| “ | I'm sorry, but I have to do this, only by doing this, can I finally be like everyone else... In truth, I don't wish to kill people.
— Asagami Fujino
|
” |
Fujino Asagamiwas a girl from an unknown city in Japan, with powerful psychic abilities, which were sealed away early in her life. A side effect of this being that Fujino was no longer able to feel pain.
During her days in high school, Fujino was frequently assaulted, beaten, and raped by a gang of delinquents. During one such incident, Fujino's ability to sense pain came back, after one of her attackers drew a knife. Fujino felt a searing pain in her chest and assumed she had been stabbed. At that moment, her powers returned. Fujino proceeded to rip a couple of her attackers limb from limb with her new powers. The others fled, and Fujino was rescued by a young man named Mikiya Kokotou, who she realized was the same person who had helped her before and she had fallen in love with.
Fujino later hunted her attackers down and killed them one by one. In the process of avenging her rape, Fujino also killed an innocent bystander. This brought Fujino's actions to the attention of Shiki Ryougi, who was determined to stop Fujino. Fujino managed to kill all but one of her attackers by the time she caught up with Ryougi. By this point, it was revealed the Fujino had not been stabbed, but the pain in her body was that of a ruptured appendix.
Ryougi and Fujino fought, but in the end, Shiki did not kill Fujino, instead, taking pity on her, used her powers to "kill" the disease inside her without harming Fujino herself. Fujino's powers manifest as ability to psychically twist, bend, and break any object within her visual range, making her an extremely dangerous opponent.
Battle vs Menou (by Leolab)[]
Ch. 1[]
“And so, Mr. Stark, do you have anything to say to the charges from the Fire and Lead Party that Olivier’s policies are too weak on the Wolves?”
“I say the good ‘Senator’ understands business and capital far less than he thinks,” he answers with a smile, “We see progress not through monopoly, but competition. Does he believe he’d even have the chance to preach his ideals if New Latveria hadn’t popped up? Well, given the fact that he’s trying to get the Users to put a thumb on the scale, I’d say he thinks he might have.”
“That’s a very serious accusation, Mr. Stark,” the reporter says as the crowd roils and seethes.
“You only need to look at his most recent endorsement,” Tony says with a laugh, “The Serpent, champion of the RFC. Man’s a good fighter, it’s true, but remember: the RFC was created and funded by Beast directly. Further, I have it on decent authority that the Serpent is one of the Adventurers connected to a User – Beast himself – in much the same way as Leo and Marshall are. Note how those two are staying above the fray, even when asked? Go on, dig into that bit. See if your bosses will let you publish.”
Tony gives a conspiratorial wink, seemingly aimed at the reporter but also signaling the grey-haired boy. The political strategist puts a hand to his ear, whispering a couple lines to a few members of the crowd. They started a chant, which is quickly echoed and swells to a roar.
“PUPPET! ARMSTRONG! PUPPET! ARMSTRONG!”
Tony scans the crowd with a somewhat critical eye. The chant wasn’t bad – only two words, but four syllables was more than the usual. Robin fiddles with his earpiece, giving instructions to another. Likely the poster artists; if he’d already thought of how much better the accusation would be as an image, so would the kid. His eyes land on one person, still and silent, the schoolgirl standing out from the crowd in a way she wouldn’t have before.
The reporter also listens intently, scribbling a few words on a notepad as Tony extends his hands, shushing the crowd. His left arm twists and bends, and he dives out of the way as the mysterious force shears it off. He taps the arc reactor on his chest with his remaining hand, activating his armor which covers the wound as he rises.
“Fear not, friends! Armstrong’s assassin missed the mark, just like their handler’s policies! Calm yourselves, my armor will staunch the bleeding.”
“I believe the official line is that this is from the Wolves, sir?” the closest reporter asks, fresh respect in their voice and bearing. This was going to backfire; he could show strength in the face of adversity.
