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Posted by on in Bloody Death

A sequel to From a Hypothetical Yakuza Novel 1, inspired in part by a certain unused scene in Kill Bill: sister of the slain kunoichi seeks revenge, even if it's the last thing she does.

From a Hypothetical Yakuza Novel, Scene 2

A gust of chilly wind caught him as he rounded another corner, penetrating the light jacket that he wore over his usual business suit, causing him to instinctively scrunch his shoulders a little. This evening, the roundabout path from the chore of overseeing the Clan's industrial district operations to his car had taken him in front of Warehouse D-21. On the outside, it was no different from the other blocky, rust-colored structures that lined the street, with an occasional working street lamp.

D-21 brought back recent memories, though: a few months before, it was there that he had fought and slain the infamous Jade Kunoichi and her retainers. The police lines and the bodies were long gone now, with nothing to show for it: everybody in his world knew just who had done it and why, but nobody wanted the police involved, least of all the police themselves.

He stopped. Ahead of him, he had spotted a figure causally sitting on top of the farthest lamppost on that block. Outwardly, he did nothing, but he was already planning his next move.

“Good evening!” It was a cheerful female voice. A moment later, she gracefully flipped off her perch, landing noiselessly into the spotlight. He remembered where he had seen her: it was at the ceremony that took place two weeks after the deaths of his uncle and the Jade Kunoichi. There, a peace agreement with the Jade Clan had been formalized. A younger sister of the Jade Kunoichi, she had stood out from the rest of her clan with her not-quite-traditional bleached blond hair and a dark brown artificial tan. He had heard they called that fashion “ganguro,” though she seemed to eschew the heavy makeup that “ganguro” supposedly wore.

Rather than the skimpy uniform of a Jade-clan kunoichi, she was wearing an even skimpier version of a “sailor” school uniform, consisting of a short-sleeved white button-down shirt and a jade-colored miniskirt. She wore it braless, he could tell, because the shirt was unbuttoned and tied off under her breasts, revealing much of the deeply tanned flesh of her bosom and all of her toned abdomen. The skirt, too, was short enough that every gust of wind revealed a similar lack of panties, along with the knowledge that she shaved her pubic hair. She wore no footwear, but he could see the toenails of her bare feet were painted jade green, like those of her late sister. He always did admire the physical and mental conditioning Jade Clan applied to their trainees: though half-naked in the cold, she was showing no discomfort, or shivering. Unlike most of the Jade Clan’s ninja, she did not appear averse to using firearms: on her belt, she had two hand grenades (that he could see), an Uzi, and several magazines of ammunition.

“Good evening.”

“You sure took your time getting here. I've been freezing my butt up there every night for a week!”

“May I presume that this is about your elder sister?”

“Right. I am here to kill you for what you did to her.”

Normally, such a declaration would have been met with a quick draw and a killing shot, but this time, there was the matter of justifying it before their two clans: without proof that he was threatened, killing her at this point could be considered aggression. Thus, he chose his words carefully: “It was my humble understanding that our clans had come to an agreement that the Jade Kunoichi's actions in facilitating the death of my uncle were driven by a desire on her part to provoke me into a test of fighting prowess. It was also my understanding that the honorable and respected Jade Clan has disavowed her actions, acknowledging my revenge on her as legitimate, and thus not subject to retribution by the honorable and respected Jade Clan or...”

“You just don't get it, do you?! You're just like the Elders!” The girl interrupted. “You think it's just because you killed her. So you killed her. She was ready to die, if you proved stronger than her! But you didn’t give her that! She said that whoever won, the winner would never forget the battle. She even waited until you killed all of her retainers to confront you! And you just shot her!”

Her voice shifted lower, turning into a growl.

“I saw her body. I can read blood spatter as well as anybody. I know you shot her through the throat after she challenged you. You bastard...”

He observed her, responding in the same, overly formal language: “At no point did I make a secret of what had taken place, nor of my intentions. Whereas her goal was to provoke me into a blade duel, my goal was to kill her.”

...
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Posted by on in Amazon Combat

I wake up to the sounds of klaxxons blaring. Red light sweeps across the barrack room me and my sister-troopers had been assigned.

 "Incoming Rebel Attack" a robotic voice declares, its monotone expression sounding disinterested. The message repeats as I push myself out of my bed, my naked body trembling with excitement.

"Come on, bitches! Battlestations!" My commander's voice prompts me to move faster as she steps into the room. I slide the white briefs of my uniform up my legs, settling them across my firm ass and hips even as the commander storms across the room to ensure we weren't slacking. "Those rebel sluts think they can just take our ship? We'll show them what the Empire thinks of their shitty little plans!"

