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Looking for matches

Fri Nov 25, 2022 3:50 pm by Void Effect

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Looking for fun Fights

Wed Nov 23, 2022 8:55 am by Leon564

Hi hiiiii
Hope you are well my fellows! Happy holidays to those that celebrate. Though some of you may indeed be busy, some of you might be bored and alone. Well I'm here as well bored and alone 😅 So same boat. But not always the same tastes.

Anywhoooooo I've got my two characters available for some battles. James is decently flexible on whom he fights. But Melanie is strictly for the men. She can't get enough of'em 😆

Take a gander at them and hit me up either with a …

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Free Face Claim

Thu Nov 17, 2022 1:11 pm by Void Effect

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The Fault in Our Shareholders

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Post by Unlife Sat Oct 08, 2022 2:30 pm

As far as Koyuki was concerned, the Smith & Wessen 500 was a bad gun.

That was, of course, not to say it had limited firepower or any glaring deficiencies as a tool of pure murder. Quite the opposite; it was the single most powerful handgun ever created. Someone in the S&W products team took a look at the Desert eagle, rubbed his American jowls thoughtfully, and pondered, “What if we doubled that? What if we made a handgun so nasty, accompanied by the creation of the most powerful handgun cartridge to date, one that could hold bullets up to 40 grams, bullets so heavy they belong in an assault rifle. Would that sate my American overcompensation? Would my morally bankrupt anglo-saxon parents finally get back together once they see the school-shooting monstrosity I have conjured from the depths of hell?”

No to the last two questions, but the Smith & Wesson Model 500 and the .500 S&W Magnum was born from this diseased western mind, the most powerful handgun made to withstand the trauma of firing the heaviest bullets from the most advanced handgun cartridge yet.

And until the last 3 minutes, its lethality had not mattered to Koyuki. She had never, ever had to face one in combat before because it never ever sold in the Japanese underworld. It wasn’t for lack of trying. The Kaitei brought over their first and last shipment of 500s to Tokyo in 2010 when she was still learning the ropes. They sold a dozen at most, and none of them had ever emerged. Probably fancy paperweights or on ornate walls somewhere.

One was claimed by a certain Public Security agent masquerading in deep cover as Yakuza. Unlike the rest, it was being put to stunningly annoyingly good use at the moment-

And it was still a bad gun.

From a gun trafficker’s perspective, it did not sell. Vanity ruled the few purchases they made, not practicality. It had a limited market niche, to put it lightly. From a assassin’s perspective, it was too heavy, too loud, too large, all things anathema to the discretion of the trade. The extreme recoil was too much. Rapid fire was hard. It was a gun built on overkill foremost and it was no surprise that its primary purpose was found in hunting and putting down bears.

It was a bad gun.

And it was the only thing keeping Sae Yamamoto alive and not diced to tiny pieces in the opening move where another lighter, more practical gun might have fail. Because this crazy bitch loaded her gun, the same gun she supposedly brandished for mere security, with 45 gram Tazza hardcase lead bullets. If it wasn’t that, it was something as heavy. Koyuki had fully intended to follow through on her stride, slice through the bullet, and gut Yams in one fell swoop.

She was forced to stand her ground and deflect instead. It costed her a second and that second counted.

It also made her cautious in a way that she might not have been with, say, a glock 17 or her own sig sauer. She could take a bullet to the shoulder and grind through the pain; she couldn’t take the absence of a shoulder, which would very much the promise of the 500. Her coat was Kevlar-lined and she had absolutely zero confidence at all it would help against a direct hit from this monster gun.

So instead of planting her heel on Shito’s back, yanking out her sword, and facing a fully primed uber-gun waiting for her to the side, Koyuki opted for a more expedient approach to intercepting the incoming bullet.

Expedient… and much more painful for a certain impaled Yakuza.

