Revenge Fantasy

Impostor Syndrome. The phenomenon of self-doubt in one's intellect, skills, and accomplishments among high-achieving individuals. That one doesn't belong, a faker, an impersonator, an "impostor" amongst the capable. Belief in unqualified incompetence when everyone else around you knows what they're doing.

Chouko was more than familiar with this phenomenon, long before she disappeared from the public eye. Left by her lonesome to act, she was discovered as such an individual. An impostor amidst scholars, proven a failure by her lonesome.

Chouko - in her eyes - rationalized her failures as a necessary sacrifice. Unable to be a prodigy as the classwork felt meaningless to her. Unable to be the head of the Ashford businesses as she held no rights to the legacy Father raised her into. Unable to keep any of the belongings of her childhood, unable to keep hold of what Father left behind, unable to maintain any of the fame and reputation Father could hold.

Nothing felt right to Chouko after that day. The lone, remaining "Ashford", daughter to a dead family. The bloodline of Charles Ashford gone and taken. Any attempt to rationalize anything in her life, met with this sour and rancid feeling in her blood.

All she could think about was Kuroiwa.

Kuroiwa.

One single thought ran rampant through her mind, that she wanted to make Kuroiwa suffer by any means necessary.

Sun Tzu put it best. Know thy self, know thy enemy. If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles.

Chouko needed to become what she despised the most, her enemy. Become one of them. A mercenary, a killer, a faceless individual. She needed to kill Chouko Ashford, to kill herself again and again. To disconnect herself from this innocent little girl.

Thus, the persona was born. and she took the name she despised the most. The Stalker of the Underworld, Kuroiwa.

"... you're really calling yourself that?"

Chouko faintly remembers her first meeting with the Underworld. Around her fall from grace, she fled the UK and returned to the city where it all began. Endangering herself in the shady streets of New York City, a blind gambit to gather attention from unseen entities.

By some miracle, she's encountered her gateway into this dark side of the country. A man that served as her handler at the start, an informant that saw opportunity with the literal rich girl that had some semblance of fortune left. The man went by the name of "Charon", a reference to the ferryman that delivered souls to the Underworld. A man whose face she remembers vividly, with cigarette ash in his thick beard.

"Indeed. Is there going to be a problem with that?" Chouko asked, her face unfazed as those inquisitive words were uttered.

"... lass. You're not exactly clever, are you?" Charon asked in return. "Naming yourself after your mortal enemy's risky, especially if it's that name. No way it's going to work unless you're willing to pay the price for it."

Chouko glared at the man. "You know my reasons, Mr. Charon. No price is too much for me."

"Just Charon will do, brat, and- obviously, there's now a price too much for you. Given your whole 'death of your father' and 'failing businesses'..." the man responded, before taking another puff of his sigarette. Letting out a sigh with rolling eyes. "... ever heard of Confucius. Chinese philosopher. Once said 'before you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two graves.'"

Chouko pondered on that for a moment, before she responded. "Actually, that quote is misattributed to him by Western authors, but I am familiar. Point being?"

"Well, don't get me wrong, I have no qualms with this arrangement, but I'm face to face with an irrational child that probably ain't aware of the terms. The quote's to say that what you're attempting will completely eff up your life. All for something you can't walk away from. You sure you're ready? No regrets?"

A thought provoking wisdom, a warning for any other soul with hesitation and fear. But Chouko wasn't one of them.

"If I must, I will dig a cemetery for the world, Charon."

An air of silence between the two, before Charon drops the cigarette and stomps his foot down. Signing a signature of ash and dust to cement their deal. "Alright then, brat. If you truly mean that, then I'll be your little 'ferryman' through the Underworld. From now on, whatever I say, you do. No questions asked. Understand?"

"Understood."

Chouko's acceptance of these conditions marked her steady rise in the Underworld. A girl with youth, personally molded into a mercenary and guided through this most muddy of waters. Charon proved himself a reliable ally time and time again, as each of his orders brought her closer and closer to Kuroiwa.

Starting out, of course, Chouko was told to take many unwanted and lowly jobs to build up her new founded career. Charon's plan accounted for the limitations of her being an inexperienced child, so the waters had to be tested. Chouko understood this plenty.

"Guy wants you to get some cold medicine. Take this money and buy it. Come up with an excuse for buying mass quantities."

