Untitled ~ Contains Tokyo, tech, and motorbikes

[Miyanokouji]

Preamble: I was "comissioned" to do this, if you like, by my English teacher. It was for my Original Writing (For some reason it's not Creative, but whatever) coursework for GCSE English (You Americans call them SATs)
It received an A* and I like it :O
Except for the fact I ended way more abruptly than I was going to due to time constraints <.<
I also never titled it >.>

The line 'Wow, velvet really is soft' comes from a certain Barats and Bereta video

Begin:




Phil was a kind, fair man. He had a wife, a big house, a next-gen HDTV, the works. He liked to wear black clothes, simply because he felt he looked “trendy” like students when he wasn’t. He had two kittens, who he loved dearly. He looked intelligent, and was, yet also managed to look cool. He had a wife, a pretty woman, with a nice personality. They’d been married three years and were thinking of having children. Life was sweet, for a hired assassin.

“I have a different sort of job this time, I might not see you for a while, about a week I think” he said, kissing his wife on the cheek.
“Just make sure you come back though,” his wife replied.
“No fear,” he turned and walked out of his back door. He walked through his garage and flipped open his cell phone, pushing a button and putting it to his ear in one swift motion. It was picked up in an instant.
“Phil! Good to hear ya! You’re early.”
“I know. Now, I need the details on my job. I presume that there’s cash in my mailbox?”
“Alright, alright. Yeah – there’s cash in your box, along with some other stuff you’ll need. A Japanese mobile, with in-built GPS. We added the locations you’ll need. Since you’re retiring after this mission, and you’re our best, I’ll meet you in person at Heathrow, departing and arriving.”
“How kind. Where am I going?”
“Just get down to Heathrow. See you in a few hours!” The Boss sounded overly jolly.
Phil grabbed his “post” and hopped onto his modified Ducati racing bike and headed off to Heathrow Airport.

He was tired with being an assassin – day in, day out, killing “corporate scum”, most often bosses or other high-ups, to get masses of cash. It was beginning to get him down, so he wanted a change. He wanted to raise a family and be a normal dad. That’s why he was quitting.

-- Heathrow Airport, 3 hours, 43 minutes later.
Phil walked through one of the front doors of the airport, having already parked his bike, into a scene of mass commotion. “Just like any British airport”, he said to no-one in particular. “I hear ya!” exclaimed a strangely tall man with very little hair, “How you doing, Phil?”
“Boss?”
”You bet. You got the phone and the cash?”
“Yeah, how much is it?”
“232,320 . Two thousand US dollars.”
“Why dollars?”
“We’re a US-based ‘company’ Now, back to business, I’ll give you the details as to what you actually have to do via your cell, for now though, just buy yourself a ticket to Tokyo International.”
“And my ‘tools'?”
“There’s a guy over in Japan can supply ‘em.”
“Alright. See you later, Boss.”
The Boss simply agreed.


-*-

[Miyanokouji]

On the aeroplane, going to Tokyo, Phil looked through the locations in the phone. There were a total of four; a hotel (so it said, on the GPS tag), a large empty green area with a block of white in and no name, and two places in the middle of blocks of buildings. It came as a welcome surprise when the flight announcer said “We’ll be arriving at Tokyo in twenty minutes”, and then again in Japanese. He’d at last be in Japan, after the long flight.

-*-

The grassy square in front of the Myumi Hotel in Tokyo, Japan. Phil had arrived in the square moments ago. It was a large, busy square with many teenagers and young adults all going about their business. There was a fountain in the middle of the square, spewing crystal-clear water skyward. The darkness of the night allowed the laser display to show, illuminating the water in shades of green and blue, and the entire square in a pleasant pale green. Several tens of youths were sitting at the edge of the fountain, chatting to each other. Those youths that weren’t loitering were walking to somewhere, quite briskly. As Phil entered the hotel the crowd began to silence. He turned back to see what was going on. A boy had ascended to the stage in the centre of the square. He was dressed entirely in black, with a long black trench coat, and long black hair, worn in pigtails in front of his shoulders, and a ponytail hanging down to his waist, all held in place with red hair bands. Two others with guitars soon followed, wearing black shirts and trousers, with shoulder-length black hair. The lead greeted the audience in Japanese. The fountain’s lights faded out.

Phil entered the hotel. He was greeted immediately by a man behind the counter. “Greetings, you must be English!” Phil decided simple answers would be best, and simply said, “Yes.” He must’ve had a confused expression on his face, because the man began rambling. “You must be, ah, confused about the concert, yes?”
“Concert?”
”Uhh, music…show…yes?”
“Oh, yeah. That’s what it is.”
“Yes, they play lots of music. The main style is, uh, rock music.”

