CHAPTER ONE: Mornings Suck
Something was wrong.
Ichiro noticed it the moment he rounded the corner. The traffic that had been flowing on the street an hour ago when he parked his Razor was now reduced to roughly two dozen people. That in itself wouldn't have been enough to alarm him, but the fact that each one wore a medical mask was. While people wearing such masks over their face wasn't unusual, especially in Konohana duiring April, EVERYBODY on the street wearing one was. Especially when it was obvious they were waiting for someone or something. That most had a bulky bag with them didn't escape Ichiro's notice, either.
Without breaking stride Ichitama Ichiro scanned the street in one quick, smooth glance. Whoever they were, they were perfectly set up to catch anything coming into the street in a crossfire. If they had vehicles waiting, they could trap whoever they planned to ambush by blocking the street off at either end. Hopefully Ichiro could get his bike and get the hell out before then. His best guess was that they were rebels, out to drop some United Government bodies.
Part of him felt the desire to stay and help them, but he couldn't. Wouldn't, actually. It wasn't his fight anymore. He'd had enough fighting to last him the rest of his life. Even so, Ichiro untucked his shirt, a black pinstriped button up, so he could reach the enormous Smith & Wesson .500 he wore in a hanging back holster. Enough fighting to last him or not, twenty-four was not going to be the age on his memorial.
Quickening his pace, he beelined for his motorcycle, cursing himself for parking near the middle of the street. Ichiro swept off the black fedora he had on, preparing to jam on his helmet and go without wasting even a moment. The sooner he was out of the killzone, the better. Besides, he had a movie to catch in...
Ichiro slipped out his mobile phone, woke the screen to check the time. Going on 10AM. The movie started at 11:30 and he still had to cross nearly half the damn city.
Looking at his phone, Ichiro missed the armoured police van and it's escort of patrol cars turn onto the street. He looked up just in time to see the rocket streak from a third floor window and slam into the side of the leading cruiser, blowing it's doors open in an expanding fireball. He dove into the doorway of a convenience store as the car's gas tank blew in a secondary explosion, hurling more shrapnel into the air.
The .50 revolver was out of its holster and in his hand in a heartbeat, before he could even question the wisdom of drawing it. Peeking out into the street, Ichiro tried to gauge the situation. The masked rebels were now armed with automatics and scrambling for cover, firing into the police convoy as it tried to escape. Screeching tyres made Ichiro whip his head around; a pair of big white box trucks rolled into position at each end of the street, pinning the convoy in the withering crossfire.
His nodded once in satisfaction at being right. Next they would-
A second RPG whooshed out, trailing smoke, to reduce the last car in the convoy to a burning wreck, further trapping the others.
-do that.
Reaching up to make sure his fedora was resting right, Ichiro's hand felt only messy black hair.
Where the FUCK was his hat?
Searching the street-turned-warzone, he looked for his hat. Across the street, Ichiro watched as a pair of rebels were cut down by return fire. The remaining patrol cars and drawn up alongside the transport van to form a defensive position. The police were out-matched, with only their sidearms and a pair of assualt rifles to their attackers' submachine guns and assualt rifles.
It was a good ambush, the rebels would succeed in whatever they were trying to do here, Ichiro thought. At a guess, he would say they wanted whoever was inside the van. One of their own, probably. Ichiro thought he vaguely remembered hearing something about some terrorists being captured duiring a failed raid or something.
