Suju Assassin, Chapter 1
Title: Suju Assassin
Genre: Action. Ninja action. Allegorical Crack. Lots of it.
Pairing: Ninja pairings. Quite literally. Mostly bromance, with the b hanging off of it like that annoying hangnail that just won’t go away no matter how much you pick at it. You can look deeper. In fact, some people would encourage you to do so. Some people like your author who looks at Leeteuk and Kangin and needs fluff. Or people like your author’s roommates, who are looking over her shoulder and demanding HanChul. Or SiHanChul. Or a Heechul Harem.
Rating: PG-13 for violence.
Disclaimer: The point of this story centers on the fact that you can’t own a human being. I’d find it rather hypocritical if I owned Super Junior and wrote this. Nor to I own Ninja Assassin.
Summary: A Ninja Assassin Parody and a Super Junior Satire. Hankyung escapes the oppressive rule of the Ozunu clan of Ninjas, his brothers slowly but surely following him into exile. It is not necessary for you to suffer through Ninja Assassin to read this. I don’t really pay attention to the plot of that movie after chapter 3, anyways.
Oh, my. I can’t believe I’ve done this. I’ve never written a fanfiction about real people before. I find it rather odd. Not as odd as casting a Korean man as a ninja, but that’s not what is of paramount importance here.
What I need you to know is that this is not an allegory to not celebrate opposite day which is not today.
---
Chapter 1
Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four
---
Benny just wanted to have a normal night. Really, having a dad who worked as the leader of a team of gunrunners sucked. Apparently there was some sort of gang war going on, and he hadn’t been allowed out of the house without someone with him for a long time.
But Benny was smart enough to take care of himself. He was eighteen, and he was practically the brains behind the operation. His dad had nearly been caught so many times before he took over the planning that it really hadn’t been funny. At least his dad was smart enough to understand how integral Benny was to his job, but this was way too much appreciation. Just because he was practically a mafia lord did not mean he wasn’t going to be a teenager.
“Finally manage to sneak away from Blackbeard?” Garret asked, offering him a cigarette.
Benny took it, nodding, before lighting it. He didn’t really know why Garret was his friend - he didn’t ever remember giving the other boy permission to hang out with him, but Garret was always there, and seemed to take great pleasure in calling both him and his father pirates, though sometimes with a certain, creepy degree of awe. Whenever Benny asked him why that was, he always blew of the question with something about the flying spaghetti monster religion, and that would be the end of it.
So Garret was a freak, but really, he could do worse. At least no one would be able to question him when Benny finally sacrificed him to the F.B.I.
“Do you have any plans?” Benny finally asked, staring up at his taller friend.
“I was going to meet some girls.”
Benny looked the other boy/man/thing up and down before continuing to walk down the sidewalk. Garret was a freakishly tall, pale gangster wanna-be with a bright red afro and a goatee of the same color.
Not even a blind chick. There was no way that Garret actually knew girls. But Benny literally had nothing else to do, and mindlessly hitting on chicks for a few hours before his dad found him and dragged him back home would be a useful distraction.
“Where are we headed?” Benny asked, taking a long drag on his cigarette as he walked.
“The Buffalo Wild Wings,” Garret stated simply. “It’s Saturday night, and all the hot football chicks will be there. Hopefully cheering for OSU, but forbidden romance between myself and a Michigan State-er-”
“Dude, this is Virginia. No one cares.” Benny turned into an ally. “Come on, I know a shortcut.”
Garret stopped short, refusing to step into the ally. “Hey, man, as your unofficial bodyguard I it is my duty to warn you that as a pirate, shadows are definitely not your friends.”
“Why the hell not?”
Garret was squinting like he couldn’t see him anymore. Was he nightblind or something? His possible uses were quickly dwindling. “The ninjas are out for you, man. You’re not in your element. They can come at you from anywhere on land.”
