” Issoji’s heart started racing again.

“So you know your mass murderers. Good.” Tatsuya gripped the wheel as they made their descent into the district. Much like the other areas, the Kenshin District had a color theme to differentiate itself from other parts of the city. Its neon blues were so stark in contrast to its neighboring districts, and the haziness radiating from it made the entire sector appear submerged underwater.

While the sharp lighting can be auto-adjusted for people with ocular implants, bio types like Tatsuya have to wear LED Glasses to dampen the intensity. And because of his Diogene enhancement from the war, he has to wear a specialized prescription since his normal vision was still in peak human condition. He reluctantly shoved the shades over his eyes, anticipating a joke from Rukia.

“Speaking of murders, the optical implant industry must be making a killing off these stupid lights. Did you know over 60 percent of the city’s population had to get ocular surgery because of these damned things?”

“Forgive my brashness, sir, but going back to what you said earlier, Bozen Sakai killed over three hundred people!” Issoji frowned. He was clearly bothered by this revelation, but most especially disturbed by his mentor’s lackadaisical attitude about the matter. “Why hasn’t he been executed for this heinous act?”

“Still on about that, eh? Look, you’d have to ask Chairman Useugi yourself. All of those murders happened in Echigo-Niigata. His territory. Unless there’s reason for The Shogun to overrule his jurisdiction, the Kenshin Corporation dictates how they carry out his sentence.” Tatsuya glared back at both the young man, and Setsuna, through the rear view mirror. Issoji tried not to laugh at how ridiculous he looked with those ‘sunglasses’ on. “But that’s none of your damn concern! Focus on the task at hand. When we rendezvous with Kenshin’s Chief Enforcer, I expect you to be at your best behavior!”

“Yes, sir! Forgive me, sir!” Issoji said, winking another message to Setsuna’s inbox. This time, instead of a text, he delivered a gif of an old blind man wearing sunglasses, waving around a walking stick in a frenzy. Laughter was a nice escape route to calm the nerves, and having another greenhorn on the job to share a joke with was comforting.

“Ha!” Tatsuya said at random. In that moment, Issoji’s heart sank into his stomach. His eyes caught sight of a thin wire popping out from behind Tatsuya’s collar. It was attached to the drop-socket on the back of his neck. The cable ran underneath the driver’s wheel, where a netbox was most likely installed. Did he hack into my neural network? Just then, Issoji received a notification from his inbox, which was also CC’d to Rukia. Issoji gulped, hesitated, then opened the message that read: