"Killing Moon" | Flowers of Carnage
Jan 31, 2024 18:35:24 GMT -5
anthony, DiOGee, and 1 more like this
Post by JNK on Jan 31, 2024 18:35:24 GMT -5
Panic.
Swirling red.
Hanako rubs her hands together aggressively beneath the faucet, water turning pink and circling the drain as she does her best to wash the sticky red from her pale flesh. She whimpers, gritting her teeth… feeling her face become hot. Tears threaten to fall but simply dam up at the edge, blurring her vision before an errant blink allows one to make a break for it, escaping downward… tracing her subtle jawline and falling to its ultimate doom, the swirling watery graveyard below.
HANAKO: < Please… please, please, please. >
The words are a frantic whisper, almost drowned out by the combined efforts of the pouring water and the buzzing fluorescent lights overhead. The vending machine corner store restroom is compact… walls turning yellow-brown with age and… misuse, as evidenced by stale brown spatter just above the murky green floor.
HANAKO: < Why isn’t it coming off? >
She listens to the tone of her voice… she hates it. She sounds like a child. Her eyes fall upon the knife on the edge of the sink, a kitchen knife with a wooden handle and rust along the edges of the blade where the blood doesn't reach. Her hands tremble beneath the hot water and wisps of steam travel upward. She smells pennies. She swallows hard, becoming aware… feeling present, fully in the moment, and she meets her own gaze in the mirror, cracked and turning brown from age and cigarette smoke. She sees movement in the shadows immediately behind her… flecks of blue and red. She hears their voices –
– no.
She doesn’t hear them.
She feels them.
Shutting her eyes tight, the voices of Yutaka and Kusaka wash over her and she feels the fist in her chest, the knot in her stomach… the weight on her shoulders. Opening her eyes, a single tear falls. Realizing she’d been holding her breath the entire time, she exhales deeply and sees her breath form in front of her, a fine mist despite the humidity in the cramped room.
HANAKO: < F*ck… f*ck. >
She looks down at the water continuing to circle the drain… and then at her hands themselves, pale, beginning to prune, red having crept into every crack and crevice. She plunges them back underneath the water, feels the warmth begin to give way to cold… and probably only jumps about a foot in the air when she hears the knock on the door. The voice on the other side of the door is a female, young… meek.
ATTENDANT: < Excuse me, miss… there’s a time limit on the restrooms. >
Hanako stiffens up, feeling that fist in her chest tighten.
ATTENDANT: < There are other customers, okay? Customers that have made purchases. >
Chewing her bottom lip for a moment, she looks over her shoulder at the door only a couple feet behind her… the only thing separating her from someone finding out what she’s done… or at least that she’s done something very bad.
HANAKO: < Hey, I’m sh!tting, okay? Really spraying out both ends! >
Silence on the other side of the door.
HANAKO: < So you should probably f*ck off, then… and bring a mop when I’m done! >
Silence – no, not silence.
ATTENDANT: < I don’t smell anything and I can hear you running water. What are you doing in there? >
HANAKO: < I SAID F*CK OFF! >
< / > denotes foreign language translation
Days earlier.
It’s night and what streaks of moonlight are able to escape the ragged black clouds drifting past pierce through the ground-level window at the edge of the ceiling in Junko’s sub-basement apartment. Only the light of the moon and the lamp on Junko’s nightstand provide illumination for the task at hand. Junko sits cross-legged on the bed, watching a video on her phone… grimacing with each bump and crash, the sound of bodies landing in a wrestling ring.
Thump… thump… thump…
The other sound in the room, the monotonous thud of Hanako’s sneakers hitting the bedroom wall over and over, lying flat on her back next to the bed, hands behind her head… orange hair splayed out. Junko does her best not to let the noise bother her but the timing is rotten.
JUNKO: < Hana-kun, stop. >
So are the consequences if Ohba-san wakes up.
HANAKO: < Junko-chan, how much more research is there to do? >
She rolls over onto her stomach, raising her legs behind her and crossing her ankles. Junko taps the screen, pausing the video. The sound of in-ring chaos stops and silence overcomes the bedroom.
JUNKO: < One can never do too much research – >
Hanako rolls her eyes.
JUNKO: < – especially when their opponents are bigger, stronger, and have far more experience. Do not forget, Hana-kun… you have never even had one match. >
HANAKO: < But I have trained, Junko-chan… I’ve had more training than you had before your first match and you did just fine. You’re a former champion. >
Junko takes a deep breath and looks away before speaking, defeat in her tone.
