On the Down Low
3 - Mission Name: On the Down low
Description: A target we have identified as an exceedingly low level Wandenreich Recruit has been spotted visiting the outskirts of Osaka frequently over the course of the past few weeks. The individual masks their route poorly, and has made minimal effort to hide their comings and goings. You are to covertly ascertain their intentions. If you deem them sinister, you are to apprehend and detain the individual and escort them back for interrogation.
Assigned to: Takasugi Masao
Minimum Number of Participants: 2 (1 if the assigned to member is of 10th seat or higher)
Target Chit: Hohou Master (1 of 4)
The gigai he had been given was undoubtedly useful, if only it actually, well... fit properly. It had the ability to shield his reiatsu, making him near indistinguishable from an everyday human, but just didn't feel comfortable in any sense of the word. Maybe it was his dense spiritual pressure? He had been assured it wouldn't cause any issues, but there he was, standing in the sunshine with an itch between his shoulder blades that he just couldn't seem to scratch no matter the angle he tried.
Very useful, indeed. Beyond the ability to hide him from the eyes and senses of those most attuned to locate him, this gigai in particular also didn't reflect the soul within. Standing at a height of 6'3 when out of the damnable contraption, Takasugi Masao found himself seeing the world from a much less noticeable 4'2. Glancing into a dusty window to see his reflection glare back, the youthful face of the prepubescent girl didn't quite match with the grim expression and dead, somewhat soulless eyes.
As uncomfortable as he was, he had commissioned such a monstrosity himself and had been promised by R&D that the appearance and size of the model could be changed at will should he require in the future. He had to hand it to them. Besides the sheer irritation of wearing the damned thing, it fit his purposes perfectly. It had been tested to near perfection amongst the human populace, went next to ignored when approaching hollows, and was entirely disregarded by the quincy. Which, he thought with a wry twitch of the lip, was entirely the point.
His mark was late, which was unusual in itself. Reseating himself at the storefront of the cafe, Takasugi stirred the drink he had bought a little while earlier. Opting for something lighter and sweeter than his usually preferred black coffee, he chose a light chocolate drink he imagined would be all the rage with younger audiences. Hell, he had even tried it. As he suspected, too bitter for his tastes, and it didn't come close to satisfying the alcoholic hunger in the pit of his stomach. For the most part, human food and drink held no joy for him. Perhaps it once had, all those countless years ago? He did, however, admit to himself that he did indeed have quite the weakness for mochi, and had located a particularly good restaurant that served the most wonderfully addicting chicken tikka masala he had ever had the pleasure of eating. Great for the soul. Bad for the waistline.
It was as that thought crossed his mind and he swallowed his cravings down that his mark appeared. She too was a younger woman, and as always, moved as though she were in a rush. He stirred his drink again as he watched her - the long, blonde hair that trailed behind her, the newspaper clasped to a crushed mess in her fist. The plain clothes she wore. She did indeed blend in almost as well as he, and would likely go as unnoticed as himself were his nose for hunting the quincy not amongst the best the shinigami had to offer. Oh well. Time to move. His hungers had moved on to other prey.
The street around him bustled noisily with a typical mid-day hum. No matter where he seemed to look, cafes and stores and stands and vendors surrounded him on all sides, plying the moving masses with their goods and services. Windows were shaded over with bolts of colorful cloth, and the heat of the day encouraged groups of families to seek the shade of ornate parasols and cool refreshments.
His orders had been sent directly to him by means of hell butterfly, and were as clear as the summer sky above - do not draw attention to yourself. Do not disrupt the common way of life.
It was his least favorite type of assignment, to be sure. His abilities didn't leave much room for subtly and were poorly suited indeed for such a busy area.
He watched as his target threw back her veil, a flimsy mesh of admittedly beautiful craft, and vanished into a small shop. The sign above was handmade with an artistic hand, and read simply 'Apothecary'. Takasugi frowned, and so did his gigai. It was an ugly expression on such a young and fresh face, and was enough to draw the attention of a boy across the way who had been watching her with all the bright-eyed innocence of youth. It made him want to vomit.
Not five minutes later, his target reappeared. She had quickly replaced her veil and was making her way urgently further down the road; she crossed and vanished into a veritable throng of tourists whom were undoubtedly on their way to the nearby art exhibition. Still, Takasugi's ability to sense her was strong and unrelenting, and his distaste towards the quincy as a whole regardless of their age or background left a smoldering feeling on his tongue. It mattered not that she couldn't be more than twenty five. It mattered not that his extensive reconnaissance revealed her to have a younger sister for whom she acted as guardian. All that mattered was her affiliation, for that spoke volumes to him of her guilt for meddling in the affairs of the shinigami. The very fact of her existence stoked the flames of his quiet rage - were they so desperate for numbers they would recruit individuals that had barely tasted the fruits of the world?
He rose to his feet, and the light plastic chair he had been sitting on skidded back against patio tile. Drink forgotten, he unfurled his own parasol and joined the throng southwards. He was fifty steps behind his target when she veered left, abandoning the cover of numbers for the darker, quieter ally way. It suited him fine.