“You only need to look at the facts. They target only Tyrion’s little gang as well as us in the PFPP. Either Armstrong’s pulling the strings with all the subtlety of a charging bull in heat, or there’s exactly one party the Wolves think will help them. They – ”
Tony’s accusations cut off as his neck twists and shears, splattering blood over the stage. The crowd bays in anger, the businessman’s words taking root and growing into a certainty. None of them notice the girl in an indigo dress slipping away, clutching her side as she grimaces. Asagami Fujino leans against a wall in an alleyway, pulling out a burner phone and sending confirmation to her mysterious handler. The message comes back, short as ever. The words “good job,” with a “thumbs up” emoji, followed by another name.
She grits her teeth as her appendix screams anew, the knife edge of pain ripping through her gut. As is typical for this twisted city, negotiations with DF General Hospital were quite rapid about how it would treat New Latverian dead, but much slower for the living. Her handler assured her that they had connections – the ability to fool records so that she could get treated for her condition. What was a few temporary dead in exchange?
She stumbles out of the alley, making her way towards a safehouse.
Pete Wisdom stands in his office, looking at a trio standing in front of him. A man and a woman, both wearing white, and a teenager in indigo-and-yellow robes. He picks up a set of three folders, moving deliberately towards them.
“As of today, the three of you are members of the Execution Department. With the New Latverian threat raising its head, we need people like you. Happy to kill for the greater good, whether that be because of belief in our laws,” he says, nodding at the white-clad pair, “or simply because they know they have to because no one else will,” he continues, nodding at the girl.
The three nod back, and the younger raises her hand, with a questioning look. Pete nods at her.
“How public is this department?”
“It’s on a need-to-know basis. And as of right now, there’s exactly four people who need to know. Officially, you’re simply part of the DFPD’s Intelligence Division. Master here will be your official direct supervisor,” he says, pointing at the man in white, “But you report directly to me and to no one else.”
He looks at the trio, who all nod in assent, before handing each of them a folder.
“Good. Master, Pupil, here’s your assignments; I want these leaks stopped. Menou, stay for a second. Yours just got a bit of new information that’s not in the file.”
“Sir,” Menou says, nodding and looking through the file as Master and Pupil leave. Various images, mostly of gruesome deaths, litter the initial page. The names of each victim is listed next to their corpse, followed by their political affiliation. Her eyes fall on the latest, Tony Stark. The entire precint had watched that one in the coffee room this morning, so that particular incident is likely as fresh in her mind as it is in his.
“I’m guessing from this he was off the mark about Armstrong?” she asks.
“Maybe. Maybe not. We’re still not entirely sure.”
“Can’t we use Kadingir to catch whoever’s doing this?”
“If only,” Pete says, face twisting as if he had just bitten into a lemon, “Most of the requests relating to New Latverian activity are getting stonewalled. If I can find out who I’ll wring their neck, but that’s part of Pupil’s job. Tony’s at DF General; he claims to have noticed something, but will only talk to a DFPD officer directly. That’s your starting point.”
“Got it, sir. I’ll protect our city, don’t worry,” Menou says, theories clearly running through her mind already as she heads out the door.
“She really is so much like you, isn’t she?”
He leaps into the air, startled at the sudden voice. He turns to see a man in a mask, wearing a long-sleeved shirt and cargo pants, leaning over his desk and looking at the personnel files. He recognizes the intruder fairly easily; there were few in the city’s upper echelons who cared to check on him, and fewer still who would change their voice so for dramatic effect. That leaves one person, whose good side Pete Wisdom is very much not on.
“Leo,” he hisses.
“A fundamentally good person, who does the dirty work so that better people don’t have to. Yes, I can certainly see why you decided to recruit her.”
“Here to tell me to stop?”
“Not at all; you know how the saying goes. Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.”
“I’m not…”
“You can lie to yourself, Pete, but not to me. You saw the DSFB and wanted a slice of that for yourself. A team you can point at all the shady little problems this city has. But without a way to guarantee loyalty, you need more than one. Task Force X. The Execution Department. Who knows how many more?”