JUNKO: < Yes, a former champion… and I might still be a champion if I had trained more… worked harder… truly did my best… but I was tired and beaten down the last time I stepped into the ring with Joe Montuori – >
HANAKO: – wahhh.
Junko stops, raising an eyebrow.
JUNKO: < Did you just say – > …wah?
HANAKO: < You sound like a baby. >
JUNKO: < I don’t think you’re taking this as seriously as you should. Last year, I had a partner who also did not take our objective seriously… and it cost us dearly. I do not intend for that happen again. Do you understand? >
HANAKO: Wahhhhh.
Hanako giggles, looking up at Junko from the floor. Junko looks down at her from the bed and thinks back to their time in the pink room, Hanako on the bottom bunk, how they would laugh and whisper so that Honma and Miyagi didn’t hear them outside. She thinks about that time behind the padlocked door and feels the weight of it on her mind, does her best not to get angry or say something she might regret.
This is just Hanako’s way.
It always has been.
JUNKO: < I… really want to win this tournament, Hana-kun. >
Hanako’s smile falters and she looks down at the floor. She takes a breath, exhaling before directing her sleepy eyes back up toward Junko, finding the girl in blue looking away… never good about making eye contact, even when they were children.
HANAKO: < I know, Junko-chan. I will win it for you, okay? >
The moon illuminates Hanako’s eyes, makes her pale face almost glow in the dark. Junko runs her hand through her hair, pushing a blonde streak behind her ear. She swallows and looks down, turning her gaze back toward the girl in orange.
HANAKO: < That’s why I’m here, right? >
Junko sounds sad, beaten down by the past several months.
The past several years, even.
JUNKO: < I don’t know, Hana-kun – >
Hanako tilts her head to the side like a dog hearing the squeak of its favorite toy.
JUNKO: < – that’s what I’m still trying to figure out. >
Stone.
Cold and harsh.
The room resembles a cell, down to the thick black bars on the window. The floor, concrete. In the corner, a pile of hay… and more hay scattered about. Despite the barren nature of the room, it’s messy and the smell… is raw, animalistic. It’s night and the moon is visible through the window, a sliver of pale yellow hanging amid the darkness. There’s a sound of footsteps as Junko walks into the shot, clad in a blue tracksuit over a “TPW” t-shirt. Hands in her pockets, she doesn’t look into the camera. Her head is bowed, black hair with blonde streaks hanging in her face. She speaks aloud, looking down at the floor.
JUNKO: < This is where it all began for me in TPW. >
A slight breeze moves her hair, revealing her eyes.
JUNKO: < The SEX Cup Tournament. >
Slowly, she turns her head, looks into the camera, speaking with confidence.
JUNKO: < Sight unseen, I answered the call of a competitor in need… desperate to make a name for myself in the United States, I agreed to team with this person and, together, we did the impossible and made it to the semi-finals. The experts didn't believe that we would make it out of the first round… they said that the Boomer Shooters were too good, had too much experience for a rookie team to defeat… but we beat them anyway. >
She takes a deep breath, exhales through her nose.
JUNKO: < In the second round of the tournament, those same experts were certain again that we would be eliminated… as we stood across the ring from Tyler Cage and his partner, the legendary James Raven. Again, we proved the experts wrong when we won against impossible odds. >
She straightens up… authority creeps into her voice.
JUNKO:< In the semi-finals, we met our match… falling to the Gangsters of Christ… the reigning IIW World Tag Team Champions… the undefeated forever champions, as they like to call themselves. What happened afterward… is a story for another time. >
She bows her head slightly, politely.
JUNKO: < Let’s just focus on this year’s tournament, okay? >
She bows again.
JUNKO: < Let’s talk about the New Breed. >
She looks around the room curiously.
JUNKO: < Don’t mind my surroundings. I know it’s a mess, okay? >
Shrug.
JUNKO: < But I felt it was important to get inside the mind of a beast. >
Sho Miyagi.
She stalked him.
She followed him for days, learned his routines… and took the knife from Ohba-san’s kitchen while Junko was sleeping. She knew that Junko wouldn’t approve… she’d done her best to move on from the past, looking toward her future as a number one professional wrestler. Hanako found herself unable to move on so easily… but her circumstances were different –
– complicated.
