The three of us got in a car that Walter prepared for us. One of his soldiers was driving, so I was glad I didn't have to hear anything demeaning the whole ride. We'd go to the Isoarashi compound to meet with Yasuo and his sister. Though the entire time, I'd been a nervous wreck.

I'd heard stories of the Isoarashi-gumi's intelligence network and how they knew everything about anyone who waltzed into their territory. I even heard they managed to find a guy who robbed one of their own one night. The scarier part was that they were waiting for him at his house. The thing about the Yakuza was that they were a lot more noble than some of the other big names in Iscariot City besides the Rotterdams. They mainly worked to protect the people who lived in their territory, with illegal business being an afterthought.

As we were riding, I took the time to glance at Walter. Even though he looked almost as young as I did, I could see the years of experience in his eyes. They were like some older soldiers I fought with a few years ago. I slipped up and let Walter catch me staring, but he only smiled. "Something I can help you with, Master Alexander?"

"You don't have to refer to me as Master," I said dismissively. "But you can entertain me with your story." Walter took a minute to consider my question as if searching for an old book.

"My father was a Brit, and my mother was Italian," he said, seemingly reading through a script. "I grew up in London till I was about seventeen when I met a paradigm for the first time."

"You were blooded?" I asked, the curiosity surfacing a little more in my tone.

"Yes... I was born in 1863. If I were still human, I'd have been 58," Walter leaned back into his seat a little more as he began to recall his memories. "It was by a woman I loved. But she was killed shortly after."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Francis said in a low, sorrowful voice. "I can't imagine what that must've been like."

"You needn't waste your sympathies for me, Mademoiselle. It isn't as if you were the one who killed her." Although I knew Walter meant what he said, I wanted to know more. But if I were that brave, I'd have probably learned about my mom by now. Instead, I chose to change the subject.

"What do you do for my Father then?" I asked, "I've never really seen you before."

"I mainly protect Mr. Alessandra and your father's trade routes between New York City and Rome. Mostly merchandise and tools." His tone lingered on "tools" and "merchandise" as if the words had a separate meaning. Even though everyone in the car, including the driver, was in the game. Walter was cautious not to say anything, as if he had a secret to hide. The caution was warranted, given that Francis was the only non-made member. We both knew Francis wasn't an informant, but rules were rules.

"That must mean you've got an immigration pass," said Francis, sounding as if she were guessing. Walter nodded, confirming it. For a paradigm to travel between the hive cities or to even be in a human city, they had to apply for an immigration pass. It was one of the conditions for humans not to go ballistic and try to genocide us. It went the same way for humans to be in our cities, although we didn't mind as much.

"I must say the tests for those are extremely difficult," Walter said, looking out the window at the busy streets. "Especially the Americans, they even slip their citizenship tests in." That wasn't surprising at all. Even Father said something about the tests being hard. What was the word he used again? Asinine, I believe it was.

"What of you, Alexander?" Walter asked as he turned back to me. "I've heard you fought bravely during the Great War." I wasn't expecting to tell stories of my own. I almost declined to talk about it until I saw Francis looking at me as curious as I was moments before. I couldn't refuse now. So I elected to tell a short story that would be exciting.

"I was a part of the American Expeditionary Forces in 1917," I said as I dragged the memories of the war to the front of my head. "I lied about my age, saying I was 18. Even got some forged documentation to prove it. Since humans didn't know about us, it was easy to get blood and easier to fight. The hardest part was getting people to believe I was lucky enough to survive."

Being able to heal from drinking blood saved me more time than I cared to admit. Recalling the blood and carnage on the Western front easily felt worse than drowning in water. I began to feel nauseous, and my hand trembled as I remembered seeing the faces of the dead. Even the two Irish guys cut. I tried to push down whatever made me sick and continue the story. Francis took my shaking hand into hers, attempting to calm me down. I let out a breath I didn't even know I was holding. "We were deployed here and there until we went on the hundred days offensive. There isn't much that I can talk about beyond that."

