Here goes. Over-all. This is a character i play with a modern tinge to it. =D Hopefully you enjoy.

Shibuya, Tokyo, Japan 10:24 PM, December 30, 2010 The neon lights of Shibuya’s pachinko strip bled luminance into the night. One of the seedier parts of Shibuya, this area was known to be heavily influenced by gangs, and not just the major Yakuza, either. Smaller street gangs tended to prey on the weak here, using the heroin dens, illegal gambling and arms distribution industries to lure in their targets. Khaterina, unfortunately, was no exception to the rule. She’d been holding off her withdrawals since she left Leningrad by popping pills and drinking, and it was no longer enough. She needed the rush, the clean, cold fluid feeling of heroin running through her veins, crossing the blood-brain barrier and pushing her over the edge into euphoria. The woman found herself in an alleyway off the main strip, standing outside the back door into a restaurant’s basement. She braced herself by popping the last Dilaudid she’d pilfered from Nami’s purse and shaking her head, before knocking on the door.

It was made of steel, and had a barred portal to look out from covered by a strip of metal. It slid open, and the man inside spoke in broken English, ”What you looking foh?” He must have assumed Khaterina didn’t speak Japanese, but that was just silly – she was surviving here, anyway, and she’d spent two months of 15-hour days doing nothing but studying on the way here to prepare herself. Clearly the place wasn’t run by Kuro Hebi or Howai, they wouldn’t hire idiots like that as doormen… Right? Khaterina responded by pressing the artificial voicebox to her throat, and letting out a monotone reply with perfect Japanese inflection. A very strange combination. ”Junk.” The man slid the portal shut and after a few mechanical clanks, the door opened into a stairwell leading down to another door. Khaterina was led down by the doorman into a second room, a kind of antechamber where she was told to wait.

She was beginning to get a little suspicious, so she slid one hand inside the leather coat she wore to grip her trench knife, which hung along a belt-buckle type strap. It’d come undone with a little force. ”You can go in now.” A voice said from behind her, and Khaterina immediately walked through the wooden door in front of her. She entered the next room, and immediately heard the door behind her lock shut. Fuck. Six men emerged from the darkness surrounding her wearing various J-rock inspired outfits and carrying melee weapons such as knives, bats, lead pipes, tire irons and 2x4s. ”You wanna give it up nice and easy sweetheart?” One of the men asked with a wry grin, but Khaterina simply stood, dropping the artificial voicebox into her messenger bag before setting it down against the wall. She waited, and the man’s expression changed to a frown. Clearly assuming he had her completely caught off guard, he approached her with a balisong in hand and flipped it around threateningly.

Khaterina kept waiting, and eventually they all began to close in, but the man she supposed was the “leader” made the mistake of taking her shoulder as he began to speak again. ”Listen, babe, you really sh- HURRK” he was caught off by his own cry of agony as the trench knife was pulled from its buckle and stabbed into his stomach, pushed upward from the gut behind his ribs and into his heart. She slid the weapon out with a sickening schlick and kicked his body away into one of the nearby men. Khaterina didn’t know if they were Kuro Hebi or Howai or just small-time punks, and she didn’t care. The first man to her left was the first to react to her attacking his buddy, and he approached her with an overhead swing of a baseball bat. Unfortunately, he’d walked too close, and with a quick jerking motion Khaterina had managed to get behind the bat and beside it. [

She slammed her free hand into his jaw with an uppercut and immediately ran the knife’s blade across his throat when she opened up his defenses, pushing him into the next man. Two more approached her with long weapons, and she reacted instinctively, remembering her training in the Russian mob. She cleaned up other people’s messes, she wasn’t going to make one of her own. Then again… It might serve to give the small-time gangs a message: do not fuck with the Yakuza. She ducked underneath a horizontal swing toward her gut and stepped around the first attacker so he was between her and the second man, immediately raising up and slamming the brass knuckles of the trench knife into his sternum. His eyes went glossy and he crumpled to the ground in a heap as three of his ribs shattered, piercing his lungs and knocking him unconscious from the shock. The second man tried to react but was too slow, Khaterina lunging toward him and grabbing his outstretched wrist mid-swing.

She slammed the knife’s blade into the side of his throat and used it as a lever to pull him into the last man still on his feet, who managed to stay standing, but was dazed. She grabbed his hair and pulled back his head as she rushed into him, slamming the knife into his eye and pulling it back out in a swift, rehearsed motion. The man she’d knocked to the ground at the beginning of the fight was just now getting his bearings as he’d pushed his bosses body off of him, and he stood back up, reaching into his waistband to undoubtedly draw a gun. Khaterina wasn’t going to let that happen. She reached into her jacket with her free hand and retrieved a SOG throwing knife, holding it by the blade, and expertly threw it over handed across the room. It spun one and a half times before striking the man in the eye. Unfortunately, Khaterina had thrown the knife she wrapped in para cord, but she didn’t have time to get the para cord off now. She began frantically searching the bodies for a key, eventually snatching it off the gang leader’s corpse, then systematically finished off anyone who had lived through her assault but slitting their throats before exiting the room. The doorman had clearly heard the struggling and made a run for it, as the basement’s front door was open and there was no trace of him. Good. Khaterina shut the door again and locked it, turning back to the cadavers in the other room. She spent the next half hour carving off their fingertips, pulling out their eyes, sawing off their noses and lips and leaving the various pieces in a bloody heap against the far wall. She walked up to the basement door and pulled out her cellphone, unable to leave without suitable pick-up due to being absolutely covered in blood. She was careful not to leave any prints however, smudging any with pieces of the dead men’s clothing. No one would ever know who killed them, or who they were.