Akihabara is crowded, noisy… exactly as she remembers it from her time roaming the streets as a delinquent youth. Several times a week, Miyagi comes here… spending about half an hour at a pink salon masquerading as a maid café. As always, she watches as the heavy-set man staggers out of the establishment in his drab gray suit, his eyes sunken in… lifeless. She sees the stumps of missing fingers on his right hand… and she knows why that happened to him. Despite that punishment, despite how far he’s fallen… despite being a shadow of the pink and white colossus he once was under the command of King Kota Amasaki, she knows one thing for certain –
– feels it in her heart.
It’s not enough.
She follows him into the alley, the shortcut he always takes when returning home. No witnesses… only the murmuring of passers-by, the night, and the moon above. She grips the wooden handle in her fist, calls out to him… her voice, low and cold.
It cuts through the night air.
He feels it.
HANAKO: < Miyagi-san. >
He stops, turning on his heel in an almost comical fashion… nearly falling over in the process, catching himself on a nearby dumpster. He sees the young girl wearing the black hood, orange hair framing her pale features.
MIYAGI: < I already paid, kid. I can’t afford another. Next week, maybe – >
HANAKO: < You don’t remember me? >
His eyes narrow as realization sets in. His mouth becomes dry.
He’s never felt more sober.
MIYAGI: < I… I don’t work for them anymore. >
He swallows.
MIYAGI: < I’m an honest man now. I own a legitimate business. >
He takes out his wallet, unfolding it… revealing a strip of photos.
MIYAGI: < I have a wife – >
HANAKO: < I don’t care. >
He breathes heavily, sweat pouring off his reddened face. He sees the knife in her hand, rusted along the edges, flickering in the moonlight. He kneels down, setting his wallet on the pavement… the strip of photos on top of it. He gives it a gentle pat and stands upright, straightening his tie. He looks her in the eye and his tone is flat… acceptance.
MIYAGI: < What are you, huh? Some kind of ghost… out for vengeance? >
HANAKO: < No – >
Her eyes narrow and darken… the black water is there –
HANAKO: < – worse than that. >
– cold, deep, cruel.
The stone cage.
Hanako walks into the shot, orange and black.
Using her sneaker, she kicks at some of the hay on the floor, a look of disgust on her face that slowly creeps into a repulsed sneer. Junko, still staring into the camera, cringes as Hanako’s words reverberate in the concrete chamber.
HANAKO: < It smells like sh!t in here. >
Junko huffs. Hanako rolls her eyes, bowing her head.
HANAKO: < Sorry. >
She falls into the background, silent as Junko continues.
JUNKO: < John Cable, your reputation precedes you. I’ve heard your name before, spoken in hushed whispers throughout the wrestling world. I never imagined that you and I would cross paths one day… but here we are. >
Junko throws her head back slightly, tossing the hair out of her face.
JUNKO: < You’ve led a troubled existence, as have I – >
She looks over her shoulder at Hanako, a hint of sadness in her tone.
JUNKO: < – as have both of us. >
She faces the camera again.
JUNKO: < Your tragedy… your trauma… it has shaped you into the person you are today… and despite the things that happened to you, you became a successful professional wrestler, even a philanthropist with your billion dollar charity. You’re a champion in more ways than one despite the world’s attempts to hold you back. >
Junko raises her chin, staring down her nose into the camera.
JUNKO: < I'm a champion, too, John Cable… though I haven't held as many titles as you. I've only been wrestling for two and a half years, after all. I hope that doesn’t make you think less of me – >
HANAKO: < – what are you doing? >
Junko raises an eyebrow, appearing annoyed by the interruption.
HANAKO: < Why are you hyping him up? At your expense, too. Isn’t this wrestling? Just tell him he sucks. Tell him you’re going to beat him up! I did some of that dumb boring research you wanted me to do and guess what I found? He just got embarrassed by some geek named Enigma and lost his LAST CHANCE at the Smash Championship in WGWF. >
JUNKO: < Hana-kun, that’s disrespectful. >
HANAKO: < It’s not disrespectful. It’s the truth! I saw it on the Wikipedia! >
Hanako approaches from behind, using her fist to nudge Junko by the shoulder.
HANAKO: < He’s big and old… and he looks like he smells like a fish market… but you’ve beaten guys that are bigger, older, and smellier than you before – >
Hanako turns, looking into the camera.
