FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

March 14th, 2010

Khoumad Maung stood on an empty street, the scent of spices and the damp heat of the jungle trailing from the east, causing his hairs to bristle with a sheen. His eyes darted in all directions tracking the voices, creatures in their old houses and shadows through the windows. The twilight hour melted the sun beyond the trees, a burning red that flooded the land and turned the walls a bloody crimson.

He heard the song of his grandmother, the spider drifting through the alleys as he walked against his will. Cold steel in his hand, ragged clothes on his back with six sleeves tattered in the wind. The language of his home tasted bitter but good on his tongue, a medicine for the soul.

"Sain bharlotemalell?!"

There he saw him.

"Mainnrae kyaanshisaw pahchcaeemyarrko lohkyin larr?!"

There was a girl beside the shadow. A princess of his youth. She wasn't truly a princess, but to him she always had been. A beautiful sow, talented but overlooked, portly but kind with a heart as heavy as gold within her. Maung felt the sun shine on his face everytime she was near, but on this night, there stood a shadow beside her. A grand vizier who held her hostage. Foolish and young, he imagined himself to be a hero borne to greatness, walking off the pages of a thousand-and-one nights, onto the streets of Burma.

"Ngar suu nhangpyeepye...ngar pokaungg hkaepye."

The shadow's smile was a mirror to her sorrow, her tears like bitter acid. The smell of fire twitched in his mandibles, the jungle started burning as the depths of hell awakened in him. The night he lost his soul was the night he lost his love, when he plunged with cold steel into the shadow's heart.

The moment he heard his princess scream, the illusion broke. He wasn't a hero, not like all boys hoped they would be. He was another criminal, as the song of his grandmother stopped. He looked to the sow, her tearful face shining with her tusks. She ran back into the fire, swallowed by the flames as Khoumad cried out reaching with his bloodied hand.

"ASOKA! ASOKAAAA! HTARRHKAEPAR NAAAAE!"

He stared upon his hand of glistening red. The face of his victim, the sorcerer, the grand vizier who had tainted his princess stared back at him. A boy in noble clothes, a golden mantis no older than 19, the emblem of his family shining with prestige. Khoumad ran with sudden fear, hearing the sounds of an army roaring for vengeance.

"LUUSATSAMARR! LUUSATSAMARR!"

"Mainn naylhoet marabhuu."

His grandmother's song returned, with these three words she told him. He could not stay, even she knew that. Her arms embraced him for a moment, before they turned to ash. He ran through the streets, the flames rose higher, the darkness behind looming with a thousand-and-one swords swearing death upon his head. The sun went down, and night would come with the shadows multiplying.

All he could do was keep running, escaping his home, escaping his tongue. Empty but free. Hee saw a light shining in the distance, a smile crept on his face. But then it took form and he saw it was a dragon, of golden scales and silver tongue. He took the hands of Maung with words of honey, and so ripped them from his limbs. Then he woke up.

==============

His eyes always opened from right to left, eight pupils seeing the window to his side and then across the single room of his apartment. One bed, a small TV, a and a bathroom in a closet with shower and toilet was all he truly needed. A kitchen counter with a sink and oven occupied one wall, the bed and TV fitting the other into a narrow hall that could fit only one. This suited Maung fine, even though his arms reaching out his back could touch both walls at once.

Waddling naked, his bulbous abdomen swayed with black hairs and bands of yellow down his back as he turned on the TV while he boiled rice. A little stock and some egg would help the flavour, ready and done within 20 minutes as he sat down to watch the morning news.

"Tensions remain high in Kankoran after the tragic death of Governor Song. Police have ruled out foul play after an investigation revealed that he committed suicide in his home on March 2nd. Sources close to Governor Song have told that the past few months 'were the worst experience of their lives', after the death of Song's stillborn child, and his wife and mother having perished two months after in the Flight 217 crash, which associates have claimed wore too heavy upon his head.

"Governor Song was beloved by his supporters as a firm opponent against the encroachment of Japanese business into Kankoran politics. Having won a landslide victory last year, new legislations were slated to enforce stricter taxes on businesses, in what he claimed was 'Korea returning to its roots of integrity'. A service will be held the following week, as a nation mourns his passing."

Whilst the news played on, Khoumad read a magazine about model trains above his head, using two of his eight eyes whilst three of them focused on the screen and the other three kept on the door.

"//You get insurance for your models?//" muttered Maung in his native tongue. "//I didn't think they would be covered...hmmm, the A290 is looking poor, such shoddy placement, Hornbee's not been the same since they were bought by Svarlen Tech.//"

Under his bed were piles of other magazines that covered fishing, fashion, model crafts and videogames, as well as daily events with gossip and celebrity talk, such as theorising about who killed Saki-chan on last night's episode, or some wild tale of a long-lost brother and sister who met up at a speed date. Once he was done eating, Khoumad stretched his limbs and sat back to finish reading.

An hour passed as he took in the peaceful monotony, helping to normalise his thoughts and mire them in mediocrity before he got up to shower and shampoo his entire body. With shining hairs and glistening arms so thin and reedy, he dried off and brushed his hairy thick moustache as well as the long fangs beneath his mandibles

"//Ahhh, alright, which ones today?//"

Opening his wardrobe he found twelve different outfits, styled to certain ages ranging from the cap-laden graffiti-spraying 20-something punk, to the aging 70-year-old pensioner. Under these clothes were seventeen different knives, that Maung picked up and measured the sharpness of each and every one. He tutted to himself when one felt too blunt for his liking, as he put on a pair of black pants and a beige coat with pockets.

Four different knives he took for sharpening, along with his personal dagger that was long and pale with a curved edge almost resembling an angel's wing. In the early morn, the red light district where he lived looked like a sad state of affairs with run-down clubs and tired workers, sitting outside in hot pants and smoking their troubles away on the balmy streets of Yokohama.

To Maung it felt like walking into a theme park when it was closed for renovations. The magic of the night life gone and stripped away, the costumes of enchanting princesses pulled off to reveal the haggard 40-year old lying underneath. From a second-floor hovel above a sex shop, Khoumad wandered down the steps of the cinderblock apartment onto the main road of the district. found a red squirrel in a polka-dot dress at the bottom.

"Heeey Kumon-san!"

Standing outside of the sex shop titled "LUCKY POP", was a red squirrel in a polka-dot dress, gently fiddling with the beads at the front of her store. They promised tantalising desires, from whips and bindings to costumes of various authorities.

"Toka-chan," he bowed with a smile, "how is business?"

"Pretty good!" the squirrel rolled a lollipop between her teeth. "Managed to sell a few whips, March is weirdly good for BDSM season."

"The budding of spring offers plenty promise I see."

"You off to work today?"

"Sadly," the spider grimaced, "another day, another few-thousand yen."

"How much of that you keep after mahjong?"

"If I'm good, all of it and everyone else's."

"Heeheehee!" she snorted cackling. "Thanks for paying me early by the way, puts a weight off my shoulders."