Gripping both hands on the hilt, she drove the edge of her borrowed Katana through his flesh, carving it through the fat beneath his armpits, and ripping it free in a violent shower of blood and chunks that splatter-painted the wall behind them, Koyuki’s suit, and presumably Sae. It all happened in one messily smooth motion. The blade, now free of the confines of flesh, continued in a vertical arc that bisected the bullet into top and bottom halves, as Koyuki rushed in, using the brief period of recoil to grab at the skyward barrel, her fingers moving along the length of the gun and wrestling Sae for control over the trigger, trying to force and bend the gun backwards, inching closer to the traitor's head-

While her other arm raised her sword high in a reverse grip and plunged it into Sae’s left shoulder, intending to pin her violently to the wall.

“L-e-m-o-n O-n-e-s.” Masuyo-san said, giving voice to the text message she was sending out. She looked up from her phone, her eyes shifting from the two woman fighting it out in the corner, and then to Shito bleeding out on the ground and frowned. “Could you guys, uh, help the guy out please? Can’t pay hazard pay if he’s shuffled off the mortal coil.” Two of the guys closest to the action sheathed their guns and dragged Shito to relative safety, a trail of red leaking behind him. They tried to stem his bleeding. Tried being the operative word. It was like trying to plug a flood with a stone.

Masuyo-san seemed to lose interest quickly, returning her gaze to the fight. “No, actually.” she responded to her business partner. “She just grimaces at everything. Watch a movie? Grimace. Gotta kill someone? Grimace. Throw her a birthday party? Grimace. Win the lottery? Grimace. It’s not a tell, it’s her shining personality shining through that mask of practiced stoicism.”
Unlife
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Post by Berial Thu Oct 20, 2022 1:06 am

"No, I am sure that's a tell," Elizabeth replied, silently thanking herself for not opting for the Mannington carpet. Blood stains would never get out of that.

The yellow eyes of the Winterbourne heir studied the blade as it exited the burly man’s armpit, painting red across the far wall of the room like the stroke of a painter’s brush. "It's the way her grimace tightens at a certain interval. You see, the human body isn't divided into regions. Every muscle and fiber connects to another in some way. The depressor anguli oris beneath in her mandible has a close association with a tendon in the wrist that closes the grip, meaning she's about to strike. You can quite literally read her face."

Despite her nonchalant delivery, Elizabeth could still feel those eyes staring at her from the side. The finger at her chin scratched the skin, raising a brow as Koyuki lunged and seized Sae’s weapon.

"The descendants of a wandering Madhhij warrior-scholar shared it with me after they saved my jeep from a herd of starving camels. Wonderfully courteous people. Turns out camel tongues are quite the delicacy." Elizabeth licked her lips unconsciously. Oh, was Koyuki about to-?

Yes, Sae realized. She was about to stab her.

Her focus was initially on the yakuza’s face. That youthful expression plastered with blood and cold, murderous intent filled Sae with a worrying sense of nostalgia. She’d seen faces like hers countless times in her past. In the halls as co-workers, in the streets as informants, in the mirror as her morning countenance. So much of her younger years were a haze of stink and sweat. It was almost a relief when she was taken away from it all. She could think clearly. Days were warm and nights were quiet.

Yet, her blood was running. Time slowed to a crawl. Every bead of sweat, every contour of muscle, every harsh breath stood out. Like the blood from Koyuki’s sword that just tapped her cheek; the flashy twirl and the reverse grip.

The blade was a centimeter away from Sae’s shoulder before it suddenly stopped its deadly descent. The security chief’s gloved hand gripped the sword tightly with a flex of dense muscle along her forearm. Her hands wrestled with her handgun in one and a tempered blade in the other. The Firearms and Swords Control Law was working out about as well as it had been back in her day.