HANAKO: < – did you hear that, John Cable? Are you paying attention, Sebastian St. Paul? Junko-chan is as tough as they come… and you two might be big and strong, propping up your so-called intimidating reputations on your long histories of shocking acts of violence but that doesn’t scare her… that doesn’t scare us. As a matter of fact, we invite you to do your worst! >
Junko raises her hand, quietly silencing Hanako. She cuts her eyes in Hanako’s direction, visibly frustrated by the tone she’s taken. Junko lets it sit for a moment, allowing the weight of Hanako’s words to settle in the air before speaking, a matter-of-fact tone in her voice.
JUNKO: < John Cable… Sebastian St. Paul… I ask that you forgive her disrespect while still taking heed of her words. She is correct that I have defeated opponents far larger and more experienced than myself… and we have both witnessed things that most might consider shocking. We are both small and inexperienced but we are more than two little girls. We’ve grown far beyond that and, while I may not agree with her tone in addressing you, the New Breed, do not make the mistake of thinking we do not share the same goal… that our intentions are not similar in nature – >
Removing her hands from her pockets, she points into the camera, eyes wide.
JUNKO: < – we will defeat you. >
Hanako nods, a smirk creeping across her face.
JUNKO: < I am not the same little girl who tried to weave a dream from nothing one year ago. I am so much more than that now. James Raven, Tyler Cage, Brooke Blakely, Nova Skye, Joe Montuori… all names that have fallen behind me since the day I stepped foot in Thunder Pro Wrestling for the first time. They all made the mistake of underestimating me… and it cost them. >
Silence again, only the sound of Junko’s heavy breaths.
JUNKO: < Challenging for the International Championship, one more match with Joe Montuori, and winning the SEX Cup Tournament… those are my resolutions for 2024. I need this victory, John Cable. I need it badly, Sebastian St. Paul… this year, failure is not an option. If the Flowers of Carnage are going to win this tournament, that means you have to lose… four rounds in total, someone has to be first! Every match could be our LAST CHANCE… something you can appreciate, I am sure. >
Hanako covers her mouth but her eyes betray the smile she’s hiding.
JUNKO: < I regret to inform you that Friday night will be your LAST CHANCE in Thunder Pro Wrestling as well. In order to advance to the next round, we must defeat you… we must move on to the quarter-finals against The Cabal and Cataclysm and, for that to happen, we must leave you behind, a distant memory. >
Junko sighs, averts her eyes… the authority slips out of her tone.
JUNKO: < It’s not personal… it is only pro-wrestling. >
She bows her head slightly.
JUNKO: < Please understand. >
Now.
The vending machine corner store.
The attendant is mid-knock when the lock clicks and the metal door creaks open. Hanako steps out into the small shop, walls lined with aging vending machines, hands hidden inside the sleeves of her oversized black canvas jacket, droplets of water falling on the floor from within. She averts her eyes and attempts to quietly shuffle past the attendant, a young girl, roughly the same age with long black hair and a denim jacket. She narrows her eyes, struck by confusion upon seeing the girl in black, pale face framed by messy orange hair. The attendant’s voice cracks upon speaking the word, one she’s not spoken in a long, long time.
ATTENDANT: < …Hanako? >
Hanako stops in her tracks, gripping the wooden handle of the knife in her sticky wet fist inside her sleeve. Slowly, she turns and faces the girl, head down, eyes directed upward… orange hair obscuring her features. So determined to clean her hands, she’s unaware of the pink smudge on her cheek, just beneath her left eye, thankfully hidden behind a curtain of orange. She sees the attendant, studies her face… recognizes her in an instant and experiences a crippling weight threatening to push her down onto her knees. She remembers the last time she saw her.
The night they were caught stealing cigarettes from a corner store for Sasori Kinosh!ta.
The night her father told her that her delinquent behavior was killing her mother.
She remembers seeing the girl running away, vanishing into the crowded streets of Akihabara as Officer Yonai threw her into the back of his police cruiser to wait for her father… the Chief Inspector of the police department. The memory hits her hard… harder than she cares to admit, given her tough exterior but she’s tired physically and mentally –
– there was work that had to be done.
The knife falls from her sleeve and clatters on the floor between them. The attendant looks down at the knife stained sticky red and then up into the wounded eyes of the girl in black and orange, frozen in place like a deer in headlights.
ATTENDANT: < It’s really you. >
Hanako’s voice is barely a whisper.
