Japan
10 Years Ago

My Lai was still fresh in their minds.

The Japanese had all learnt of the horrendous deaths that occurred in the Vietnamese hamlets during the recent past and now the small community screamed in fear of a similar action, only this time they would find it closer to home. It was this irrational fear that caused her to be hidden behind her mother, yet she did not cry. She was twelve years old and she could only wonder by the people she had known all her life cried before the masked men. Her eyes were wide and her short brown hair rested above her shoulders, her fringe was bowl cut as her parents could afford little in the line of luxuries.

“Mama,” she groaned towards her mother, who squashed her further between her warm body and the chilly coldness of the wall.

She could not understand what was happening, there was something uncertain in the way the adults around held themselves.

“Hush my darling, hush,” her mother soothed her solemnly. “It is only a game.”

She was quiet, she played the game with a childish wanting to win and in the silence it seemed as if it was anyone’s game to win.

Or so she had thought.

Every one of the masked men stood to attention at the arrival of another man; he was not masked like the others. The lower half of his face was exposed and it revealed to her that he was a Caucasian man. Malice was evident in his eyes and although the others did not frighten her, she could not deny his intimidating presence. She protected herself against his gaze by turning her gaze downward.

Guns fired and even she realised the game was over.

Blood splattered around as the screams swelled but after a few moments there was an unsteady silence in the air, she crouched behind the body of her mother with such quickness that she appeared to fall in the blasts of the gun but she did as she had been taught through her mother’s yoga training, her pulse slowed to that of a person subdued in a natural. It was below the hearing of a natural person and luckily, she was lucky that none of the men around her noticed.

Even after they had left she lay in silence, her small hands wrapped around those of her mothers.

She then pushed herself to her feet, she was twelve years old and she understood the concept of death. Dusting herself down as she made her way towards the opened door and into the circle of the small village. Her eyes examined the place and notice it was a desolate one but she had never felt much at home in the circular town.

Moving down into the dusty path her eyes caught the reflective surface of a broken window and she noticed in her own eyes, an unfamiliar malice.

Lady Bullseye in…

BAMBOO TEARS

By Gavin McMahon

Sato Industries
Japan
Now

Rain tumbled around her as she stood atop of the Sato Industries Headquarters; they were a public firm that dealt solely with debt collection to those on the outside but she knew better than that. Truly it had a much more sordid history and purpose; it was one that she wasn’t disgusted at as most people would be. She stood with one foot on the wall that was there to protect those on the roof from a fatal death.

Wickedness flashed in her eyes as she loosened her grip of the umbrella and watched it fall over the ledge as a jagged knife erupted from the bottom of the handle and impaled the concrete jungle below her. She gave a smirk as she looked down briefly on her calling card.

Your time is up, she thought as she turned and moved towards the roof-entrance.

Not one of those stick thin women, she found herself secure in the curvaceous nature of body, her eyes wide at the prospect of a kill. She was feared in the circles that these men travelled in, they were in the sex slavery trade and it was not through some act of heroism that she targeted them, she merely enjoyed the kill and if rival gangs were willing to pay her for to indulge in her otherwise sordid hobby then she was more than happy too.

Lady Bullseye had never walked away from a target, and she had never failed.

In making people disappear for a living she had made some serious enemies but the heroes of Japan where not like the heroes of American society or even those of the English. They preferred to work within the circles of the government and of the police force, which was what made terrorism such an easy accomplishment for a woman of her intelligence. She burst through the doors, unsheathing the blades that rested in her hips as she sliced the throats of the men who dared challenge her entrance.

Her eyes dropped upon the faces of those she killed, in the years since the massacre of her village she had learned to appreciate death in a way others found it to be morbid. There was an unknown beauty as someone drew their last breaths of life and shifted into a more heavenly, or hellish, afterlife. Her eyes shot up as the bullets rushed towards her, years of experience had taught the young woman in the ways and movements of her bodies and it was those same years that perfected her technique in aiming precision.

A singe thrust of her wrist caused the man who shot at her to fall from his stance.

Lady Bullseye could have already made the kill had she wanted to but there was a part in her that reminded her that the fun lay within the chase. She fluttered her eyes as she looked around her, a sweat had yet to break on her brow and she was getting closer. The Americans feared the one they called Elektra, but Lady Bullseye was more deadly than that woman would ever be. She had no sense of morality to guide her decision or to make her regret, as a child she had been conditioned in death and it was a trait that continued into her adult life.