“You think this is so that I can put them against each other? A way to take out elements that get too close to my secrets?”
“Isn’t it?” Leo asks, looking up at the mutant. His voice lowers to a conspiratorial whisper, which still somehow reaches Pete’s ears, “I won’t tell Elijah if you don’t.”
And suddenly, Pete was alone in his office once again. He sighs, walking around to his desk. At the very least, he knew someone approved of what he was doing. Even if he had to shove who that someone is to the back of his mind.
Tony Stark waves at Olivier Lenheim as the prince walks out of the inventor’s hospital room, a fresh rose in a vase by his bedside. From most politicians, this would have been a stunt. A show to the media that they look after their own. From his friend, the gesture is sincere. That honesty and unwavering belief in others is what had drawn Tony to his side, and is what ultimately keeps his loyalties. A knock on the door snaps his attention back to the room.
“It’s open,” He says, pulling on his watch and sliding his newly-gauntleted arm under the blanket. The door opens, and a young girl walks in. She has an indigo robe on, the skirt slit high enough that he could see the glint of a metal sheath on her thigh. She opens the book she’s carrying, displaying a DFPD badge.
“So, ‘Menou,’ why’d they send a kid?”
“Because this investigation is classified, and I’m trained to handle covert stuff.”
“Oh, right, right, you ‘anime’ people and your improbable ages,” he sighs, gesturing to the one chair in the room not overflowing with get-well gifts. “So. Armstrong? New Latveria? Collaborators?” he continues as she sits, her book glowing faintly.
“As I said. Classified.”
“Ah, so you don’t know,” he says, studying her reactions. Or, in this case, a startling lack thereof. Whoever trained her did a bang-up job.
“I was told you had information for me?”
“Indeed,” Tony says, making a note of the singular, “When I was giving my speech, the crowd was reacting pretty well. ‘Cause I’m good at that sort of thing. All of them except this one girl. Young, dark purple hair, red eyes.”
“Your type?” Menou asks sardonically, clearly skeptical of his ability to see that much detail of one person in the crowd.
“Nah, not for at least a decade on her end. I think she was around your age… actually, change the color of your hair, lengthen your chin a bit, and you might even be a dead ringer. As I mentioned, she was the only one who didn’t react to a word I said, which made her stand out. Lost sight of her after my arm got ripped off.”
“Ah, so it was tearing,” the girl says, eyes narrowing.
“Yeah, felt like one part of my arm was being twisted one way, and the very next part the other. Worst case of Indian Rugburn I’ve had since I was a boy,” Tony says, laughing, only to stop as the priestess gives him a confused glance. “Ah, right, of course you have no idea what that means. Anyway, so, that happened.”
“All right. Thank you,” Menou says, the glow around the book fading as she rises, “I swear to you, we’ll find the person who did this and stop them.”
“Eh, it’s not really that big a deal. I lived.”
“You’re in the Revival Ward, Mr. Stark. By definition, you didn’t.”
“True, I died, but I’m also still alive. Confusing place we live in. Good luck with the search, but if you actually want to help me out then reduce the observation period so I can get out faster.”
“As you well know, Mr. Stark, victims of a murder are to be kept under observation until their killers are caught. Stopping your assailant will help in exactly the way you want.”
“Fine, fine. Keep me posted, at least.”
Ch. 2[]
A girl with purple hair weaves through a crowd, walking at a brisk pace. Her occasional hiss of pain draws a momentary glance or two from passersby, but she was just one more person suffering in the city. A rather damning indictment of its general character, certainly, but she shoves the thought to the back of her mind.
She hears the sounds of cheering, likely the rally she had been trying to locate, down an alleyway. She swerves into it, foot skidding on a slimy patch as she enters. She barely twists out of the way of a fire escape ladder, only to crash into the wall of the building it’s attached to. She stops cold, shivering as sheer agony screams from her appendix, nearly drowning out conscious thought.