"My pleasure," Khoumad bowed to her, "I much prefer having a local business worker over a landlord."

"Us folks gotta stick together, plus it helps prop up my business."

"Your costumes are less than usual," he pointed to the fake military suits, "special occasion?"

"Yeaaah," Toka rubbed her neck, "there was some news of a conflict in uhhh, Scandinavia I think it was and anytime that happens there's always a few uh...creatures who get into that."

"A far cry from the maid outfits of old."

"I blame the internet, everyone's too aware of tragedies going on in the world and that just feeds some weird shit into some creatures' fantasies. I know they'd never do anything awful themselves but it's like they're...attracted to the taboo, the sacrilege."

"You have priestess outfits here as well," Khoumad cocked his head, "does that not apply to the same attraction?"

"That's religion, that's old hat, stuff going on thousands of years doesn't feel as weird. But with conflicts it's...I mean, I won't kinkshame long as they're not going to rob a store or anything, but I was offered once to have a couple of uh, World War outfits stocked. That didn't sit right with me."

"It is your business," the tarantula bowed, "you have the right to sell whatever you wish for the sake of consenting adults. Speaking of, I wish to purchase one of your priestess outfits when I return."

"Ohhh?" A twinkle in her eye came with a huge grin. "Kumon-san, I didn't know you liked a little fiddling around the beads."

"I thought you would not kinkshame me, Toka-chan."

"I would never, I'm glad actually, I was worried you'd be going all crazy cooped up alone. Actually, could you do me a favour?"

"Of course."

She walked back into her shop and brought out a long rectangular package, around 16 inches in length that claimed to store power tools inside.

"A customer in Ameritown was wanting this, but I need to hang around for my supplier so, could you hand it to them?"

"As you wish," he took it carefully, "I shall return later, take care Toka-chan."

"You too Kumon-san!"

Waving each other off, Khoumad headed north towards Ameritown. Passing through Izayaki Road, he saw the Kusonami pachinko parlour with its glaring red and yellow curves, where a cockroach in an awful orange suit poked a kappa in the chest.

"When I tell you to clean the fucking joint, I mean EVERY bit."

"B-but sir, who's gonna notice the top of the machines-HRRKH K-KHH!"

"I do."

The roach puffed a toxic smoke from the cigarette in his mouth.

"Get the fuck back in there and clean that shit, or else I'll make you lick them fucking clean."

"Y-yes, Tagasuki-san!"

Shoving the kappa back inside, the cockroach snarled with another deep breath from his cig. He dropped it immediately with a sudden start and saluted the spider coming his way.

"UH, M-maung-san!"

"At ease," the tarantula waved, "I am merely passing through, having problems?"

"No, no no, s'all cool here!" he smiled so hard he choked. "KHA-AAH, sorry, bad habit, how's uh, how's things?!"

"Work as usual, the parlour doing well?"

"Oh yeah, great, excellent, money keeps rolling in you know us, d-don't worry about the new staff, just have to whip 'em into shape!"

"The sex shop down the road can help you with that."

"HAH, HAHAHA, AHAHAHA, AAAAH that's a good one!"

The bug laughed like a kidnapping victim. Maung had that effect on most anyone under Gihei as he petted Tagasuki's arm.

"Keep up the good work."

"YES, yes Maung-san, hope you have an awesome day!"

Walking by and feeling the roach's sigh of relief, the spider roamed along the length of Iyazaki Road, checking the stores and cafes for any news that caught his eye. He tried to avoid taking the same route every day, but this road in particular was good for the gossip of the city.

Sometimes rumours of a celebrity came through town, or a local death in the growing web of his mind as he memorised faces. The cafe manager's sister worked in the Geiger King across the road, her husband a janitor at the train station. A blogger at the arcade spoke of a death on the tracks, a hot scoop from her boyfriend who was also a janitor. A smile crossed his fangs, and je made a mental note to check back on the Geiger King two days from now.

Khoumad always did this, a web of connections in his mind that helped him navigate through the city and know every single creature. Every thread that was plucked, or severed, he knew before the creatures involved would ever hear about it.

Walking alongside the main road that cut through Issincho's centre line, Maung headed west and into Ameritown itself, the several blocks-wide quarter where stars and stripes decorated every corner with every facet of North American culture. From the native traditional foods based on grain, to the modern fried meats, it was a tantalising place that Khoumad always enjoyed visiting.

"//Eyyyy Maung, whassup.//"

"//DeVille,//" the tarantula bowed in halting English, "//how are you?//"

"//Aww it's good dude, just ready for the spring, what you need?//"

"//A seven, a twelve, a fourteen and seventeen.//"

At a corner stall was DeVille, a monstrous black deer with wings, tall legs and eyes of burning red who wore an apron. He offered a bowl of stew that Khoumad ate up, while in turn he offered his four knives for the devilish American to sharpen.

"//You delivery boy today?//"

"//Yes,//" Maung offered the package, "//you know address?//"

"//Uhhh yeah! Just down the road at the corner from here.//"

"//Thank you.//" Khoumad slurped from his bowl. "//All quiet here?//"

"//Ehhh, had some punks running around trying to start shit, bar district's getting real antsy the past couple months.//"

"//Trouble at bars?//"

"//I think it's vashers, you watch yourself if you're out there, you coming to cooking class this week?//"

"//Yes,//" Maung nodded, "//what we make tonight?//"

"//I think it's gonna be parmesan!//" said DeVille, taking the knives into his store. "//You done much work with cheese?//"

"//No, I like eggs.//"

"//Heheh, maybe I'll make you my Devilled eggs, HAH, hahah, aww that's a good one.//"

With his tools in the back of his store, the monster put the knives through a lathe and sharpened them to a finer point before handing them back. With his thanks Maung left, heading to the address on the package and knocking on the door where a large bear gratefully took it off him, before an argument could be heard round the corner.

"//What fucking shit is this?!//"

"//I know, this is disgusting.//"

"//This shit is getting worse I swear, they're getting a lot more bold.//"

Looking down the road, Khoumad saw a small children's park with benches, climbing frames and a hill with holes that little ones could crawl inside like a fort. All over the park, several symbols of a black beastly head in a red circle had been painted, words scrawled in hateful kanji such as " TASTE THE GOBI SANDS", " SALT THE DESERT" and " YOUR ASHES WILL GRIT OUR WHEELS".

One monster was a bobcat with cactus ears wearing a baseball shirt, shaking his head in dismay. The other was 12-foot tall, with muscular arms and ghostly pale skin garbed in dockworker's clothes.

"What happened?" Khoumad stepped close.

"What do you think?"

The white monster turned her head, a deep rasping voice from her anglerfish head with black bulging cheeks.

"Fuckin' vashers messing us up again."

"You are...Lisa Clover, yes?"

"Yeaaah?" she squinted at him with drawling Japanese. "Who's asking?"

"I am a friend of DeVille-san, can I offer some help?"

"Heh, appreciate it, but this is just our problem, nothing to do with you."

