Rurouni Kenshin Fan Fiction ❯ Echoes of One's Past ❯ Busted ( Prologue )

Echoes Of One's Past

Disclaimer: The characters of Rurouni Kenshin do not belong to me. I am just borrowing them for my own little circus of thoughts. In no way is my depiction of their thoughts and actions reflecting those in the series, though I did my best in an imitation of them. However, secondary characters, villains, and lackeys are of my own making.

Gratitude: Sankyus to my wonderful online twin brother, my darling online sister, and last but not lease, my sweet online daughter for their betas on my horrible writing. Remaining mistakes are all my fault and my fault alone for being the bull headed person I am. Also, a small thank you to Starrie who kept me company and inspired me to start fanfic writing again. Without the constant support from them, my sister especially for her merciless pushing, this story may never appear online. So to them, my sincere, heartfelt thanks.

Author's Notes: This is my first time writing a RK fic, so I hope everyone will be lenient on their judging of this. I tried my best to retain characters to their personalities, and I'm sorry if any one of them might sound a bit off.

Prologue

"Hey, haul that box over to the other end! Those don't belong with these boxes," a disembodied voice shouted loudly across the night air and above the din of the dozen working men. From the other side of the Ragnarok, another voice rose over the clamor as well, this one shrieking impatiently for the laborers to speed up their movements.

Stood apart from the others, an individual watched the bustle with a bored attitude plastered to his young face. This person was part of, yet detached from the rest of the twenty or so men, most of which were walking back and forth on the wooden planks that linked the ship's lower opening to the wooden docks. He alone was immobile as he leaned against the lamppost with his arms crossed soundly over his chest. The soft summer wind rustled his crown of dark hair with its gentle hand before teasing the frayed edges of his well-worn robe. The night was a fine one, undisturbed by clouds such that the sky remained clear for stargazing.

Had he not been low in cash, he would never have given this place a second glance. The workers were just unloading tea leaves from a merchant ship, an unlikely venture for someone to waste time attacking. A friend had suggested this job for him, and he had to admit, it did come with a fair amount of salary for one night. The only set back was its lack of activity, but he could handle that if it meant an instant income of cash. Money was money, and pay was pay, so here he was, watching the perimeters like a tired watch dog in case anyone decided to disturb the night's peace.

Yet, unnoticed in another corner of the harbor, the Tokyo police force observed the activity with adept attention. Ten of them pooled hidden in the darkness, blended against the shadows between the cargo houses by their deep blue uniforms. Across the wharf nearby, a similar group was stationed, identically hidden in the shadows but for hiding between two anchoring ships.

They were here on a job as well, though it definitely wasn't guarding the shipment. A few days past, the local chief received an anonymous tip about a large shipment of opium scheduled to arrive tonight. The message checked out, and earlier in that day, roughly an hour sunset, a massive foreign trader sailed in with her flags blowing wildly. Guided by the light of the city, she had docked at port 67 where she was left alone until midnight. Once the moon shone brightly above the sleeping city, the men who owned her finally began unloading her flanks. The police watched as boxes upon boxes were brought up from her interior hold and loaded onto waiting wagons with smooth precision.

The task to arrest and confiscate the illegal substance was handed down from the chief to the captain who further gave it to the underling lieutenant; whom at the moment monitored the shipment with the police group stationed by the storage houses. He was a tall man, standing out taller than the rest of the force. Dressed as all his other comrades were, he wore the customary navy blue uniform on top of his black top. White gloves concealed the sword calluses that littered across his hands, both left and right. And like a small part of the police force, a blade ordained his belt, labeling him as part of the chosen group to wear a sword in the peaceful Meiji era. Nothing that established him as the mission's leading man was worn, but he commanded an air of power that few argued even if they weren't aware that he was the director of the raid.

It was a clever time for doing such shady business, he had to admit as he watched the workers haul their crates from ship to dock. The harbors worked at all times of the day so no one would suspect people working so late at night, yet at the same time, there would only be half the amount of people busying the area. If they hadn't been tipped off, he had to wonder if they would ever catch this shipment. How many had went past them unnoticed in the past?