-*-

“Lazy,” Phil thought as he walked past the bikes parked at the hotel, at 6AM, “not bothering to get up till God-knows-when.”. Even though his own wasn’t there, he liked to be around them. He decided to call his boss, as he didn’t know what to do now, even though it would be near-midnight back in England. It was picked up very quickly.
“Yeah?”
”…Do you never go to sleep?”
“Very rarely, whaddaya want?”
“Well I want to know what I should do now. I’ve got to my hotel and had a night’s rest.”
“Alright, you’ll be wanting to go to the car rental place. It’s in your GPS. One of the blank ones in ‘buildings’. You’ll then want to go to the weapons place. The password is ‘Wow, velvet really is soft!’ Call me when you’re done. Ciao.” With that, the Boss hung up. Phil looked at the GPS for a moment, then put the phone in his pocket and started walking to the car rental place.
-*-

[Miyanokouji]

Gaining a car at the rental place went without a problem, and he was soon driving a Mitsubishi Pro Evolution to a small-scale weapons store in Tokyo, run by an Englishman, obviously a subdivision or sister company of the company Phil worked for. There was a Japanese man in the shop, trying to buy a gun, who the shopkeeper was not serving. The man was getting very red-faced at the shopkeeper’s reluctance to sell him a gun in a weapons store. “Admittedly, it would seem odd, to someone not in one of the companies” Phil mused in his head. He spoke up, so as to attract attention, saying, “Wow, velvet really is soft!”. The shopkeeper stopped talking to the Japanese man and motioned to Phil to follow him. Phil walked round the bar and followed the shopkeeper up the stairs. This, of course, was outrageous, in the Japanese man’s view. He almost exploded with anger, threw his hat to the ground, stomped on it, punched through one of the display cabinets, grabbed a loaded pump-action shotgun, blew his hat into the ground (literally), and ran out of the shop, all within the space of three or four seconds.
“Another deranged killer on the loose,” Phil said, lightly.
“Eh, Japan needs more of them, I say,” the shopkeeper replied, “So, you’re from our sister company. You must be Phil, I was told you’d be coming. I was also told to tell you that the target is the head of the company in the large green area with the star on. He’ll be at the top of the building.”
“Thanks-“ Phil started and was quickly interrupted.
“Now, weapons. You’ll be wanting a silenced pistol and a dagger. Some Kevlar body armour wouldn’t hurt, either.”
“I’ll take a rain-check on that armour,” Phil stated, harshly.
”No, no you won’t. It’s very light-weight and near-bullet proof. You’ll be much safer”
“I don’t want to be safe, I want to be speedy.”
The shopkeeper had argued enough, “Your funeral.”
“And it’ll go how I plan it.”
“Heh. That’ll be 94,000 .”
Phil glanced at the price tags on the dagger and gun, “No discounts for sister-company employees, huh?”
The shopkeeper laughed, then resumed a less jolly expression, “Now, you must get out of my shop.”, and walked Phil back to the entrance. After Phil walked out of the door, and sped off into the distance in the Mistubishi, the shopkeeper put up a sign in Japanese and English saying “out of business”, painted the windows white, packed up all the weaponry into boxes, then into a van, and drove off. He was headed back to England. The company he worked for was solely devoted to providing weapons when and where its sister companies needed them.

-*-

[Miyanokouji]

“I can do this quickly and have lunch, fail and not have lunch ever again, or do it slowly and have lunch later,” Phil thought while driving, “…Or I could have lunch now, I suppose.” He stopped off at a fast-food restaurant. Halfway through his noodles he was called. He picked up his mobile and answered.
“Yeah, boss?”
“How’re you doing? I thought you were gonna call me.”
“I’m doing good. Got the car – a Pro Evo, no less, and the guns.”
“That’s great, whatcha doing now?”
”I’m eating lunch,” Phil said, with a mouthful of lunch.
“So I hear,” his boss replied, dryly, “So how long till you’re there?”
“About 40 minutes.”
“Let the killing commence!”
“Great signoff there,” Phil mumbled.
“You say something?”, his boss’ voice sounded tough. Phil had always imagined his boss as slightly overweight and very strong. Probably because he sounded tough. He’d always imagined him black, too, but was proven wrong about all three thoughts when he met his Boss at Heathrow yesterday. He was right to have thought he was bald though.
“Nope.”
“Seeya Phil”
“Yes.” Phil ended the call before any more de-greeting happened. It was beginning to annoy him, he never had liked long goodbyes. He picked up his fork, which he had specifically asked for (and the waitress had thought him ignorant for doing), and continued eating his noodles once again.