Out of blades and daggers, the woman unsheathed the sword strapped onto her back. Her eyes never lost focus for an instant, it meant the difference between life and death and she knew that. Her movements were graceful but there was a swagger of pride eased into each step, unlike most ‘villains’ Lady Bullseye could afford the security of such a walk. She was advanced in speed and stamina and where her strength failed her, her precision and the ability to multi-task aided her beyond compare.

Yet, there was a loneliness and hatred that overwhelmed her. Amoral as the young woman was, she was not void of emotion. She still remembered the man who had killed her parents and whilst he had shown her the way towards a more fascinating life, he had taken from her what she had not wished to lose. His face was etched in her memory and vengeance would be hers in time, she had learned that flow of time could not be disrupted. Everything happened for a reason and fate could not be swayed.

More men launched themselves at her, guns toted in her direction. Smirking as she rushed at them, a simple swing caused their weapons to land on the marble floor. The men found that their hands swiftly followed, most were shocked to discover there was no evil in her eyes as she looked upon them. It was enjoyment that brightened those hazel eyes.

In a series of precise swings of the samurai sword, Lady Bullseye was free to pass through the lifeless guards with yet another quick glance onto their solemn faces.

She sheathed the sword; she could sense she was almost there and she knew she wouldn’t need the weapon for when she got there. Her eyes met the eyes of the two bulky bodyguards before her and she smiled at them, there was a subtle feminine charm behind the smile that told them to move or face her. The defiant stance gave her the answer she had not wanted to receive.

Each step of her foot that lightly made its way towards the men caused the tougher one, standing on the right, to move towards her until finally they met. Dropping as she split her legs the man’s fist shot overhead and she used a kick to knock him onto his back. Elegantly rising to her feet again she dropped her foot onto his face and the crack of bone resounded around her ears and brought a girlish smile onto her face.

It had always been said that violence only begot more violence.

Pouncing onto the shoulders of the other man she grabbed his head and in a subtle twist he collapsed to the side, his neck broken, before he realised what was on the horizon. As the man’s body shifted to the right, Lady Bullseye sprung from his shoulder and landed upright to his left. Her eyes fell upon the broken bodies; men underestimated her and sent the best in their militia at the very sign of her signal. The umbrella was an alert, she asked for them to bring their best because she enjoyed the challenge.

Adjusting the strands of dark hair that had sprung free from her messily done chignon, the young woman pushed at the door and found the man, her target, in the chair with his back to her. The fire silhouetted his outline around the room, seconds after she had walked into the room she disappeared into the shadows. The exchange had been so quick that as the man noticed his guards were dead and the door was open it was too late to fend her off.

He looked over his shoulders and, quivering, he returned his gaze to the fire only to find the assassin before him.

“Spare me,” he pleaded to her as she gave a tut to his impertinence, he had tried to best her and like so many others he had failed.

“Lady Bullseye leaves no one behind Sato; it is all in the reputation.”

Before the man knew what have overcome him, he found the glass of brandy he held was smashed and his throat slit with it. Malevolence in her eyes was the last his dying eyes ever registered and the blood splattered the death-like white mask she wore to hid her identity. The woman used the glass to carve into his forehead her sign, and as she backed away she was gone.

Japan

Makoto “Maki” Matsumoto stepped from the shower into the cloud warm steam. She wiped the mirror and looked into the face that stared back at her with disdain, there had been little to have changed since she had been that small child and the sole survivor of the massacre of her town. She sighed angrily and reached into the mirror-faced cupboard to receive a bottle of painkillers, assassinations always did give her a headache. The concentration and strain on the brain was immense yet she still indulged in her dirty little secret.

It was peculiar to think that in the span of the last five years she had been responsible for 1,783 of the murders committed within Japan. Maki never forgot a murder and she never forgot a face, people would have called it an eidetic memory but she knew it stemmed from the trauma of the massacre. Regardless, she embraced each kill as opposed to being haunted by the memories that followed.

Wrapping a towel around her wet body she walked from the bathroom of her small apartment to the kitchen, it took less than a few seconds and reached into the bottom of her fridge freezer for the vanilla flavoured ice cream she had been feasting on for the past week. It was nearing empty but she liked to relax after a hard day at work. Assassinations were a hobby and a rare occasion during daylight hours yet she had done as her employers asked. She had spent most of her life in training to become a lawyer and she now found that she was the gofer for a major law firm within the city, she was aware of the oxymoronic nature of her lifestyle.

