Season 1, Episode 5 - The Boxtops XIII - "The Shack"

Shokahu parked the Dunn Corporation Model Thunder – a strong name for a rather weak car, only purchased by the Academy due to its connections with its Dunn Corporation maker - on the edge of a cracked road at the northern edge of town. As he stepped out, he saw rows and rows of tenement houses, the home of thousands of workers who filled Elizabeth Pond’s northern factories and textile mills. These brick buildings had been spared from the demolition required to build the Dunn Electric Factory, so workers continued to live in their usual squalor there.

Upon seeing the general state of misery in the area - some parts lit up by flickering gaslamps and lights from inside the buildings, other parts illuminated by a half-empty moon - Shokahu decided to use the steeling wheel lock for the car. The Model Thunder did belong to the Academy and the Technical Servicemen, after all, who weren't always the most popular in these northern parts. The older workers got along with Stockham and his governance, but those young kids with their biker gangs and all that could get rowdy at times. Shokahu fully expected a broken window or slashed tire by the time he got back.

After adjusting his scarf and coat, Shokahu placed his hands in his pockets and began walking toward the hopeful destination. That woman Shannen had given him detailed directions on how to get to her home – a shack among several others built across the courtyard of slum buildings. One day, that whole complex would probably be on the list to for future demolition as well. Though the raid did put a damper on things, housing in Elizabeth Pond was in high-demand due to the number of people seeking to move to a Rddhi district.

You could see the changes elsewhere in the district already - when Shokahu attended the Academy, and when he returned here after the First American War - textile mills and other factories dominated all of Elizabeth Pond. Now, the Dunn Electric Factory would be the last bastion of industry as the mills were slowly pushed out by service, financial, and high-tech industries. The center of the district was once home to a mill Shokahu worked in during his youth; now, the Cabot Shopping Center and associated apartments and highrises took center-stage, the mill long-gone.

Shokahu passed under a gaslamp. Fighting against fate, huh...

During the PulaskI Coup ten years ago, Shokahu briefly entertained joining the Justice Party in its defense of the Quinetucket administration's democracy. But, as he walked aimlessly around Narragansett as Pulaski's forces closed in on the capital, he could see it in the faces of the city's civilians - the Quineticket government and its democracy were doomed. Fate was on Pulaski's side, so Shokahu returned to the Academy and watched as the Aroostook Army seized Narragansett in two days.

Back in the present, Shokahu passed under clotheslines stretching between buildings as he entered the sprawl of slums. These buildings were survivors of the First American War; more funding and time had been spent on rebuilding a new Elizabeth Pond from the ground up, based around the Academy, than fixing up the surviving buildings. The decay on them signified their age.

The distant sounds of children laughing and dogs barking felt a little somber to Shokahu; he didn’t actually see any signs of life beyond the lights on inside the buildings, but life was there, alright, and a poor one at that.

Maybe one day this whole place will be demolished in favor of building real homes.

That drew a chuckle out of him.

I’m sure you can make an argument that a dump like this can be just as real of a home as a mansion.

That sounded like something Ms. Mogami would say. Shokahu's thoughts wandered back to his own time as a student in Elizabeth Pond High School, the ostracization of the three Rddhi users - Shokahu, Mogami, Essex - that only made their bond stronger, long nights in the Domino Dojo after school.

Only three back then...now I have my own class of twelve.

Shokahu knew his students were an odd bunch, yet he loved them all the same. While ultimate approval for the Combat Simulation teams rested with Stockham, Shokahu himself spent many hours burning the midnight oil in selecting the composition of the teams. He made sure that the Isaac-Audrey-Reed trio continued their development together, that Isaac got to work with Alfie again, that a continuing competition between Mackenzie and Reed would make them both stronger and perhaps even closer one day. Dan and Babs seemed to work well together, the Academy held high hopes for Demetrius, and Shokahu even felt that Lionel Coleridge had the ability to pull an upset or two.

It didn’t matter to Shokahu who won, he just hoped they all worked well together and continued their improvement (though a part of him did root for Lynn in particular, considering she was the only - relatively - normal one out of that entire group).

By this time, Shokahu had passed by four walkways to his right. Upon reaching the fifth, he followed Shannen’s instructions and followed that path. There, the path wided and opened up as he passed between buildings, and he found the village of shacks in the courtyard. Three brick tenement houses surrounded the courtyard, gazing down upon Shokahu with their broken windows.