She retains just enough rationality to bite back a yelp of pain, not wanting to draw attention to herself just before killing a target. As her vision returns she spots a disheveled man in a filthy, once-white coat, sword at his waist, reaching out a hand as if to help her.
A portion of her power leaks out of her eyes in panic, ripping a chunk out of the floor in front of him. The man backs off, hands in the air, as she collects herself.
“Sorry,” she mutters, rushing past him.
A few steps take her through the other side of the alley, spotting a brown-haired girl in a black school uniform standing on a stage, the scales of the Prosperity Front emblazoned on the large monitors angled to either side. The idol singer walks around the stage, holding a microphone, stand and all. Her voice and infectious energy whips the crowd into a frenzy, the mass of people making it difficult for Fujino to position herself.
“And give it up for today’s speaker!” Rise shouts, “Ashelia B’Nargin Dalmasca!”
She plants the microphone down in the center of the stage and steps to the side, sweeping her arm to draw the crowd’s attention to the gap between the two screens. The Dalmascan princess walks out, waving, and Fujino seizes her chance. A small, imperceptible distortion flies through the air as she slips away from the crowd. Moments later, the rally erupts in screams and chaos as Ashe’s head falls, ripped off her torso by an invisible force.
Rise sits on the edge of the stage, normally energetic demeanor muted. A mug of formerly-hot chocolate sits beside her as she looks out at the crowd, or what remains of it. She spots her boyfriend, who seems to be speaking guardedly to another girl. A twinge of possessiveness runs through her, which she shakes it off as he turns, waving her towards him.
She hops down from the stage, weaving through the crowd. As she nears, however, she grimaces, feeling a familiar pain in her head. Her eyes dart around, spotting the one thing she fears: a man wearing a mask, a maroon long-sleeved shirt and cruel smile visible in the audience. A force invades her mind, dark burning tendrils seeking and finding her darkest thoughts then insistently ripping them to the forefront of her mind. The power, burning and almost resentful, forcibly rearranges her thoughts and doesn’t even let her cry out in fear.
And then, suddenly, the feeling fades. An icy chill runs through her as she feels a different force, a little clumsy but still firm, wrap around her mind like padded armor. It cuts off the assault, giving her a brief respite. It still felt… eerie, though less so due to its clear care for her wellbeing. The feelings vanish as abruptly as they appeared, a quick glance showing a figure in a green hoodie gesticulating at the first.
Deciding it’s better not to think about this, she finishes weaving through the crowd and wraps her arm around Yu’s. A little tighter than usual; she did need to display some indication he was taken. The other girl, dressed in indigo robes that accentuate her athletic figure with her chestnut hair in a ponytail, gives her a quizzical look.
“Rise, this is Menou with the DFPD.”
“Senpai, I’ve already answered a lot of their questions.”
“I only have three. The first is if Ms. Dalmasca was brought in through some private route?”
“Yeah. We’re not quite as… blasé about this as Tony. The only time she’s been visible today was just before she was killed, and we were on careful lookout for anyone who seemed aggressive.”
Menou scribbles a few things in her oversized book.
“Second, did you see a girl with purple hair? She was likely acting oddly, though perhaps not… aggressively.”
“A girl with… yes, actually. She was near the edge of the crowd.”
“I’ll need to see the stage for the third question. Please, follow me.”
Rise nods, letting go of Yu’s arm and grabbing his hand instead. He gives it a firm squeeze and her a reassuring smile as they follow the DFPD agent. Rise feels herself blush; the man somehow knew exactly what she needs exactly when she needs it.
The young couple trails the Executioner through the police cordon and up to the back of the stage, where she stands near the chalked outline and blood splatter. Menou squints, seemingly trying to picture something, and points straight ahead.
“She was standing about there?”
“I think? Only really caught a glimpse of her.”
“Hmm…” the priestess says, and starts to give off a faint glow before continuing, “I see… a homeless man in a white coat. He might have been closer. Thank you both. You’ve pointed me in a good direction.”