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Post by Unlife Sat Oct 22, 2022 7:42 pm

“I don’t think camels actually eat-” Masuyo-san trailed off, recognizing the folly in focusing on that dubious sentence of an already dubious paragraph. It sounded like abstruse horseshit, but a life spent in the Japanese underground had enlightened her to the low wonders of the world; of Ninja and Samurai and swordsmen and other such mysteries in the modern nights of Japan. One such foul-tempered mystery was fighting in this very room right now, wearing the guise of Yakuza to hide allegiance to an even more ancient, brutal order. Surely other cultures have their old traditions that refuse to give way to the present, who had insight into the human condition that contemporary science failed to account for. “I’ll take your word for it, Miss Winterbourne.”she finally said, her eyes still fixed on the tense, if temporary, stalemate between the two combatants. The two halves of the weapon struggle seemed to contrast each other; the war for the gun a mad scramble of fingers and thumbs as the firearm in question swerved back and forth and up and down and in every direction as both combatants sought to wrestle the barrel in the general direction of their opponent. The sword struggle, on the other hand, was a quietly deadly affair, with Koyuki's blade slowly, ever so slowly, sliding past the hold of Sae's defensive grip, grazing the surface of her jacket, hungering for the tender flesh beneath fabric. They had been at it for half a minute.

Where Winterbourne seemed excited, Masuyo-san seemed merely politely interested, as if this was just another usual day at work. “And I do wonder what my dear Ko would have to say about your comments about the foundation of her sword skills being-” She raised her voice suddenly and oh so dramatically, her mouth opening wiiiide to enunciate the coming words. -Predictable aaaaaaaaaaand Basic.

As if in response, Koyuki spat a glob of saliva into Sae's eyes. With patience, the stalemate was hers to win. She was stronger than Sae... but also evidently far less willing to gaze lovingly into her opponent's eyes for any length of time. Unlike Sae, she saw nothing in her opponent's face to wax poetic about. Only age and regret and the folly of treachery. And so, she decided to redecorate it with a generous helping of spittle. At the same time, she jerked the gun barrel toward Sae's face. Not enough. Even with her mouthy distraction, she wouldn't be able to get the muzzle cleanly pressed right to her face, but she opted for her second choice.

She jerked the 500 as close to Sae's face as possible, all but a centimeter from grazing her cheek, the barrel pointed up at the ceiling and fired it sky high. The resulting thunderclap of sound from the single, loudest handgun ever made, one that was banned at indoor ranges because it had the chance of blowing up the overhead lights above, reverberated more keenly than ever at such an intimate range. It seared at the Yakuza Captain's ears, a punishing crackle that overtook her hearing, and the only comfort was that whatever discomfort this was doing to her applied to her opponent tenfold.

Who knows, she might even losing her hearing. Just moments before her life went with it.
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Post by Berial Sat Nov 05, 2022 6:01 pm

Actually, Elizabeth was very impressed with Koyuki’s swordsmanship. Cleaving through dense muscle like that in a single stroke was a difficult task even with a tempered blade. A perfect cut took years to master, a lifetime to perfect. No, Koyuki had dazzling swordsmanship. Not necessarily predictable, but rather…mechanical. Efficient. Straight to the point. No funny business.

She wouldn’t have been a whole lot of fun to spar against. However, for the express purpose of killing, Elizabeth could understand where Koyuki served her purpose, for she did it exceptionally.

Sae could attest. Although she was too busy struggling between two lethal weapons inches away from her head to give much attention to her assassin’s finesse. Staying alive was first and foremost, but she didn’t want to let this fight drag out much longer. Not while there were still six others left to deal with after Little Koyuki. Sae’s mind raced even as her muscles ached. She figured she could hold this deadlock until she came up with something decisive. Unfortunately for her, Koyuki - ever the perpetually restless, impatient beast of a person - decided to move things along and spat in her eye.

Classy.

Thankfully eyesight had next to nothing to do with grip strength. She kept her hold on the weapons tight, refusing to budge an inch. It wasn’t the first time she'd been eye sniped by a saliva bullet during a brawl; it wasn't even the first time a yakuza had done it to her. Would have been worse if she'd taken the moment to gargle. But all she had to do was give Koyuki an instant; a half-second of weakness to exploit. Whether she’d wanted to or not, that was exactly what Sae ended up giving her.

