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runmakitarunWhen they arrive Makita leans in close to Miho and whispers, "Standard squad is sixteen. They need to all die before they can call in reinforcements." She jerks her head up, indicating that she's going to climb the ten foot wall and take them from the top.
Miho nods - that means fast, then, no time to play. She shrugs, resigned. Oh well.
The little assassin trots along the wall, heading for where it takes a sharp turn. The squad have set up in a corner, thinking themselves sheltered from two sides, at least. Which might be true, if Miho weren't planning on taking them from the open side of the triangle - no point in letting them get into the open. She keeps an eye on Makita - they need to time this perfectly.
Makita, in turn, is watching Miho. She understands in a general sense what Miho's planning, so she waits for Miho to stop and settle herself. Then she draws a grenade with each hand, pulls the pins with her teeth, and tosses them underhanded into the camp. She immediately draws her pistols and waits for Miho to make her move - not that she has to wait for long, as the little samurai is sprinting into the group as soon as the explosives detonate.
The Reds have never seen anything like Miho before. Sure, they've seen war, they've even survived Gorka hits - more by luck than skill, it has to be admitted, the Reds are nothing like they were, once upon a time - but Miho is no half-starved rebel, nor is she a soldier, dependant on his weapons and his superiors. She's a samurai - and they have no idea how to deal with her.
They try, of course. They try, and they die.
Two short bursts from Makita's pistols put down four of the Reds before Miho hits them, but then she does and Makita stops firing. Not because she's afraid she'll hit a friendly, she's too good for that. No, she wants to watch because she's never seen anyone like Miho either. Every movement perfectly calculated, every strike inflicting exactly as much damage as intended.
There's a lot of dying going on in the park, and it's eerily quiet.
Miho knows what they call her - deadly little Miho - and after this, perhaps there's another world where she'll have earned that name.
The Reds had chosen the spot well - for their ambushers. Miho doesn't have to worry about them coming up behind her - she knows exactly where they are. And at this range, she doesn't have to worry about their guns either. The Hooks - those take her aback for a moment, especially as something about they way they move doesn't seem quite right - but it's not enough to put her off her game. Because it is a game - a lethal, brutal game.
Besides, she's got someone she trusts at her back.
Even with a fascinated eye on the fight, Makita's got another eye scanning the area for stragglers or reinforcements or anything else that might threaten Miho while she's taking care of business. But there's nothing, and as quickly as it began, the fight is over. There is no groaning from the wounded because there are no wounded. Just sixteen scattered corpses and the two young women who put them there.
Makita smiles a rare smile. It seems like her ally is more formidable than she had dreamed.
Miho lets out an even rarer laugh, and wipes a blood spatter off her face - well, smears it across her brow, to be more accurate. She flicks her swords, and the blood spins off the ends of them, leaving the blades almost pristine - not clean enough that she'd sheathe them, though. She has a scrap of silk tucked into a jeans pocket that'll take care of that, and one blade is set down across the convenient nearby leg of a trooper - the rest of him is a few feet away - while the longer blade receives a swift, but thorough cleaning. Miho assumes they're not going anywhere immediately - there's no point leaving the supplies and equipment to rot with the bodies, after all.
She's right. Makita hops down off the wall and begins going over the bodies. Anything even remotely useful is taken and stuffed into one of the Red canvas backpacks. Ammunition, food, weapons, boots, socks, anything. She'll drop them off with one of the people in charge of logistics later. But, for now, she smiles. At least she won't be bored on this trip home.
Miho nods - that means fast, then, no time to play. She shrugs, resigned. Oh well.
The little assassin trots along the wall, heading for where it takes a sharp turn. The squad have set up in a corner, thinking themselves sheltered from two sides, at least. Which might be true, if Miho weren't planning on taking them from the open side of the triangle - no point in letting them get into the open. She keeps an eye on Makita - they need to time this perfectly.
Makita, in turn, is watching Miho. She understands in a general sense what Miho's planning, so she waits for Miho to stop and settle herself. Then she draws a grenade with each hand, pulls the pins with her teeth, and tosses them underhanded into the camp. She immediately draws her pistols and waits for Miho to make her move - not that she has to wait for long, as the little samurai is sprinting into the group as soon as the explosives detonate.
The Reds have never seen anything like Miho before. Sure, they've seen war, they've even survived Gorka hits - more by luck than skill, it has to be admitted, the Reds are nothing like they were, once upon a time - but Miho is no half-starved rebel, nor is she a soldier, dependant on his weapons and his superiors. She's a samurai - and they have no idea how to deal with her.
They try, of course. They try, and they die.
Two short bursts from Makita's pistols put down four of the Reds before Miho hits them, but then she does and Makita stops firing. Not because she's afraid she'll hit a friendly, she's too good for that. No, she wants to watch because she's never seen anyone like Miho either. Every movement perfectly calculated, every strike inflicting exactly as much damage as intended.
There's a lot of dying going on in the park, and it's eerily quiet.
Miho knows what they call her - deadly little Miho - and after this, perhaps there's another world where she'll have earned that name.
The Reds had chosen the spot well - for their ambushers. Miho doesn't have to worry about them coming up behind her - she knows exactly where they are. And at this range, she doesn't have to worry about their guns either. The Hooks - those take her aback for a moment, especially as something about they way they move doesn't seem quite right - but it's not enough to put her off her game. Because it is a game - a lethal, brutal game.
Besides, she's got someone she trusts at her back.
Even with a fascinated eye on the fight, Makita's got another eye scanning the area for stragglers or reinforcements or anything else that might threaten Miho while she's taking care of business. But there's nothing, and as quickly as it began, the fight is over. There is no groaning from the wounded because there are no wounded. Just sixteen scattered corpses and the two young women who put them there.
Makita smiles a rare smile. It seems like her ally is more formidable than she had dreamed.
Miho lets out an even rarer laugh, and wipes a blood spatter off her face - well, smears it across her brow, to be more accurate. She flicks her swords, and the blood spins off the ends of them, leaving the blades almost pristine - not clean enough that she'd sheathe them, though. She has a scrap of silk tucked into a jeans pocket that'll take care of that, and one blade is set down across the convenient nearby leg of a trooper - the rest of him is a few feet away - while the longer blade receives a swift, but thorough cleaning. Miho assumes they're not going anywhere immediately - there's no point leaving the supplies and equipment to rot with the bodies, after all.
She's right. Makita hops down off the wall and begins going over the bodies. Anything even remotely useful is taken and stuffed into one of the Red canvas backpacks. Ammunition, food, weapons, boots, socks, anything. She'll drop them off with one of the people in charge of logistics later. But, for now, she smiles. At least she won't be bored on this trip home.