“Happy to help.”
Fujino stumbles into her safehouse, closing the door and sighing. A thunk next to her ear makes her jump, eyes opening wide to see a familiar face up near her own and a knife embedded in her door.
“Shiki.”
“Yo.”
“Why are you here?”
“Why do you think? I know what your powers look like.”
Fujino gives a resigned sigh. Not a whole lot of point in resisting stuff when Shiki has you at knifepoint.
“I’d hoped you’d continue staying out of things.”
“Normally I would… wait. Is that what you’re doing this for?” Shiki asks, looking at the killer’s abdomen.
“And so what if it is?”
Shiki sighs, deflated. She pulls the knife out of the door, stepping aside and allowing Fujino to enter her apartment. As she does, the other woman opens the door, stepping outside.
“Less interesting.,” she says, closing the door.
Ch. 3[]
A silver-haired man in a simple shirt and pants, cloak draped over his back, stands somewhat awkwardly on a heart-shaped stage. Chalis chuckles, nodding in thanks to the brown-haired schoolgirl who had put her in touch with Tyrion. The Stacked Deck hosting a political rally was amusing enough, but having the stiff, formal Dooku clearly trying to ignore his environs to deliver a speech was even more so.
“I can’t tell if that Rise girl is a genius or insane,” Blados grumbles, her brand-new head of security listening with half an ear while looking around the crowd. Someone from the DPFD had mentioned to look out for people with purple hair, which given the cornucopia of hair colors in the city was far too vague.
“Well, she certainly has a grasp on PR in politics,” Chalis says, “The novelty of doing a speech in a brothel will keep the Prosperity Front’s name on peoples’ lips, and they’re showing their pro-business stance by working with one of the largest around. I might even be able to buy a competitor with this profit.”
“That’s all well and good, but… hmm…”
“Wouldn’t the brothel angle turn people away? Dear Blados, all that matters is that people recognize you. They won’t actually care what you’ve done, so long as they remember your name and… you’re not listening to me, are you?”
“Spotted someone. Also scanning the room intently. Indigo dress, yellow mantle, ponytail. Over there,” Blados says, gesturing with his chin before remembering it’s concealed under a scarf, and nodding instead.
“Hair isn’t purple.”
“She has a knife on her thigh.”
“That’s an issue. Let’s…”
Their conversation cuts short as the sound of breaking glass draws the attention of every single person in the room, the accompanying siren blaring over the stunned silence. Blados quickly reaches behind the desk to the panic button as Chalis’ mouth hangs open in shock; that glass had been specially rated to stand up to the full brunt of Godzilla’s Atomic Breath and a full-power Railgun. At the same time.
She sees a glow coming from the girl Blados had mentioned as the shutters start to drop, and she hits his shoulder and points. Thinking quickly, he tosses a Spark Shurkien, the tool separating and stunning her with a bolt of electricity. Half a second later, however, Dooku’s chest bursts in a shower of blood. Blados catches Rise’s eye, and the girl directs the evacuation as he goes to grab their potential perp.
“So,” he asks, planting his sheathed nodachi firmly on her stomach, “Who are you and why are you trying to kill politicians?”
“Menou. And I’m with the DFPD, trying to save politicians. Something you just screwed up.”
Blados shoots Chalis a glance, and the woman nods, calling up the couple DFPD regulars to check. He continues as she speaks, “And why did a ‘DFPD officer’ decide not to disclose they were working a protection detail?”
“Less chance it’ll leak. Also this was a pure hunch, nothing more.”
“Even if you’re worried about a leak, did you consider that other security will see an armed person casting magic at a VIP currently under attack? If you’re truly a member of the DFPD…” Blados trails off, looking at Chalis again, who nods, “well, they’re clearly not selecting for intelligence anymore.”
“Well, if you’re done obstructing a DFPD investigation…” Menou says, only to gasp as Blados presses on the nodachi, its metal-tipped sheath digging into her abdomen.
“ID.”