"A client needs a little girl to pose as his daughter. Put this wig and these colored contacts over your eyes. You're too recognizable."

"Client's unable to wear a wire, so you're going in. We'll put a wire on you to record their conversation, from a close enough distance. Keep inconspicuous."

Bit by bit, Chouko climbed this metaphorical wall as she followed Charon's orders to an exact detail. Years upon years of regular exercise to remain fit, mixed with nonsense work as she took the jobs no other mercenary wanted. All part of Charon's intricate plan, Chouko thought to herself, and it all paid off at the age of 14. A renaissance for the Underworld, as the destructive consequences of the android and cybernetic industries supplied mercenaries with a surplus of jobs.

A heavy increase in investigative jobs, of espionage work. Jobs that were well suited for newcomers with the technology to back themselves up.

But rather than invest in either of these technologies, however, Chouko was simply given a "traditional" technology for her work: a cellphone. One of the many Underworld-issued models with its standard features, allowing mercenaries to communicate over securely encrypted channels.

"... Underworld's been working on something," Charon explained when he gave Chouko the phone. "Times are changing. We can't keep talking in person. Everything in this phone, as long as you call and text only my number, will be secured. I'm not responsible for any other calls. Guard it with your life, 'cause there's a lot that this thing can do."

With this phone, Chouko was sent on these jobs with direct guidance from Charon. Schematics of buildings, instructions on what to do and where to go, direct instructions when hitting a brick wall, Chouko treasured this old and encrypted invention with her life. Every time she broke into a building, each time she was expected to steal confidential information through some means, Chouko's career swallowed down job after job that Charon texted her.

Its features weren't limited to only that, however, thanks to Charon.

"Ever watched any spy movies?"

"No."

"Damn. Thought they'd be popular where you came from. Well, brat. This phone'll make you feel like a spy. Gadgets and all."

There was no use in pretending that Chouko knew any of the phone's intricacies, but she felt as if she didn't care all that much. Charon already feeds her instructions and orders, so every feature this phone comes with is just that. An order.

Chouko couldn't afford any mistakes. A single one would get her killed. What semblance of fear she had, silenced with the mentality that she "had to do this". As Charon remained her lifeline, and Chouko remained his golden ticket. As the two benefitted from other Underworld employers reaching out to her, taking on more and more jobs. Chouko cemented it all into her mind, each success and every failure.

The blunders she faced a distant memory, reciting to herself over and over again that she had to be perfect, that she needed to be perfect, that she was perfect. Chouko was either perfect, or she was dead. The years going by, the money going into Charon's account as he upgraded her tools, bought her equipment and funded her various living arrangements. Chouko was raised into a new identity, raised by the man who helped her strong ambition for revenge.

The child "prodigy" turned black market worker, growing up into a cold woman and an efficient mercenary, improving through repetition that simply faded away into her mind. If anything remained of "Chouko Ashford" and her scholarly ways, this girl was rendered completely quiet as "Kuroiwa" was left to speak. Both her target, and her persona.

Kuroiwa's name has truly killed the Ashfords in her eyes, leaving no trace of "Chouko" behind. And the name goes on to kill further, after the success of her newest mission.

Gardner was a job that was conveniently in the area. Chouko had already been dispatched to Pennsylvania, so the mission itself was immediately available. Dossier memorized, she immediately arrived at Pittsburgh and, subsequently, Greene County within hours of accepting the mission.

Charon was the one to suggest the Pennsylvanian work, Charon was the one providing Chouko the equipment and technology to infiltrate Sedimate, and Charon walked her through the mission step by step. The power of an informant made jobs like Gardner a walk in the park, especially with how incompetent he ended up being.

For the last nine years, ever since her rampant crusade started, Chouko's tuned out everything about herself. Devoting herself to this new passion, day and night. All of it a blur to her, as only the beginning and the end mattered to Chouko. The past that sent her on this crusade, and the inevitable future of her end goal.

The present was not for Chouko. The present, a box containing the rewards of this unyielding quest, it belonged to Kuroiwa.

Kuroiwa, the Stalker, the one who stalked Gardner and killed him in his very own home.

The black haired woman helplessly and maliciously smiling as she wanders in the loneliness of the woods. Delighted beyond all belief, having taken care of a task that wasn't even requested of her. Something about Gardner just... filled Kuroiwa with a bloodlust, a drive to take his life.