Shokahu followed the path between the shacks made of sheet rusty metal, all of them leaning against each other for support. From inside one he heard a man and women yelling at each other; another shack was surrounded by broken bottles and muddy footprints. It was late now, nearing midnight, yet since it was a Friday, there was a general level of festivity in the air as he arrived deeper into the shantytown. He heard warm songs and cheers, children playing, yet since it was dark out and so far, he spotted nobody outside their shacks, all Shokahu could do was pull his coat tighter and search for Shannen's home.

Counting the number of shacks, Shokahu arrived at his destination. Shannen’s shack had a set of dainty anemones planted outside. They were hardy plants, Shannen had told Shokahu when he asked why. A breeze ran through the red and blue flowers; Shokahu knelt and picked one for her. They might be colleagues in the future, after all; might as well start off right. Shokahu liked that Stockham gave second chances.

Shokahu reached for the door, then supposed he was smarter than that. He sniffed the air and narrowed his eyes.

Gunpowder.

Shokahu stepped around the side of the shack and brought his hands together.

“Rat, Ox, Tiger, Rabbit, Dragon!”

With precise beams of low power, Shokahu cut an opening into the wall of the shack just big enough to fit through, but not big enough to collapse the entire thing. He peered inside toward the back side of the front door and frowned. A long piece of string ran from the door to the pin of a grenade resting on a pile of dirty clothes; had Shokahu opened the door, the string would’ve pulled the pin and destroyed the entire shack.

Either Shannen's benefactors found out we captured her and that Stockham’s still alive, or they were planning on killing her anyway.

Shannen actually kept a relatively neat place. A dirty mattress occupied most of the shack, surrounded by piles of blankets and clothes for the upcoming cold. A bucket of murky water held dirty plates and pans, while a box held clean versions. Shokahu’s own home was decently minimalist, but he still had heat, a shower, and an oven. Standing there in that shack, he could see why living conditions like this could make someone like Shannen lash out. Perhaps conditions like this also motivated the sailor who shot the Squanto Bank branch manager down in Fore River.

But assassinations won't create homes out of thin air. Not to mention, it leaves behind widows and orphans.

But can peaceful methods actually create change in a country like this?

Questions like those usual kept Shokahu up at night anyway, so he decided to focus on his mission for now. After using the power of the Rat to cut the line to the grenade, Shokahu looked around for those letters Shannen mentioned, as well as any other information. It was a small room (it was a shack after all) so Shokahu didn’t have to do that much searching, but it was clear whoever set the trap at the door had taken with them any obvious clues.

They took the money with them, that much is clear. And no signs of the letters, at least on the surface.

Shokahu breathed deeply and clapped his hands, opening his mind’s eye to see the world through the lens of the black Rddhi field. Nothing much changed; piles of clothes remained piles of clothes, the dirty dishes were still dirty, but-

There. Inside the mattress.

Shokahu knelt at one corner of the mattress, pushing away a pile of blankets covering it. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, but when he gazed closer, he saw evidence of a hasty sewing job to tie up a hole ripped into the mattress. Using the Rat, Shokahu’s Rddhi gnawed at the out-of-place string until the hole reopened.

Shokahu reached inside and pulled out a slip of paper. The writing was sloppy, but he could still read it.

Shannen,

Our time together is growing short. I will be departing soon for the Pure Lands, a plane beyond this mortal realm of suffering. I know you should not have any attachments remaining before departing, but I admit, I think I’ll miss our training sessions together. You brought a smile to this old man’s heart. Sometimes you got me the wrong brand of beer, but you made up for it with your pride and tenacity. With the unofficial powers invested in me, I hereby name you a Master of Kenjutsu Fire Style.

Use it wisely. Don’t stray from the path of the straight and true. I know you can make it out of here through hard work and diligence. Perhaps one day we can drink together again in the Pure Lands.

Take care,

Master Himura

Shokahu neatly folded the letter and placed it in his jacket pocket. Based on what she told them at the bar, this Kenjutsu Master Himura seemed to be her only friend.

Through hard work and diligence. That doesn’t seem to mesh well with assassinations. Perhaps she left the letter behind in order to help her follow a different path than her Master wanted.

Shokahu thought about his own sensei, Derek Domino. All Domino wanted for his three students was for them to survive the First American War; when they did, he had nothing else in store for them. Life always seemed to go adrift after earth-shattering events. Shokahu heard that after winning the Presidential Restoration, Domino lost the state-building process, resulting in the original presidential dictatorship under Arthur Reed that cast a long shadow over New England politics since then.