HANAKO: < Satori. >
Swirling red.
Hanako rubs her hands together aggressively beneath the faucet, water turning pink and circling the drain as she does her best to wash the sticky red from her pale flesh. She whimpers, gritting her teeth… feeling her face become hot. Tears threaten to fall but simply dam up at the edge, blurring her vision before an errant blink allows one to make a break for it, escaping downward… tracing her subtle jawline and falling to its ultimate doom, the swirling watery graveyard below.
HANAKO: < Please… please, please, please. >
The words are a frantic whisper, almost drowned out by the combined efforts of the pouring water and the buzzing fluorescent lights overhead. The vending machine corner store restroom is compact… walls turning yellow-brown with age and… misuse, as evidenced by stale brown spatter just above the murky green floor.
HANAKO: < Why isn’t it coming off? >
She listens to the tone of her voice… she hates it. She sounds like a child. Her eyes fall upon the knife on the edge of the sink, a kitchen knife with a wooden handle and rust along the edges of the blade where the blood doesn't reach. Her hands tremble beneath the hot water and wisps of steam travel upward. She smells pennies. She swallows hard, becoming aware… feeling present, fully in the moment, and she meets her own gaze in the mirror, cracked and turning brown from age and cigarette smoke. She sees movement in the shadows immediately behind her… flecks of blue and red. She hears their voices –
– no.
She doesn’t hear them.
She feels them.
< “What have you done, Hanako? Not everyone gets a second chance.” >
< “She’s stupid and irresponsible. That’s just who she is.” >
< “Don’t waste this opportunity that you’ve been given.” >
< “I told you, sister… she came back wrong.” >
Shutting her eyes tight, the voices of Yutaka and Kusaka wash over her and she feels the fist in her chest, the knot in her stomach… the weight on her shoulders. Opening her eyes, a single tear falls. Realizing she’d been holding her breath the entire time, she exhales deeply and sees her breath form in front of her, a fine mist despite the humidity in the cramped room.
HANAKO: < F*ck… f*ck. >
She looks down at the water continuing to circle the drain… and then at her hands themselves, pale, beginning to prune, red having crept into every crack and crevice. She plunges them back underneath the water, feels the warmth begin to give way to cold… and probably only jumps about a foot in the air when she hears the knock on the door. The voice on the other side of the door is a female, young… meek.
ATTENDANT: < Excuse me, miss… there’s a time limit on the restrooms. >
Hanako stiffens up, feeling that fist in her chest tighten.
ATTENDANT: < There are other customers, okay? Customers that have made purchases. >
Chewing her bottom lip for a moment, she looks over her shoulder at the door only a couple feet behind her… the only thing separating her from someone finding out what she’s done… or at least that she’s done something very bad.
HANAKO: < Hey, I’m sh!tting, okay? Really spraying out both ends! >
Silence on the other side of the door.
HANAKO: < So you should probably f*ck off, then… and bring a mop when I’m done! >
Silence – no, not silence.
ATTENDANT: < I don’t smell anything and I can hear you running water. What are you doing in there? >
HANAKO: < I SAID F*CK OFF! >
Days earlier.
It’s night and what streaks of moonlight are able to escape the ragged black clouds drifting past pierce through the ground-level window at the edge of the ceiling in Junko’s sub-basement apartment. Only the light of the moon and the lamp on Junko’s nightstand provide illumination for the task at hand. Junko sits cross-legged on the bed, watching a video on her phone… grimacing with each bump and crash, the sound of bodies landing in a wrestling ring.
Thump… thump… thump…
The other sound in the room, the monotonous thud of Hanako’s sneakers hitting the bedroom wall over and over, lying flat on her back next to the bed, hands behind her head… orange hair splayed out. Junko does her best not to let the noise bother her but the timing is rotten.
JUNKO: < Hana-kun, stop. >
So are the consequences if Ohba-san wakes up.
HANAKO: < Junko-chan, how much more research is there to do? >
She rolls over onto her stomach, raising her legs behind her and crossing her ankles. Junko taps the screen, pausing the video. The sound of in-ring chaos stops and silence overcomes the bedroom.
JUNKO: < One can never do too much research – >
Hanako rolls her eyes.
JUNKO: < – especially when their opponents are bigger, stronger, and have far more experience. Do not forget, Hana-kun… you have never even had one match. >
HANAKO: < But I have trained, Junko-chan… I’ve had more training than you had before your first match and you did just fine. You’re a former champion. >
Junko takes a deep breath and looks away before speaking, defeat in her tone.
