The irony was not lost to him.
The cool night air would have explained the cigarette between his lips, but the end was not lit. He had found the discarded package of tobacco in his father’s possessions long ago, had kept them, now carried them or the same brand in his jacket pocket—but he never used them per se. He simply kept them at hand, would occasionally put one to his mouth as he waited in a near-meditative state. He was, after all, an imitator, not the real deal.
Beyond what would have been a light haze of cancer-producing smoke was a cityscape of noises despite the late—or early—hour of the night. Cars moved about, crosswalks made obnoxious whistling noises, and the general merriment of after-hours cavorting occasionally spilled out from bars into the streets beyond. It was something he could dismiss, the Reinforcement on his hearing and sight, but he also had no particular reason to turn it off, so to speak.
The irony was not lost to him.
He had been here to do something he did not want to particularly engage in, though he had prepared himself nonetheless. The sniper rifle he had brought was still secured in the suitcase next to him, ready for use. But a call about an hour earlier had made it all for naught: his allies reported the target had been gunned down in a completely unrelated situation.
“A mastermind of genocide killed by a rival clan lord,” the voice over the phone had said, voice restraining a chuckle. “I think the final insult was someone popped him with a measly .22 from what I hear. No dignity.”
“You forget that I shoot people with swords, sometimes,” he had replied. “Sometimes, I have a voice in my head that says you’re doing it wrong.” Worse, it was Taiga Fujimura’s voice, which was somehow doubly damning.
The irony was not lost to him.
So, he sat, his weapon useless, his soul a little relieved at one less preemptive strike against what was even a very clear “bad guy” target. He had agreed to contact his employers later, but for now simply loitered around, recovering from the would-be assassination he had planned out in his mind’s eye.
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