"I would think it does, considering vashers affect all of us. I myself am an immigrant."

"No shit, where from?"

"Burma," the tarantula bowed, "Khoumad Maung."

"Well you know who I am," she offered her giant hand, "I need to grab my agonists so, you wanna help clean this shit off?"

"I would be glad to, Clover-san."

They shook hands before Lisa headed north, as Khoumad was given instructions to wait after the bobcat brought some solvents and cleaning solutions to combat the dreadful paint. A few other monsters such as stilt-legged moose, ball-tailed cats, and a mouthless crocodile with giant nostrils who helped together to clean off the graffiti.

Hours would pass as they scrubbed away, the paint incredibly sturdy and even with all of their combined efforts, they would barely manage to remove the first layer through scouring as hard as they could. Eventually Lisa came back, checking over the park once more to find any trace of the vandals.

"I presume the police will not help," said Khoumad.

"Pfft, in Issincho, yeah fucking right," Lisa rolled her eyes, "wish I could find out who the fuck was doing this, this is the fifth time they fucked up this park."

"I could find them," Khoumad rubbed his chin, "I took a sample of that paint, I can track down who purchased it if you like."

"Wait for real?" she squinted at him. "You some kinda private dick?"

"I do many odd jobs. I also despise vashers, so I will do this when I can spare time."

"Hey, if you can it'd help us a lot, we can't really afford to go causing trouble out here so thanks, Maung-san."

"I shall let you know if I find them. Take care, Clover-san."

Stepping out of the small park, he checked the time on a local store to find noon was fast approaching. He took a brisk walk towards the northeast side, the rather luxurious side of the district a far cry from the slums and shuttered shops as he entered the residence of Chinatown.

It wasn't a true Chinatown, not in the same sense as Ameritown which was a truer reflection of a cultural community. This Chinatown was a fabrication, elaborate golden gates and wondrous dragons festooning the grand towers of Asian lacquer, painted in lavish red with flaxen pillars and the smell of rich stir-fry everywhere he went.

At the centre of this tourist trap, there lied a great tower that rose higher above the rest of Chinatown. Eight floors of power, from which inside the Jinuchu Clan operated this entire district under its cruel auspicious thumb. Once it had been a restaurant, but now it was a dragon's lair where goons walked the premises armed with blades and rifles. But none would dare draw upon him.

"M-...Maung-san!" A large bull bowed to him with trembling knees. "C-can I help you, sir?"

"Gihei-sama is expecting me," said the spider, "I shall make my way up."

"Y-yes, of course, if you need anything-"

"I will ask, thank you."

All the guards stepped out his path, hiding their swords and putting their guns aside as he walked past the marvellous triptych of three dragons lording over the room, their claws wrapped round the Earth with waterfalls pouring off their shoulders. Up the winding stairs Khoumad found more tables where guards sat and bantered, all of them stiffening to attention at his passing with eyes of sullen fear.

Further up he found office quarters, mobsters filing accounts and rec rooms where off-duty punks watched sports or made bets. Anyone who caught him in passing would turn quiet all of a sudden, until at last he reached the eighth floor. Beyond a set of doors was an office with a black desk, training poles with wooden arms and a punching bag wrapped in skin.

"Yeah, do it like that," said a voice from the desk, "let him piss you off first, then you murder his sister. That'll frighten the shit outta him."

Gihei looked towards the door and motioned Khoumad to come in, taking a drink from a shot glass to his side. The spider marched forth and waited obedient with hands behind his back, the golden dragon with stark white eyes and tiny black pupils piercing his mind.

"Yeah it's fucking extreme that's the fucking POINT! Creatures don't know what to do with that kinda shit! Nah I don't want his sister she's fugly as shit, the fuck do I want with that?! If you wanna make patriarch of your own family, you better be ready to cut a bitch or three, or I'll cut a bitch of my own outta you."

He clicked off the phone and sighed rubbing his long-cresting horns.

"Heheyyyy Maung, my second-favourite killer."

"Gihei-sama," the tarantula bowed again, "I am ready for your orders."

"Pfft, orders, what you a fucking soldier all of a sudden? Ahh I'm just messing with ya, gotta have a laugh once in a while right? Especially when you got fucking dipshits like this Kamoebara guy who's too much of a little bitch to slit someone's throat. ANYWAYS!"

The dragon slammed his hands on the desk.

"I got a real problem about my usual supply, speaking of bitches. Someone's been sneaking out the ladies from my clubs, and they're getting pretty fucking barren...more than the usual whores I pick up."

"We have a traitor in our midst?"

"Someone's sure traitoring the fuck outta me, whether they think it's that or not they're fucking with my business!"

"Do we have any leads?" asked Maung bristling his stache.

"Oh yeah yeah sure I got some leads, lemme just look in my drawer of SHIT I DON'T HAVE!"

He hurled his shot glass at the spider, Khoumad falling with a rain of shattering sparkle across his eyes.

"IF I HAD ANY FUCKING LEADS, I WOULDN'T BE ASKING YOU!"

"Y-yes," Maung stood back up rubbing the glass off his face, "forgive me, Gihei-sama, which of your clubs have lost your slaves?"

"Salno's was the latest," said Gihei leaning back, "I do got one piece of info for ya, right here."

He brought out a photograph showing a pale heron skulking through the crowd.

"This bitch I don't remember the name of, but she got real suspicious the past few months, moving from club to club, and always with a few more of my girls going missing straight after. Find out what's going on, do whatever you want, but I want you to kill EVERYONE that's helping those sluts escape!"

"Understood," the assassin bowed, "I shall eradicate the traitors forthwith."

"Get back to me when you're sure every one of 'em's dead. But if you screw this up, and if one of those traitors escape..."

He gripped his hands together with a crackling spark from his teeth.

"I might just pass on a little word back to the Burmese government about you...you understand?"

"Yes...Gihei-sama."

With his mission confirmed, Khoumad sorted a schedule to best manage his time. The clubs only opened at night, so the rest of the afternoon was open to him as he decided to busy himself with the vashers' paint. Having collected a sample from a patch of dirt, that he wrapped in a handkerchief, he headed home towards the LUCKY POP store that was now open with its owner within.

"Good aaaafternoon," the red squirrel greeted him, "how can I help you-OH, Kumon-san!"

"Toka-chan, my aahpaw," he bowed to her, "I delivered your package."

"OH, thank you so much, I really appreciate it, lemme just grab something."

Ducking into the backroom, Toka left her customer to observe her wares. The store itself was rather small, but its collection was vast with costumes, whips, leather braces and ballgags, as well as various phallic objects in different shapes and sizes.

"Heeere you are!" she returned with a red-and-white robe of temple priesthood. "Just remember to give to the pauperbox before you go sinning!"

"Thank you, hmhmhah," the spider folded it in his arms, "I also would like your help with something, do you know about paints?"

"What kind, for your house or your body?"

"House, in this case." The tarantula pulled out the dirt-filled handkerchief. "Do you recognise what make this is?"

