The island was a gift to her from the old man. At least that's what she was told.

Back in the good old days, it was a realm of peace and quiet; a time when Uzai was more invested in her training and less concerned with bringing home guests from his stupid expeditions.

These days it was hard to get him to do anything. All he cared about was his porridge and beef jerky and selling merchandise wherever he went.

A few days ago, he announced that someone special was coming to the island to train under him and Naomi went up in flames, demanding to know why he'd put off her training just to teach somebody else.

He gave a vague answer and went on praising the stranger in question as if he were some renowned figure.

As it turned out, he was just a country hick from a run down village with no skills but Uzai remained optimistic and told her to behave and treat him nicely.

Hopefully, the poison worked. She'd never have to see his ugly face again.

In the meantime, she sat alone at a table with a cup of tea to her lips, trying to make sense of the enigma that followed the vagabond's arrival. There was an immense spiritual presence that usually only appeared when he was around but it most certainly wasn't his own.

He had to have brought someone or something with him. Whatever it was, Uzai refused to tell her.

She scowled and almost slammed her cup on the table, when a figure suddenly appeared in the corner of her eye.

It was a man wearing a beige hat and a striped button up, flaunting fancy gold revolvers on his belt.

"Howdy." He grinned. "What's a fine young lass like you doin' over here all by yer'self?"

The girl was about to say something cutthroat when a chair hurtled across the room and crashed into his head. It was as if she’d seen it in slow motion, the wood snapping as it bent around his skull before exploding into a thousand pieces.

The man was downed instantly, eyes rolled upside his brain. He was probably dead.

"I thought I done told you to stay away from my daughter, Hubert!!!"

Another man roared. His face was hot with fury and alcohol. Behind him, his friends were seated at the bar wheezing like horses, slapping their knees and banging on the wooden table until their drinks spilled.

"Attaboy, Hubert!!!" One of them hollered, "Better luck next time!!!"

Other patrons in the room stared in disgust, some chuckling among themselves.

Naomi gripped the handle of her decimated cup as she looked down to find tea spilled all over her uniform.

Tight with fury, she flicked her gaze toward the burly drunkard huffing and puffing like a mad bull.

All eyes fell on her when she rose out of her chair and all ears listened to the tune of her longsword leaving the sheath.

"Aw, c'mon." The bartender pleaded.

"Whoa now, Ariel." The once angry man recognized his error and took a few steps backward. "What you say we go for a ride on the merry-go-round?"

Naomi sprang forward and slammed the thick blade into his chest. It struck the table behind him with a loud crack and blood skirted across the surface, spattering the faces of the others seated there.

She shoved him down with her foot and let him spill to the floor knocking stools over as he tried to grasp them.

"You're lucky I didn't shatter your skull, you idiot." She growled.

The man coughed and heaved, watching the flames of darkness devour his vision. He looked to his friends one last time. They leaned over him and began counting down from ten.

"C'mon Tom!!!" William called out. "It ain't over yet!!!"

It was no use. He was finished.

The bartender was speechless.

Naomi turned away and approached the door to leave. "Drink's on them." She said.

"W-wait a minute—" The woman came to her senses. "HEY!! WHO'S GONNA' CLEAN THIS MESS??"

The girl was already gone.

She strode off into the night clearing the blood off her sword and returned it to the sheath.

The streets were crowded in downtown Skerratic where one would find ravishing entertainments and many stores eager to sell products. Skerratic was a gloomy existence, an industrial powerhouse immersed in its own smog whose purpose was given largely to research and development while the streets were surging with madness, vying to turn the whole city into one giant black market.

Vendors basically spilled out of large complexes with an assortment of pricey blades glinting under crystal street lamps.

The alleyways were ridden with strange bums in stringy hoods with salad fingers that could swipe wallets clean out of a passerby’s pocket.

They were supposedly good enough to yank your pants down and you’d never even suspect that they’d done it.

The city was in fact claimed by such a high rate of thievery that people believed there was an entire guild dedicated to it.

The police had yet to find proof of one existing but as soon as they’d decide to end the investigation, another incident would rekindle their suspicions and they’d be right back on it a day later.

However, the average officer was pretty lenient in this city, tired of chasing criminals and more interested in partaking in the excitement with the locals.

Naomi watched a group of the law enforcers remove their hats and step inside another warm tavern with it’s neon sign splashing color all over the street surface. They had pleasant but eager grins, rigid postures that indicated their nervousness about fooling around while they were supposed to be on duty.

Naomi looked elsewhere for a minute then went up to their vehicle, opened the door and started probing around the seats for stuff of value. Nobody else seemed to care either.

The dog in the backseat whimpered and cowered into a corner, afraid of what she might do to him.

“Shut up, you stupid mongrel.” She said backing out of the police car slinging an entire rifle over her shoulder with a danish and a newspaper in one hand.

Moments later she arrived at some run down weapons vendor to trade the the rifle in for a sword but the guy at the stall wanted to give her trouble for some reason.

“You say your uncle is a cop but I don’t believe it.” He crossed his beefy arms. “If this weapon gets traced back to me I’ll be the one going to jail.”

“No you won’t.” Naomi replied. “Just give me the sword.”

“I ain’t giving you nothing, pal. I can see it in your eyes. You’re lying! You ain’t got no uncle in the police force.”

“Fine then. I’ll just take both.” The girl reached out one of the swords off the table but the man planted his hand firmly on top of it.

“You think you can just come over here and take my stuff?? How about I call the police right now? Then we can see what your uncle will do for you.”

Naomi snatched another sword off the table and whacked the stubborn fool in the head with it.

His face grew red with anger but she smacked him again and again until he grew dazed, barely able to stand, then she swung the rifle off her shoulder and launched it into his face with a loud crack. The weapon bounced back into her palm as he dropped to the ground out cold.

The girl slipped a sword of her liking into the holster strapped to her waist and swung the rifle across her back and walked off before the nosy onlookers started to protest.

The girl disappeared onto the rooftops, watching the city’s dark outline against the foggy night sky, enjoying the wind combing through her hair.

Shoulda’ just taken the stupid gun.

She thought, glancing at the half folded newspaper. Giving it a sharp flick, her eyes adjusted to the darkness as she read on, taking a bite out of the danish.

“ANILYX IN TROUBLE”

“DEMON BIRD FROM THE UNDERREALM OBLITERATES MYTOKON.

THOUSANDS DEAD.”

From the Underrealm? She huffed. Her eyes fell on another article by chance and what she saw made her pause.

“BLACKLEAF EXILES SEVENTEEN YEAR OLD.”

It read, offering a hazy but unmistakable mugshot of Hanzo.

Naomi tossed the danish off the building and examined the passage closely.

This idiot is in the news?