Nightfall in Tokyo (Patreon)

The rain started just after midnight.

She'd been watching the alley from the shadows for twenty minutes, counting heads through the neon haze. Three of them. Black suits, same tailor, same confidence that comes from never having met someone like her. The pink and blue light from the signs overhead caught the wet ground and turned the whole street into something out of a fever dream.

The first one didn't see her coming. One second he was lighting a cigarette, the next he was six feet in the air, her hands locked around his waist, and then he was in the crates. Wood splintering in every direction. The second one turned at the sound and got two steps before she put him through the nearest window. Glass everywhere. The third tried to run. She caught him by the collar and stuffed him headfirst into a trash can. His legs kicked twice and stopped.

She wiped her hands on her catsuit and walked toward the parking garage.

Four more. They pulled up in a black SUV like they owned the place. She let them get out, let them spread, let them think they had angles on her. Then she threw the first one onto the hood so hard the windshield cracked into a spiderweb. The other three came at once. It didn't matter. Punches, kicks, the wet sound of bodies hitting concrete. Thirty seconds and all four were down.

The rooftop was the real destination. She could hear the helicopter before she saw it, the blades chopping through the rain. The city spread out below her, a skyline of neon with TOKYO glowing somewhere in the distance. The boss stepped off in a long black overcoat, flanked by two more suits. He looked like a man who'd never been told no.

That was about to change.

She went through the henchmen like they were warm-ups. When she reached the boss, she grabbed him by the neck with one hand and lifted. He dangled there, feet kicking, hands clawing at her wrist. Her braided ponytail dripped rain onto the concrete.

"Don't send boys to do a man's job."

She dropped him. He crumpled. She walked away.

The helicopter sat empty on the pad. The rain kept falling. Somewhere below, the neon signs still flickered pink and blue, lighting up an alley full of broken crates, shattered glass, and men who should have known better.

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