Lieutenant Shinobu reclined in his seat, feet on his desk reading the newspapers.

His office was small and crowded with armory, old crates and the miscellaneous but arranged to be of suitable comfort. There were guns laid out on the table, disassembled and reassembled, fine oil stains on open books of anatomy and blueprints, insinuating that he had been tinkering around.

Swords were mounted on the walls, usually of exotic nature. There was one foreign blade particularly unique to him but he never used it. At least not that one.

The lieutenant was a focused man with a demonic level of discipline, yet had little patience for the tomfoolery that often went on about Outpost 12. He was fair skinned, had short black hair that stood on ends when the wind blew, and wore intimidating sunglasses to stop people from fawning over his eyes.

Folks adored him. Some despised him and he bounced their hatred back with crude finger gestures.

He was originally from the Mūrim, a place that no one had heard of until they picked up some books.

As he read through the Weekly Warrior, he roved over an article that was particularly interesting.

“Notorious Gang Member Exiled From Blackleaf.”

It read.

Below the headline was a photograph of a dark young man with a grizzled fro and a serious mug. The subtext indicated that his name was Hanzo Blackstar. Shinobu read on.

“Blackleaf is a village known for producing some of the worst scum on earth, however, reports suggest that they’ve decided to do something right for once, albeit for the sake of publicity.

Hanzo Blackstar, a seventeen year old warrior thug with ties to the Deebo gang has been reportedly booted from his own village for desecrating sacred statues of the locals and consistent vandalism of private property, persons and other valued material. His worst offence is notably his horrid comments against the military and the King of said military, calling his Majesty i.e. bedswerver, charlatan, scrub, and other profanities.

Hanzo’s mother, Crimson Blackstar has confirmed all of these statements to be correct and true to the best of her knowledge and adamantly advised that this boy be killed on sight. The military which the rotten thug degrades has commented on the matter, announcing that they have placed a thirty million dollar bounty on his head—”

Shinobu scoffed and pulled his legs off the desk, folding the newspaper and tossing it aside.

Whoever wrote that article was a liar.

If Ultimate Soldier passed a bounty on the boy’s head he’d be one of the first to know.

No such thing happened.

If they lied about that, then they certainly lied about most of the things written there.

Furthermore, the U.S. was somewhat acquainted with Blackleaf village, for the place was known for spawning prodigies that would do well in Ultimate Soldier ideally.

The folks were pretty aggressive but they weren’t really much of a threat.

Shinobu took a sip of his green tea and began contemplating on things with his ears open for the activity outside.

His thoughts were suddenly shattered when a loud metallic rattling went off.

A red telephone on the desk rang like an alarm until he set his cup down and snatched it off the hook.

Pressing it to his ear, he honed in on the static a moment before saying a word.

“Lieutenant Shinobu speaking.” He grumbled.

“If it isn’t the legend himself.” A mysterious voice replied.

Shinobu went still for a minute.

“You of all people?” He answered.

“So that’s the type of greeting I get after all this time?”

“Sorry, but I don’t enjoy small talk.”

The lieutenant swung his legs back on the desk and reclined.

“You never change, do you?” The man chuckled. “I call to check up on a good pal of mine—to see how life’s treating him and he gives me no love in return. I see how it is.”

“I think you have the wrong number.” Shinobu remarked, posing to hang up the phone.

The guy on the other end laughed. “Always liked your cold sense of humor, pal.”

Clearing his throat, he went on to a different topic. “Anywho, listen up, Shino. Jokes aside, the real reason why I called is because there is something I believe you should be aware of. This information is supposedly confidential but due to the nature of the situation...the lid is already half open. We’ll chalk it up as heresy.”

“Understood.”

“Lieutenant, I trust you’re familiar with the name Silent Rock?”

“Yes.”

“We found his corpse lying headless beside a stream in Vallhan’s Valley.”

Shinobu’s brows tensed. “Who killed him?”

“Well…” The Speaker chuckled in a disconcerting manner. “This is where things get interesting. A man known as detective Hoff accompanied a team of soldiers to examine the scene and according to him; all evidence suggests that the invincible Silent Rock was clapped by a seventeen year old gang member from Blackleaf village.”

Hearing this, Shinobu suddenly sat upright. “Hanzo…” he mused, glaring at the old newspaper spilling off the corner of the desk.

“Are you talking about Hanzo Blackstar?”

“Oh, so you’ve read the papers?” The speaker chuckled. “That’s the name we’ve been hearing since the recruitment team was sent to that crazy village. In fact, the only reason the soldiers found out about Silent Rock was because they were hired to track Hanzo down a few days after his departure. So Hoff merely confirmed their suspicions that he was responsible for the man’s death.”

Shinobu was mildly perplexed, staring hard at the photograph of the boy shown.