Having no plan for winning the peace. Maybe that’s another reason why, when peace came to New England after the First American War, I ended up following Stockham during the Pulaski Coup. I wasn’t sure what else he was supposed to do.

That’s why I want to give my students the best education I can. New England seems to have a long history of losing the peace. Maybe this generation can change things.

Shokahu reached deeper into the mattress, his Rddhi picking up another piece of paper hidden farther inside. His fingers grasped and he pulled it out. Squinting his eyes to read it, it read exactly as Shannen described. The letter's writer used a typewriter to prevent their handwriting from being matched, but Shokahu knew the Academy had ways of getting around that.

With the letter secured, Shokahu stepped out the way he came. The crisp air of a November night hit him, but there was a vibration in that air-

“Rat, Ox!”

Shokahu sensed the finger on the trigger before it even fired. His red Rddhi shield came up just in time, stopping the sniper bullet in its tracks. Shokahu scrambled and hid behind the shack; based on the bullet’s trajectory, this would keep him out of the shooter’s sight.

Maybe the same person who left that grenade, Shokahu thought, narrowing his eyes. The entire courtyard was covered with windows; if I weren't a Rddhi user, I'd be caught like a fish in a barrel down here.

For a moment, Shokahu glanced around, expecting to hear mass panic and pandemonium from the shantytown dwellers. None came; the festive air continued on undisturbed.

By this point, gunshots are probably just background noise to them.

Without having a trainload of civilians to save this time, Shokahu planned his next move.

They don’t want anyone finding out the truth. Well, maybe I should turn the tables on them.

Shokahu confidently stepped out from behind the shack, then headed down the path out of there. He stopped to pick another blue anenome; no shot came, even when he idled around, putting it into his pocket for safekeeping. Shokahu stood and scanned the windows, but there were no signs of life, no glints of a sniper rifle.

He continued down the path between all the shacks. It would be tougher to shoot me in here. Perhaps once I exit this labyrinth.

He stepped past the last shack, returning to a gravel path surrounded by yellow grass and dying trees. A clear as shot as any.

And the shot came. Shokahu already had his shield up, knocking away the bullet. But more importantly, he found the shooter’s location. Shokahu goaded the sniper into firing again by walking out in the open; much more aware this time, he tracked down the sniper to a particular window in one of the upper floors of the tenement houses.

Using the power of the Horse, Shokahu charged across a grassy field, bullets whizzing past him, the thunderclap of the sniper rifle not far behind each shot. Every bullet only served to further confirm the sniper’s location.

“Rat, Ox, Tiger, Rabbit!”

Shokahu leapt from the field with all his might, heading straight for the window from which the sniper had fired. He planned on leaping straight inside, but as he got closer, he sniffed the air and held his arms out wide, catching himself on the window opening, preventing himself from leaping through.

He gazed through the window; had he landed inside, another grenade tripwire would’ve done him in. Just as bad for him was the sniper, standing at the far end of the room, a pistol pointed straight for Shokahu.

Shokahu let go off the window, falling down the side of the building, bullets flying overhead. He caught a lower ledge and swung himself through a cracked window, landing in a pile of glass. He dusted himself off and used the Rddhi to find the sniper’s location.

He’s fleeing.

Shokahu exited the room, sprinting, looking for a staircase to take him back up to the sniper’s floor. He finally found one, but as he scrambled up it, he heard the sound of a wall crumbling.

He made it to the top floor and then hunted for the sniper by following the sound of the collapsing wall. He passed by the room with the booby-trapped window and came to a stop a few rooms down on the other side of the hallway, facing away from the shacktown courtyard.

The wall to the room had completely collapsed. Shokahu stepped to the edge, looking out to the ground below. A rusty Model Mercurio out of Argentina revved its engines and drove off, leaving behind tread marks on the dirt as it peeled away. Shokahu prepared a Dragon beam, but the car disappeared from view before he could fire.

Shokahu examined the collapsed wall. There’s no traces of explosives...so this was done through the work of the Rddhi...an Earth user. One that’s good with a sniper rifle, too.

Shokahu reached into his pocket for his notebook to write all of this down; instead, he remembered he still had the two flowers in there. Fortunately, they remained intact, despite all the action.

At least you two are doing alright.