"Why do you ask?" the squirrel took it with suspicious look. "Where did you get it?"

"Some vashers vandalised the park near Ameritown."

"Wh-WHAT?! Oh that's awful!"

"The locals are scrubbing it clean, but I would like to track down the vandals."

"Oh absolutely, fuck the vashers! Alright come inside will ya?"

Stepping into the back of the store, Toka's personal quarters opened up to a charming living room with second-hand sofas and drawers, a separate kitchen with all the amenities and another further room that contained mysterious medical equipment. Maung had never seen this room before, but it was clearly an amateur laboratory of some sort where plants were growing inside.

"Cannabis?" he asked curiously.

"Well, yeah," Toka shrugged with a grin, "just for medicine though, you can't get it round here for some reason so I help out supplying locals."

"You do not worry the Jinuchu will find you?"

"Nah, they're scum as they are, they're selling the actual awful shit to kids, like cocaine or such, not me."

"I agree." Khoumad nodded sitting down. "They also own the Kusonami Parlour, which is more than enough proof they care little about poisoning the minds of children."

"Ugh, don't get me started," she rolled her eyes, "you want something to eat by the way, I'm making noodles."

"Oh, I would not want to impose-"

"No no, it's fine, I made a little too much anyway so lemme get you a bowl."

In her actual kitchen she prepared some noodles, setting out two bowls with one she gave to Maung, after which she went to her lab and started experimenting with the dirt-filled paint. Leaving it to prepare, Toka went back to the front of the shop to deal with the odd curious customer, Khoumad having folded his priestess outfit beside him to enjoy slurping down a light lunch.

An hour would pass during which the squirrel went back and forth, checking on her experiment and handling customers whenever the bell rang from the front, as well as finishing up her bowl of noodles all in a reddish blur around the spider. His eyes darted around the room seeing posters for the local clubs, post-it notes reminding to talk to others that Maung recognised the names of.

"HOO, sorry about that!"

She sat herself down in front of him.

"Just got twenty minutes to rest for the lunch break, how was your noodles?"

"Wonderful," Khoumad smiled, "thank you Toka-chan, I notice you are friends with Shimaeda."

"Oh you know her?"

"In passing, I know her husband works as a janitor at the station."

"Speaking of, did you hear about the death on the tracks?!"

"No," Khoumad feigned surprise, "what happened?"

"Someone just fell off the edge," the rodent shook her head, "loose tile, just crumbled off, the guy fell and the train just-OHH! Slammed right through him, red dust everywhere! One of my friends, not Shimaeda, was telling me because she has a boyfriend at the station."

"And what does he do there?"

"Janitor, actually! ...wait."

A look of concern furrowed on her face briefly, Maung quietly slurping his food between his hairy fangs as Toka pulled out a post-it from a drawer and scribbled something down.

"You have many friends," the spider nodded.

"I'm sorta in a neighbourhood watch," she shrugged, "lotta folks come to my store so I hear things."

"Is that how you came to forming your laboratory?"

"Well, more like I used to work at R.O.S.E."

"Really?" Khoumad gasped. "That's quite a prestigious place, why did you leave?"

"Iiiii...got caught stealing things," Toka blushed rubbing her neck, "I had some friends who really needed help but didn't have the money for...stuff, when they found out the board wanted to drag me into court but Kuribyante saved me."

"As in, Dr. Kuribayante, the founder?"

"No no, their kid Ukyo Kuribayante. I always thought they were a hardass but, they forced the board to not sue me and said it was better I was cut loose without any trouble. Which I was really thankful for cuz, I would've been homeless if they did."

"And you continue your work as a local...pharmacist?" the tarantula gestured.

"Thanks for not calling me a dealer," the squirrel smiled with shining teeth.

"I know you are a kind creature, Toka-chan. You are my aahpaw, you were the one to give me my first home and never ask what I do."

"I respect privacy, that's why I run this store. Besides if you were doing anything really bad, I would hear about it."

"You are correct."

His smile was one he practiced for years, soft and disarming without showing his mandibles, the perfect balance between modesty and earnest favour. A timer went off in the lab as Toka went to grab her results, scribbling down her findings and putting it down before Khoumad.

"Alright so," she began, "this is industrial paint. It's a fireproofed type that's used to lower cooling costs by reflecting heat off the wall."

"I see," Khoumad rubbed his fangs, "it was difficult to remove from the scene, was this from a factory?"

"Possibly," Toka nodded, "it's a hard char too, so it's almost only used for plastic pipe protection sooooo...my guess is, someone at a plumbing company got this paint."

"How many of those are in Issincho?" Maung clasped his hands.

"Only two. One is in Chinatown, the other in the bar district."

"I shall investigate," he stood up with a bow, "thank you again."

"Wait," she stood up with him, "you should call the police if you're going after vashers."

"I am merely gathering information, I will be careful."

"Good. I don't want to see you get hurt Kumon-san, you're a sweet guy and you're always so understanding."

"It is a hard world out there," Khoumad nodded, "if one can find some peace in a safe room with others that are willing, there is no place to judge."

"I'm glad you agree."

She took his hand with a gentle rub, a soft squeeze across his hard bristling fingers that oddly soothed him, before he took his leave.

Heading back to his apartment, he put away his recently-sharpened knives and swapped out his coat for a different costume. A construction worker with a hi-vis vest, a face mask, a headband that covered his two upper eyes, and a thick coat disguising four of his six limbs.

Heading to the bar district first, he investigated the small plumbing company down the southeast side and made the pretence of representing a local builders looking for paint. No such luck, the small company strictly handled supply of materials and home maintenance, but not for actual construction.

Making his way to Chinatown, he was more successful as he wandered to the far eastern end where a small industrial complex sat nestled between the local Stega arcade, and the concrete-storied parking lot. One of the companies listed was his target, as he made his way inside the semi-furbished reception, and slipped through halls with a fake construction permit before knocking on their door.

"Yeah?"

"Hallo," Khoumad thickened his Burmese accent, "I here to buy...paint, for, construction."

The office had several chairs, a desk, and some lockers. A burly golden falcon in a purple chief's jacket sat behind the desk, guarded by a muscular crab and a white tiger.

"I from, Solgell Construction," Khoumad offered his card, "I come for uh...paint, yes, for piping."

"Ah huh," the tiger smacked his lips, "where's this Solgell at exactly?"

"Yokohama, we just knew, told you have good paint for piping."

"That so? How much are you looking for?"

"Uhh..."

He pulled out a random piece of paper, looking as frail and foolish as he could to lower their guard as he felt their smirks between each other.

"T-two...twenty, no, twenty cans, yes please."

"Where's that gonna be going?"

"Have address here."

The spider offered a completely fake address, but one in such an obscure part of Yokohama docks that it would be difficult to question. The bird snorted and gave it back.

"Alright well, that'll be forty-five-thousand per can."

"Wha?" Maung shook his head. "But, you price say thirty-thousand-"

"Yeah that's the local price, but newcomers gotta pay extra."