"It's time," he said before dropping a half burnt cigarette from his gloved fingers. The dot of red spiraled like its smoke tendrils down to the ground, glowing with its lambent orange until it was crushed beneath the leather black sole of his boot. As if that was the signal waited for from the other end of the harbor, the second force began their movements as well. Both sides progressed at the same time, rushing out onto the concrete platform to arrest the criminals.

One minute he was leaning against the lamppost staring at the stars above, and the next thing he knew, they were under attack. Somebody really bothered to steal away boxes of tea?! Prior to being employed, the man in charge did warn him that the tea leaves in the shipment were rare and expensive, but he had laid those cautions under a paranoid merchant's banter. He never thought someone was really stupid enough to waste time on tea! It was only leaves for goodness sake! The sentry on the boat seemed to have noticed they were under attack the same time he had, and shouted a warning loud enough for the whole area. Chaos erupted on the echoes of those words, creating more confusion in the darkness of a dim harbor. Two groups of people, he quickly noticed, roughly ten on each side, were rushing at them with long weapons brandished. Staffs? Swords? There were reflections of light on a few, so there must be at least some swords.

Sagara Sanosuke smiled confidently as he pushed himself back from the lamppost. Even without the circle of light, his white robe with the `Aku' character still stood out in the night's darkness. The wind blew again, this time playful with the ends of his red headband, marking him brightly for all those rushing men to see. "You'll have to get past me first!" Smashing his bandaged right fist into his open left hand, Sano grinned at the oncoming men. If it wasn't so dark and if the men weren't wearing their inky uniforms, he might be able to identify them as the police, but as things were, the street fighter merely thought they were troublemakers to steal the cargo.

The first attacker came with his long staff held high above his head, positioning it to club down on Sano's skull. That was also what was supposed to happen, but when the wooden weapon came down, instead of contacting upon that crest of unkempt brown hair, the ex-gangster's arm suddenly intercepted the empty space and the unbending staff hit that instead. Wood chips rained on both of them as the thin weapon splintered, covering the immediate area with small pieces of broken timber. The time it took for the officer to realize what had happened was enough for the fighter to land a strong, left handed punch into the officer's midsection, backed with enough strength to send the man hurling through several stacked boxes. "Ha!" The first victory was his!

The second and third attacking officers met with similar fates. The first one ended up with his staff and nose broken seeing they both stood in the path of Sano's fist, and the second was disarmed of his western saber in a matter of seconds. The ex-gangster with his forearm had managed to knock the first swing of the blade aside and followed through by breaking the man's arm with a downward elbow on the man's arm joint. Both wounded men retreated back after that, each respectively clutching to their own injury.

Adrenaline pumped through Sano's veins as his fist connected with the body of another officer. Warm flesh gave way beneath his hard punch and a sickening crack of a bone breaking from impact echoed almost as loudly as the man's ensuing scream. "Bring it on!"

By then, Sano was once more wrapped in the heat of battle like he had in the past. The fight was a renaissance of the old days when he, as Zanza, fought people for money. It had been three months after the battle between Kenshin and Shishio, and the train their lives were on returned more or less to the track it traveled down before the whole crisis occurred. He lived in his old shack still, and continued to mooch free food and borrow money, basically resigning himself to living the life away from his Zanza alter ego. He never thought the job would get this interesting. He turned just in time to uppercut the most currently attacking man.

"Take care of the others. I'll handle this ahou."

The voice coming from behind him quickly shook Sano of his reminiscences. There was only one man who ever called him an idiot in such self confident and annoying tones, and that one man had been dead for three months. He saw the place go up in flames and went back afterwards to check. That poor bastard even lost his corpse amongst the rubble that used to be Shishio's fortress. That was good enough a reason why it couldn't be him, though it doesn't explain who it could be.