The next thing she heard was an explosion going off next to her ear. A high-pitched ring cut out the sound from her left ear. The impulse to scream died along its predetermined route inside of her brain as an electrical storm wreaked havoc inside of her skull. She grit her teeth, feeling a wave of adrenaline rush through her veins.

Her free hand would reach up and grab the back of Koyuki's head, pulling her down as Sae's head threw itself up and smashed into the bridge of her nose. A quick attempt at stunning the yakuza so that Sae could work her leg up from underneath and brace it against Koyuki’s stomach. The security chief’s quads flexed as she went to kick the lighter woman off of her, sending her into a front flip onto the coffee table and the half-full jasmine tea pot on its surface.

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Post by Unlife Wed Nov 23, 2022 4:29 am

Ingratitude.

That was the great obstacle of Masuyo Ai’s life. She was surrounded by fences and walls and ramparts and veritable fucking fortifications, all forged from cast-iron thanklessness. Her fundamental (and some might say only) character flaw was generosity and it was one that she could not overcome. She gave and gave and gave and all people saw was a vulnerable, ungloved hand waiting to be snapped up for yet another morsel of meat.

Why, just in this room itself…

There was the budding sociopath, sent along with the Kaitei expedition force to Tokyo, practically dropped into a foreign city by her clan as a child because of some kind of fucked up thirdborn child initiation rite. Something about cuckoos turning into dragons or whatever. The customs of the oldest and most powerful Kaitei clans eluded her. Lost, angry, and too proud to ask for help, Masuyo offered guidance, mentorship, education, and even affection. She raised her up to stand at the top of the Tokyo underworld and what did she do to repay her?

Fight her decisions every step of the way.

No, Masuyo-san, we need to murder everyone and feast on their blood like fucking twilight vampires. No, Masuyo-san, i need to play golf and I cant help you win a bet with some limey. No, Masuyo-san, your office decor reeks of the impotent weakness of corporate frailty. No, Masuyo-san, I gave my word that I would purge their bloodline down to the last child, do not make a liar of me. Mass Murder is the only honorable recourse. No, Masuyo-san. No, Masuyo-san. No, Masuyo-san-

No, Masuyo-san, don’t become a principal shareholder of the martial arts promotion I’m wasting my weekends on. The purity of unarmed homoerotically-charged combat is sullied by your stacks and stacks of stinking moooooney. I don’t like you and you look like a pirate waaaaaah.

Shut the actual fuck up, Koyuki Sanada.

How were the young adult years somehow even worse than the puberty ones?

Then there was genderbent Judas in the purple wig. Mmm whatchu Sae Yamamoto. A living, breathing PSB molerat of a human void responsible for no less than several million yen worth of therapy sessions over the last 13 years. Which was mostly money wasted down the drain because her rapidly-replaced rotation of therapists all rounded back to the same damn issue:

Trust, trust, trust, trust, and trust.

And the absence of it was, uh, kind of a necessity for survival in her profession and position.

Case in point: she chose to trust Sae, and she was down an eye. And an additional billion yen for the legal repercussions of her little molerat snitching. Repercussions that she had initially escaped, even took advantage of, when Sae scurried off back to her eusocial molerat colony with her molerat twink lover, but eventually reared their ugly head her direction in the waning days of the Obama Administration when Black Dumbo began his sauntions against international organized crime.

She cost her a lot of money. And besides a good movie, her daughter, and the other two crazy murderhobo pseudo-daughters that somehow managed to frustrate her in polar opposite extremes, there was nothing she loved more than money. And Sae took a lot of it, certainly more than she ever made her.

But it was never the right time to kill her. Masuyo kept tabs on her on and off over the years, watching with utter boredom as she charted the blissfully dull waters of domesticity, lost her traitor twink husband in a perfectly preventable car accident that would not have happened if he remembered that, hey, he was a naked molerat and thus couldn’t see outside in the light, and raised a molerat daughter in conditions that would be very conducive to a molerat colony, but quite a bit less so for a human being.