JUNKO: < Yes, a former champion… and I might still be a champion if I had trained more… worked harder… truly did my best… but I was tired and beaten down the last time I stepped into the ring with Joe Montuori – >
HANAKO: – wahhh.
Junko stops, raising an eyebrow.
JUNKO: < Did you just say – > …wah?
HANAKO: < You sound like a baby. >
JUNKO: < I don’t think you’re taking this as seriously as you should. Last year, I had a partner who also did not take our objective seriously… and it cost us dearly. I do not intend for that happen again. Do you understand? >
HANAKO: Wahhhhh.
Hanako giggles, looking up at Junko from the floor. Junko looks down at her from the bed and thinks back to their time in the pink room, Hanako on the bottom bunk, how they would laugh and whisper so that Honma and Miyagi didn’t hear them outside. She thinks about that time behind the padlocked door and feels the weight of it on her mind, does her best not to get angry or say something she might regret.
This is just Hanako’s way.
It always has been.
JUNKO: < I… really want to win this tournament, Hana-kun. >
Hanako’s smile falters and she looks down at the floor. She takes a breath, exhaling before directing her sleepy eyes back up toward Junko, finding the girl in blue looking away… never good about making eye contact, even when they were children.
HANAKO: < I know, Junko-chan. I will win it for you, okay? >
The moon illuminates Hanako’s eyes, makes her pale face almost glow in the dark. Junko runs her hand through her hair, pushing a blonde streak behind her ear. She swallows and looks down, turning her gaze back toward the girl in orange.
HANAKO: < That’s why I’m here, right? >
Junko sounds sad, beaten down by the past several months.
The past several years, even.
JUNKO: < I don’t know, Hana-kun – >
Hanako tilts her head to the side like a dog hearing the squeak of its favorite toy.
JUNKO: < – that’s what I’m still trying to figure out. >
Cold and harsh.
The room resembles a cell, down to the thick black bars on the window. The floor, concrete. In the corner, a pile of hay… and more hay scattered about. Despite the barren nature of the room, it’s messy and the smell… is raw, animalistic. It’s night and the moon is visible through the window, a sliver of pale yellow hanging amid the darkness. There’s a sound of footsteps as Junko walks into the shot, clad in a blue tracksuit over a “TPW” t-shirt. Hands in her pockets, she doesn’t look into the camera. Her head is bowed, black hair with blonde streaks hanging in her face. She speaks aloud, looking down at the floor.
JUNKO: < This is where it all began for me in TPW. >
A slight breeze moves her hair, revealing her eyes.
JUNKO: < The SEX Cup Tournament. >
Slowly, she turns her head, looks into the camera, speaking with confidence.
JUNKO: < Sight unseen, I answered the call of a competitor in need… desperate to make a name for myself in the United States, I agreed to team with this person and, together, we did the impossible and made it to the semi-finals. The experts didn't believe that we would make it out of the first round… they said that the Boomer Shooters were too good, had too much experience for a rookie team to defeat… but we beat them anyway. >
She takes a deep breath, exhales through her nose.
JUNKO: < In the second round of the tournament, those same experts were certain again that we would be eliminated… as we stood across the ring from Tyler Cage and his partner, the legendary James Raven. Again, we proved the experts wrong when we won against impossible odds. >
She straightens up… authority creeps into her voice.
JUNKO:< In the semi-finals, we met our match… falling to the Gangsters of Christ… the reigning IIW World Tag Team Champions… the undefeated forever champions, as they like to call themselves. What happened afterward… is a story for another time. >
She bows her head slightly, politely.
JUNKO: < Let’s just focus on this year’s tournament, okay? >
She bows again.
JUNKO: < Let’s talk about the New Breed. >
She looks around the room curiously.
JUNKO: < Don’t mind my surroundings. I know it’s a mess, okay? >
Shrug.
JUNKO: < But I felt it was important to get inside the mind of a beast. >
Sho Miyagi.
She stalked him.
She followed him for days, learned his routines… and took the knife from Ohba-san’s kitchen while Junko was sleeping. She knew that Junko wouldn’t approve… she’d done her best to move on from the past, looking toward her future as a number one professional wrestler. Hanako found herself unable to move on so easily… but her circumstances were different –
– complicated.