Menou looks at her Scripture, and then back at Blados. The man nods, and she opens it, displaying her DFPD badge.
“Warrant.”
“This is an active crime – ”
“Warr. Ant.”
Menou simply glares in response.
“Return with one,” he says, lifting his sword and glaring as she scrambles out the door.
Asagami Fujino rests against the wall of DFederal East’s library, the largest publicly available resource of its kind in the city. She closes her eyes for a second, letting the relief and exhaustion wash over her as her painkillers act. She forces her eyes open as the waves of endorphins, no longer lessening her pain, threaten to carry her off to sleep.
She smiles at one of the dozens of black-clad librarians, who nods and looks away, seemingly having confirmed her health. Fujino makes her way to one of the numerous quiet rooms, entering and locking the door behind her. The frosted glass prevents those outside from seeing as she takes out her phone, confirming the identity of her next target before accessing the internet.
A series of quick queries gets her what she needs; despite the threat to their lives, it was also campaign season. These politicians couldn’t afford to cower at home, not if they wanted to show they were strong enough to lead this warlike place. And this one, in particular, would have no reason to believe they would be targeted.
Fujino nods, having committed all the necessary information to memory. She closes her internet browser, hurrying out of the library.
“Next in line, please,” a Dantalion says, looking curiously at a brown-haired girl in blue robes, with a yellow mantle over her shoulders. She opens the large book by her side, displaying a DFPD badge as well as a warrant, alongside a small sheet of paper. The Dantalion waves her to the side, another one taking her place.
“How can we help you?”
“You’ve heard of the recent politician killings?”
“Be a pretty poor keeper of knowledge if I hadn’t.”
“We got a tip that someone matching the suspect’s description was seen leaving here a little bit ago. Have you seen anyone similar to this?” she asks, pushing forwards a piece of paper. Dantalion picks it up, reading it over and trying to recall if they had seen the girl described.
“I’m not quite sure what an appendix ‘straight up trying to uninstall itself’ looks like, but there was a purple-haired girl here who was acting like someone in chronic pain having just taken painkillers. She used one of our quiet rooms with a computer.”
“Can you take me there?”
“Certainly,” the Dantalion says, one of her male bodies coming by and gesturing for Menou to follow. He leads her through the library, weaving through the bookshelves, students, and citizens to come to one of the rooms on an outer wall. He waits outside as the woman walks in, tapping on the keyboard for a few minutes before running out, muttering a brief word of thanks and looking extremely worried.
Curious, he looks inside. The browser history is open, with a page for Fire and Lead’s big rally tomorrow. The headlining speech was none other than Armstrong himself.
“Well. This might get interesting.”
Ch. 4[]
Nathan Hale leans against a pillar in the 1% district, glancing around with his Auger held loose across his chest as the night air chills his bald head. The massive parks were finally useful for something, though most politicians preferred to make use of street corners or petition for convention spaces to be created in the Middle and Lower Districts. He raises his fist as his friend, Joseph Capelli, walks on stage to thunderous applause, following up a silver-haired man.
The DFSB had been directed to let the assassinations run their course, a test of the general resourcefulness of the DFPD. But when asked by his friend to provide security he couldn’t just say no. He looks over the crowd, seeing a blue-haired woman glaring at the stage. Radioing the threat to two other members of the security team, he picks his way through the crowd. The crowd erupts once again, first in cheers as Capelli’s speech finishes and then in boos as Sebastian Vael’s starts.
He claps a hand on her shoulder, forcibly drawing her attention.
“What?”
“You’re glaring pretty hard.”
“Is expressing displeasure a crime? I should have been on that stage, but that stupid fuck of an ‘assassin’ means we ‘have to be careful who we present.’ As if this party’s cared about anything but strength.”
“Well, at least try to do so when we don’t have a credible threat.”
“Come now,” she scoffs, “I’m part of the party. If I wanted them dead I’d have better opportunities. Hmm… now that I mention it… hmmm… If I were to strike then…”
“Ma’am”
“Oh, not here. Or tonight. Better opportunities, remember?”
