Hypergeniture Bk. 03 Pt. 02

We sat down. The assistant started working on the computer, asking me to provide my fingerprints and answer security questions that Elizabeth Wharry had set for me before she died. While we were busy, I asked why a talented and evidently educated woman would work for a man like Voight.

"Money," she said plainly.

"Surely, there's not enough money in the world!" I countered, only to be met with a raised eyebrow. Naturally, only a man of my means would say something so provably false. Everyone has a price, and anything can be bought... Even someone's dignity.

Once we were done, the assistant passed me a sleek aluminium rectangle the size of a matchbox that contained all the data Elizabeth Wharry had deposited with their organisation. It was now the only copy in existence, freshly decrypted.

Slipping the device into my inside pocket, I gave Anya a thumbs-up. Our mission was accomplished. We followed our guide as she led us outside into the small hallway, waiting as she locked the vault door behind us. Stepping onto the mezzanine, I was struck by the view of Tokyo through the windows, stopping to admire the city. Then, suddenly...

All the lights went off.

21 • Lights Out

We were at the centre of a black square mile as our building and those around it went dark. Ambient light from distant skyscrapers and the glow of a half-full moon offered only the dimmest reprieve from the absolute emptiness.

Anya put three fingers on my forearm. She seemed to scoff.

"What?" I asked.

"Ninjas."

"Ninjas?"

Before she could say another word, Anya turned to face a sudden attack from our right as a figure leapt from the shadows. She grabbed onto him, throwing his body with the force of his own momentum as his back hit the bookshelves against the wall. There was a thud as she slammed him again, followed by a clang as he dropped an unseen weapon. He was armed and there to kill us!

A second attacker came from the same side, fast and ferocious! Anya was quick enough to face him too. He swung a pair of nunchucks, slamming them into her side. It must've hurt like hell, but she hardly flinched as she launched her head at his. The sudden violence saw him stumble, and she launched a knee, finishing with a blow to his throat that surely saw him swallow his own tongue!

Only seconds had passed as my companion fought off two trained assassins without breaking a sweat. Their plans had been foiled and panic overtook them as they met their match. Attacker number two had his back to the balustrade -- a fatal mistake! She sent him over the rail, with an ungodly crash signalling the breaking of his body as he fell to his death.

Yes, ungodly, unnatural, stomach-churning! I'd heard men die before, but never in a way so grizzly.

Turning back to the first attacker, Anya grabbed his shirt and stepped on his foot. Her speed and strength shocked him as she turned with him, pushing him until he slipped. He followed his comrade over the railing, landing on his back and surely breaking it, snapping his spine.

With adrenaline pumping, I turned around to protect the assistant who'd been accompanying us, only to see the light in her eyes fade. I was too late! A third attacker's blade had run through her -- the bastard's sword smiting the innocent. Seeing her die, I wanted to kill him with my bare hands. He withdrew his sword from her gut and thrust it at me. I would not equal his skill, but hatred alone gave me one shot to slam a fist into his ribs. Before he could make a second attempt at killing me, Anya intervened, dashing forward to meet the threat.

She slammed a palm into the side of his head, bursting his eardrum and stunning him. He had the sense to grapple her, but she had the control... She was braver, smarter, tougher, and her ego saw her make moves no one else would dare -- no sane person would attempt. She'd done the math, throwing the both of them off the mezzanine while making sure he broke her fall as they hit the hardwood floors beneath.

She'd clearly hurt herself as she rolled away from the man's dead body. But there was no time to recover as a fourth attacker sprang into action. He swung a wooden staff down at her, missing as she tucked her body out the way with no time to spare. She fought him from the ground, using her legs and feet to throw him off balance with spectacular martial ability. In a move that seemed impossible, she came to her feet with a sweeping kick that made contact with his skull and knocked him out cold!

One more down. Now, we were safe.

With the threat defeated, I got my first good look at the office and saw Voight face down, dead on his desk. They'd come to kill us and take the storage device, caring little for collateral damage.

There was perfect silence -- the kind of silence that made your head buzz...