Akihabara is crowded, noisy… exactly as she remembers it from her time roaming the streets as a delinquent youth. Several times a week, Miyagi comes here… spending about half an hour at a pink salon masquerading as a maid café. As always, she watches as the heavy-set man staggers out of the establishment in his drab gray suit, his eyes sunken in… lifeless. She sees the stumps of missing fingers on his right hand… and she knows why that happened to him. Despite that punishment, despite how far he’s fallen… despite being a shadow of the pink and white colossus he once was under the command of King Kota Amasaki, she knows one thing for certain –
– feels it in her heart.
It’s not enough.
She follows him into the alley, the shortcut he always takes when returning home. No witnesses… only the murmuring of passers-by, the night, and the moon above. She grips the wooden handle in her fist, calls out to him… her voice, low and cold.
It cuts through the night air.
He feels it.
HANAKO: < Miyagi-san. >
He stops, turning on his heel in an almost comical fashion… nearly falling over in the process, catching himself on a nearby dumpster. He sees the young girl wearing the black hood, orange hair framing her pale features.
MIYAGI: < I already paid, kid. I can’t afford another. Next week, maybe – >
HANAKO: < You don’t remember me? >
His eyes narrow as realization sets in. His mouth becomes dry.
He’s never felt more sober.
MIYAGI: < I… I don’t work for them anymore. >
He swallows.
MIYAGI: < I’m an honest man now. I own a legitimate business. >
He takes out his wallet, unfolding it… revealing a strip of photos.
MIYAGI: < I have a wife – >
HANAKO: < I don’t care. >
He breathes heavily, sweat pouring off his reddened face. He sees the knife in her hand, rusted along the edges, flickering in the moonlight. He kneels down, setting his wallet on the pavement… the strip of photos on top of it. He gives it a gentle pat and stands upright, straightening his tie. He looks her in the eye and his tone is flat… acceptance.
MIYAGI: < What are you, huh? Some kind of ghost… out for vengeance? >
HANAKO: < No – >
Her eyes narrow and darken… the black water is there –
HANAKO: < – worse than that. >
– cold, deep, cruel.
The stone cage.
Hanako walks into the shot, orange and black.
Using her sneaker, she kicks at some of the hay on the floor, a look of disgust on her face that slowly creeps into a repulsed sneer. Junko, still staring into the camera, cringes as Hanako’s words reverberate in the concrete chamber.
HANAKO: < It smells like sh!t in here. >
Junko huffs. Hanako rolls her eyes, bowing her head.
HANAKO: < Sorry. >
She falls into the background, silent as Junko continues.
JUNKO: < John Cable, your reputation precedes you. I’ve heard your name before, spoken in hushed whispers throughout the wrestling world. I never imagined that you and I would cross paths one day… but here we are. >
Junko throws her head back slightly, tossing the hair out of her face.
JUNKO: < You’ve led a troubled existence, as have I – >
She looks over her shoulder at Hanako, a hint of sadness in her tone.
JUNKO: < – as have both of us. >
She faces the camera again.
JUNKO: < Your tragedy… your trauma… it has shaped you into the person you are today… and despite the things that happened to you, you became a successful professional wrestler, even a philanthropist with your billion dollar charity. You’re a champion in more ways than one despite the world’s attempts to hold you back. >
Junko raises her chin, staring down her nose into the camera.
JUNKO: < I'm a champion, too, John Cable… though I haven't held as many titles as you. I've only been wrestling for two and a half years, after all. I hope that doesn’t make you think less of me – >
HANAKO: < – what are you doing? >
Junko raises an eyebrow, appearing annoyed by the interruption.
HANAKO: < Why are you hyping him up? At your expense, too. Isn’t this wrestling? Just tell him he sucks. Tell him you’re going to beat him up! I did some of that dumb boring research you wanted me to do and guess what I found? He just got embarrassed by some geek named Enigma and lost his LAST CHANCE at the Smash Championship in WGWF. >
JUNKO: < Hana-kun, that’s disrespectful. >
HANAKO: < It’s not disrespectful. It’s the truth! I saw it on the Wikipedia! >
Hanako approaches from behind, using her fist to nudge Junko by the shoulder.
HANAKO: < He’s big and old… and he looks like he smells like a fish market… but you’ve beaten guys that are bigger, older, and smellier than you before – >
Hanako turns, looking into the camera.
