[Pan-Sung Noodle Diner]
[Financial District, Neo-Tokyo]
CURRENT TIME: 14 September 2081, 2230 hours
The diner was packed. Late-dinner rush. Everyone was moving and cooking and eating and talking. Pan-Sung was like this every day. It was probably the best tofu noodle bowl in this section of the cityplex, and it was definitely Tanzo’s favorite place to eat after work or between shifts.
“Everything was great, as always,” he told the frazzled waiter.
Tanzo pulled his paycard out from inside his jacket, an expensive piece of attire that had become his everyday uniform at his uncle’s firm, and swiped it in the AR pay window—making sure he left a tip far larger than it needed to be. He always did. It helped make sure he always had good service, a nice seat, and fresh food. Why make all of this money and not use it?
He got up, grabbed his secure-case, and headed out onto the packed streets of Neo-Tokyo. It was a short stroll to the tram station, and the weather shield system must have been working well that night—little humidity, nice temp, and great air quality. It would be a nice walk.
That is, until he noticed the two musclebound corporate thugs following his every step.
Tanzo tried to dodge them, lose them in a multi-path crosswalk, and even once led them straight past a pair of Red Samurai—who apparently didn’t see them as a threat, or were already on someone else’s payroll. He thought he had the perfect way to cut past them and into Yakuza territory, where he would be well protected, but the alley was unexpectedly blocked at the opposite end by a broken-down carry-all. By the time Tanzo realized that, it was too late, and the two thugs had him cornered.
“You should’ve never told them how to use it,” the first one growled, pulling a sound-suppressed heavy pistol out of his jacket.
“What’s the kill sequence?” his partner added, arming himself in the same way.
“I—I—” Tanzo stammered, finding just enough bravery in himself to do the right thing. “I am Tanzo Nakajima, nephew of Shosun Akihiro Takashi, and you will get nothing from me.”
“Fine, then.”
Tanzo closed his eyes, waiting for the end to come. There was a loud whoosh, a rush of air, and the sound of meat-wrapped bones shattering against the brick walls of the alley.
He opened his eyes to see a blurry shape smashing the gunmen against the buildings that formed the walls of the alley. In a handful of swift motions, both of his would-be attackers were broken ruins on the ground, and his savior stood defiantly in the darkness between flickering LEDs.
“Thank you! Thank you so much! How can I repay you?”
There was a flash of kaleidoscopic light in the shine of their eyes, and a familiar and charming feeling washed over Tanzo as they stepped into the artificial light over the alleyway.
“I’ve got a bloody brilliant idea, Tanzo.” The voice was a purr, but it was unmistakable.
“—Faust?”
“Mister Stockhausen requests your presence, and this is a meeting you cannot miss, mate.” They smiled, revealing a mouth full of shining daggers. “One way or another, we need to know how to stop the Kechibi Code.”