-*-

[Miyanokouji]

Phil’s journey, firstly to the Honda Robotics building, and secondly up to the top floor of said building had been boringly easy. Probably because there were no security guards in the air ducts, and the car valet man had thought he was an employee. He hadn’t noticed Phil was carrying a pistol and dagger. Walking around the top floor was also easy. The only rooms were the secretary’s office, and the owner’s office, and there were no security cameras. The owner obviously didn’t like being disturbed. Well he was about to be. Phil rapped his knuckles on the secretary’s door.
“Come in,” she said, first in Japanese and again in English.
“I need to talk to the owner. Tell him it’s important. Much more so than his game of golf.”
“Okay, but he not going to be happy!”, and with that, the secretary pushed a button on a telephone-cum-answer machine, and spoke to the owner in Japanese for a short while.
“He say you can see him now.”
“Thank you.” Phil bowed, gently, at the secretary, then walked into the owner’s office. As he closed the door he looked at the chair and found a man in his 50s, balding, wearing a striped shirt and glasses.
“You said it was important. Well, try to make it quick, then.”
“Alright then. I’m at the end of my career as an assassin. One way or another you’re going to die today, and then I’m off back to England to start a family. Got that?”
The man remained surprisingly calm, “You’re oddly polite for an assassin.”
“Assassin’s just my job title.”
“Heh, okay then. What are my options?” the man spoke English like a native.
“Well, you could commit suicide by throwing yourself out the window”, the owner of the company gave a disgusted look, “or you could be killed by me quickly and easily right now, or we could have a duel.” At this point, the owner’s eyes lit up.
“A duel it is,” he put his face close to the intercom and pushed a button, “bring in my samurai swords.” He then brought his face away and began pushing furniture about his office to make space. The woman came in with the swords. “Give them to Mr…”
“Phil, Phil Adaman”, Phil said, taking the swords.
Phil was now a little worried about what he’d gotten himself into. He thought back to his training as the owner pushed furniture about the room.

“Okay, I’m done. There’s as much space as possible. Oh, and Nami, see you in the afterlife,” he looked at his secretary, “Don’t look like that. Now go back to your office.” Nami turned and did as he had said. “Sword, please.” Phil threw a sword to the Japanese man.

“Ah, I haven’t told you my name. It is custom to know who you are duelling. I am SatuoYutaka.”
“Well Mr. Satuo, may the best man…kill the other man.”
“You mean, may you kill me. Yes. I am ready.” With that, Mr. Satuo sped towards Phil with incredible speed, slicing diagonally at him. Phil parried the attack with ease, then brought his sword into Mr. Satuo’s with such speed and force that it knocked the man over. “Stop,” Satuo said hoarsely, “You have beaten me. You fight with amazing force, but not such a good technique. You are clearly westernized, in that respect.” Satuo chuckled to himself. “Now, kill me. It is your job. You can keep the swords.” He then lay, motionless on the ground, except for breathing. He pointed to his heart. Seconds later he was dead.

Phil burst out of Satuo’s office, and walked through the secretary’s. She saw the blood-stained sword. “You killed him”, she pointed out, almost as though Phil didn’t know.
“Yup.” Nami sat at her desk without moving for a while, as Phil walked down the stairs. No-one would challenge him coming out of the building – at least not without a death wish, given his stained blade. He walked on the floor below the top, up to the lift, and called it. When it arrived there were a few high-ups edging round him as though he had the Bubonic Plague. There were three left in the lift, not counting Phil. They all looked pretty tense, too.
“Ground floor, please.” He said, in a particularly low voice.
“Don’t…kill…me.” One of them mumbled particularly slowly.
“I’m not going to, so long as you push that ‘Ground floor’ button.” The man pressed it. Once the lift reached the ground floor, and the door opened, the way was clear for him to leave. As he was walking through the automatic door, he felt something hard hit is chest and could do nothing but watch as the ground seemed to rise up to meet him.

-*-

[Miyanokouji]

Where am I? When am I? Am I still employed? Is my wife okay? What’s this smell?
All questions floating around Phil’s mind.
“Hey, he’s coming ‘round.”
“Good! His wife will be pleased.” – one question down.
“Still lots of blood about though.” – two.
“He’ll be fine. How long has it been?”
“About a week, not including the time he spent stuck with the Japanese.”
“So, like 9 days?”
”Sounds right” – three questions answered.
“Good- Hello Mrs. Adaman, just ringing to say your husband has woken up at last. We’re sure he’ll be fine now…Yes…Okay…We’re the Norfolk & Norwich…It changes...Thank you, Mrs. Adaman” – four down, one to go

-*-

“Hi, honey.” Phil felt a slightly wet sensation around his face and opened his eyes.
“Oh, hi!”
“Your boss told me over the phone to say that he’s sorry for what happened and that he’s sent in intel people to go find out what really happened and he told me to give you this parcel.” Phil leant up and was given the parcel. He opened it and tipped out the contents. One was a box with a sticky label on saying “Free phone! You get to keep it too!”, another was a letter he couldn’t be bothered to read right then, and the third was a key ring fashioned from silver saying “MOD Ex-Member”. Paul was speechless for a while, as was his wife. His wife was first to speak.
“You were in the Ministry Of Defense?”
“…Shows you how much some people are told. I guess I can claim no-tax on my salary now.”