"But I local, company built here, just fresh!"

"He said LOCAL, buddy." The crab put a claw on Khoumad's shoulder. "You're not good at business if you can't speak properly."

"But I speak proper!" he whinged.

"Ohoh yeah, tell me you so sorry then, where you from anyway?"

"I-i, from Tokyo-"

"No, no, where are you ACTUALLY from?"

"We gotta be honest about things here," the tiger budged up towards him, "we can't do business if you're not gonna tell us."

"But I tell you I from Tokyo!" gasped Khoumad stepping back. "I just sent here to get paint, for plastic pipes!"

"Why did you come to us then?"

"Office in Issincho, closest here, thought it easy!"

"Well then it's forty-five thousand," the eagle shrugged, "take it or leave it."

"Hmmm...hhhh, okay."

He looked defeated as they grinned to each other.

"Can I get sample first, please thank?"

"Suuure you can," the falcon leaned forwards, "Byakkun, get the chart."

The tiger went to a locker and pulled out a colouring chart, Maung taking a moment to point out the exact red he was looking for.

"This good, thank. How long til it set?"

"About six hours if you do nothing to it," the cat nodded, "but it's fireproofed real good, keeps that heat locked in tight."

"Not paint outside on buildings?"

"Uhh, no?" the crab snorted. "It's industrial paint, not housepainting crap."

"So why would you paint a children's park with it in Ameritown?"

Khoumad stood up straight as his accent faded away.

"That seems a terrible waste of your resources."

"Wha-who the fuck, how'd you know we did tha-"

"HEIKABARA!" the falcon snapped looking back towards Maung. "We don't know anything about a kid's park."

"There's only one company in this district who uses that paint," Maung crossed his arms, "unless you think someone else out of town did it."

"Well obviously, yeah, us locals would never do that."

"Of course. If it were local vashers who defaced a children's park, it would only prove what everyone says about them in Ameritown."

"They say what?" the tiger snarled looming over him.

"That they're cowards and too lazy to cover their tracks, the coward part being they won't even own up to their crime like a real kaiju should."

"The fuck do THEY know about what kaiju think, who the hell are you?!"

"A concerned citizen," Khoumad bowed, "wishing to stop vandals who, as I said before, are too lazy to hide their tracks, and too cowardly to be proud of their work."

"The fuck you say?!" the crab shoved him back. "You come in here pretending to buy, you talk shit about us, like fuck you're a citizen!"

"I have lived here long enough to be better than you."

"THE ONLY THING YOU'RE BETTER AT IS BEING A FLY-EATING CHINESE FUCK!"

"Hm. Thank you."

Maung took out a tape recorder that wasn't even on before heading to the door.

"I have plenty evidence for the police now, enjoy having your business smeared across the streets, like the paint you so flagrantly used."

"Like fuck you're leaving," the cat grabbed his shoulder, "you remember what we wrote in the park? Maybe you oughta taste the Gobi sands as well, like the rest of you fucking Mongols."

"You remember your history right?" the bird stood up from his desk. "Four million of you gone, not enough apparently."

"I know it better than your geography," said Maung, "I thought I was Chinese, not Mongolian."

"Does it matter? Now how about you hand over that recorder, and we only break one of your legs?"

"Or I could break yours."

Khoumad suddenly slammed his elbow into the cat's stomach, turning fast with a hard punch to the jaw as the crab immediately swung for Maung's head. The spider ducked the haymaker and countered with a karate kick, the falcon startled for a moment before Khoumad screeched with a jet of white from his mandibles.

"A-AAAUGH, FUCK!"

Smothering his face was a hot web of silk that clung to his feathers, almost burning as he tried to pluck it off in starts whilst the tiger grabbed Maung's arm. The spider turned to face him and sprayed another web at his eyes, blinding him briefly to make him stagger against the wall.

"YOU FUCKING SHANGHAI BITCH!"

The crab came hammering with his claws down for the spider's head, who dodged back against the door and opened it when the crustacean came barrelling through its frame, before Maung kickslammed it shut on the thug's body. Heikabara crumpled with a groan, his back and belly stinging from the crush as the tarantula turned towards the falcon who ripped the webbing off his face.

Pouncing with savage talons, the vasher eagle swiped at Khoumad who dodged the first and second punch, then blocked the third with his elbow and drove his knee into the chief's stomach. With a hard shove he threw the bird back over a chair, crunching his head awkward into the floor as Byakkun the tiger came from behind to grab two of the spider's arms.

"THAT'S IT, YOU'RE FUCKING DEAD YOU BUG-EYED SHIT!"

Recovering from his fall, the crab pulled out a wrench from the locker and readied himself for a head-splitting crunch. Maung shot out a web that tied the hammer to the crab's face, causing him to swing his own face downwards in a shrieking sputter. When the cat tried to throw him against the wall, Khoumad lifted his legs to recoil off the wall, and slam himself backwards into Byakkun who fell against the locker.

His coat fell off in the tussle, exposing his four other arms that stretched out above him as long dexterous three-fingered limbs with sharp long thumbs. The tiger shook his head clear and with a roar yanked the wrench from Heikabara. The spider grabbed a fire extinguisher beside the door, yanking it with one of his long limbs and countered the wrench with a deafening clang.

Startled by this parry, Byakkun stumbled back before taking another swipe that Khoumad blocked, then punched the extinguisher's base into the feline's face, crushing his head with a hard swing that felt like his brain had popped. In response, the falcon pulled out a screwdriver from his jacket, a vile scorn in his eyes.

"FUCKING MONGOL, I'LL KILL YOUR ASS!"

Seeing the deadly weapon, Maung reached for a hidden sheath in his pockets and suddenly blocked the screwdriver with the blunt of his pale blade. The curved dagger surprised the eagle, but his fury was too great as he came stabbing for Maung's eyes when he parried the screwdriver once, then slashed it in half with a severing cut. The falcon was shocked, watching the piece of his tool fly up into the air, along with half of his own beak.

"_A-AAAAARGH, AAAAAAAAAARRRGH! _"

"HOLY FUCK!"

The crab shuffled back against the wall, seeing his boss clutch his face with sobbing screams as blood poured between his fingers. Red thickening spurts dripped down his severed tongue and through his hands in sobbing anguish, as both halves of his beak clattered to the floor. The tiger, barely conscious, looked upon the spider with his bloody pale blade, and whimpered when Maung walked towards him.

"You will leave Ameritown alone," he ordered, "and if I find anymore of your paint in this town..."

He thrust his blade to stop an inch from the tiger's eye.

"I shall have your blood...paint my walls instead."

The cat watched the eagle's blood drip finely onto his whiskers. Khoumad wiped the knife clean on the tiger's snout before he took his leave, the quiet howling whimpers of their boss debeaked heard faintly down the hall.

After taking off his workers' costume back home, Khoumad returned to the Americans, the park still vandalised and monsters taking turns to keep scouring and scrubbing as best they could. The spider brought an additional solution designed to deal with hard char, helping the work go by much faster until the park was finally clean.

