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Keiko versus Junko

Posted by on in Bloody Death
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Keiko shooting up the barefooted schoolgirl gangsters

This story is inspired this picture by MikeA that he recently reposted. I thought it was unfortunate that none of the girls even got a chance to fight back, so I wrote up a "context" explaining how this happened and providing a less one-sided aftermath, when MikeA's assassin Keiko faces Junko, the leader of these barefooted schoolgirl gangsters...

Keiko versus Junko

Junko's short skirt and long, black hair flared as she leaped yet another fence. She did not pause, continuing her sprint toward the ambush site. The girl was dressed in the short-sleeved white sailor blouse, presently soaked in sweat and clinging to her firm, braless breasts, and a dark blue skirt: the uniform of the Madam Fukisuki Memorial High School, where she was a Senior. It had been modified into her gang uniform: the blouse cut to only slightly below her ribs, showing off her washboard abs, the skirt shortened to defy even the Fukisuki High's already permissive dress code by an inch or two, and the socks and the shoes removed, the toughened soles of her bare feet propelling her down the street and into the city block's interior.

Her eyes widened as the rattle of gunfire reached her, echoing through the city block. She was too late. She rounded a corner in time to see the last of her gang's Senior class, known as the "Berserker Bitches of Fukisuki High," collapse in a hail of gunfire emanating from the twin machine pistols wielded by their leather-clad owner, their supposed target.

She stood there in her high-heeled leather boots, blasting away, her expression clinical, neither worried nor relieved, her aim steady and deadly despite the recoil. Junko's gang's machine pistols -- the ones that the yakuza had given them the day before as an advance payment for eliminating this assassin, Keiko -- lay scattered on the concrete sidewalk, dropped by their new owners, who were very much surprised when their new guns failed to shoot, moments before they were methodically riddled by the much more functional weapons of their target. In retrospect, the deal had been too good to be true: a dozen hard to smuggle, expensive guns, with no strings attached, just for killing one solitary woman, with all the details of how to do it handed to them. Junko did not know exactly how they had rigged the guns to work one day and fail the next; nor did she care. All she knew was that the yakuza must have known that the gang had no place to test-fire the guns the morning of the attack, and that this Keiko was not the real target: Junko and her gang were. Alas, she had figured the ploy out too late, and despite her mad dash, she was not able to warn them in time.

Her girls -- no: her friends -- had been so cheerful and optimistic as they were heading out of the gang's improvised HQ to execute their first real hit, brandishing their new arms, their ticket to the big leagues they felt they had earned, having proven their mettle against other street gangs. And, to Junko, at least, the saddest cut of all was that they could have probably succeeded in taking out the leather-clad hitwoman, if they had eschewed the guns and gone in with the weapons they had trained to use: knives, chains, baseball bats, or even just their bare fists and bare feet. One or two (perhaps even Junko herself) might have had to sacrifice themselves to pull it off, but the gang had courage, loyalty, and camaraderie enough. Instead, lulled into overconfidence by their new guns and surprised and demoralized when they did not fire, they were massacred like a bunch of helpless schoolgirls.

Keiko fired her last burst at the ambushed gang girls, and looked down the alley, now strewn with the twitching sailor-suited barefooted bodies: the entire Senior class of the gang. She shifted her guns to aim at the newcomer. Junko was looking back at her, panting, involuntary tears flowing down her cheeks, her bangs matted to her forehead. The girl clenched her teeth, a growl rising in her throat. She grabbed the switchblade concealed in the waistband of her skirt and rushed at the hitwoman. Keiko frowned and pulled the trigger, her pistols obediently sending bursts of death at the charging schoolgirl. Three bloody holes exploded on her exposed abdomen as bullets impacted. Another splattered into her groin, staining her white panties crimson. Junko grunted and folded a little, pushed back by the sheer momentum of the bullets, but then straightened out, once again rushing at the hitwoman, the same growl rising in her throat. Keiko fired another burst and each of Junko's breasts bounced from a bullet impact, blood splattering over her white blouse, with the third bullet leaving a deep cut in her upper arm. The girl felt nothing amid the adrenaline and the heartache and her bare feet kept pumping, her eyes fixated on the hitwoman, lips parted in a grimace, her knife's blade and her lifeblood glistening in the bright noonday sun.

Keiko's machine pistols clanked, their slides locking open, their ammunition exhausted. The wounded girl reached striking range, and the hitwoman leaned back to avoid a high roundhouse kick, which nevertheless swept her empty guns out of her hands. Not skipping a beat, Junko followed it up with a horizontal swipe of her blade that cut into the hitwoman's bodice and left a thin line of crimson on her flesh. That swipe was followed by another and another, and Keiko's heels beat a staccato on the pavement as she backed off under the girl's furious and relentless assault. She twisted out of the way of yet another swipe of Junko's blade, and used the momentum to pivot and knee her shorter opponent in the side. Junko barely grunted as she staggered back a step, and thrust her blade at Keiko. But Keiko had drawn a combat knife from a sheath in her boot before returning her foot to the ground. Catching her enraged opponent's wrist, the leather-clad hitwoman pulled her in and thrust her own knife out, letting the barefooted girl impale herself, the serrated blade tearing into her gut, to the hilt. Junko let out a gurgling moan and once again pushed forward, trying to bring the point of her knife down toward Keiko, her impaled abs grinding against Keiko's knife hand and forcing Keiko to once again back up to avoid falling on her back.

Keiko's back hit a wall and, in her surprise, she let the blade drift closer to her throat. Junko put both hands her switchblade's hilt and pressed on, trying to force it down. With nowhere to retreat, Keiko let go of her own knife, grabbing the girl's other wrist as Junko put her whole weight down on the knife. Their faces less than a foot apart, Keiko may have even felt something like genuine fear as she watched her opponent's enraged stare and her grimace of pain and exertion: even as blood flowed abundantly between her lips and her shirt and skirt were likewise soaking in it as her many bullet wounds sapped her strength and even as Keiko's shifting knife tore up her belly, the crazed girl was somehow managing to make the blade drift toward Keiko.

But Keiko was not going to be killed by this amateur. The girl's exertions had caused her to almost lift herself off the ground, her feet losing traction. With a grunt of effort of her own, Keiko shoved at Junko's hands even as she let the blade come down, redirecting it into Junko's own chest. The girl could do nothing as switchblade swung around and jammed hard into her sternum. Her eyes widening more from surprise than pain, she staggered back two steps, her hands releasing the knife that was now sticking out between her breasts. Looking down with the same puzzled expression, she put one hand on it, and pulled on it gingerly, as if trying to remove it. Still pulling on it, she took a step toward Keiko, then tipped forward against the taller woman, vomiting blood over her chest before sliding down her body and collapsing on the ground in a heap.

Keiko looked down at herself, her own adrenaline subsiding and the shallow but painful cuts her dying opponent had managed to inflict making themselves known. "What a hellcat," she grumbled, suddenly appreciating just why the yakuza went to such great lengths to set up these Berserker Bitches of Fukisuki High rather than take them head-on, "She better not have rabies or some shit..."