He waited a long moment, pausing at the mouth of the cut-off street. It stank of ambush. Did she dare think she posed any threat to him whatsoever?
Several paces in, he felt a knife to his throat. Not a tool of the quincy, no - a common switchblade. He wondered how damaged the women must be to feel drawing a weapon against a child was an acceptable response, even if she were being followed. It reinforced his passion - clearly, this one was quick on the draw and worth removing from the equation entirely.
"Who are you, and why are you following me?" the woman snapped, eyes blazing. Takasugi's face, the face of a mere child simply grinned. He cocked his head, silky black hair shimmering in the light breeze. The woman took a step back, dumbfounded at the young girl's nonchalance. She tried again, applying more pressure. She even drew a little blood, her face falling once she realized what she had done. "Who are you!? I've seen you for the past several days, dodging my footsteps. Explain yourself!"
"You have such pretty hair, miss." Takasugi said, his own voice breaking through the gigai's - it did little to mask the bass of excitement, or the animosity. The quincy stumbled back as Takasugi bit down on his back tooth, or rather, a gikon molded to the shape of his molar. To hell with it. He was far enough away from the masses, and his impatience drove him on. The gigai fell to the floor with a dead thump - he stepped over it, reiatsu raised to a peak as he approached the woman. She recovered her composure quickly, realizing her one true enemy stood before her, and not some simple spy sent by parties unknown. "Such pretty hair. Get a load of mine."
The quincy jumped backwards several feet, heels skidding on cobblestone and grit. Takasugi sniffed the air lewdly, taking in a deep, vile lungful. The stink of garbage bins and the bags upon bags of trash waiting to be collected did little to dissuade him, and the quincy recoiled in visible disgust as he exhaled heavily.
"Ah, a simple, harmless Soldat are we? I don't need any more reasons to kill your kind but boy..." he trailed off lightly, lighting a cigar. "I do love to be given them."
"I'm not active!"
Takasugi drew in a heftly breath of smoke and paused with an eyebrow raised in mock surprise. A heavy cloud of strong tobacco followed the syllables of his words as he replied, "What? Inactive? I guess that lets you off the hook, eh?" He took a step forwards, the bright, hot pink of his reiatsu lashing about him wildly. "Let you go, should I? Send you on yer merry way?"
The playful lilt of his voice sent shivers down her spine. She felt the hairs on her arms and neck stand on end, and her grip on her knife tightened automatically. She was no fool, she told herself. She was well aware the weapon in her hands were but a toothpick to her enemy, but having something to occupy her fist helped offset the rage she felt boiling in the pit of her stomach. Her eyes narrowed as she jumped back again - the Captain's advance wasn't slowing, and she was running out of alley fast. She glanced up to the rooftops, the motion eating up a fraction of a second. It was barely enough to even be considered a conscious movement, but Takasugi's smile widened, grin shark-like and eyes crinkled in good humor. "The roof? You think you can escape, is that it? Newsflash girl - you ain't goin' anywhere, and there ain't anywhere you can go that I can't follow ye."
The somewhat refined way he had learned to speak at the Academy had started to slip, and the quincy drew back another shaking step. The simple revealing of a rough accent shouldn't have made her blood freeze - she was a loyal soldier of His Majesty's holy warriors! But... this man gave off the same aura as an animal, and perhaps he was one, hiding in the skin of a man and protected by propriety and the regulations of the shinigami.
Leisurely, step by step, Takasugi followed her. His haori flared out behind him, fabric rippling and whipping as his reiatsu pulsed. The strength of it alone had her breathless, and a heavy, sick feeling settled in the bottom of her stomach. She felt pins and needles in her hands and feet, and the subtle dizziness of orientation being flipped as though she were spinning rapidly and she wondered incredulously how it was even possible that such a terrible, sickening sensation could follow in the wake of any shinigami. She had felt the hot rush from hollows, knowing that were she to be killed she would simply cease to be, the promise of any sort of afterlife stolen away forever. She had felt the same pooling flutter of dread from some of the senior sternritter but they were the most elite chosen of the Wandenreich and had reached echelons of enlightenment she couldn’t even begin to fathom. This man? She harshly reprimanded herself again - she was no fool - of course the vile, god-sworn enemy of the quincy were capable of such things. She just hadn’t expected the sensation to feel so abysmally… wrong. It was one thing for her to stand aside in quiet awe of her betters and appreciate that the clutches of circumstance saw them on her side as sworn brethren. It was quite another to find the Soutaichou of the Gotei 13 in her path and not recognize him. One thing she did recognize, however... she knew her time was short.
