Die Trying

So this is what it comes down to.

Final qualifying round of the tournament.

Remy Nakamura up against the machine known as Church.

And I still have no idea where I fit in all this.

I mean, the surface stuff, sure. I win, I fight the finalist from B Block and, honestly… I’m not sure about my chances there. More likely scenario: I lose to Church, lose my shot at the million dollar purse, and worst of all, disappoint the old man.

It’s not like I have an emotional attachment. Maybe he’s been more father to me than I’ve ever had in my life, but that doesn't mean he’ll hesitate to have me killed if I fuck this up. Or make me commit seppuku; who fucking knows?

Best case scenario if I don’t beat Church? I wind up a mid-level Yakuza enforcer for the rest of my life in a locked down city rapidly descending into deeper shit by the hour. That’s if I’m lucky.

So I really don’t have a choice: win -- or die trying.

Fuck me.



“Of course, Mr. Von Brandt. I told you he’d perform admirably, and he has, I think, exceeded your expectations -- low as they may have been,” Shibata said smoothly, a gentle chiding in his tone. “Young Nakamura-san has proven himself quite reliable in these matters.”

A pause, long and gravid with import as Shibata’s carefully controlled expression faltered, just perceptibly.

“Yes,” he replied. “I understand. The White Lotus have been ...disruptive. My man on the inside has suspicions of his own. They are planning on making a power play -- one that could impact the affairs of the Ramses Corporation.”

Shibata’s face contorted in a scowl.

“No. I assure you, that won’t be necessary. The last thing we need is a bunch of your Jabberwock goons running roughshod through my territory. The Yakuza will handle our own problems. I’ll put my best enforcer on it. Although it might make him a little late for his match this week.”

The old man shot me a glance, a knowing smirk playing at his lips, and disconnected the call without further comment.

”So… we’re taking orders from these gaijin now?”

”When confronted with superior numbers, not to mention cutting-edge weaponry, it is unwise to act in haste,” Shibata told me. ”Besides, this means I won’t have to pretend to ask Von Brandt’s blessing to eliminate these Triad scum.”

I nodded, pondering the implications of the discussion. Von Brandt wanted the Triads gone as much as Shibata did; which meant, of course, that Dukes wanted the Triads gone. Von Brandt didn’t so much as take a shit without Dukes ordering him to. At least, that was the impression I’ve had from their interactions these last few months. How a man like Conrad Dukes has a beast like Von Brandt on a leash is another concern -- one I may not be equipped to really comprehend.

When I started down this path, it was for the money. I just wanted to pay off my debt to the Yakuza and get out; get on with my life. But with Vegas on lockdown, what kind of life do I have to go back to?

For that matter, what do I have waiting for me out there anyway?

No prospects. Nothing to aim for. A few watered down dreams and a vague possibility of making it big in some small time promotion. There’s no more UCI or WCF. The days of the global wrestling promotions are past. Realistically, I was looking at maybe going back to N’awlins, set up shop with a gym of my own, maybe not wind up the way my mama did -- serving drinks to a bunch of idiot rednecks and chain smoking myself to an early grave.

But here, in Vegas? I got respect. I’m a Yakuza enforcer, and not even a street level guy. I’m the real shit. Plus I get to wrestle; I live in a five-star hotel; and one day… maybe I make a move of my own. Shibata won’t be in charge forever. He’s already bowing to the demands of these Westerners, and that doesn’t look good in the eyes of the underbosses.

Something occurred to me, then.

”What about Mako?”

”What about him?”

”We have to warn him before we charge in there, guns blazing, or whatever.”

”Mako knows the risks. Tipping him off ahead of time might arouse suspicion. He’ll be fine. He can handle himself.”

I was less than reassured. My mind jumped back to this recurring dream I’ve been having the last few weeks. Some of the details are different each time, but overall, the events are the same:

I find myself standing in the middle of the Lotus Palace -- Mistress Yin’s bordello-slash-opium den -- surrounded by the dead and wounded.

A sound behind me is all the warning I need to thrust my blade backward, skewering a final attacker trying to sneak up on my back.

With a swift flick of the wrist, I fling droplets of blood from my sword and look around at the carnage; the white-haired sorceress isn’t there.

I hear her call my name, softly and as if from a great distance.

I whirl around to find her standing on a dais across the room, Mako poised in front of her as a human shield. She holds a dagger to his throat.

As if possessed of a will of its own, the blade brings itself to bear.

I start forward, but my steps are slow, some unseen force dragging against me; I’m forced to watch in horror as the dagger draws a deep crimson gash along my friend’s throat.

Blood flows freely as he topples in slow motion from the dais.

I rush forward, suddenly free of whatever hindrance had overcome me.

But I’m too late. She vanishes, leaving behind only a chilling laugh that echoes through the still air.

And that, invariably, is where I wake in a cold sweat, heart pounding as the terror of the dream slowly gives way to daylight. I couldn’t shake the feeling that this dream is prophetic. I couldn’t get out of leading the assault on the Lotus Palace; but in spite of Shibata’s wishes, I would have to find a way to warn Mako -- before it was too late.





He meets me at the charred remains of the Graceland Wedding Chapel.

”Why here?” Mako asks, casually blowing out a cloud of fruit-scented vapor.

”First place I thought of, honestly. This is where Oyabun gave me the sword. It seemed, I dunno, significant.”

”Because you think Oyabun is going to betray me?”

His brown eyes dance with mischievous delight. There’s a joke I’m not getting.

Not until it dawns on me.

”Oh. He already warned you.”

Mako laughs lightly.

”Do you really think my uncle is going to let me die at the hands of some Triad assholes?”

Uncle? Well, this complicates matters. My surprise must be evident, because Mako chuckles again as he slips a comforting arm around my shoulders.

”Don’t worry, Remy. Everything’s being arranged. I’m setting the trap. All you have to do is spring it.”

He gives me a wink, and a cocky grin, then walks away in a cloud of vape.

I just hope he isn’t wrong.