Walter was silent for a moment. Since he'd seen my fit of shell shock, he was trying to figure out how to approach the subject more cautiously. "I don't mind if ya ask," I said, "It only comes when I remember that time."

"Actually," Walter said, "I was going to ask if you were at the Massacre?" For a moment, I was a little surprised about what he asked until I remembered. The Massacre of Berlin was the event that threw Mythics into the spotlight again.

The thing was, I was there. At least, that's what I was told. They found me unconscious on that bloody field. I only nodded, not wanting to elaborate any further.

"To think you receive such third-rate treatment from your peers," Walter said, a hint of anger in his voice. "That must explain why you're so effective at what you do."

I wasn't apprehensive about what others thought of me. But Walter's words, mixed with Francis's look of worry, cracked my tough exterior a bit. "T-Thanks..." I blurted out, not thinking about it. "I've never really talked to anyone about this."

The rest of the ride was silent. The lingering sorrow over my story hung over us like a thick cloud. We arrived at a restaurant named "Sotenbori," apparently named in honor of the Dōtonbori in Japan, as Francis was so eager to tell us. As we exited the car, we were met by two scary-looking Yakuza members standing guard outside.

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

"You lot the Bats?" One of the men asked as he approached us. He had his hand around his back, though he didn't seem eager to pull anything out.

"Yes," Walter said, "I've got a Bat right here." The Yakuza member turned to his partner and began speaking Japanese while looking at me. Francis leaned over to me and whispered, "He's telling his partner to let Yasuo know you're here."

"How do you know that?" I whispered back, keeping my eye on the two guys. "I studied a few languages when I was younger," she answered.

The first guy returns and then takes a cigarette from his pocket. He holds the pack up to me, offering one. Taking it, I make a hand motion similar to striking a match. The guy takes out a pack of matches, then lights one. First, lighting my cigarette, then his. He nods his head toward the door, then goes inside. Following him, I first noticed the smell of the food. It smelled pretty good, though it looked like raw fish rolled up with rice. A few Patrons were sitting at a bar, looking like ordinary citizens. Even humans were here, though I had to look away to curb my urge for blood.

We were led to a secret room in the back with a freezer door. There was another Yazuka member dressed in a snazzy-looking suit guarding it. As our guide conversed with the guard, he came over to us. "Buki wa nan de mo ii kara yokose," the guard growled as he held his hands out.

"He said to hand over your weapons," Francis translated. I didn't like the idea of handing Wanda to someone else. But for the sake of the job, what I liked wasn't a factor. I reached into my coat, pulled Wanda out of its holster, and handed the gun to the guard. Walter and Francis took out their guns, handing them to the guard. He set the weapons in a box on a table beside the door, then took hold of the door handle and unlocked it. As he pulled the door open, the inside was revealed to us.

It was a small room with a few tables in the back and one in the center. There was a table for five, with two already sitting at it. The first was a woman wearing a dress or robe that was colored red and had white flowers patterned into the fabric. Her hair was tied in a thick ponytail with a flower ornament. I'd recognized her as Yayoi from Father's file. She was almost the opposite of Francis in terms of appearance. Well endowed, tall, and gave off an aura of arrogance, though, like Queen Jeanne. I could even see Yayoi reach for her chest before stopping herself, hoping no one else noticed.

Meanwhile, the guy sitting next to her was nearly a spitting image. His face looked rougher, and he had a huge scar around his left eye. He wore a pair of black slacks and a shirt. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing many tattoos. He stood from the table. He spread his feet, bent his knees, and placed his left hand on his hip, reaching out the right one. "Good evening to you, sir." He greeted me with a warm smile. "It is a pleasure to meet you. I am Isoarashi Yasuo."

My expectations of the Yakuza Crime Boss were suddenly shot dead in the street. I thought he was more of the high and mighty, "You're beneath me, so you'd better butter me up with compliments and money." I didn't want to seem rude, so I just copied his gesture and shook his hand.

