2.0 The Lone Wolf

The blood-soaked room held its breath, thick with the scent of gunpowder and death. The roar of the minigun echoed as it spun, spitting out rounds in every direction. By the wide-open door of the helicopter, the Taira clan's emblem gleamed under the dim light. Mirai inhaled deeply, filling her lungs with the stench of battle. She was ready.

"Let's do this." Her legs propelled her forward, faster than her thoughts could keep up. A flash of light—a projectile screamed toward her, followed by a hail of gunfire. She knew the distance gave the shooter the advantage, making deflection nearly impossible. There was only one option—close the gap before a bullet found its mark.

Her body moved instinctively. She twisted mid-air, threading herself between two bullets, her senses attuned to the slightest shift in trajectory. A third round streaked toward her skull—she jerked her head at the last second, the bullet grazing past, pushing her toward the shattered window her team had broken through.

The gunner expected her to lunge for the open side of the helicopter and adjusted his aim accordingly. But instead, she dove downward. His fingers hesitated on the trigger, peering down at the dizzying height she had plunged into.

A pair of kunai whistled through the air, streaking toward his exposed head. He dodged at the last moment, allowing the blades to anchor themselves in the upper part of the helicopter. The sudden added weight tilted the aircraft slightly, but the pilot quickly corrected, pulling the stick hard in the opposite direction. The motion gave Mirai exactly what she needed.

She swung forward, unhooking a gas vial from her waist. With a fierce twist, she catapulted herself through the opposite door, feet-first. Her landing was merciless—her heel crushed through the first mercenary's knee, shattering bone. The second had no time to react before her blade carved through his thigh, severing the femoral artery.

Before they could even scream, she pulled her twin pistols, firing two precise shots. The rounds tore through their skulls, splattering crimson against the cold metal walls. Their bodies slumped lifelessly.

The heavy gunner took the opportunity to strike. His massive blade came down in a brutal arc, aiming to split her in half. She twisted to the side, the blade biting into the floor inches from where she stood. He followed up instantly with a devastating kick. His boot slammed into her ribs, the sheer force launching her against the metal wall. Pain shot through her, but she rolled with the impact, landing in a crouch.

The gunner's armor was thick, reinforced combat gear that amplified his strength. Mirai was fast, but he was a brute, and he had the advantage of weight and power. She needed an opening. Without hesitation, she hurled a sticky bomb against the helicopter's hull. The explosion would be her ticket out—one way or another.

The pilot sensed the shift in battle and yanked the controls. The helicopter spun violently, throwing her off balance. Disoriented, she barely avoided a sniper round that zipped past, missing her right eye by inches. She turned sharply, catching a glint of light from a nearby rooftop—a sniper's scope.

Her visor calculated the distance. The sniper had clear visibility, and the next shot would be more precise. A sharp metallic clank rang behind her—the gunner had picked up a fallen assault rifle. The distinct sound of the chamber cocking sent a jolt of adrenaline through her.

Another sniper round fired. Mirai leaped backward off the helicopter, free-falling into the abyss. The bullet meant for her instead found its way into the heavy gunner's exposed neck. Blood spurted violently as he staggered, choking on his own lifeblood before collapsing onto the floor of the helicopter.

Wind roared past her ears. She was falling. Fast.

Her kunai mechanism was busted. Her gas reserves empty. The ground rushed up to meet her. Above, the helicopter exploded in a violent burst of flames, raining molten metal and debris in every direction.

She turned mid-fall, her mind racing. Death was imminent. If the impact didn't kill her, the metal shards impaling her mid-air surely would.

"Ikite shinu." (Live and die.)

She spoke her last words. But in that moment, an idea flickered in her fading consciousness—Ninjutsu, the dark arts of the shinobi.

Her hands moved instinctively, forming signs. She summoned the last remnants of her strength. But was she too late? Had she done it right? Something pierced her suit.

Her mind filled with questions, then—

Darkness.

Mirai jolted awake, gasping. Pain flared across her body, anchoring her back to reality. She lay on a soft futon, her wounds wrapped in fresh bandages. The scent of tatami mats filled the air, lanterns casting warm light in the corners of the room.

A sliding door creaked open. A young man entered, carrying a tray of food.

"Good. I didn't know what I'd do if you weren't awake when I came in."

She blinked, her vision adjusting. "Where am I?" Her voice was hoarse, and the bandages around her body felt tight.

"Oh, this?" The man smiled slightly. "This is my father's mansion. Soon to be mine."

Her eyes narrowed. "Your mansion, and you're serving food?"

She caught the faintest shift in the shadows behind the fusuma. Men, armed and ready. Their hands hovered over their swords. The young man raised a hand, and the figures remained still.

"You should watch your words," he said, his tone cool as he set the tray down.

"Clearly." She picked up the chopsticks beside the plate. "So, how did I get here?"

"You were found beneath the rubble from an accident caused by our household." He bowed slightly. "Apologies for the inconvenience."

She struggled to make sense of his words. "Am I the only one here?"

"Unfortunately, no. Others were affected as well. Your needs will be taken care of until you recover."

He turned to leave, but she called after him. "Wait—at least tell me your name."

He paused, glancing over his shoulder. "Ise Heishi." He announced, closing the door behind him.

Mirai exhaled slowly. "Well, I'm Mirai," she murmured, though he was already gone.