"They will not target you again," said Maung, "I have made certain of that."

"Thanks a lot," Clover shook Khoumad's hand, "should I ask how you convinced them?"

"The less you know, the better."

"Hmhm...you a fighter eh? You know there's this place downtown that would fit you, if you wanna test your skills."

"Ohh?" Khoumad's eyes twinkled. "Do tell, Clover-san."

"We call it the Eight Wonders, it's an arena over in the harbour, since you did us a great favour I can introduce you to it."

"I would be honoured, though I prefer not to spend my days in battle."

"Well I gotta do SOMETHING for ya," Lisa shrugged, "I hate leaving favours, so-"

"There is one thing. Do you know anyone who is looking for cleaners in the red light district?"

"Heheh," she chuckled a deep laugh, "you trying to get a freebie?"

"I'm looking for employment," Khoumad crossed his arms, "I am a cleaner, but the job centre has been very lacking and I prefer something local to save on the bus fare."

"Hahah, yeah I hear that, alright lemme make a few calls, just hang tight."

Sitting himself down at the park, Maung took some time to catch his breath and devise a small backstory until Lisa returned with an opening. A local cleaning company that specified in sex clubs had an opening, mostly owned by monsters for the work that nobody else wanted to do.

Over the next few weeks, he asked about the Eight Wonders circuit more on a passing basis, but also to distract the monsters from his true intentions as he scrubbed down parlours and brothels of all manner of fluids. Some of the monsters cringed at the work, but Maung boldly cleaned up with little complaint to earn their respect.

Carpets were scoured, leather straps were finely polished, and bed sheets were washed to a rigorous steam-cleaning. Occasionally he went back to Gihei to keep him updated, knowing his boss became paranoid when any of his agents went too long without reports. A month would pass before Maung had integrated himself well enough to perform his mission, at the club known as Salno's where he was warned by the bouncer.

"Stick to your rooms and don't bother the patrons," said the octopus jabbing him, "we run a tight-ass ship round here, and I don't want no foreigners trying to sneak off with one of our peaches."

"I am a professional, madame," the tarantula bowed, "I assure you I will do my job perfectly."

"Alright, you're handling rooms five-to-eight, seven is gonna take you a while cuz we had a threesome in that one, so if you wanna take a break before you go in there, tell me."

"Yes madame, thank you."

Salno's was an odd place, styled after a Himalayan temple with fake redwood pillars and invoking strong mountain vibes with charming matte paintings in each room. Had Maung come here as a customer, he would have been treated like a mysterious visitor, the ladies all dressed as monks who would offer him "special meditative practices" that, rather blasphemously, were presented on a Buddhist scroll with different prices.

But here the magic was gone, it was after hours and the priestesses were sitting in the staff room with their smokes and their drinks. Khoumad started first with Room 6, garbed in a face mask and green janitor clothes with gloves as he washed the bed, scrubbed the carpet and sprayed down the walls.

Throughout all of this, Maung was also checking the locks and finding the common configuration between all of them, built by the same company that he noted down for later. He also kept his eyes and ears open on their after-hours schedule, who was coming late, who was slightly behind on their birth control pills, and who was dating who.

There he saw one creature in particular, a pale heron who went into Room 17 when the owner wasn't around. She matched the one in the photograph from Gihei, which only made Khoumad more suspicious. Room 17 was always closed as "out of order", yet the heron had her own key, which none of the other workers had. Waiting for the right moment when she was busy with laundry, Maung made his move in a clumsy trip pulling the carpet on his heels.

"OH, C-CAREFUL!"

"AH, SHIT!"

He slapped her hands away whilst she was carrying sheets, smacking the key from her pocket when she fell that he very quickly grabbed and squeezed into a bar of soap underneath him.

"I am TERRIBLY sorry madame, the carpet, it had a bump, let me help."

"I-it's fine, it's fine, let me just, oh shit where is it?!"

"Where is what?"

"UM, my key for my uh, my apartment!"

Using his other hands he pushed the key harder into the soap to form a deep indent, high above her head and behind his back whilst gathering the sheets and folding them neatly as she scrabbled around the floor.

"Shit, SHIT where is it, I need it!"

"We might have kicked it aside," he noted, "I will check this corner, you check that one."

Carefully pocketing the soap in a plastic bag, he daubed the key with a wet towel and wiped it dry, before tossing it away and then rediscovering it. Right beside it however, curiously, was a small bag with a lollipop symbol on it.

"Found it!"

"OH, thank you!" the heron snatched it back. "Ohhh that's a relief, I didn't want to ask my landlord for a replacement."

"I am so sorry again, the carpet, you understand it-"

"No no it's fine, no harm done."

"Is this yours as well?" he offered the small bag.

"Um...y-yeah," she took it bashfully, "it's, it's uh-"

"Medicinal?" Khoumad grinned. "Is that not from Lucky Pop?"

"Yeah it uh, the bag is, not the stuff inside, no they don't sell any drugs there."

"It's alright," Maung put up his hands, "I'm not a cop, whatever helps you through the day."

"Hahaha, hoo thank gods, though if you were this would be the worst place to be cuz, you know, Jinuchu."

"Jinuchu own this club?" the spider feigned surprise.

"Yyyyyeah, so..." the heron clenched her fingers, "just be careful, if you're working here you might wanna keep your head down."

"Thank you for the warning. Speaking of, this carpet is oddly tacked, it pulled up against my feet when I came through."

"Yeah we been meaning to fix that for ages, I don't suppose you fit them as well as clean them?"

"No," Khoumad shook his head, "I have my hands full enough with room seven over there."

"Oof, you're doing that one?!" she sucked through her beak. "Jeez I hope you got enough to spray it down."

"I am rather low on disinfectant," the spider frowned, "I don't suppose you have any spare?"

"We always keep some back here but Taro-sama don't like us using it-"

"I will pay for it. Just to make my job easier."

"Oh, alright well if you're offering sure, thanks! I'm Aosukawa by the way."

"I am-...Aosukawa?"

"Yes?"

A brief flicker filled his mind, of fire and tears as he rolled the name in his fangs with a clench of his throat. His hand stiffened as he forced a smile.

"That is a lovely name...like a princess."

"Th-thank you," the heron blushed, "nice to meet you uh-"

"Kumon," he bowed shaking her hand, "a pleasure to meet you."

Handing her a small fee to take a bottle of their supplies, Khoumad spent almost the entirety of his shift working on Room 7, looking back towards Room 17 across the way with increasing suspicion. Once he was done, Maung was paid and he headed home to craft the duplicate key. Taking another blank key, one of several he owned for such purposes, he filed it down to match the the impression in the soap with a keen set of eyes and incredible patience.

The night would come when he prepared for his infiltration. A week after his cleaning trip, Khoumad took the priestess outfit he got from Toka-chan and modified it through cutting and sewing with the help of a few magazines. Taking four knives, one machete, and his pale blade underneath, he walked out into the night with a larger disposable coat to hide his disguise. At the back of Salno's towards the end of their working shift, Khoumad waited for one of the girls to come outside right on cue.