"Yaaahhh!"

Two figures seemed to come out of nowhere, moving as fast as lightning, attacking Anya from opposite directions. One had a dagger, and she faced him first.

She moved acrobatically, causing him to lose his angle as he tried to stab her. The second attacker lost his focus for a split second as she moved again, then again. These were small movements -- half-steps -- designed to throw them off. Now, the three were in a wrestling match. She used her fists as blunt weapons, smashing the back of one's head until he went limp and lowered his guard while using her elbows to fend off the other.

Anya was taking blows from two sides. The scrum was vicious... She got beaten, and she beat back, and it was all over in ten seconds that felt like an eternity. Finally, she slammed her fists one more time into the one attacker's skull, and the sound it made was the sound of death.

Turning, she bent her knees and threw the other assassin off balance enough to create some distance and swing a blade she must've captured in the gridlock. The impact to the side of his chest pierced his heart, and he dropped like a sack of bricks at her feet.

Again, there was silence. Absolute, undisturbed, silence.

The kind of silence that made your head buzz.

There was an enemy in the shadows. He'd been waiting, circling, watching as Anya beat his compatriots. She tracked his movements, keeping her front turned to him with her weapon at the ready.

What happened next... What happened next nearly made me vomit.

The assassin launched three silver throwing stars, catching the glint of Tokyo from the distant light outside. They were heading straight for Anya. Everything seemed to slow down as I realised her death was inevitable.

But she said fuck't to inevitability.

Using the blade she'd captured, she knocked away the first shuriken, then the second. It seemed like she wouldn't have time to divert the third, but she took a different angle... She was going to do it!

No! Her movements were a fraction too slow, and as the throwing star hit her torso, she held her stomach and grunted loudly.

For a moment, the universe stopped.

Anya swayed back and forth, holding on to where she'd been.

Slowly, this... This wild smile crept across her face. Can you believe it? A smile... A fucking smile. Madness made her chuckle as she faced the man who had found his mark. He stood watching, ready to finish her off. Then, she struck!

The throwing star hadn't pierced her skin but had hit her corset, and I knew then she'd taken the hit on purpose! No sane human being would've attempted it. No rational human being could've pulled it off.

Well, it's a good thing Anya was fucking insane.

She had the shuriken between her fingers, and now she hit return to sender! Her throw was like a cannon shot, straight and true, hitting the final attacker in his neck with a bang. Yes, a bang, like she'd summoned thunder from the heavens!

Anya looked up at me. Her face was bored, and I didn't have a clue how to thank her for what she'd just done. In the time it would've taken me to knock out a single man, she'd dispatched a squad of trained assassins. (Like an idiot, I gave her a thumbs up.)

Her eyes suddenly darted away from mine. She saw something.

"Run!!!"

It wasn't over yet as automatic gunfire pierced the silence that followed the first battle, hitting the glass behind my friend as she dove for cover. I started sprinting to the first exit I could find, turning left and bursting through a fire door that took me straight to some stairs. Going down a flight, I found myself in a short hallway that led to some more stairs. As I turned the corner, I met an elderly Japanese man dressed in a black suit with a black shirt.

He could have been anybody.

But I couldn't take any chances.

I grabbed his throat, slamming him against the wall before using all my strength to punch him in the head. I... I closed my eyes, hitting him again and again until I felt his body grow heavy and he slumped to the floor. Taking a few deep breaths, I set my adrenaline aside for a brief moment to pray to whoever cared to listen.

Please, oh please... Let him not be some innocent fool.

As I checked his waistband, relief washed over me. I found a Walther pistol, cocked and silenced, hidden behind his back. Unscrewing the suppressor, I shoved the gun into my jacket's pocket. It was small enough that I could keep it well hidden while not taking a finger off the trigger.

Taking a second to orient myself, I realised I wasn't in a fire escape. Rather, it was a staircase for maintenance staff and cleaners to move around the building unseen. I'd descended as far down it as possible. Now, I had to find my way to Skylar and Isabelle.