“Was anyone else with him?”

“No.”

“Was there anything with him?”

“A broken sword, some sugar crackers and a red scarf.”

“Well, where is he now?”

“That’s what has Hoff stumped. He has no idea. The investigation is still in motion but they can’t find any further physical evidence beyond Rock’s dead body.”

“No atmospheric strobing from portals or gates?”

The Speaker made an invisible grin.

“No doubt something of that realm was involved. They just can’t find anything.”

There came a brief pause.

“What are your thoughts on this?” Shinobu added finally.

“I think the kid is no more than a harbinger of misfortune. As far as his sudden disappearance, perhaps we have a much greater anomaly on our hands. It’s very likely he crossed paths with someone quite powerful. Perhaps someone we’ve never even heard of. Whatever the situation, keep an eye open for this case, Shinobu.

I’m leaving it in your hands.”

The lieutenant said little else but his acknowledgement was understood.

“Alright…” The Speaker breathed. “I’ve said enough. We’ll be seeing each other soon, lieutenant. Until then, hold down the fort.”

With that, the line went dead and Shinobu latched the phone on the hook. He rose out of the swivel chair, swung on his long leather jacket and escaped outdoors. Seventeen year old country hick kills a high profile master by himself. He thought, moving through the lively outpost twelve with his hands in his pockets. Soldiers saluted him as he walked by. What a joke.

Hanzo hung from the ceiling, fingers gripping on the ledge of the narrow windowsill.

It was an awkward climb but not too difficult. The window itself was too glossy to get a good look outside so he still couldn’t tell where he was.

Unleashing his sword, he hacked at the stubborn glass, barely making a dent.

He applied greater force expecting it to give way but it was a bit tougher than he thought, even as he channeled energy into his grip.

Growling about Odyssey under his breath, he ignited his sword until the gem sparked and shattered the window with a final hit.

He launched outdoors in a shower of luminous glass and dropped on a narrow balcony circling the building’s great dome.

The landscape was nothing close to the desert he’d glimpsed.

He was only surrounded by a wilderness of pine trees, cold, heavenly skies and lowered sunrays of a sudden afternoon.

This is retarded.

He muttered.

Taking a few steps back, he jumped off the edge and landed in a large tree, then skid his way down the trunk with skill.

Shredded bark fluttered sporadically like confetti and some settled in his afro.

He absorbed the continuity of his surroundings, beating the papery mess out of his hair and started walking around feeling a little confounded.

Webs of massive vines were entangled around the circumference of the old building bringing with it shades of dust and mold. A dramatic contrast from the inside.

The great iron doors were no exception, roped shut with overgrowth.

What bothered Hanzo was that if the doors were clearly being used for entry into the hollow chamber, the strangling vines should have been swept away a long time ago.

It housed the look of utter abandonment, defying any notion that people had been here.

It didn’t really matter, anyway. He’d just seen Odyssey walk out into a random desert so this was no surprise.

Scowling, he threw all thoughts aside and wandered further through the forest without particular direction.

No dangers so far. He felt comfortable enough to sheath his sword and walk freely, locking his fingers behind his head.

Guess I’m a nomad now.

Hopefully within a few miles at least, he would find civilization and find a better purpose than this.

His hopes withered away with time as he came to discover woods, shapely rocks, slopes and more woods.

The distance held obscure hills where a likely town or village would unravel upon the horizon but by the time he reached said hills, the sun was already setting.

Refusing to rest, he hastened through the towering pines, catching his final glimpses of gentle sunlight blazing the landscape.

Then came nightfall.

Stars showered the sky, outlining defined cutouts of the forest.

Finally, Hanzo decided to relax for a little while.

He sat against a tree with his sword close, listening to sounds of the nocturnal.

His visibility was limited to just barely seeing things a few feet in front of him but he kept wary of any danger that came to mind.

He donned different positions to ease his restlessness, sometimes lying, sometimes leaning and sometimes squatting with both arms over his knees to show that he was the boss around here.

After a while, he grew tired of sitting and decided to resume the trek.

At that instant, a shrill cry split the silence.

His hair stood on end and he stepped backward, tearing an ear open to listen for the sound again.

As the second cry came, Hanzo shrank back into a crouch, squeezing the handle of his sword.

A third one came, a little more clearly this time and it sounded like a baby.

A bamanooga. Hanzo growled. You gotta be kidding me.

Bamanooga’s were one of the most feared creatures of the night. A camp storytime favorite. Mimicking the cries of an infant, it lured prey to an inescapable gruesome death following a bloodcurdling scream that could wake a whole town.

Popular legend said that it was the evil spirit of a baby who’d been abandoned in the wilderness by its mother long ago but it actually was something more of a small woodland beast.

