Chapter Two: Visions of the Insane

 

            *He had been sent to infiltrate the club and simply look around. He was to do so undercover and keep a low profile. He grunted. He hadn’t been able to figure out a way to get in without knocking out a few of the muscle guys that guarded the door. But if he knocked them out, he would create suspicion amongst the people in charge of the club. So now he was left with only one option: make friends with a member.

            His strong point had never been people skills. His vast piloting, hacking, and infiltration knowledge was useless in these social situations. He could barely begin a conversation without ‘hnn’, let alone make friends enough to get into the club. Just then he saw a boy on the street corner. The kid was pick-pocketing a man who was walking by innocently. An idea formed. Slipping down carefully, Hiiro tapped the boy on the shoulder.

            “Who are you and what do you want?” The boy asked Hiiro suspiciously.

            “I saw you pick his pocket. Good, but amateur style.” Hiiro told the boy. He watched as the boy’s face went from suspicion to anger.

            “What do you mean amateur? I’ve been picking pockets for five years. I’m no amateur! If you’re so great, show me what your style is then?” The boy smiled evilly. Hiiro, glad the boy had played right into his hands, accepted the challenge. Spotting a target, he stepped in time along side the man. Carefully utilizing his knife, he stealthily slit the man’s back pant pocket and caught the wallet as it slipped out. Then Hiiro turned around and walked back to the kid, handing him the wallet.

            “Not bad.” The kid had to admit. “You make a living from that?” The kid asked Hiiro.

            “When I feel like it. I’m into the bigger thefts: jewelry, computers, stereos. I’ve been looking for a place to throw my chips in. Got any suggestions?” Hiiro played along with his little knowledge of how the streets worked.

            “Maybe. They’re called the Specters. The name’s JR.”

            “I’m called Hiiro. Hiiro Yui.”

            “Well Hiiro, doing anything now?”

            “I do what I want when I want.” Hiiro answered nonchalantly.

            “Perfect. Follow ol’ JR here and I’ll show you just the place you need to start kick’n it.” The kid bellowed at Hiiro.  Hiiro smirked when JR turned his back. Following the kid into the club, Hiiro breathed deeply just as he did before he always began a mission. It helped remind him he was, indeed, still alive and that if he failed, he would never breathe again.

            The atmosphere in the club was dark and dank. The loud music blared and with all the different songs playing at once, it seemed to have no beat only a continuous pounding. The air was disgustingly dirty, filled with smoke and other, less inviting stenches. His enhanced sense of smell picked up traces of blood but for the most part he could smell the alcohol and the rancid smell of throw-up that had never been cleaned up. Dingy water pipes hung dripping dirty water down, no air conditioning, heating, or any air circulation at all of that matter. The people in the place were not much better than the overall appearance of it. Smokers, druggers, drunks, and gamblers filled the scene. Punks, rappers, and other outcasts from society played for their weight in stolen goods or fought it out hand to hand. Occasionally he would spot a person wearing an all black uniform of baggy pants and a thin shirt, but he couldn’t tell where they were coming from or going to.

            “This,” JR paused slightly, smiling proudly of the disgusting place he had just introduced Hiiro to. “is the Specter club. Welcome to the second home of nearly every kid in town, including yourself now.”

            “You live here?” Hiiro asked, wanting the full details.

            “Nah. I stay the night occasionally but for the most part I go and come. The people in the black uniforms live here. Stay out of their way, or you’ll be sorry.” JR warned him.

            “Hnn.”

            “Hey, I don’t care whatever. You want to cut your life short, go talk to them. Other than that, there really are no other rules. We do what we want when we want, no questions and no rules.”

            “Who’s in charge?” Hiiro asked him.

            “You go see Crooks with your stolen goods. Shin’s next on the list-but Darien listens to Shade more then him- followed by our father, Darien.”

            “Father?” Hiiro repeated.

            “We’re a family here me these guys and girls and Darien, he’s our father. Cigarette? Cigar?” JR offered. Hiiro turned him down.

            “I don’t smoke. Where’s you ‘father’ at the moment?”

            “What’s the day of the week and the time?” JR asked.

            “Tuesday morning.” Hiiro told him.

            “He’s in watching his students train. Can’t meet him until after they’re done. Unless you want to be one of them that is.”

            “Who is them?”

            “You ask an awful lot of questions for a new guy, you know that? It might get you killed around here one day. Especially if Darien’s in a bad mood.”

            “Before I decide to join our gang I need to know what I’m getting into, don’t I?” Hiiro countered. This boy was getting tiresome.

            “Well…” The boy began. But Hiiro cut him off.

            “What do the people in the black uniforms do besides live here?”

            “They are in training to become the elite members of the Specters. They are training in martial arts and other areas of expertise.”

            “Can I become one of them?”

            “You’re what, fifteen?”

            “Sixteen.”

            “No difference, you’re too old. Darien starts them young. The youngest was seven and the oldest twelve. That, and they have to have a natural talent. Hiiro? Hiiro?” But Hiiro was gone, hidden well within the shadows of the club’s strobe lights and fog. He slipped in and around the club, taking in all he saw and committing it all to memory. Dr. J was going to receive quite a lengthy report next time he sent mail. Coming around a corner, he spotted two figures in the black uniform.

 Following them, he crept through the dingy shadows. As they disappeared through an almost invisible door, he waited, then snuck in after them. Down a dark and musty stairwell, he found himself overwhelmed by the stench. Sweat, dirty socks, blood, all odors he recalled from his own training with the good doctor. Next he heard the screams of pain, the battle cries of fights, and the yelling of instructions ringing throughout the room. Strolling into the open room, his eyes met a sight he had hoped they would not.

There were rings for fighting, much like the ones found in boxing matches. Each ring had its own collection of fighters. In the center of the room was giant blank area. On the floor was a painted star with three circles, big, medium, and small, drawn through it. At the center above was a giant rope attachment that separated into many other strings of rope and connected to the floor around the outside of the circle. In the far corner of the room were punching bags, dumbbells, and other workout machines. Spread out around the room were more men in the black uniform. They were sparring with each other, training, and working out.

“Where’s your uniform? I don’t remember seeing you in here before boy!” A deep, raspy voice clipped at him. Hiiro’s shirt was grabbed and he was pulled from the shadows of the room into the light. Before him stood a mean, squinty-eyed Japanese man.

“I’m new.” Hiiro threw out, hoping that he would buy himself more time.

“New? Darien hasn’t approved you. You’re too old. Go back upstairs. Play.” The man grunted. Hiiro recalled JR’s words: “Crooks, then Shin…” This man must be Shin.

“What is going on here?” A smooth, almost amused voice wafted through the room in their direction.

“Master.” Shin bowed slightly, never taking his eyes off of Hiiro. “We were just clearing up a misunderstanding this boy had. He wished to fight.”

“How old are you?” The new voice directed its attention towards Hiiro.

“Sixteen.”

“And why do you wish to fight?” The voice prodded, still amused as ever.

“I am at my best in a fight.” Hiiro was telling the truth, and that almost made him wary of the consequences of giving away too much information. He shrugged it off. Sacrifices had to be made during missions.

“Let’s see you in action.” The voice laughed, and Hiiro cringed at the insanity that echoed through it.*