"It's nice to meet you as well, Mr. Isoarashi," I said as we shook hands. Standing back up, he waved his hand dismissively. "Please, worry not about formalities. After all, you will be my brother soon." Yasuo motioned for the chairs, and we all took our seats. Yayoi's gaze seemed to stick to me for the entire exchange, her eyes having a judgemental glint.

"This is Yayoi," Yasuo said as he held his hand toward his sister. "I'm sure your Father has spoken of her." Yayoi bowed her head but not as eagerly as Yasuo was before.

"Nice to meetcha," Yayoi said as she continued to give me that scrutinizing look. "You're much more handsome than I thought you'd be." That was bold, considering I was the son of another family, and Francis was sitting right there.

Speaking of Francis, Yayoi turned her gaze to her now. "You must be the Shaman," Yayoi guessed. "I hope you know your place."

"Please, sister," begged Yasuo, "These are our honored guests. Alexander-San is also meant to be your groom. So you'd do well to show some respect."

Yayoi closed her eyes for a moment and then bowed once again. "My apologies, my dear," Yayoi said, her tone boarding on sarcasm, "I meant no disrespect."

"It's fine," Francis said, "Don't worry, Ms. Isoarashi. I understand my place." That confused Yayoi for a moment. Her eyes now showed some interest. Yasuo cleared his throat, "While I'd like to spend some time getting to know each other. I believe we have some business to discuss."

"Right," Walter said, "please explain what you can."

Yasuo began to go into detail about what we needed to do. The Isoarashi were meeting the Huangs to settle some territorial disputes. Some of their underlings had gotten into disagreements over territory, and Yasuo and Yayoi would meet with Huang Haoran himself. The Murcielago family was meant to serve as bodyguards for the siblings.

"Where's the meeting taking place?" I asked, trying to get a firm grasp on the situation.

"At a warehouse in neutral territory," Yasuo answered, ushering one of his guards to fetch us a drink. "There are buildings all around. Tall enough for some men to watch from above." That was a good thing to know. The first step was to position good lookouts for the feds or unwanted guests. "What are the parameters for our job?" I asked to ensure I had everything right.

"Your priority is the safety of my sister and I," Yasuo answered. "Whether or not this deal goes well is our business." Simple enough, a protection job. Only two lives truly mattered in this situation, and failure was not an option.

"When will the meeting take place?" Walter asked. A woman came into the room, bringing us glasses of blood. Francis got a glass of water. "In two nights at midnight," Yasuo answered, "Only you three will be allowed in with us. Carry whatever weapons you wish."

"Which Huangs will be there other than Haoran? I asked, taking a sip from my glass.

"Xiuying," Yasuo answered. "Haoran's daughter..." Yasuo's voice trailed off as he looked at Francis, then back at Mr. "She knows," I said.

Yasuo let out a sigh of relief, "Oh good... I know some shamans know of our little secret. But it's difficult to discern which ones. Now... to discuss your lodging."

"Lodging?" I asked with a raised brow. Walter hadn't mentioned anything about staying here. Though from how he'd shifted in his seat, I took it as he wasn't in the know either.

"It's best if you all stayed with us for the time being, Yasuo said, "The warehouse is some ways from your residence. Will this be an issue?"

Though we hadn't counted on staying, it'd be an insult to refuse. Even if our cultures differed, that had to have stayed the same.

"Very well," I said after taking another sip. "Walter, arrange for our guys to meet us tomorrow to review the job." Walter nodded and then got up from the table. As he turned to leave, I had another thought. "Walter, hang on a sec." Walter turned back just before he left. His brows raised high, expecting another order. "Make sure they bring the proper tools, including mine. I don't wanna be unprepared if Yasuo is worried."

"Don't you worry, Alexander," Walter said with the biggest smile, "I'll have our friends bring the finest tools for the job."