"B-but it's cold out here!" the kappa cried.

"We are a BUSINESS!" snapped the octopus. "I can't have you sobbing over your body when customers are around."

"B-but, Taro-sama i-it's nothing I just got a little sick!"

"You've missed your period AND you were sick all morning, now take the damn test then come back in when you're done!"

She left the door open, the kappa whimpering as she was forced to squat out in the cold night behind a dumpster with a pregnancy test underneath.

"Please be a no, please be a no, please be a no!"

Khoumad made a silent prayer to the same gods as he slipped inside the open door, taking off his disposable coat to hide in the trash and reveal his fake-priestess disguise. The club was starting to wind down, the last customers getting greedy with "meditations" and trying to bargain for extended time until the very last minute. Nobody paid attention to him, the spider carrying towels he stole from a laundry room to look busy as possible.

Shuffling through the halls of the fake monastery, he watched incense burners wafting soothing herbs between the sacrilegious pillars and jumbled motifs of not-Tibetan script. Khoumad frowned at the wording, what little he knew of it he understood as not resembling anything close to the language. Eventually he found Room 17, sneaking in with his fake key that worked like a charm and finding just a regular room by itself. A bed, a vista on the walls, and a dresser containing some spare oils and lubricants.

Maung checked over the carpet, tracing the fine layers of dust towards a part of the wall that was oddly cleaner than the rest. Hooking his fingers into a depression, he found a hidden door and slipped through as he pulled out one of his blades and entered a dark deep passage. Down into the depths of the city, he tread silently as the sounds of kaiju could be heard below.

"Alright, you ready?"

"Y-yes, oh thank gods."

"Sorry it took so long to get you going, you helped us out a lot."

"I know, we...we had to get the others out first."

In a large basement, Khoumad saw various old crates and barrels that creatures carried full of airholes, through a broken wall that had been carved open to reveal the sewer running alongside it. Other sex workers were helping the group, one of whom he recognised as the pale heron from before.

Khoumad followed after taking one of the crates to help blend in, heading through a damp shallow corridor with voices clamouring full of hope and fear between the workers and the other mysterious kaiju. The tunnel widened out into another section, a large dock with a small fishing boat lying in wait.

"Alright," said an ox, "load up the crates and get inside."

"Wait, inside them?" asked a young dog.

"Yeah we're shipping you out like fish, everything's all cleared to go."

"Thank you again," the heron bowed to the workers, "you've really helped us out, Toka-chan's got another replacement for me."

"I hope so," said a muscular ape, "we're getting rumours Gihei might suspect something so we'll have to switch tracks-HRRKH!"

"You are correct."

At first he did not realise he had been stabbed, one knife in the back and another slitting his throat with a deep sudden carve that spilled red down the gorilla's front. Then he collapsed, and all the former sex workers screamed with their rescuers standing in front.

"WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?!"

"The hand of Gihei," Khoumad twirled his blade, "my master has taken umbrage at you disrupting his business."

"GIHEI CAN GO FUCK HIMSELF!" shouted the ox. "HE'S A BASTARD, HE'S A MURDERER AND A RAPIST!"

"I am not the judge, but the executioner." The spider pulled at his robe. "Your sentence has already been made, I only offer a quick and painless death if you cooperate."

"YOU'RE NOT GETTING THEM BACK, NOT ONE MORE THIS DAY! NOT ONE FUCKING MORE!"

The bull charged with a steel pipe in hand, swinging towards Khoumad who ducked and hurled his robe off to wrap round the ox's head, and throw him down to the ground. A wolf pounced on him after, the tarantula revealing all six arms equipped with blades as he slashed the furry arm, before shanking deep into the wolf's throat.

"OH MY GODS, NOOOO!"

"GET TO THE BOAT, EVERYONE GO!"

The heron motioned all the workers to the boat in single file, whilst their rescuers tried to attack the killer all at once with thirteen ganging up in one horde. The bull threw off the robe and tried to crush the spider's head, Maung ducking fast with a hard cleave of his machete into the guard's stomach, blood welting thick down his legs as a raven flew above.

"STOP HIM, GET THE GIRLS OUT SAFE!"

"KILL THIS FUCKER, HE'S ONE OF GIHEI'S!"

The crow made a diving kick for Maung's head and knocked him on his back, the spider hurling one of his knives straight in the raven's head as he screamed with a sudden crumpling gurgle, before the tarantula was set upon by a crocodile.

The gator tried to pin his arms as the bleeding ox stumbled forth to try and crush Khoumad's skull, but the spider shot a web from his fangs causing the croc to loosen his grip and try to pull off the burning silk. A dagger through his throat sliced it open as he screamed with gargling cry, Khoumad rolling aside to dodge the heavy stomp of the bull.

Pulling himself up, he took on a dark-brown fox who came with his own knife, joined by a burly toad that grabbed Khoumad's arms from behind to give the fox an open target. The spider threw another blade at the fox's foot, causing him to yell and fall forwards in a stumble at Maung's feet.

A hard kick cracked into the vulpine's skull, knocking him down as the toad tried to hold him back and lift him up higher to break the tarantula's abdomen on his knee. Khoumad shot out a web towards the raven's body, ripping the knife free from his corpse, to send it hurtling back towards his own face.

He ducked throwing the toad's head forwards, the knife plunging a few inches deep in his warty hide as he roared from the deep stabbing pain frighteningly close to his brain. Forced to release his target from the anguish, his wide throat was carved open in half like a tent flap with two daggers from the middle, rivers of yellow-green spraying down his front.

"G-GOD FUCKING DAMMIT STOP HIM!" the ox shouted. "TEN-KUN, GET THE GIRLS OUT, NOW!"

While a weasel ran to the boat helping the heron, the ox came swinging with his pipe once again as a rat jumped from a pile of crates with a heavy dropkick to knock down the assassin. Taking one of Maung's knives, the rodent screamed with desperate cry as Khoumad blocked with his dagger, then chopped both his hand and his head clean off with a sweep of the machete.

The rat's body collapsed, one-armed and headless in a bloody twitching pool, Maung stepping over with his largest blade aimed and ready upon the ox. An owl flew from the side with a spinning kick, but Maung felt the wind shift enough to dodge once from the bird, then again from the ox's mighty swing that cracked open a steel barrel with jagged tips.

Khoumad was soon set upon by four creatures at once, a lobster, a shark, a pig and a catfish who tried to overwhelm him. He tossed the machete at the shark whose head split open with scarlet burst, staggering forwards in a gurgling hiss before the lobster swung his claw to bash the spider away, followed by the boar booting him in the stomach, and the catfish trying to twist one of his arms.

