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...Von Cobra corporate HQ. 2300 hours.
Baron Von Cobra, his tight vinyl outfit creaking under the strain of movement, looked down on the LCD display. His forces, robotic ants equipped with two miniguns apeice, supported by endless battalions of Werferwerfers, were crawling their way through Moldova, as if each battalion were a cancerous skin cell infecting all others around it. Von Cobra knew that soon Moldova's precious supplies of Denim would be his. Lighting a cigar he reclined into his leather chair, vibing off the juxtaposition of the feitshy fabrics that made up both his clothing and his upholstery.
The cigar dropped from his lips before it could be lit. A short blade, a kiroshi knife, was held to his throat. The perpetual gloom of his office had proved to be his undoing.
Reaching to his intercom he gasped "Security, intruder in sector-"
He was met by a wall of static, followed by a sound he knew too well: taut piano wire against the throat of his personal guard, becoming harsher and more urgent as breath and life deserted him.
"You'll find your security is quite useless."
The speaker, a Japanese man old beyond estimation, stepped forth from the shadows, picked the cigar from Von Cobra's desk and lit it.
"We have killed a hundred, maybe two hundred, in reaching your office, Cobra-san. We do so for the honor of the Koga-Ninja. We were promised denim of the finest quality in exchange for the state of Moldova. Instead, you have supplied us with this stone-washed trash. Furthermore you have chosen to employ a series of increasingly bizarre inventions to further your strategic ends, further dishonoring the Koga-Ninja. To do so would mean death for a lesser man."
The elderly man pressed the cigar against Von Cobra's obsidian ashtray, as if to punctuate his threat.
"My ninja-strike-force have chosen not to dirty ourselves in the realm of simple politics" he spat the word as if a whore would blush to say it "But remember always that we watch from the shadows, and your life is ours"
Von Cobra gasped as the knife was withdrawn from his throat. As the ninja wiped his guard's blood from their katana, Cobra fell to his knees and wept.
Like a little bitch. |
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