The first door I found led to an abandoned cubicle farm. It was neat and orderly, with rows upon rows of workstations laid out next to each other. There was enough light to move through it rapidly, following signs I couldn't read until I found the elevators, which ran on emergency generators.

I had to assume Anya was dead. I thought there would be time to mourn later, so I set aside all my feelings and focused on making it downstairs and to the car. Hitting the button to call the lift, I only waited a few seconds until the doors opened.

There were three men inside...

Grabbing me, they pulled me into the confined space. They had knives and knuckledusters, with one immediately slamming his fist into my side. I cried in agony, arching back and pulling the trigger on my pistol. The shot tore through the fabric of my pocket and hit one of them in the stomach; blood seeping through his black shirt. I threw an elbow at a second man but missed. He retaliated with a switchblade!

I moved frantically, narrowly avoiding the knife the first time -- not so lucky the second. He cut a shallow scar into the side of my head, right above my ear. It stung like hell, but I could survive and survive I did. I fired a second shot. This one hit the floor. No luck.

The doors closed. We were stuck in the confined space. Two against one, with a third assassin wounded but still alive.

Dodging another slashing attack, the knifeman took advantage of my imbalance and grabbed my face, slamming my head against the mirrored wall. His thumb was edging to the corner of my eye; his grip was fierce as he smashed my skull a second time. I was concussed, and vomit spilt from my mouth as a result.

The two men were trying to break my neck. I could feel the force of the twist and the inevitability of my own death.

Ding.

The elevator stopped. The doors opened.

Moving with animal ferocity, a new player stepped into the mix as suddenly the man who'd had me grappled was torn away by a tornado of fists and fury.

Anya had survived!

She kneed the closest man in the groin, gripping his wrist and turning his own weapon into his chest. The other assassin panicked, and as he turned, I managed to slap him hard with the back of my hand. He flinched, opening up his body as Anya spotted the grip of a pistol in his waistband. She grabbed the gun and pulled it free with a smooth motion.

Crack! Crack! Crack!

The three attackers endured their executions in quick succession. Not a bullet wasted.

"Fuck't," I gasped, my vision blurred and body in unbearable pain. "I'm... I can't see anything."

Parting my hair, Anya looked into my eyes so I could see her lips move and decipher her speech even with my ears ringing. She was bloody, shoeless, but hardly moved by emotion or extertion.

"You managed to hold your own," she praised. "I'm impressed. I was sure I'd find you dead."

"We... We need... Out of here," I replied, nauseous and in pain. "Out, out, out..."

Anya pressed the button for the basement parking and pulled me behind her as she pointed her handgun at the closed doors.

Ding.

The metal doors slid to the side, and sure enough, there were more assailants. Crack! Crack!

Anya's first shot blew the head off one as the second dropped a smoke bomb and dashed away. She took a step forward, walking over the bodies of deceased security men who'd gotten in the way of the assassins, turning her barrel in the direction of the final threat. She was fast on the trigger, firing a third shot, but he was fast too. With a roundhouse kick, he knocked the gun out of her hand. She struck back, taking a swipe at him but missing.

Each combatant took a step to the rear before launching themselves at each other. Each kick was dodged and each strike deflected. They were dancing in circles without landing a blow. I kept my gun trained on the assassin, but the movements were too fast, and my head thumped too much -- the hurricane of martial arts too unpredictable to risk taking a shot and hitting Anya as the effects of a concussion left me at a disadvantage.

Suddenly, the two made contact. They grappled each other, wrestling. My companion looked like she was stuck -- he was hanging on tight. She tried to shoulder him away once, twice... The third time, it worked. There was some distance between them, and she felt she had the advantage. With a thud, her palm hit his chest with force you wouldn't think a girl like her could muster. He staggered, he swayed, I shot him, and he fell dead.

I exhaled waves of warm air, feeling like I'd mustered a superhuman response to overpower the agony that rocked my whole body.

Anya seemed bored again -- it even looked like she was mad at me for spoiling her fun -- but she wouldn't be bored for too long.

