Twenty Years Prior…

Blue Man had never known any other name for himself, other than B97-6. He was just a combat android, one of many of the same model and design. Yet of that numerous thousands of replicants, he was given the chance to train with the greatest assassins of the galaxy, Ken Yaza-Omizua. The military brought B97-6 to the reclusive Dojo stationed on the far side of the constellation, a remote shattered dark moon, with only a faint blue star in the distance. The Dojo complex itself was shielded from the star’s radiation, as it was structured within the moon itself, giving the perfect cover from both the star and any unwanted visitors.

The military of Earth had made this request to Yaza-Omizua, to train one of their androids for a special group they were creating for future combat missions. Even now, as the hard, stern-looking older asian gentleman eyed this specimen, he could see this would be quite the challenge. Few words were spoken between them as they sized each other up. The open-concept dojo was full of ancient artwork of the old man’s culture. A mixture of Japanese, Korean, Chinese, and other infused nationalities that have blended over the centuries. B97-6 took note of the surroundings. Yaza-Omizua was of the Clan Rukoza, a martial art group that combined Ninjitsu, Haidong Gumdo, Krabi-Krabong and several other styles into one.

Yaza-Omizua wore a white, blue and green kimono, the blue sash around his waist held his dual slim swords like that of a samurai. The old man’s hair was slicked back and cropped with a pony-tail. His face was leathery and just as hardened as his scowl, even his stance was that of an immovable statue. Ken motioned to the blue chromed face droid, he wordlessly commanded the artificial being to attack him, as he shifted his stance and spread his legs apart. Confused on what to do, B97-6 lunged forward with arms out, and tried to grab the elderly man. The swift and sudden stride by this ancient human caught the android off guard. Before he could gaze up to reacquire the target, the old man had removed his sword, spun around and made contact with the back of the artifice’s neck.

It was impressive. The android, having so many calculations, instant simulations and scenarios at his disposal, still couldn’t best this old human. He tried again, this time, with more pre-loaded martial art combat moves and techniques. Every single time, the old man bested him, flawlessly. This continued each day on, the android tried and tried, but no matter the scenario or tactic, he could’t take this frail-looking man down. It puzzled him greatly.

As the two continued to spar, over the weeks, B97-6 began to mimc the movements precisely. He developed an algorithm, to study and track each subtle position the old master did. He added expansion memory subroutines to store every single new information the man taught him. Yaza-Omizua handed the android a pair of practice swords made of bamboo. He showed the proper way of how to hold them, the way to use them, making them flow with the movement of the body and the strikes. When the technique was perfected, the old master gave him a pair of real swords, to see if he had learned how to be delicate with them.

B97-6 could see the man beam with pride as the android steadily grew more proficient. He introduced him to the history of the clan, the honour of being in it, and the all important code that each generational assassin warrior must obey.

The code was simple:

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The target is all that matters, show no hesitation, fight with honour, and always expect the unexpected.

As the two continued to spar, B97-6 began to mimc the old master precisely. He had developed an algorithm to predict the man’s movements. It ranged from a flexing of the muscle to the flinch of an eye. He finally matched his skilled teacher with equal grace and cunning. Every weapon or item thrown at the android was met with the correct counter attack. Yaza-Omizua even used various methods of hand to hand combat styles, from Kung Fu to kickboxing, to see if B97-6 could adapt when there are no weapons available. Again, the android was flawless in his blocking and counter attack. This pleased the old master and bowed to him when the match was over.

After months of not saying a word to him, the old man finally found something to say.

“Well done, my dear blue man…” He grinned. “You have achieved perfection.”

B97-6 bowed back in response. It was strange to hear his voice. And to call him “Blue Man” was something he wasn’t expecting. Perhaps he did look blue, in the face, that is. Maybe the old man was giving him a nickname instead of addressing him by his manufactured number. The old man headed to the far side of the room, to a ancient red and gold cabinet, adorned with mythical creatures and symbols. These were the clan’s markings, their icons, the legends of old. Yaza-Omizua took out a pair of blades that B97-6 had never seen before. They were dazzlingly beautiful, well-polished and simple in design.

The old man explained what they were, and where they came from. It was hard to fathom such a mineral being forged into something indestructible, let alone, into super-sharp blades that could slice though just about anything. B97-6 knelt before him and bowed.

“My dearest Blue Man,” He said, holding them out. “You are my successor. There can only be one master in any given clan. The student must take the place of the teacher, until the day they themselves are replaced by the student.”

Blue Man looked up in confusion. The old man smirked at him and placed the blades into android’s awaiting hands.

“Honour must be kept. Take these, my son, and make our clan proud.” The man stepped back and bowed at him. “The code is all there is. Obey the code, and never forget who you are.”

Blue Man stood up and eyed the weapons. He glanced up at the old man, then back down to the weapons, then back up to him again. The old man scowled at him.

“No hesitation!”

Blue Man finally understood. He bowed to the old master and assumed the stance with the two blades both hands. The old man’s scowl faded away, replaced with a grin and a tear rolling down his cheek.

“I am proud of you, my son… my Blue Man.”

As if on cue, Blue Man beheaded Yaza-Omizua, the slice so sharp and swift, that the heat of action nearly cauterized the wound. This kept the blood from shooting out of the arteries right away, B=but as his head dropped to the floor, as well as body, the blood began to pour out like a river. The deed was done. Honour to his master had been served. No longer the student but a full master of the clan. Perhaps he was like a son to him, having no children of his own to teach, and being alone in this Dojo until there was another to pass the wisdom onto.

Blue Man wiped the blood from his blade onto the robes of dead man, and then bowed again to him. He retrieved the holsters for the blades that were in the cabinet, slide them inside each one, and then strapped them to his back, with the handles facing upwards. He took one last look around, and signalled the Earth military for immediate retrieval. They responded with a faint ping and sent the estimated arrival time. It displayed on his internal visuals, and instructed him to purge the Dojo.

Inside the cabinet, he found a remote control, a single red button flashed on it. He knew that once pressed this, the entire moon would be destroyed. Nothing was to be left behind. He would have to take a few items, and then, leave the rest to burn. Such is the way of the assassin. Honour is all there is. The code is all that must be obeyed.