Takasugi Masao knew this to be true as well. It was as if it were written in stone - a cold, hard fact, beyond dispute. He bitterly lamented that his task were not as simple as outright on the spot slaughter but knew he couldn't always get his own way. It was one of his flaws and he knew only too well; being a terribly simple creature who spent half his time doggedly following his desires and the other half fighting the urge to do so with gritted teeth, he found it exceedingly difficult to keep his mind set on a task he didn't wholeheartedly agree with more often than not. Such precarious situations usually balanced on the knife-edge of probability; whether it could be considered entertaining or not, pleasurable or not, satisfying or not. Of course, he understood the necessity of capturing, rather than outright killing (even he could admit the chase was thrilling on occasion) but he couldn't deny he had his own agenda on top of what he had been commanded to accomplish. And so the scales tipped favourably towards his sworn responsibilities.
His target, sensing that he had resolved to see the thing through to the bitter end, bent down into a tight squat and gathered reishi at her heels. Ah, Takasugi thought, exhaling another puff of smoke. This one intended to run, but he doubted she would get as far as she had hoped. With a rush of air she sprang high, clearing the buildings on either side in one impressive rush. With her went a gust of garbage stink that made the captain's nose wrinkle. In a flash he was on her, fingers stiffened into claws as he backhanded her with one swipe to knock her off balance. Reeling from the blow, she barely had time to weather the second as the solid blow of Takasugi's fist connected with her diaphragm. Spittle flew through the air as she went careening backwards, the shock-wave of the impact displacing the tiny droplets as she skidded in mid-air. Gasping for a vital breath that wouldn't come and feeling her reddening face flush with adrenaline, she tore her veil free and blinked at her enemy through the bright afternoon sunshine. She didn't know which division he commanded and that felt like an important missing piece of her strategic puzzle. She had been taught about the extensive abilities of the shinigami, about their military structure and procedures and knew each division had a ‘so called’ specialty. In the back of her mind, a harsh lesson she had once learnt involving the 12th and 13th divisions replayed silently in black and white as her heart pounded. Could he be from one of those? They had lost several soldatten that grim day.
"Identify yourself, shinigami. From which division do you hail?"
For a moment, Takasugi stood stock still, fist still outstretched in front of him as though he were pointing at her with his knuckles. “Eh?”
The quincy coughed, a wad of blood staining the back of her hand. Her sternum ached with a persistent throb, and as she probed the area with twitching fingertips, she felt a rib move under the bruised flesh. Broken, but not irreparably. The rage she felt bubbling away in her stomach must have rocketed up to her throat with the blow she suffered, because she found herself almost screaming in fury. “I said which division!?”
Takasugi blinked. “Ya mean… Ya don’t know?”
“Answer me, bastard!”
Dumbfounded, the captain withdrew his fist with a frown. Perhaps he wasn’t as renown as he had first thought? Did the opposition not consider him a danger enough to educate their lower echelons? Or was it, perhaps, they did not expect his direct appearance in the field? For the first time in a long while, he stood in complete silence, not having a sarcastic answer in him.
“1st Division. Takasugi Homare Tsukasa Masao, at your service.”
The quincy girl took a step back again, but the motion was almost instinctual, like pulling your hand away from a hot surface. Her breath wheezed on the exhale as pain assailed her, and she raised a shaking fist to free the quincy cross from the confines of her sleeve - a beautiful thing it was, glittering silver and glass with four equidistant prongs resembling an ornate 'X'. Takasugi brought his cigar to his lips and held it there, waiting. His eyes narrowed dangerously - ah the recognition was finally there in the quincy's eyes, no doubt, but her decision to stand and fight was a little ridiculous. Apparently done with idle chatter, Takasugi watched as reishi gathered at the girl's fingertips, elongating until she wielded an impressive bow that was almost her height in length though as slender as a chopstick. He watched as she drew back her arm and nocked an arrow; the way her lips drew back in half pain half rage an interesting mix as he exhaled another cloud of smoke. He felt the sun on the back of his neck, tilted his head to the side to crack it. The arrow shot through the air. The arrow missed him.
Or rather, the dead-aim shot would have hit him perfectly if he had not the good sense to move. His skills in hohou were truly excellent by Gotei standards, especially when demonstrated in the material world where reishi levels were sometimes abysmally low, and unfortunately, today was one such day. Still, despite the less than ideal arena, he gathered particles at his heels with practiced ease and pulled forth a far greater result than the average shinigami may have with his limited resources. The speed of the quincy's arrow was nothing compared to the speed at which Takasugi moved; as the arrow pierced the air with a fine whistling whoosh, he moved parallel to it at easily twice the speed. Bracing his forearms in a cross in front of himself he rushed upon and into the quincy, body propelled with the full momentum of his speed translated into pure force. His height and weight were far above the slender frame of the woman, who was but a mere girl in comparison to his bulk and years. To her credit, she almost managed to avoid the collision, but to no avail - as Takasugi crashed into her, her concentration broke and her bow with it as she was sent crashing backwards. Her body corkscrewed through the air, a leaf on the breeze as Takasugi righted himself and stole the very reishi she had used to create her bow to zip forwards into a second shunpo. Grabbing the girl by the throat he took her with him as he continued like a barely visible bolt of lightning through the air, until they were far, far from the city and far away from any sanctuary she may have had.