To that answer, there was one easy way to find out. With a speed that would have impressed even Kenshin, Sano spun on his heels at a breakneck pace to confront the owner of the voice. Even though he knew it wasn't humanly possible for the dead to return, the ex-gangster still couldn't help but expect the impudent man who he came to associate with that tone to be the one standing behind him, so he wasn't more than half startled after finding himself staring face to face with him, a ghost.

Or who perfectly should be a ghost, but was there complete before him, with feet and all.

Sharp amber eyes stared back at the brunette from behind a long angular face framed with four front spidery bangs. As impeccable in his police uniform as always, Saitou Hajime stood in front of the rooster head with his hand resting on his belt black leather belt. A haughty smirk hung from that serious face while the officer casually perused the ruffian before him, who was slowly returning from his self induced shock. It amused Saitou to think that Sano would really think he died for three months. Of course, there was no way Sano could have known he had survived through those hellish flames, but the kid should have kept some faith.

"You're alive!" The surprised ex-gangster couldn't believe what his eyes told him. Saitou, that bastard, was alive. Unbidden memories of the last fight blazed across the recesses of Sano's mind. After Kenshin's battle with the monster Shishio, the whole arena began falling to pieces. The sheets of flames shooting up from the depths beneath them were such hindrances that even Sano had wondered if they would join the mummy's fate after all. Thus when Saitou got separated by the chasm of a collapsed bridge, how could street fighter expect him to survive that incinerating flare? But apparently the man had. He had escaped from the destruction of Shishio's fortress while sustaining two heavy wounds to his legs. The man doesn't even look scarred, and proves himself infallible by standing before Sano once more with his mocking smirk still in place.

Another glance at that unbending smirk and Sano's surprise quickly succumbed to anger. For three months, he had thought the arrogant bastard was dead. And during the first few weeks, he even mourned for the man in his own way. Now, all of a sudden, the son of a bitch just walks in and dares to call him an idiot? It just proves how much of an arrogant bastard Saitou Hajime really was. And against such people, Sano was only too glad to allow his rage to goad him into attacking, not even pausing to think why would Saitou be here in the first place. He felt flesh beneath his left fist as it collided with the cocky man's face. Yet, no one was more surprised than himself was when he found himself landing crudely on his back from a well placed return punch.

"Teme!" Sano cursed loudly instead of moaning like most would. Just how did Saitou get that punch in? Although he didn't exactly work on his own defenses, after those lengthy before and during the fight with Shishio, he would have thought he developed some sort of defending mechanism. Not to mention, he had landed the blow right across the jaw, how had he managed to get him back so quickly?

Saitou watched as the kid tried to twist back onto his feet. Despite how he wouldn't mind letting his fist reacquaint itself with the rooster head again, the man in uniform knew he still had a job to do. So instead of punching him, Saitou reached out with his white gloved hands and grabbed Sano by the lapels of his open robe. With a strong heave, he lifted street fighter onto his feet again, but that was quickly followed by grabbing both of Sano's wrists and twisting the man roughly around to immobilize them in a shoulder dislocating hold. Normally, Saitou would only take one arm this way, but even he had to admit Sano wasn't a normal fighter. The kid had stamina and strength if not a brains to go with it.

"Yeoch! Hey, watch it!" Struggling proved as futile as his earlier punch, and Sano just ended up with both shoulders aching their displeasure. One last pull nearly dislocated his right arm and he quickly decided it might not be such a bad idea to just go along for the moment. Anyhow, they had been allies -more like cooperating enemies now that Sano thinks about it- during the government's crisis with Shishio, so Saitou couldn't be all bad. There was also the point that he's a police officer, though that did very little to reassure Sano of what the man was doing bending his arms back like that. In fact, it suddenly occurred to him that something was very wrong. Trying to twist his head around to look catch a glimpse at the man behind him, he winced immediately after Saitou pushed him into a forward walk. "Just what the hell are you doing?!"

"Ahou ga, what does it look like? I'm apprehending you for smuggling opium and resisting arrest," came the reply in that overbearing and pitiless voice, but one would be crazy to expect pity from a wolf.

"WHAT!?"