Hanzo heard the long, heaving cry again only for it to cut off abruptly. He would never hear from it again.

Puzzled, he peered from behind the tree into the darkness.

There was something else out there.

With the quiet winds, came the snapping of branches and constant shuffling.

The footfalls of a dozen or more.

Voices.

“Nooga soup tonight boys.”

Hanzo just barely made out a gruff mumble in the distance.

There was hushed laughter and conversation amongst the almost invisible outlines of broad shoulders and covered heads.

“How about it now, boss?” Someone else commented. “Did we lose em?”

The speaker earned no direct answer and there was no way for Hanzo to distinguish who the boss was.

All he knew was that they were getting closer.

No choice but to stay still.

Soon the footsteps grew much louder and seemed to expand throughout the forest. His ears honed in on gassy breathing, the clatter of weaponry, armor and the slight whizz of fabric and flapping capes.

It suddenly dawned on him that he was practically surrounded. Not by a dozen men. Not even a couple dozen. More like hundreds of them.

Their boots fell like distant thunder as they bled out of the darkness simultaneously.

Hanzo was startled by a sudden burst of flame appearing in someone’s palm as he passed right over him.

Oh, hell no.

He shrank further against the tree with his sword handy, watching the menacing hooded mob march past.

If it came down to it, he was ready to kill. They continued in silence, unaware of his presence and this went on for a while until the remaining laggards wandered past and vanished with the rest.

Safe enough, Hanzo crept out of his hiding place and began to hurry away as quietly as possible.

“You think I didn’t saw you, boy?”

A sudden voice made Hanzo jump out of his skin.

He spun around and happened to swing his blade right through a man. His torso split open and he dropped to the ground with a cry of agony.

Before Hanzo could process what he’d just done, the other goons caught on and started shouting in alarm.

“Hey!!! Who’s that?! Wait—Dargo’s dead!!! Somebody just killed Dargo!!! Boss!!”

Hanzo broke into a wild sprint gaining enough speed to outrun a cheetah.

“KILL HIM!!!!” The men roared. All at once, the horde came pouring out of the trees, brandishing swords, maces and axes and other crude instruments of death.

“KILL THE NON-BELIEVER!!!” They jeered. Fear gripped Hanzo like steel as he heard a whole damn army coming after him like a stampede of oxen. A few bursts of gunfire made his ears pop and bullets hissed past his head.

Then, he heard a sharp whistling sound and looked up. Rocky fireballs illuminated the forest and tore across the black sky vomiting trails of smoke.

They hit the ground with the impact of an exploding sunset and knocked Hanzo several yards backward. Flames quickly spread through the woods like a rash, devouring everything in sight, turning trees into torches while critters fled out of their nests covered in fire.

The impending mob swept toward the young warrior as he rolled off the ground and continued sprinting through the blistering heat, smoke and all. Blasts shook him to the bone, screwing up his coordination until his legs buckled and sent him sprawling. He braved an awkward fall, landing somewhat sideways along his face, questioning reality for just a moment.

“WHAT’S WRONG, BOY???” An immense voice boomed like a cannon. “FORGOT TO WEAR YOUR CLACKERS???”

Laughter rippled around as the goons arranged into a circular formation around the boy, bringing with them a curtain of flames that reached the treetops.

Hanzo stood up, shielding his eyes from the outrageous blaze that surrounded him from all sides.

The silhouettes of the enemy stood proud and tall, completely unharmed although the wall of fire practically perched on their shoulders.

“Alright, then…” Hanzo raised his sword, unsure of where to direct it first. “Apparently, these little scrubs really wanna’ fight.”

“BEHOLD!!!”

Hanzo spun around to find the origin of the thunderous voice. A man, just a bit taller than the rest with a much larger cape unfurling in the haze poised with his arms folded. He spoke in an unnecessarily large voice to project fear into the soul of his victims, and to establish authority wherever he went.

He drew a large axe from over his shoulder and aimed it at the young warrior. “YOUR LIFE IS NOW IN THE HANDS OF THE VAGRANT DOGS, BOY!! I AM JIRAKO THE HUNTER!! INTRODUCE YOURSELF SO I MAY KNOW WHOM I WILL KILL!!!”

Hanzo swallowed the sudden dryness in his throat. The air was starting to choke him. In all honesty, he was not trying to fight this maniac named Jirako The Hunter right now. He was supposed to be learning the water element on the island with that stupid old man but thanks to his stupid daughter -or granddaughter-for poisoning him, he wound up inside of a large, empty building, eventually escaping only to find himself being scorched half to death by a raging horde of fire elementalists.

Could it get any worse than this?

Swear on my grave, I will curse that old geezer until his limbs rot and fall off...

“My name…” He huffed, struggling to project his voice. “...is Hanzo. Hanzo Blackstar.”