[2202 | Shinobi]
For the briefest of seconds, Alexa can’t see anything; the feed has gone black. As it resumes, the child now finds herself in a helicopter, looking down at Wellington’s skyline. The chopper is quieter than those from the twenty-first century; the rotors are no longer blades, but soundwaves manipulated by the engine. Using the latest YutopiCorp tech, it is also completely undetectable to any form of radar.
Alexa looks out the window and sees the pitch black sky, illuminated by the stars in the air and the lights below. Turning back to look inside, she examines the person in front of her. He is dressed entirely in black, aside from a yellow highlight with the YatopiCorp logo on his left breast, and the softly glowing blue hue of his cybernetic eye. Strapped to his back are two swords, a katana and a wakizashi.
A voice calls from the cockpit. “We’re just about there. I’m starting the descent now.”
The shinobi remains silent. He moves to open the door, and Alexa instinctively grabs her seat out of fear of being sucked out of the helicopter. It is only when the shinobi looks at the world outside of their vessel that she relaxes her grip.
Suddenly, the shinobi dives head first from the chopper. Alexa’s knuckles turn white as she finds herself plummeting below with him.
“Question,” Alexa says. “Question. Question!”
Eventually the Nanny chip responds. “Bismuth subsalicylate concentrate has already been injected into your system. It will ease the nausea shortly. An order has been placed for a replacement dose, it will arrive within forty-eight hours.
“It won’t be needed,” the girl mutters under her breath.
As Alexa experiences the drop, the world is rapidly approaching the shinobi. Soon, he opens his arms, and gliders stretch between them. The shinobi catches a drift and circles around. He is gliding around to the New Zealand Parliament Buildings, his trajectory aiming for the roof of the Executive Wing, known to the New Zealanders as the Beehive.
First constructed in 1977, the Beehive has not been upgraded in more than two hundred and fifty years, outside of added security measures designed to keep the institution safe through the challenges of the twenty-third century. The shinobi notes one of these security measures on the Beehive’s roof: twelve armed guards protecting the roof.
“Stealth mode,” the shinobi says.
The shinobi disappears, his suit now refracting the light around him, giving the illusion of invisibility.
“Given the stress the suit is currently under, I can only guarantee one minute of stealth,” the shinobi’s A.I. responds.
“Noted.”
The shinobi’s momentum increases, carrying him to the flagpole sitting on top of the Beehive. Reaching out, the shinobi grabs the flagpole as the gliders fold back into his suit. He spins around on the flagpole and leaps off it, propelling him down to the roof. Silently, which makes Alexa wonder whether this is the result of skill or if it’s simply an enhancement bequeathed to him.
The shinobi sprints towards the edge of the roof, then climbs over it. His hands and knees automatically attach to the building, and he scales down past the top floor, to the next. Peering through the window, he can see Prime Minister Joselane Saavi sitting at her desk.
Reaching behind him, the shinobi clasps the hilt of his wakizashi and draws it. Its energy blade is about thirty centimetres in length, which makes it just the right length to slice through the Beehive’s reinforced window. As his blade is ready to penetrate the glass, he hears a brief static-like noise, and then he reappears. His minute ran out. Still, this should be an easy job.
The wakizashi pierces the glass, causing an alarm to sound. Turns out the job won’t be as easy as the shinobi had thought.
“Shit. Well, the price just went up.”
Cutting his way through the glass, the shinobi makes a circle, which he pushes into the office. He clambers inside, to be greeted not only by Saavi, but six armed guards. An energy kunai materialises between each of the shinobi’s fingers. With a flick of his wrists, each kunai sails from his hands, landing right between the eyes of each target, killing them instantly.
Saavi rushes out from behind her desk and makes it through the open door. The shinobi gives chase, and is intercepted by another five armed guards. He draws his katana as the guards open fire, deflecting the laser bolts back at them. The shinobi spots the Prime Minister running down the stairs and rushes after her. Two more guards block the shinobi’s path, and are swiftly decapitated in one laser-sharp motion. Thankfully, for the cleaners, the energy used in the sword cauterises the guards’ wounds, reducing the amount of blood spatter over the walls and carpet.
The shinobi soon catches up to Saavi. He kicks one guard in the groin before snapping his neck, then throws the body towards another three guards rushing towards him, bowling them over. Turning around, two more guards are approaching, and he disembowels them, tearing their stomachs open. He grabs the Prime Minister.
“Why…why are you doing this?”
The shinobi looks to a nearby security camera. His message is not just to the Prime Minister, but the world. “For the glory of Australia.”
He grabs Zavvi by the neck and throws her over the barrier, sending the soon to be former Prime Minister hurtling to the floor, seven storeys below. He leaps after Zaavi, and a split-second after she lands face first with a crunch, he lands safely, his katana impaling her through the back and chest.
“Stay where you are, and hands where I can see them!” The shinobi is surrounded by armed guards in every direction.
“Smoke,” the shinobi says.
In the twenty-third century, humans are no longer used to smoke. Cigarettes have been banned, as has anything that could cause a fire. The world has finally transitioned fully to green energy, no longer polluting the planet to maintain their creature comforts.
An explosion of smoke at the shinobi’s feet soon covers him, and fills the building. Their vision obscured by the smoke, nobody was willing to let the assassination of their Prime Minister stand. The room fills with gunshots, each laser bolt briefly illuminating the slowly dissipating smoke.
Minutes later, and the smoke has largely cleared. The shinobi is gone, and on the ground floor, sixty-three corpses lie in his wake.
“That. Was. Awesome!” Alexa says, almost as giddy as the previous April, where she ate all her Easter eggs in one hit. “Can we watch it again?”
“We must proceed, Alexa; there is more left to learn. I have saved this footage to your personal archive.”
wastanley.com 