Maung spun close to the fish and perforated his neck with three knives at once, one from each side and one at the front to almost behead him completely in a swift but shocking death. Tossing the catfish towards the pig, he shot a web of silk at the lobster's eyes making him scream and slap his eyestalks before they were violently pulled towards the tarantula. Maung launched him straight into the jagged steel barrel, and violently impaled his hide with a screeching gurgle.

"WHAT THE FUCK IS HE?!" screamed the ox.

"J-JUST FUCKING KILL HIM!" roared the owl. "GIHEI FINDS OUT, WE'RE FUCKED EITHER WAY!"

"Indeed you are."

Khoumad grabbed his machete from the shark's head, but the owl flapped from behind and hoisted his shoulders by the talons to throw him straight into the ox's foot for a mighty kick, crunching the spider's mandibles as he snarled with a sullen shriek. With four blades still at hand, Khoumad blocked the ox's swinging pipe with two knives, whilst stabbing the pig's hand who tried to punch him, and throwing a fourth dagger that ripped one of the owl's wings to send him falling to the ground.

The pale blade of Maung ripped through the boar's fingers, snapping through the bone as he screamed with howling rend, before the knife stabbed between his eyes and silenced his thoughts with his eyes rolling back. Furious with a growing fear, the ox shoved Khoumad back and made a football kick that Maung dodged as he shot out his web in front of the foot, towards the handle of his machete.

The bull tripped on the silken thread, trying to pull back which caused the large cutter to rip free from the shark's head, and recoil straight into the ox's face. With a roar his snout was split in half, dropping his pipe to try and rip the machete out of his skull, but he was already losing the fight as he fell to his knees, and died staring at his own blood with reflection carved in twain. The owl grounded with a broken wing, stumbled back trying to put up his hand.

"O-OKAY, OKAY, I-I'LL STOP, I'LL STOP, P-P-PLEASE DON'T KILL ME!"

But Maung did not listen. He grabbed the owl's other wing and slammed him against the wall, before a swift and tender slice of his feathered neck ended him. Thirteen bodies laid with trails of scarlet pouring down the drain as Maung hurried towards the boat, where the weasel stood balling his fists in abject fear.

"Y-y-you, you can s-strike me down, b-but I won't LET YOU HURT THEM-AAARGH!"

His hand was cut open when he tried to punch, before Maung grabbed his head with four arms and snapped it round with a cracking twist. Tossing the body overboard, he walked to the back of the boat where there stood a golden-haired fox in a dark blue suit, armed with a gun pointed at him.

"I won't let this happen."

"That is not your choice," said Maung putting up his hands, "your suffering will be longer if you delay it."

"I don't take philosophy from one of Gihei's fuckboys."

"This is not philosophy, but is a fact of life."

He dropped one of his knives and kicked it into the fox's leg, a howling shriek as he fired too late when Maung set upon him with a blade to his throat.

"STOOOOP!"

The heron stepped out from the cargo hold, guarding the workers with arms spread and a sullen robe wrapped round her body.

"P-please...s-stop. N-not my brother...not my baby brother."

"My orders from Gihei are clear," said the spider to the bird, "his business must not be stopped."

"Wh-why...why would you do this? Do you know what he DOES to us?!"

Her tears trickled as her arms trembled before him.

"He...we're just disposable to him. He doesn't care about us, all of us who stay here will die under him."

"I am not the judge," Khoumad kept the knife on the kitsune's throat, "I am his executioner."

"But WHY!? You can't support this, you don't believe what he's doing is right do you?!"

"That is not for me to judge. I have no right to judge."

"So because you've killed," snarled the fox, "you'll excuse every other crime out there?!"

"We are all servants of Gihei," said the spider looking down upon him, "and all disobedience must be punished...including my own."

"Your...your own?" The bird shook her head. "Does that mean...you're trapped too, aren't you?"

"...there is no escape from Gihei." Khoumad thumbed along his blade. "All you delay is the inevitable. He will find you. And you will suffer worse for it then, more than you would suffer now."

"So we should accept this?!" the kitsune gasped feeling a red sliver from his neck. "We should suffer without fighting back, without stopping him even a little?!"

"He is our master, and that is the only constant we have-"

"No." The heron stepped towards them. "I won't go back. I won't go back. None of us will. D-do you know what he did to my friends, do you know what he SAID?!"

"I am his blade, I cannot-"

"He said, 'I had better'...after he was done with them. Then he just killed them. Like we're fucking nothing to him."

Those three words sparked something distant in his memory. A village in the sweltering heat, a boar he had once met. A noble in the shadows with a cruel smile who told him his last words. "I had better", he said, before the red spilt across his face. "I had better", he said, before the cold steel plunged in his breast. "I had better," he said, before Maung lost his princess.

"...Aosukawa, yes?"

"Um...y-yes," the heron nodded.

"My master ordered me to kill all those who would let you escape."

He looked back towards the dock seeing the bodies strewn with red.

"It seems my work is done...with one exception."

Khoumad stepped back and sheathed his blades, much to the surprise of both fox and heron before he offered his hand.

"Your bag, the little one."

"Wh-what?"

"I will let you free, if you give me that little bag...and promise that none of you return to Yokohama."

"But...why?" the heron clutched herself.

"Because...perhaps I want to be free...some day."

His eyes softened with a small plea that made her sigh with relief. She handed over the little bag with the lollipop emblem, still full of cannabis as he walked off the boat, and untied the rope from its moorings to set it free. The former slaves of Gihei were startled as the boat started to move, the fox taking the helm with Aosukawa beside him as they looked to the killer.

He walked over the bodies, picking up his knives and wiping them clean upon the fresh corpses, before taking back his disguise and making his way upstairs. As the sex workers fled from Jinuchu's grasp, he opened the bag to find a small tape of words that confirmed his suspicions.

Salno's, sixteen fish, Room 17

That night, Toka-chan was just heading to bed. She had curled up with a good book, reading about an exciting pirate adventure in the days of yore before she grew too sleepy. She was somewhat worried, knowing she would only hear the news of success the following morn when a letter would be dropped in her post.

But for now the moon was high, slanting through her window with silver beam as she put down her book, and tucked herself in with her tail wrapped round her negligee. She fell into her dreams, her heart swelling with hope and pride for her recent "delivery".

She never noticed Khoumad Maung, standing in her closet the past two hours waiting for her to fall asleep, his eyes glinting purple between the slats. Gihei would know. Gihei would never tolerate his failure, no evidence of the slaves' departure could ever be found, for his sake.

He walked over to her bed with a single knife in his hand, shining from the moonlight. He would never use this knife again. His last respect to his friend as he whispered.

"Forgive me...my aahpaw."

With one single plunge he went straight through her ribs. A gasping shriek that came without voice, her body arched in a frantic spasm of her heart pulsing against the blade now twisting in her blood. Her arms would slump, her tail fell limp, and her head fell to the side with eyes barely open to the one who killed her.

The only comfort Toka would have, was that her death was a matter of seconds. No evidence would be found, with Maung having melted the blade to dispose of, along with the paper note. But Aosukawa's little bag of cannabis, would remain in his apartment.