Maki blatantly laughed at the public perception of a supervillainess as someone who spent her life around a table wearing spandex and plotting the downfall of heroes. She had no intention of becoming such a stereotype nor had she been one, Maki had once shared that view and found herself embarrassed to remember those thoughts.

Since the media had dubbed her as such, and the government had wanted her immediate capture, Maki had learnt the differences between fact and fiction. She was just like any other woman in Japan, and indeed the world, she watched television and pigged out on junk food when she shouldn’t. She held a steady job and she rushed around at the last minute when she forgot to run an errand. She lived in a life of squalor despite the millions of yen building in her bank account, through payments for her services, and she was happy with her life.

She didn’t even regret the death of her parents; she just knew it should be commemorated by revenge.

Her eyes drifted towards the television where she noticed one of those mindless late night chat shows was on. Misaki Fukui, whilst being a Japanese celebrity, would be the one person Maki would break a contract to kill. Talk shows had never been her forte.

However, upon noticing the topic displayed on the screen she gave the television her undivided attention as she lay back on the sofa spooning the soothingly cold vanilla ice cream into her mouth. She became more intrigued as the star guest in the matter was introduced; the nations very own Shiro “Sunfire” Yoshida, a national hero alongside his sister.

“Shiro, may I call you that?” resounded the monotonic voice of the female host. “It has been said that this woman, this Lady Bullseye if you will is the ultimate killer. She’s evaded the capture of yourself amongst many of your peers within the government for years. Why is that?”

Maki looked on pleased at the uncomfortable expression upon the ‘hero’s’ face. “I think that Lady Bullseye is an incredibly savvy individual. She knows this system and she can work around it.”

Groaning as she dropped a spoonful of ice cream onto the towel she listened on.

“Is she a high risk to public safety? Should we be worried?” the hostess continued to pummel him with questions. “Why have you not brought out all of the stops to capture this woman, this terrorist?”

Scrunching her nose in annoyance Maki’s attention was brought back towards the television, Misaki hyped up all aspects of her show and that was what annoyed her. Maki was a villain for sure, there was no denying she was the big bad wolf in the fairytale and she was aware that she could never live happily ever after. It was risk she took. Yet, she was not a terrorist. She had no intention of ruling over Japanese as a new empress of anything of the like. She was merely a woman who lived out a childhood fantasy.

It was a warped fantasy but a fantasy nonetheless.

Turning the television off she attempted to ignore the comments. There was little to be done when the minds were as contorted and plagued with stereotypes as the vast majority of the public. Maki was certain the heroes that society had come to worship had definitely not as pure as their haloes may suggest to those around her, these thoughts seemed especially true to the Japanese national heroes and their otherwise shady dealings with business.

Plain as Maki was, she could not deny there was some feminine appeal to her lustfully full figure. Her eyes shone like walnuts and her hair was glossy as silk, when dried as opposed to the limp mess that massed around her high cheekbones. There was a still silence in the apartment and the air became both clammy and warm as she tried to relax restlessly underneath the spinning turbine around her lamp.

At times she feared the homicidal psychosis would take over, and there were other times when she was guiltily pleased that it had. She was most liberated during a kill, and it was that sensation she really wished for. It was like her drug.

Dings echoed from the laptop on the coffee table and she reached out for it.

Big digits were in front of her and it was an enticing offer, the risk had never been higher and it was what she had longed for but now found the situation accommodating enough. There had been offers in the past but she now found herself with something to prove as she slinked back towards the bathroom to prepare, her eyes almost wild with excitement.

Tonight, a Yoshida would die.

Yoshida Incorporated
Japan

Blossoms fell around the landscaped gardens of the Yoshida family’s key business. It was more than a business it was the home to the patriarch of the Yoshida line, the father of Sunfire and Sunpyre. Everything that made their family so powerful within Japanese society and the ruling government was now housed before her in the ‘shrine’ that he had built from the ground upwards. The challenge ahead of her rushed through her system as if it were adrenaline; every fibre of her body tensed and writhed with excitement as she stepped into the light of the picturesque courtyard.

Flicking her wrist the umbrella she held swung around her arm and she thrust it violently into the concrete at her feet, with her calling card in place she could get on with her job.

