Keep up the great work

WARNING: abuse, violence

"You are such a good kid," the scarred man said as he poured cold water down on their human subject's head, causing the young man to gasp.

The yakuza grabbed a bar of soap and rubbed it on the brown hair that had become dirty after days of being held captive in the damp cellar.

Natsuo had no strength to spare in his limbs as the man washed him so he could be presentable for his abductors. His blue eyes were empty of emotion and his body was heavy from the long hours of experimentation.

"Are you really eighteen years old?" the man asked as he lifted the other's torn shirt to see his underweight frame and the faint outline of his ribs.

"Yes," he replied weakly, struggling to keep his voice from shaking.

"So, you are almost a grown man by now. I would have never guessed."

The captor examined his thin hands, the red irritated marks and the purple bruises on his forearms caused by needles, but the yakuza ignored them completely as if they weren't even there.

"We did a background check on you, but I wonder where your parents are now?"

The blue eyes closed and a pained expression crossed his face.

"I... don't know."

The man sighed and splashed another bucket of water to rinse the foam off. Regardless of that the younger one sucked in a shuddering breath, he was comforted by the feeling of the cool liquid on his skin, relieving the heat and sweat that had been pouring from him.

"I will use your leg for the next shot."

The yakuza lowered his wrinkled and soggy pants, exposing the pale skin of his thighs.

Natsuo tensed as the man traced his rough thumb over the area he was about to inject. He squeezed a bit of muscle between his fingers and extended his other hand so that another individual in the room could give him the syringe.

His leg ached as the needle penetrated his tissue and a sharp sting ran through it - but within seconds the man stroked the sore spot gently as if to soothe the pain away.

A tremor spread across Natsuo's thigh and a burning cramp began to creep up his leg. He bit his lip to silence himself from crying out and tried not to move - something he had learned during his adoptive father's punishments.

"Keep up the great work," the man said as he leaned in to tap his cheek and gave him a look of approval.

(Elsewhere at the same time)

A line of men in tattered suits waited on their knees. After a failed mission, they prepared themselves for what was to come.

The paneled space was filled with a hushed silence and the moonlight from the checkered window fell over the figures, illuminating their bowed heads and casting a somber mood over the chamber.

Jiro watched his brothers solemnly from the shadows. He and a few other members had been ordered to keep an eye on them until their leader arrived - and just then, the door slid open, and an oppressive presence invaded the room as a tall person strolled inside. His hair was tied in a high ponytail, pulled back tightly and secured with a ribbon, emphasizing his sharp facial features.

He was dressed in a long black coat and his right eye was bandaged with a red scarf that covered the empty socket. The men in the row bowed their heads lower and pressed their foreheads into the tatami.

The pale brown eyes narrowed at the sight of the figure carrying a pair of swords tucked securely into his waist. There was no doubt that the punishment the failures would face, wasn't going to be forgiving - nor merciful.

The man moved slowly down the line, scanning each person as they stayed still.

"Well, look at what we have here."

His voice was gruff and amused at the same time, but each syllable was charged with authority. He was the second lieutenant of Tokyo's largest yakuza, the shatei gashira named Kazuo Koda, responsible for many of the criminal activities that plagued the city - as well as the lives of countless innocent people.

His reputation followed him as he had earned his title through dedication and commitment to his organization. He had served for many years and had seen many battles, honing his skills through experience and training.

As a result, he was most famous for his violence. He made himself legendary and feared in the underworld because he enjoyed killing other people - while being extremely cruel and sadistic.

"Don't bother me with what happened or how you were ambushed. Your failure is unacceptable," he announced, but continued with a slight smirk.

"But, I offer you a chance at an honorable death. I will give you this opportunity to be remembered as a brave and loyal warrior."

The oldest of the men stood up, his once black hair now streaked with gray. He bowed deeply to the shatei gashira out of respect and gratitude.

"I knew it would be you," Kazuo grinned, and wrapped a piece of paper around the other blade, so the man wouldn't lose his grip or cut his hand. He offered him the wakizashi, similar to a katana but much shorter.

"Do you want to write a death poem to honor the ritual and entertain us with your last words?"

The man about to perform an ancient custom shook his head and sat on the tatami.

Jiro swallowed but kept his stare unflinching as he observed the scene unfold in front of him. He couldn't believe what was happening - that he was about to commit seppuku, a ritual suicide that was considered the ultimate expression of self-respect.

This was the life he had become part of - a life of loyalty and courage, a life of danger and death, a life of honor and respect. He was no longer sure what to make of this world - the path in the depths of his mind suddenly seemed clouded as conflicting thoughts surrounded him.

The older man took the weapon from the shatei gashira and placed it on his stomach. He bowed and pushed it forward, slicing through his flesh with one swift thrust, making a left-to-right cut. His face was stoic, betraying no expression as he accepted his fate with dignity.

Kazuo then slowly and silently drew his other wakizashi and performed kaishaku, a merciful act of seppuku, where he quickly sliced through the man's neck with a single stroke while leaving his head attached.

His dark, remaining eye abruptly lit up with wild, manic energy as soon as the performance ended. A satisfied look spread across Kazuo's face as he watched the man's body slump down.

"Now let's move on to the most exciting part of the formalities."

With one fierce movement, he severed the nearest person's head from his body - the spray of blood was so sudden and strong that it splattered the walls and the nearby men, staining their clothes and faces with the lifeblood of their comrade.

The guarding yakuza in the back stared at the whole spectacle as if they were in a trance, oblivious to the gruesome and ruthless show they were witnessing.

The flash of the sword and its deadly blade glinted in the darkness - and in no time, the heads of the men were slashed off and their mangled bodies dropped to the ground in a heap. Kazuo threw back his head and laughed raucously, reveling in the carnage he had created.

Jiro was struck with regret as he took in the brutal display of power before him. He had sought to join the yakuza to find purpose in his life and get away from his uncle, but now he was faced with the harsh reality of what it meant to be part of this world with no mercy or forgiveness for failures.