Sometime in the Future
"Get up, piece of shit!" Nik cursed.
Bone cracked sickeningly in the air. A hard knee struck home on the man's jaw.
"Don't pay your bill, you've got to deal with me. Understood?"
Nik spat on the sobbing patron. The man laid out on the dirty alleyway. Cowering in fear, he tossed his wallet onto the ground. The tall, muscular gaijin stared down ominously. The catch? No one knew a gaijin just beat the shit out of a local. Nik sported a fancy wrestling mask, concealing his identity perfectly.
"Come on," Nik said aggressively to a young lady. "You still look good. Go back to working the corner."
Like the man, the prostitute fearfully hurried off to complete her task. Dusting off an expensive, fancy suit, Nik cracked his neck. Another night, another dollar to be made. He had a war chest to build.
The Present
Nik looked into the mirror located in his tiny apartment's washroom. Life changed, he could see it in his eyes. Vim and vigor were replaced with a depressive glare. The glint of happiness replaced with the cold reality of loss. Each day became a struggle to roll out of bed. Every waking moment a reminder of a heaven excommunicated without cause.
A bottle of pills sat ominously on the sink counter. Some nights he sat and stared into a cup of coffee, transfixed in thought. Some nights the only reason he didn't down the entire bottle was his blood oath. It gave him purpose, a reason to keep living. But it didn't make life any easier.
Dressed and sitting in the subway, a checklist scrolled in the mind's eye. Today he'd be given a real script for a film. Musashi wanted him to try his hand at a real film. Something raunchier to tantalize the audience. A message told him to meet Ryuji at a real world location, some prop shop specializing in masks.
"Finally dragged yourself out of bed, gaijin."
Ryuji leaned against a modest car next to the rendezvous spot. Toothpick between his lips, and glasses halfway down the bride of his nose, he didn't try to hide a machismo aire.
"Morning to you too, Jap," Nik replied to Ryuji.
"Great to see your sense of humor is working early in the morning. Come on, we need to get you a costume."
"I'm a director, what do I need a costume for?"
"Security, obviously. Earth to gaijin, you're a gaijin, don't you remember the conversation yesterday?"
The yakuza noticeably limped with every step. A disability didn't diminish the man's machismo. An 'I don't give a fuck' attitude radiated strongly. Inside the shop, the walls were lined with fancy masks of all sorts. Immediately, Ryuji walked over to the wrestling masks.
"I'm going to be a wrestler?" Nik asked.
"No, it is your disguise. Wear it so no one knows you're not Japanese. With your crisp accent, no one will know the difference."
"Except the dude behind the counter."
"He works for us. No worry here. Do you think I'm an amateur?" Ryuji scoffed. "Pick one you like. It is you being forced to wear it."
Nik took a long time browsing the wares. He went along with it. Why not? It made perfect sense.
"Wide range of choices."
"We try to supply all tastes. Never know what someone will want," Ryuji answered.
"That one looks good," he said, pointing to a mask. "Can I try it on?"
The clerk took it off the wall, behind the counter, and handed it over. A mirror sat on the countertop, like if in a glasses store.
"Looks good. I like it."
"I guess."
"Like you said, Ryuji, I'm the one who has to wear it all the time."
Royal purple color. Two cross-shaped swords pierced the eyes like tears. The outer shell was made of a slick, plastic material. Inside, a thin fabric covered the face directly. The mask wasn't exactly what he wanted, but for all the masks in the shop, it was the only one he liked enough to wear.
"Fits good. Need to get used to breathing through a mask. Smells a bit stale, but the inner fabric feels soft."
Ryuji shrugged, handing over some cash to the clerk.
"Keep it on as we drive to the studio. Give it a trial run."
"Don't you think I'll be drawing more attention wearing this than if I just looked like a foreigner?" Nik asked, walking to the parked car.
"Obviously, but again, secret identity. A lot to learn. Think superhero. That is what you westerners like to read about. Take that mindset."
"So what is the script about today? Another lesbian scene?"
"Nope, a point of view scene. We need you to star and direct in it."
Before Ryuji could start up the car, Nik put a hand on the wheel to stop him.
"I told you guys I'm not going to perform in a film."
"You will with this person. She is special."
"Aren't they all special."
"You want to fuck the Ueno clan, right? Why do it metaphorically? Do it literally. We picked up the wife of a low-level member. No one to write home about but a good jumping off point."
"How am I going to hurt them by fucking his whore of a wife?"
"You dumb as a brick house, or you don't know Asian culture very well do you, gaijin? Fuck his wife and you fuck his face. We put her on film, sucking down some white guy's cock, he won't be able to command any aura of respect with his underlings. That, or he beats them into submission causing a rift and hatred."
"No. Not going to do it," Nik said, sternly.
"What else do you bring to the table?"
"What?"
"What else do you bring to the fucking table, gaijin?" Ryuji berated Nik. "You're not a combat expert. Not ex-military or special agent. You're a school teacher. The only value you bring to us is you've got a big cock. That is it. I'm not Musashi. He cornered himself with his life debt nonsense. I don't give a shit about you and that life debt. You got lucky saving his sister. Lucky. He put me in charge of you because he knows I won't put up with any shit. We're not going to bend over and risk our organization so you can get your revenge. This is life, not a fucking movie. So do the film, or get the fuck out of my car, you ungrateful bastard."