Lightly she moved towards the unguarded door and it shocked her that such a facility should be unprotected on the ground; she unsheathed her sword and made her way through the doors into the darkened corridors. Even in the lateness of the evening, she had expected more of a challenge than she was facing and it urged her to stay alert.

It was eerily quiet, and it almost concerned her. She struggled to maintain her cool and serious composure as she etched her way through the darkness.

Her prayers were answered as she felt a raw heat from behind her, her eyes fell on the reason for the lack of the guardsmen to protect one of Japans leading businessmen, and her eyes smiled as the flames danced before her. Her client had a lot to answer for when she was done with this mess.

Leyu Yoshida, the ‘Sunpyre’, stood before her.

“You dare threaten my father, Lady Bullseye?” Sunpyre groaned with lazy irritation.

Lady Bullseye smiled at the woman before her, who was definitely the more beautiful of the two with her slender body and strong facial features. She also noted that, like her brother, Sunpyre stood with a swagger of arrogance unbefitting of someone as young and inexperienced in the field of heroism as she was, Lady Bullseye clearly saw her cockiness of nature as her main weakness of character.

“Must we play this game?” drawled her reply, boredom evident in her voice.

Lady Bullseye received her answer received her answer as she was forced to dive behind a wall for cover, blasts of plasma spewed at the place where she had just stood. Finding herself at a disadvantage only exhilarated her already pulsing heart. She lived for challenges, yet she couldn’t risk the hot trail that would be left behind after the murder of two public figures. Yoshida was her target, not his arrogant children.

It was an arrogance that was proven by the abandoned building. They felt no need for extra security.

Unsheathing the daggers from her shoes Lady Bullseye tumbled into the direct view of Sunpyre, her speed was unmatched the young hero who then found herself propelled into the wall after a kick to her chest. Twirling the daggers around in her hands Lady Bullseye waited from the woman to rise before she smiled devilishly.

“You could have finished me,” remarked the heroine, igniting her hands.

“I have my honour to maintain,” replied the villainess.

Sunpyre smirked. “Interesting choice of words, for a terrorist.”

“There we go, using that vile word again,” snorted Lady Bullseye.

Tossing her leg in a high kick it was deflected and singed by the heroine’s hands, Lady Bullseye back flipped away from the woman as plasma was once again fired at her. She noted Sunpyre’s lazy aim; she felt she had no need to try. It would backfire on her.

Launching one of the daggers towards her target it obeyed her aim, and slashed the heroines shoulder. Wrath illuminated her eyes as she rushed towards Lady Bullseye who, in a series of quick yet subtle movements, impaled the woman on the remaining dagger she held. Her eyes sparked with victory as the woman’s body pressed against her own, gasping.

“You’ll live,” she whispered into her ear, and kissing her cheek, Sunpyre was dropped to her knees.

Lady Bullseye pulled her dagger free from the woman’s chest and wiped it clean with her gloved hand before she moved effortlessly down the hallway, her footsteps barely echoed in the hallways and she wandered until she entered the penthouse apartment that house Shinjin Yoshida, the father of the almighty Japanese nations ‘greatest’ hero.

Entering the room she saw the man lying in his bed and she leaned against the doorway, her dagger glinted in the moonlight that streamed through the opened windows. Her eyes focused solely on his seemingly frail body but there had been many sent before her for the same task, he was formidable and she knew that. There was something about him that had alluded all before her, she was not the first but she could guarantee she would be the last assassin on the bounty at hand.

Grunting as he shot forward, their eyes met.

“What…” disbelief etched across his elderly features. “Where is my daughter?”

“Leyu will survive this ordeal,” Lady Bullseye assured him upon entering the room. “Which more than can be said for you, old man.”

He nodded as he watched her.

“My time has come. I hope the price is worth your own,” he said to her solemnly. “My children will avenge me.”

“I’ll take my chances,” snorted the villainess as she thrust the dagger in her hand forward and impaled the man through his forehead. Unnecessarily gory yet she remained to admire her handiwork, a smug smile on her face.

Men should never be sent to do what only a woman could do, moving the balcony she watched the moon shine above her and she remembered the last night she had spent with her parents before the man had slaughtered them. Like the Yoshida’s, she was sure vengeance would be hers.

Maki Matsumoto, the Lady Bullseye, did not doubt Yoshida’s word but she did not fear. When his children arrived for her, she would be ready.

She was always ready.