He sighs, convinced that it wouldn’t at least be a problem now, only to get another call.
“Hale, it’s Hawthorne. Got a ‘girl with purple hair’ trying to get in.”
“Got it, I’ll be right there,” he says, turning off his radio and glaring at the woman one last time. “Behave. Please.”
Hale pushes his way through the crowd, making his way to the front as they announce their big, final speaker: Steven Armstrong. He turns, going to the small cloth tent set up to detain suspicious people, sparing a glance at a brown-haired girl taking notes. He lifts up the flap, seeing Hawthorne standing across a table from a young girl in black clothes with purple hair.
“Hey Nate,” Renne says, “Mind helping me out?”
“It’s not her, Hawthorne.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive. She’s been helping me keep tabs on the attacks, and has a rock solid alibi for each killing.”
“All right, head on in. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry about this.”
“Well, it’s kind of why I’ve been working so hard. Once that description goes around and you match it, well…”
“Come on, man feels bad enough,” Nathan says, clapping his fellow DFSB member on the shoulder, “Armstrong’s speaking; you won’t want to miss that.”
As they step out of the tent, however, the event erupts in screams of terror. The pair looks at each other, running in to see the twisted remains of the stage and the hoisted scaffolding, blood splattered on the ground, though all eyes are on Armstrong kneeling in the center, fist planted into the ground.
“ASSASSIN! HAVE YOU FORGOTTEN WHO I AM?!” he yells, head snapping up as his eyes search the crowd, “TRAUMA MAKES ME HARDER. BETTER. YOU WILL NOT – ” he cuts off, his torso tearing itself in half like tissue paper. A glowing girl with chestnut-colored hair sprints past them, pointing at a different purple-haired girl wearing black. Renne holds Nathan back as he goes to assist.
“Leave her to it. We check for survivors and help the wounded.”
“Right. Good call.”
Asagami Fujino sprints through the city, dry swallowing a painkiller and trusting in the adrenaline to keep her awake. Some girl in blue robes had spotted her, and was sprinting to catch up. She runs across an intersection in time for it to turn red, buying herself a few precious seconds. Just enough time to look across the street and see a masked man, wearing a long-sleeved polo and cargo pants, exiting a convenience store with a large pouch of gummies in hand.
She’s not sure how, but she locks eyes with Leo, sheer panic running through her mind. Her handler had instructed her to do nothing that could possibly be interpreted as aggression towards him, but it was also something of an open secret that the man across from her worked in the shadows to maintain DFederal’s peace. A peace she had definitely disrupted.
She trembles in fear as his hand slowly rises, reaching his mask. Her mind takes a couple seconds to see that he has his index finger pointed upwards over the bottom, similar to a normal person putting a finger over her lips. Her confusion deepens as he flicks his hands, as if signaling that she should leave. He then turns, doing something that draws the attention of her pursuer. As the glowing woman slows to speak to her probable benefactor, her minds starts working again as she turns and sprints away.
She stops once again, a single step sending her a city block away. She looks back, even more confused, but decides to simply trust in the help she’s been given. Fujino continues sprinting, not stopping until she’s safely within New Latverian borders once again.
“Your case is dropped,” Pete Wisdom says, giving Menou a disappointed look.
“Understood, sir,” the girl says, gritting her teeth, “May I ask why?”
“Leo has given us assurances that there will be no more assassinations.”
“But sir, I…”
“Yes, you told me. You think Leo had something to do with the suspect’s escape,” Pete says, grimacing. The girl couldn’t possibly be right; the assassin was identified as New Latverian and Leo was dedicated to the preservation of DFederal, not its ruin. If she was right, then so many things had gone wrong that he might as well just lie down and die.
So, in order to maintain his sanity, he does what he always has. Push his doubts to the back of his mind and hope he hasn’t bet the plot on a madman. He sets down the file related to the assassinations, further pushing aside the question of whether that also applied to Elijah.