Screeching tyres drew our attention as a large SUV raced towards us. It was going to plough through us until, out of nowhere, the roar of a V12 engine entered the equation.

With Isabelle behind the wheel, our modified Rolls-Royce rammed into the side of the SUV, spinning it out right in front of us. Skylar sprang into action out of the front passenger seat, peppering the enemy car with armour-piercing bullets from a submachine gun as Anya and I ran to get into the back.

The second the door shut behind us, Sky was back in the car, and Isabelle started reversing us out of there. As we hit the street, she performed a handbrake turn, pointing us in the right direction and putting her foot on the gas as we exceeded eighty miles an hour!

"Yonaka's people betrayed us!" Skylar shouted. "Fuckers tried to take us out while waiting for you."

"The family?!" I asked.

"On the plane and ready to take off as soon as we get there."

As two cop cars passed us with their sirens blaring, Isabelle added, "We can't trust anyone in this town."

"Then let's bounce," I ordered, slowly losing lucidity.

Turning to Anya, I wanted to thank her for saving my life. We'd just been through hell together, but she seemed... Unmoved. Yes, this was nothing unlike anything she'd done before -- it was just another Saturday for her.

I chuckled through the nausea of my head injury and my torqued neck. "You're some kind of weird super soldier experiment."

"Don't be ridiculous," the enigmatic brunette dismissed. "I just didn't have any friends growing up."

"Yeah?"

"Yes. I had lots of time for my hobbies."

Again, I chuckled, laying back in my seat as we powered through the night. My head hurt like hell and I'm pretty sure the bastards broke half-a-dozen ribs, but adrenaline was pumping through my veins. My chuckle turned to outright laughter.

I'd cheated death and enjoyed the fight.

Epilogue • Goodbye Tokyo

Yonaka played with the nickel and pigskin lighter he'd taken from the spy Vallance on the night he'd killed him. Things had not gone according to plan and he grunted as his phone rang: The caller, Oliver Orwell.

"I trust there are no hard feelings, Mr Orwell," Yonaka hummed as he listened to a surprisingly calm and collected survivor on the other end of the line. "Yes-yes... You're right... It's just business. Our organisation has fallen on hard times. We fed you just enough information to expose the location of the storage device, hoping we could retrieve it for our actual employers: The Doomsday Archive."

"I expect your people will have me in their sights within the hour," the sombre and severe private eye confessed. "I will put up an honourable fight, but I doubt I'll be victorious."

Yonaka grunted. "Yes, I am resigned to my fate... I failed in my mission to secure the data on that drive, and the reputation of my 300-year-old organisation is ruined. Even now, I am sure your Ms Le Roux is dispatching operatives to hunt down and destroy us as your family's anger at this betrayal rages like a brutal storm. But the Archive will not fall so easily -- they will defeat you in the end."

Yonaka paused for twenty seconds before resuming. "Your operatives performed most admirably, Mr Orwell. We have never been disgraced in such a way: Dozens of our best men killed by a handful of arrogant young women."

The line crackled and then died as a signal jammer took effect. Yonaka reached for a pistol, pointing it at his front door as he waited for the people sent to kill him. Suddenly, automatic gunfire rang out from his left as he'd been outflanked.

Yonaka did not put up a fight like he said he would... Something which made Oliver Orwell feel conflicted for days to come. In the world he now inhabited, there had to be nobility in war because war was neverending. This time, vengeance was swift, and deception was met with a decisive rebuke as his enemies heard a clear message delivered through the barrel of a gun.

Perhaps it wasn't noble, but it was necessary.

The next day's papers would relay news of a chaotic and violent night in Tokyo, but none of it would ever be linked back to him. No, he was already halfway across the world, preparing for the next phase of his adventure.

"Adventure," he smiled, looking down at the world beneath his jet as it soared higher than most men would ever fly, shaking my head and mockingly reprimanding himself for thinking the thought. "You're beginning to like this, Oliver... A little too much."

He was right.

••• The End •••

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Hypergeniture will return as an episodic series under a different name but still here on Literotica. Be sure to follow me for updates, and I hope you enjoyed Book Three!