But instead of seizing on the chance to kill her at her lowest point, she took the pity she felt for Yams and made a breakthrough with her therapist. See? Everyone won. Except for the therapist. He kinda had to be silenced. Her breakthrough monologue was riddled with passionate, lurid, and very convictable details.

Then there was the tech heiress in white. She-

Okay, she hadn’t done anything yet. But she told a really stupid story about camels, and Masuyo had decided to hold her in equal (perhaps even greater) contempt than the other two fuckheads just for that.

And well…

Here they were. Amazingly, Masuyo Ai did not buy into Momentum to forge it into a purgatory to cage and torture either of them. No, that would be silly and petty. She invested into Momentum in spite of them because at the end of the day, the money came first, and Momentum was the best choice on the table, the first but most certainly not last of her major ventures to steal vice from under the eyes of the Osaka clans while they watched helplessly as their illicit market share was chipped away over the years.

She just did not expect a fucking CEO to bring a mere Security chief to the damn meeting. All that effort to fool the background checks into thinking it was an Osaka clan and keep Yams in the dark for a little bit more until it was too late gone up in smoke.

Welp…

So those two did what they did best. Yams shot, Ko deflected. They closed in. Elizabeth watched with the thrilled excitement of someone who actually enjoyed her own product, and Masuyo watched with the bored disinterest of someone who absolutely did not. The novelty of watching Koyuki slice through flesh and bullets had lost its novelty approximately three gang wars ago. Where once it startled and impressed, now it simply was. She cut things. She worked a long time to get very good at cutting things. If only she showed the same interest in the corporate governance that was the fundamental part of the modern Yakuza framework, moved up from queen of the tokyo dungheap to the bright skyscrapers of Shinjuku, so Masuyo could retire in a decade. But noooo, corporate bad, illicit murder good.

And when Yams sent Ko into and then onto the table, a flash of silver in her hand accompanied her as she was unceremoniously tossed from their stalemate, flipped onto it, reflexively smacked the launched-and-returning-down-to-earth teapot away so hard it flew across the room, and smashed into and through the window overlooking the Osaka skyline - and then the table collapsed, its legs giving out from her weight. A very, very expensive table. She scurried with uncharacteristic panic, righting herself from the heap, practically trying to dart behind one of the sofas before she realized-

That she had the gun. In the divorce of their stalemate, the gun was relinquished for custody. Yams had no visitation rights. Koyuki looked at the gun, then up at Yams, and her posture straightened dramatically. She raised-

Okay, no. Probably shouldn't kick off her relationship with the entire welsh economy with murder. They had their fun.

"Ladies," she said. "Ko, put the damn thing down. Kinda a bitch move to shoot her after all that crap about guns being lame."

"I wasn't-"

"And Mole." She blinked. Shit, called her a molerat too much in her mental place. "Yams, we have all the guns in the room. You have a sword, and not a great one. No offense." she patted Elizabeth apologetically on the shoulder. "And nothing's going to happen. Just girls being girls. Water under the bridge. If you feel so strongly against this, we should talk about it. Like civilized women. Look, I'll even-"

She reached behind Elizabeth's desk and retrieved the wastepaper basket. It was fortunately empty. "Gentlemen." she said, "One by one. Toss all the dakka in. Keep the ammo. Gently please."

One by one, the Yakuza grunts dropped from their firing stances and slowly and very reluctantly peeled away towards the lifted up wastepaper basket like a bunch of children in a queue. They dropped their empty guns in.

"And Ko-" came that motherly voice.

"No." Ko said, Yams' oversized gun still raised.

"Not just the two guns you have on you. I'm gonna need your coat, your shoes, and all the knives and weird shit in them."

"No."

"Yams, will you hear me out if Koyuki puts her very expensive coat and shoes into the pacifism box." Masuyo said, waggling the wastepaper basket like it was a begging cup. "You can keep the sword if it so suits you."

"Do you know how expensive kelvar coats-" Koyuki seethed. "I'll never wear it again if it goes in there-"

"Oh, cry me a river."
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