Could it be the cheating? Could it be his business incompetence? Maybe she just wanted to do it for fun.

There had to be a reason for Gardner's death, right?

...

Eventually, after a walk back to Pittsburgh, she wanders through the city as if nothing had ever happened. Taking each step forward, farther and farther away from Gardner, changed into new attire. Instead of that alluring dress, she now modestly wore a long, leather jacket over streetwear, keeping herself warm in the cold of the Pennsylvanian dark. Her long, black hair flowing in the wind alongside the tail of her coat. Tied into twintails, with white bows as fashion accessories.

Kuroiwa's eyes are contently closed as she walks, strolling through the populated bar street with not a care in the world. On her person, a baton, a knife, a pistol, and the cellphone. The most primitive of self defense measures in this age.

By now, her work on Gardner has been delivered to the client, and - as appropriately - the woman feels a vibration in her pocket, reaching in and taking out her phone. On the screen, she received a text from an unknown number.

The woman peeks at the text, staring at it for a moment. Discreetly peeking at the words for a moment, before immediately deleting the conversation. She didn't need to keep it on her screen for too long, as it was a mere notification. One that she commits to memory:

$20,000 has been transferred into your account. Client is very pleased. Good work.

Kuroiwa lets out a deep sigh of contentment, deleting the text. It is just a confirmation email, so no use in keeping it around. The funds are distributed privately, and the deal between the mercenary and the informant has the money split in half. Charon receives 50% of the money, used for his own business and personal use, while the rest goes to Kuroiwa.

$10,000 is a plentiful amount, a fine reward in this day and age. It's hard to remember nowadays how "much" ten thousand dollars is, but... relative to the work necessary to earn it, Kuroiwa found it refreshing. $10K to dedicate to her hotel, motel, and inn stays, as well as flights and such.

But for now, her destination is a bar called Scott's. A rather lively bar, its popularity in Pittsburgh due to the guardian androids specially designed to handle the drunk.

She was not here to drink. Not that she could, if she wanted to. She was only 19 years of age, a short couple of years away from being legally able to take a drop. Having never consumed a single ounce of the stuff in her life.

No, work was simply calling, and Kuroiwa is eager to carry out another job.

Kuroiwa stands at the front entrance, politely waiting as she stands before the two men standing at the door. The outdoor security of the bar, bouncers to keep watch for the underaged and for the criminally dangerous. A human touch to protection, their bodies equipped with arm prosthetics designed for combat.

An entire 30 seconds pass before the two bouncers look to her with amusement. Having paid her no attention whatsoever, now grinning at the comedic sight. A woman almost a foot shorter than them, petite and small, a youthful appearance that only reaches up to their shoulders. Here she was, intending to get into a bar full of the gruffest of drunks.

Even with the androids present... it's laughable, especially with her lack of cybernetics. No way is this girl ready to protect herself. So they acknowledge her with condescending looks, believing her a defenseless young woman at best... and an obliviously lost child at worst.

"Hah. Girl, you lost or something? Ain't no way we're letting a lil' sweetheart like you get in."

Kuroiwa looks up at the two, bluntly and blankly getting to business. "One token for passage. The dead await my return."

"What? Hah, you're crazy, making up-"

"Wait," the other man comments, shaking his head. "That's... the passphrase. She's a bar veteran here."

"Huh?" Looking up and down Kuroiwa, expressing high amounts of... doubt... as he raises an eyebrow. "Y... You sure? She don't look like one-"

"Just let her through. Orders are orders, and what we're being paid for."

The two gentlemen open the door for her, and she wanders in. Wandering into the bar. Taking each step deeper into the bar, intent on heading to the very end of the counter seats. She glances to see a man in the second to last seat, and takes hers at the very end.

"... ah... 'Kuroiwa'."

Kuroiwa looks over to the bartender. A finely dressed man. Black shirt and black jeans, with a crimson red vest over it. Dark colors to hide the stains. Modest and professional until one sees the thick, blue boot sticking out of his head. A pompadour as thick as steak, dyed to a flashy aqua blue, one that matches his thin mustache.

In other words, professional on the outside, with a wild streak of a personal life on the inside. "Indeed. Good to see you again. I would like something suited for a lady such as myself, if you do not mind."

The bartender nods as he walks over to Kuroiwa, bowing lightly. "As you wish." He briefly turns away to prepare Kuroiwa's usual.