“Report to Master,” he says instead, “He’ll have your new assignment.”
“Yes sir,” she says, giving a stiff salute.
“Okay, just walk naturally,” Kirito says, walking next to a girl with brown hair in a white coat. The girl nods as the two enter DFederal General Hospital, the boy walking confidently to the front desk as the girl slips into the bathroom, locking one of the stalls. She flips off the wig, revealing a shock of dark purple hair as she takes off the white coat as well, stuffing it in a duffel bag.
Fujino Asagami steps out, checking in to the hospital under a fake name before sitting in a chair in the waiting room, waiting for her name to be called. She spares a glance for the boy who helped smuggle her in, though upon seeing him trying to placate a girl who looks remarkably similar to her disguise thinks better of thanking him immediately.
“Miss Karino Kyoukai, your appointment is ready,” a voice calls out, and she gets up, leaving the bag behind. She makes her way to the nurse, who reads out the list of surgeries and treatments she’s about to receive for her appendicitis.
She had her reward.
Expert’s Opinion[]
This match was based on a cat-and-mouse scenario, with Menou trying to investigate murders committed by Fujino and catching her before she escapes. Given Fujino’s nondescript nature, the versatility of her power, and the lack of an assistant to help, it was harder for Menou to track her down than her usual targets. This gave Fujino enough of an opening to win.
To see the original battle, weapons, and votes, click hereBattles here were deemed to be unfair or otherwise not in accordance with wiki standards, and have been removed from the statuses of the warriors and displayed below.
Battle vs. Lucy (by SPARTAN 119)[]
Asagami Fujino along a dark alleyway in the pouring rain. At the other end of the hallway stood a woman with pink hair and two conical horn-like projections coming out of her head, only partially concealed by a bow in her hair. The woman's clothing were covered in blood.
Lucy lashed out with her vectors, slashing through the air. Fujino saw a row of trash cans in the alley sliced in half. Fujino ducked just in time, avoiding the vectors, which passed over her.
Fujino focused on Lucy as her eyes glowed red. Lucy's arm was twisted into a spiral shape, blood spraying as the bones in her arm broke in several places. Lucy screamed in pain as her arm was twisted beyond all recognition.
Lucy furious used all four of her vectors to grab a dumpster at the end of the alley and pick it up off the ground. Fujino stared as the dumpster levitated over Lucy, and then flew through the air. Fujino ducked just in time to avoid the lethal projectile, which flew out of the alley into the street, crushing a parked car.
Fujino used her psychic powers again, but this time, Lucy was ready, jumping up into the air by pushing off with her vectors. Fujino's attack instead hit a pipe on the side of building. The pipe, it turned out, was a gas pipe, as it triggered an explosion as it was ruptured, engulfing Lucy in flames.
Fujino walked out into the street, thinking her foe was dead. The streets, she realized, were filled with a mutilated bodies of Lucy's victims. But Lucy was not dead. Suddenly, Fujino heard something whoosh through the air behind her. Four flaming 2x4s flew through the air like javelins, with enough force to embed themselves into into the sides of buildings and vehicles, one of them triggering an explosion as it hit as cars gas tank. The 2x4s missed Fujino, but were quickly followed by a hail of pieces of brick, on impact, they caused damage similar to that of a bullet.
One of the brick fragments grazed Fujino's side, causing her to scream in pain. Lucy lunged out of the alleyway, propelled by her vectors. Time seemed to slow down as Fujino focused on Lucy. Fujino's eyes turned red again as Lucy's head twisted a full 360 degrees before being torn off completely in a spray of blood. Fujino turned her back on the scene of carnage and walked away.
WINNER: Asagami Fujino.
Expert's Opinion[]
Fujino won this battle because the range of her psychic powers were limited only by her line of sight, while Kaede's vectors were limited to a range of four meters. This allowed Fujino to overcome Lucy's higher killer instinct and combat experience scores.
To see the original battle, weapons, and votes, click here.