A Risky Plan, Part One

A few twists and turns, that's all it took before we'd reached what looked to be a total gift basket!

"Is this it?" Agawa whispered to Ayame, peeking out from the alleyway.

"Yeah," she replied with a wide grin, "this is it."

We came across a deserted street, with the only activity being from a boisterous shop…as well as the few guards who'd remained outside.

Beyond its planked walls and a singular bay window, one could see numerous soldiers dressed in steel, all enjoying a feast fit for a celebration.

"CHEERS!" they shouted, their voices discernable from all the way across the street.

Reading the swaying, weathered wood sign that swiveled above the door, I discerned the words: "The Flametail" paired with an etching of clinking glasses surrounded by a fiery swirl.

"Fucking booze…" I growled in a low whisper and ground my teeth.

I've always hated alcohol. Throughout my life, it's been a recurring antagonist of mine, a foe that I had to confront on a daily basis.

It wasn't just me; my mother and brother also suffered at its hands through verbal abuse, cigarette burns, and beatings. It wasn't an uncommon occurrence for a member of the Takagi family to make a friendly visit to the hospital. 

From morning to night, I was always haunted by the effects of that garbage; rather, I was haunted by someone who was under said garbage's effects.

The memory of my past set fire to my blood, broiling my insides. Despite the growing heat within me, my eyes were frozen in an evil glare. I was fixated on the obnoxiously drunken soldiers with nothing short of rage. 

"I hate them... I hate them..." I seethingly muttered the phrase like a mantra, wanting nothing more than to catapult myself inside and beat everyone there senseless.

Despite my anger, I knew I shouldn't blame them for it. I shouldn't blame them for the crimes that person committed, but common sense was a luxury I could rarely afford. However, I had to break the bank this time and expend every ounce of patience within me. 

I couldn't ruin our chances at escape, not when we'd come so far.

So I gritted my teeth and buried my emotions deep within my soul, restricting my thoughts to only thinking about how we'd steal the carriage before us.

It stood alone, swathed within a translucent shifting mist that hung low to the street, barring the presence of two mares and three guards. Looking past the guards, I saw the horses were connected to the carriage by a thick, tied rope.

The horses, a pure black stallion and a spotted tan saddler, might've been even sturdier than the carriage itself. Beneath every layer of their skin was flesh so toned that even the most muscular bodybuilders would be left envious. 

'Those aren't horses...they're tanks,' I thought, feeling slightly intimidated at the daunting task of controlling such monsters.

I imagined what it'd be like getting caught underneath such beasts, to be subjected to their full mass as they trampled over me. It was a harrowing thought, to say the least. They were easily capable of flattening my body into a puddle of ground-up bone and shredded muscles.

Though such a gory image should've intimidated me, I could only smile confidently. After all, 'we won't be the one's worrying,' I snickered.

"Let's move closer," Ayame whispered, leading us toward a stack of bulky brown wood boxes. Peering between the cracks, I noticed more details about the guards outside.

"How shall we dispatch them?" Kamida questioned. "I doubt they'd be willing to listen to reason."

One stumbled into the carriage, barely sustaining his own weight and standing upright.

"Those movements..." Nakamura let out a quiet hum as he pondered. "I think those men are intoxicated."

One hunched over next to the carriage and expelled the sounds of violent retching following Nakamura's assumption.

"Yup, definitely drunk," he continued matter-of-factly.

The three guards' display of a drunken stupor continued too. There was unintelligible muttering, giggly hiccups, and flushed faces shared between them.

I clenched my fist on the crate, disfiguring the wood and nearly injecting splinters into my hand. Following my grip, my face tightened as I ground my teeth to calm my rumbling rage. 

My anger grew exponentially as I tried to tame my fury; repressing it only seemed to make it worse. My desire to shatter the drunkards' skulls before me became stronger than ever.

'C'mon, you idiot! Now isn't the time,' I insulted myself, trying to shake off my oozing hatred. 

Shocking me from my inner conflict, I felt a warm sensation pressed against my shoulder.

"Hey," Ayame whispered, "calm down. If we're going to do this, we need to do it quietly."

"I know!" I growled under my breath. "I know..."

Still tripping over one another, the guards halted their movements by supporting themselves on the wagon. Of the three there, only one still grasped their weapon: a bulky gray longsword.

Oddly, I noticed that their armor didn't match those who'd been inside. It more closely resembled the rousing captain we'd seen at the gate, the one called Harmon. 

'Talk about NOT leading by example,' I laughed. It was funny how different these three were from their supposed leader.

While the captain emitted a charisma and intimidation fit for royalty, the three standing before me were reminiscent of nothing more than insignificant bugs.

"What now?" Kamida whispered and glanced at Ayame.

I asked myself the same question. 'Did we ever actually make a plan?' Sure, we agreed to follow the three, but in all that time, we never took the time to discuss anything in depth.

Turning my gaze to Ayame, she answered my confusion with a nod.

"What?" I grumbled.

She nodded again, this time more fiercely, jerking her eyes toward the carriage.

"What?!"

Her face twitched with irritation. Then, she silently mouthed an order to me, emphasizing each word as she went. "Go. Over. There. And. Knock. Them. Out...OKAY?!" she finished with a wide-eyed glare, revealing all the whites within.

Usually, I'd be tempted to disobey when given an order, especially in such a belittling way. Aside from my mother, doing what someone told me always irked me.

'I guess this is her way of acknowledging my greatness, so it can't be helped,' I smirked and forgave her. I was the strongest of everyone in our group, barring Sato, and she knew it.

"Heh, if you insist," I was ready to finally get a chance at some action. So I kneeled and lowered Sato to the ground before resting his head against one of the crates. "He's your burden again for a bit, Agawa."

"Just don't get too beat up by some drunks!" she whispered in retort.

"Heh, trust me," I turned away toward the guards, "someone's gonna need a hospital...and it sure as hell won't be me."

Now on the warpath, I glanced at my waist to see the leather holster wrapped around it. 'Should I use it?' I asked myself with a look of uncertainty.

Thinking back about all of the blood, I decided against it. Though it was justified... Though I was a punk... I didn't want murder to be something I'd become accustomed to. At least, that's what I'd strive for so long as I could help it.

Pulling my hands to view, I smirked. "Yup, these are my favorite, after all." I balled them up into veiny fists, constricting the muscles to the point of complete spasms.