"... pfft," noises the man sitting next to her, looking straight at Kuroiwa. "Fun name you got there. You here in the Stalker's place?"

Kuroiwa takes a look at the man, blinking a few times. Staring at him for a bit, taking note of his rather cheap appearance. A clean "wife-beater tank-top" with dirty blue jeans and brown leather boots. Well trimmed mustache and beard, with not a speck of hair atop his head. An almost condescending smile, expressing familiarity with the Stalker... and thus, familiarity with the Underworld.

"Yes, I'm simply a messenger," Kuroiwa lies, denying that she was the Stalker herself. "You know how they are. Private."

"Bold..." the man comments, nodding. Tapping the side of his shot glass. "You a drinkin' woman?"

"Underaged," Kuroiwa immediately answers, shaking her head. "Feel free to keep the scotch on your tab."

"Heh... more for me." A nod to her, before he looks forward with arms on the counter. "But if you ain't here for a drink, then... red pickup, across the street."

Kuroiwa smirks as she rests an elbow on the counter. Gazing at the man with a raised eyebrow, staring. "What's the pickup for?"

"Delivery. Pickup address is in the car, headed to a rich guy with a country estate in Omaha," the man explains. "Expecting something high quality. Needs it delivered discreetly. Underworld got any hands on deck for that?"

"Omaha... Nebraska?" Kuroiwa asks, blinking.

"Mhmm. It's a 14 hour drive in total, not accounting for breaks- as well as any discreet routes the merc may take. I was paid in advance by the seller, and there's a hefty $45K for you... as long as the product is in good condition upon arrival," the man informs, picking up his glass and downing it.

Kuroiwa... stares for a bit, narrowing her eyes at this. Directing her attention down at the counter, locked in... thought... for a bit, before nodding. "... the job seems acceptable. I will put up a job offer for those in the area. I suspect a quick response time on the person taking the job."

The man smiles, before handing Kuroiwa the keys to the pickup truck. "Then I leave it in your capable hands, errand girl... any chances that your boss'll handle this cargo? Stalker's hands'll be very useful."

"We assure the very best," Kuroiwa vaguely responds, pocketing the keys and taking her phone out. "Contact information, please. We require a small portion of the funds to guarantee the transaction."

"No need," the man comments, looking to Kuroiwa. "Money's in the truck. Seller'll handle the fees when you get the truck there."

"... I see. There is one more term to this deal," Kuroiwa chimes in, staring at the man. "I am to pick up this car and escort it off the premises for the mercenary in charge to handle. Can we agree to that?"

"Ain't my business anymore. Go nuts," the man comments, taking another shot.

A nod from Kuroiwa, who pockets the keys in her coat and waits for her drink.

Shortly after their exchange, the bartender finishes preparing a special and popular non-alcoholic drink: lemon-lime soda with a dash of squeezed orange. Placing the glass in front of Kuroiwa, and bowing lightly. "Here you go."

"Thank you," Kuroiwa politely tells the bartender, holding the glass gently and staring down at it. Taking a gentle sip of it, tasting the tangy and sweet flavor. A simple pleasure to refresh her, after living off of bottled water and cheap packaged food for approximately two to three days.

But a thought crosses the woman's mind, as Kuroiwa stares at the cup for a moment. Distantly gazing into the glass.

"... bartender- question."

"Ah, yes?"

"By some slim chance, do you... happen to serve any Earl Gray tea?"

The Bartender chuckles as he pours another shot for her bar stool neighbor. "Sorry, no. I ain't got tea on these shelves... some store in town sells small boxes of the stuff, though."

"I... I see. Thank you, anyway."

The bartender politely nods and walks away to tend to other patrons, leaving Chouko with her drink.

With a slight hint of disappointment, the girl... lifts the cup up, and takes a brief moment to gulp down the rest of the drink. Drinking it all down for just the refreshment, not wanting to think much further on the taste... on what she couldn't have. A saddened look in her eyes, a brief glimpse of sorrow and misery coming out in that moment.

"... pfft. Earl Gray mean something to ya?" the cheaply dressed man asks, staring at Kuroiwa with a chuckle. Finding amusement with the messenger's non-alcoholic tastes ranging from juice to tea.

The mercenary stares off into the glass, before her eyes lightly flutter... and she nods slowly. Her empty glass matching her equally empty gaze, an answer prepared.

"More than you could ever know."