Ninja drink too

The bathhouse was full of geisha. Hiroto was the only man, sitting there in the steamy water, naked with his tiny white cloth slopped over the top of his head. Blemishes were invisible in the dim and foggy atmosphere, and so everything in sight took on a soft, dream-like aura. He suddenly realized that he was the center of attention, and that several of the geisha were removing their kimono to join him in the hot water. Was this really happening? Hiroto didn’t care. One of the women held out a small cup with what he assumed to be sake and he partook hastily. They were all closing in on him now, and his smile wasn’t the only thing growing.

“KARUGE HIROTO! WE KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE! WE DON’T WANT ANY CASUALTIES, SO YOU’LL COME OUT QUIETLY AND UNARMED!” The words were blasted through a megaphone, and Hiroto awoke instantly. Face and stomach on the floor, he looked over to his right hand to see his katana clutched tightly within it. By now it was a mere reflex. Hiroto barely heard a startling noise without reaching for his sword and lifting it just an inch out of its holster.

He lifted himself slowly off the floor of the wood and paper house, then grabbed his forehead in agony. A hangover was doing battle with his brain and the pain told him that this was not the time for ninja heroics. He placed the katana somewhat silently back on the floor and stumbled naked toward the front door.

BOOF! SMACK! He tripped on his own feet and fell flat on his front. An expression of hard endurance crinkled his face. He raised his gaze back to the wall and with one finger he poked a small hole in the rice paper to peek at the outside world. The sky was grey with clouds passing over his seaside hut, and in his driveway between the wind-cut rocks was a pack of men in black suits, standing before black cars, all eyes on the front door. Again the voice with the megaphone spoke.

“WE’VE GOT YOU CORNERED, HIROTO. YOU’D BEST SURRENDER. THERE’S NO WAY OUT OF HERE.” Yes, cornered, but not surrounded. The hut was built on a cliff point overlooking the ocean, though Hiroto knew in his state he wouldn’t have the energy or concentration to traverse the climb down to his anchored fishing boat. There was only one way out of this.

Suddenly the front door burst apart, splinters of wood flying and paper floating through the air like feathers from a shot bird. Hiroto staggered out of the hut, still naked, AK47 in hand and fired liberally upon the suited men.

“YAAAAAAAAAH!” Hiroto screamed as government blood spilled all over the barren ground. Not one man had the chance to fire a single bullet before they were shot. Hiroto was a drunken master with a gun in his hands, efficiently executing official after official, and for the grand finale he reached for his ass with one hand and pulled a grenade out, the pin remaining in his clenched cheeks, and threw it toward the cars. The explosion sent car and body parts alike through the air, and as he stood there before the smoldering aftermath, genitals waving in the sea breeze, the only thought that could stay in his mind was what he was going to have for breakfast.