Shadowrun: Screams of the Undead

Every single time I feel the burn I try to throw it away.
A fast fix for the brokenness of everyday.
Its like the pain is building up, it's swelling up,
I've got to choke it down and break it down until it's broke down.
it's like a shard of glass, it's like a broken piece.
Of everything I hate, it's everything in me,
A burnt heart stains black the blood it flows.
A dead soul will overshadow.

- Demon Hunter

I am Kichirou Ken, expert Samurai. I hunt ghouls, vampires, and the other scum of the world. They may be strong, but I am stronger. I am one with the machine, I am one with magic. I see what the world tells me, and I see everything. There's no chance to hide. If my magic doesn't find you, my cyberware will. Mages hate cyberware, but I'm no mage. I'm merely an accident, a freak of nature, capable of seeing magic myself, but incapable of being magic. I threw away my humanity, but did I ever have it to begin with?

In the shadows, I'm known as Smoke. I move quickly and silently, and I hunt those infected with HMHVV, the disease that turns men to monsters. Magic changed me, a virus changed them. We're no different, but I make a killing killing them. Granted, I don't suck people's blood or eat flesh, so that makes me a civilized monster. They can't detect me until it's too late. They may be sentient, for all I know, for all I care. They're monsters, so am I. I'll destroy them all nonetheless.

- Kichirou Ken, in autobiography

As he walked over to the door of the decrepit warehouse, Kichirou Ken pulled out his weapons. Twin custom-made sub-machine-guns, nice expensive models. He'd marry either of them if they were girls. He kicked down the almost rotten door, and noted with egoistic pride that it went soaring across the room, eventually knocking down an crumbling wall, though it probably didn't have much time left anyways. He searched for a target in the dark room, though it wasn't necessary. His ultrasound vision had already found his target, and his thermographic and astral perception confirmed that he was, indeed, looking at a living, breathing foe.

"Die, you monster!" Six bullets raced towards the vampire's neck, and the hunter's foe turned to a fine mist to dodge the attack.

"You end today!" Kichirou was not deterred so easily as to stop after two bursts, and ran towards his foe. For most other men, it would have been suicide. For him, it was a way of life. The vampire went into his feeding posture. Probably could've beaten a lesser samurai, but he'd seen enough vampires to know what came next.

The vampire turned to mist again, in a desparate feint, but his assailant kept charging, the dark warehouse providing no defense. His hunter wouldn't stop until he'd closed to hand-to-hand, which, in the vampire's logic, gave him an advantage. However, when he resumed his corporal form, his opponent moved lightning fast, and, grabbing a piece of rubble that had fallen in a storm, hit the vampire through the chest. The vampire stood, laughing at his opponent's foolishness. You had to use a stake to kill a vampire, or blow his head or spine out.

The deathblow came from Kichirou's punch going straight through the vampire's neck, leaving a spray of crimson red liquid across the dirty floor of the warehouse. The vampire fell, defeated, and inarguably dead. Kichirou picked up the head of his foe, took a fang, and dropped the worthless trophy. He made sure to burn the bodies of those he killed, so that they wouldn't spread HMHVV, and then proceeded to leave. However, before he left, he heard something behind him, a loud, meaty thud.

Looking over his shoulder, Kichirou found a small colony of his favorite foes, ghouls. He pushed the clip release on his guns. It took less than one hundredth of a second for the chambered round to be restored to the clip, and the clips started to fall. Kichirou tossed each of the fourteen kilogram guns into the air, each of them spinning through the darkness, illuminated only by the tritium highlights each had. He caught the two falling clips of everyday ammunition, and exchanged them in his belt for two clips of incendiary ammunition. He caught the guns and loaded them in one quick gesture, and set the selective fire mechanism to the semi-automatic position.

The ghouls had no chance as they were pierced with glowing bolts of fire. At times, Kichirou wondered if the ghouls had families who cared about him, or if their families had abandoned them when they became monsters, as had his, and then left them in this forsaken place, to die and rot. It didn't matter, because they were all dead now, lying on the ground in a pile of reeking ashes. Kichirou left. He'd made his filthy killing for this bloody day.

On his bike, speeding through traffic, Kichirou wondered if he was really such a monster, did the outward appearance affect such a thing? Even if it didn't, he killed for cash. Is there any sin more grievous than that? Granted, he killed sub-sentient creatures who could kill or mutate others, so he defended the innocent. Is killing one innocent a justifiable means of saving others? No, they weren't innocent. They ate humans. That's a sin in itself.

When he reached the Johnson, Kichirou stopped his bike suddenly in its parking spot, set it in park, and went gliding off the front, and jumped nimbly off the grimy wall in front of him when he hit it. He entered the nightclub, the timid bouncer failing to work up enough courage to have him check his guns. The neon lights mixed with other pyrotechnics and dancers, and Kichiruo was disoriented for a few seconds by the motion and music. However, once he tweaked his perception, and went into astral sight to avoid bumping anyone, he found his Johnson. He handed over the filthy fang from the vampire, and the Johnson took it, disposing of it in a special canister.

"You've earned your prize, Ken." Without another word, the Johnson pulled out a vial, "This one's for you, it'll keep the withdrawal away for another week," the Johnson continued to pull out a large credstick, "and here's your pay. Don't spend it all in one place." Kichirou injected the painkiller, after all, freedom could come tomorrow. He felt poison coursing through his veins. He looked and saw a luminescent glow. Tritium. Drek.

The Johnson picked up the credstick, and walked off. "Sorry chummer, but you're a monster anyways, and I just got extra pay."