HANAKO: < – did you hear that, John Cable? Are you paying attention, Sebastian St. Paul? Junko-chan is as tough as they come… and you two might be big and strong, propping up your so-called intimidating reputations on your long histories of shocking acts of violence but that doesn’t scare her… that doesn’t scare us. As a matter of fact, we invite you to do your worst! >
Junko raises her hand, quietly silencing Hanako. She cuts her eyes in Hanako’s direction, visibly frustrated by the tone she’s taken. Junko lets it sit for a moment, allowing the weight of Hanako’s words to settle in the air before speaking, a matter-of-fact tone in her voice.
JUNKO: < John Cable… Sebastian St. Paul… I ask that you forgive her disrespect while still taking heed of her words. She is correct that I have defeated opponents far larger and more experienced than myself… and we have both witnessed things that most might consider shocking. We are both small and inexperienced but we are more than two little girls. We’ve grown far beyond that and, while I may not agree with her tone in addressing you, the New Breed, do not make the mistake of thinking we do not share the same goal… that our intentions are not similar in nature – >
Removing her hands from her pockets, she points into the camera, eyes wide.
JUNKO: < – we will defeat you. >
Hanako nods, a smirk creeping across her face.
JUNKO: < I am not the same little girl who tried to weave a dream from nothing one year ago. I am so much more than that now. James Raven, Tyler Cage, Brooke Blakely, Nova Skye, Joe Montuori… all names that have fallen behind me since the day I stepped foot in Thunder Pro Wrestling for the first time. They all made the mistake of underestimating me… and it cost them. >
Silence again, only the sound of Junko’s heavy breaths.
JUNKO: < Challenging for the International Championship, one more match with Joe Montuori, and winning the SEX Cup Tournament… those are my resolutions for 2024. I need this victory, John Cable. I need it badly, Sebastian St. Paul… this year, failure is not an option. If the Flowers of Carnage are going to win this tournament, that means you have to lose… four rounds in total, someone has to be first! Every match could be our LAST CHANCE… something you can appreciate, I am sure. >
Hanako covers her mouth but her eyes betray the smile she’s hiding.
JUNKO: < I regret to inform you that Friday night will be your LAST CHANCE in Thunder Pro Wrestling as well. In order to advance to the next round, we must defeat you… we must move on to the quarter-finals against The Cabal and Cataclysm and, for that to happen, we must leave you behind, a distant memory. >
Junko sighs, averts her eyes… the authority slips out of her tone.
JUNKO: < It’s not personal… it is only pro-wrestling. >
She bows her head slightly.
JUNKO: < Please understand. >
Now.
The vending machine corner store.
The attendant is mid-knock when the lock clicks and the metal door creaks open. Hanako steps out into the small shop, walls lined with aging vending machines, hands hidden inside the sleeves of her oversized black canvas jacket, droplets of water falling on the floor from within. She averts her eyes and attempts to quietly shuffle past the attendant, a young girl, roughly the same age with long black hair and a denim jacket. She narrows her eyes, struck by confusion upon seeing the girl in black, pale face framed by messy orange hair. The attendant’s voice cracks upon speaking the word, one she’s not spoken in a long, long time.
ATTENDANT: < …Hanako? >
Hanako stops in her tracks, gripping the wooden handle of the knife in her sticky wet fist inside her sleeve. Slowly, she turns and faces the girl, head down, eyes directed upward… orange hair obscuring her features. So determined to clean her hands, she’s unaware of the pink smudge on her cheek, just beneath her left eye, thankfully hidden behind a curtain of orange. She sees the attendant, studies her face… recognizes her in an instant and experiences a crippling weight threatening to push her down onto her knees. She remembers the last time she saw her.
The night they were caught stealing cigarettes from a corner store for Sasori Kinosh!ta.
The night her father told her that her delinquent behavior was killing her mother.
She remembers seeing the girl running away, vanishing into the crowded streets of Akihabara as Officer Yonai threw her into the back of his police cruiser to wait for her father… the Chief Inspector of the police department. The memory hits her hard… harder than she cares to admit, given her tough exterior but she’s tired physically and mentally –
– there was work that had to be done.
The knife falls from her sleeve and clatters on the floor between them. The attendant looks down at the knife stained sticky red and then up into the wounded eyes of the girl in black and orange, frozen in place like a deer in headlights.
ATTENDANT: < It’s really you. >
Hanako’s voice is barely a whisper.
HANAKO: < Satori. >