We dress quickly, though several girls get a sharp crack of the commander's baton as a reminder that the Empire didn't tolerate lollygagging. As I pull my black top over my head, settling it across the humps of my B-cup breasts, I can't help but notice the way my hard nipples poke through the otherwise smoothly drawn fabric; I couldn't wait to kill some rebels!

"T44, T94 & T100. Report to Airlock 54 and join-up with the defending force there. Those sluts are gonna try to board us, you make sure they don't." Three girls snap quick salutes and hurry from the room. "T55 & T63, they need extra gun crews on the starboard side. Get over there and fry anything that comes within range of the ship" I stand up tall and salute, though I hadn't even had time to get my boots on. I hurry out wearing only the black stockings that normally went under our armoured boots; I wouldn't need them where I was going anyway.

The ship is large, one of the new Imperial cruisers meant to supplement the larger Destroyers. We weren't as well armoured, but the ship could repel most attacks on its own. I had been assigned to it only a week earlier, fresh from the training center and eager to distinguish myself in battle! Now the entire place was in an uproar. Red flashing lights bathed the scene with a blood-like tint that only heightened the peak of adrenaline coursing through me.

A small troop of girls in black leotards and tall boots march past me in one of the wide corridors, all of them holding helmets under their arms; pilots! Their designations match those of us troopers, but the T replaced with a P, and their heads held higher; I wanted to be one so badly! I watch them go before T63 pushes me along, "Hurry up, stupid, before they discard us both for dereliction!" I shudder at the thought; dereliction of duty by a clone-trooper was usually punished by immediate disintegration... I'd seen a few girls be discarded, nothing left of them but smoking ash-filled boots... I hurry.

The gun battery is in full operation by the time I arrive, and the commanding officer quickly has us in place. The guns are manned individually, each girl sitting back in a bucket-reared seat facing a control panel and a pair of large sticks, each capped by a blinking red button. As I sit, the control panel crackles to life and I'm looking outside the ship! Enemy fighters are everywhere! Our own fighters are marked by green outlines to ensure we don't fire on them.

"Fire at will, bitches!"

I do just that. My seat rumbles a little with each shot, bringing a blush to my lightly freckled cheeks as I focus on what I'm shooting at. I can't see the pilots of the ships, but as I put a stream of red-coloured laserfire through the hull of an enemy fighter, I can only imagine the look on the pilot's face. I gasp softly as the fighter explodes, sending chunks of debris sprialing lazily away into space.

There! Another one! I open fire and I'm rewarded by the fighter dissolving into a streaking fireball, the girl inside it no doubt shrieking in horror for the second or two she's given before the entire thing explodes, and she's reduced to space-dust.

I fall into the flow of it easily. Fighter after fighter falls to my lasers, but there're so many more to replace them! Our own fighters continue to fight, but the number of green-lit ships on my screen begins to dwindle. I think of the pilots I'd seen heading for their ships on my way to the guns; the way their bodies had been shaped by the tightly stretched lycra-like leotards they'd worn, the small pistols bouncing in their leg holsters, the way they'd carried themselves so proudly... were all of those girls dead yet? I shiver in my seat even as another blast of laser fire causes it to rumble beneath me. I can feel the slight dampness of my panties as they cling to my aroused skin; this was even better than I thought it'd be!

My inattention nearly costs me. An enemy fighter squadron had been assigned to quiet our guns! They open fire, sending torpedoes and laser fire directly into our array of weapons. I open fire once more, but it's too late to stop them! A girl several seats over shrieks out a submissive, "NYAAAAAAHHH!" as her gun is destroyed, sending electrical feedback through her system and filling the short blonde's body with deadly electricity. She's cooked on the spot! Her body shakes, tits jostling in her tight top, and her tongue hanging out of her mouth stupidly as she stares wide-eyed at the crackling monitor. Finally, she topples forward, face-planting into the controls.

A brunette nearby suffers a similar fate, jerking and writhing in her chair as her deathcry fills the air. "AIIIIIIEEE!!!" Gritting her teeth, the brunette dies with a look of agony on her face, slumping back in her chair with her legs wide and her panties soaked by a final humiliating orgasm.

Nearly 10 of our 24 guns are destroyed, the girls manning them screaming as they die. Each of us continues to fire, however, as though unaware of the girls dying around us. Each look of determination remains solid until it's that girl's turn to shriek and dance in their seat.

...
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