“Oh, I’m fucking scared of Naruto, believe -”
Benny’s sarcasm was cut off by an ungodly shriek. Garret thought for a moment that it sounded like a rabbit being killed - and that was truly disturbing - as all the blood drained from his face. “They are real,” he whispered, a moment before a shuriken planted itself between his eyes.
---
All Han Geng wanted was to have an uneventful walk from where he worked to his apartment. Nothing else. He never caused problems for anyone, and he wasn’t greedy, but every once in a while someone had to ruin his day with a sword or a mace - that one had been interesting - or something.
He had walked into an alley to get away from the general press of rush-hour foot traffic, and that’s when his pursuer had realized it was useless to hide anymore.
To her credit, she was pretty and she was serious, but after the initial exchange of blows, it only took a quick dodge and a jab to her wrist to make her lose her grip on her sword. Hang Geng grabbed it almost the moment her grip loosened and brought the blade down through her shoulder and chest until it hit her heart. With an air of professionalism, he stuffed her into a trashcan and continued on his way, at a much more hurried pace than before. She would probably not be working with a partner, but her clan would no doubt notice her absence in a few days.
Once again, he would need to move.
Of course Han Geng had been expecting it for weeks, looking over his shoulder at every moment and upgrading his traps in the interim, waiting for someone to strike. Staying for longer than a few months in any one place was almost unheard of, and he was planning on changing his location again soon, anyways.
He had already begun the preparations, informing his landlord of a sudden illness in the family. He would need to leave, and quickly, probably within the week. There was nothing at the apartment to really be attached to, either, he thought, unlocking his door. That was mostly to keep the civilians safe - anyone snooping would probably not have the skill to avoid the traps he had made. He would dismantle them last, the day he left, and would have to put them up again whenever he found a new place to stay.
Even a ninja had to sleep.
He went into his usual afternoon routine, beginning with the first order of business - food. His stove was pressed against the wall with all of the other furniture in his room. He needed to keep the floor space open, both for training and to prevent anyone from sneaking up on him. It was a paranoia long drilled into his mind that had only sharpened in his exile. He opened a cabinet door the way he opened every door, remaining behind it to shield him from any unwanted surprises that he may not have sensed.
Satisfied that nothing would explode or cut his hand off when he reached in, he quickly found a pan and set about boiling noodles for his dinner.
He was not a talented cook, and the foreign versions of the foods he was used to had long ago become tasteless to him.
Someone with a more philosophical mind might say that taste was a useless distraction to his mission - survive. Perhaps that was true - the purpose of food was to nourish the body and supply it with the energy it needed to function properly. But Han Geng no longer belonged to that school of thought.
Taste, pleasure, connection, all things associated with living, these things were important now. It was not enough to be a peon, to be owned. It was only that being free came with its own troubles.
Frustration and fatigue gnawed at the edges of his mind. He had long since learned to ignore those feelings, and he wasn’t entirely certain if his life of freedom was so much better than living with his clan. He trained himself harder, and had to move constantly, with no real home to return to.
Now he had a different sort of home. It was not rooted to the earth and in a sense was just as unstable and foundationless as he was, but it was vastly superior to the mountain retreat of the Ozunu. It existed not in space or time, but in the simple assertion that he was not alone in his struggles. Really, that was all a person needed.
Collapsing on his bed, he decided he would have to ignore his training regimen. He needed to contact his brothers.
---
No one really knew much about Naomi Fisher, beside the fact that she talked. A lot. Not really about anything, but her mouth was always moving, and sounds were always coming out of it, but Corey Langer really couldn’t understand a word she said anymore.
His conversations with her had never made sense, but not it was beyond that point. He was just filtering out all the words as completely unimportant. For her part she didn’t seem to care that he was almost catatonic, slumping over in his chair, eyes glazed over as he held his burger inches before his opened mouth. But he was just so stunned he couldn’t speak.
It was almost like she had shut up. He would shed tears of joy if he was capable.
He supposed it was lucky for her that her that her inability to keep her mouth closed didn’t interfere with her job - she wasn’t an agent, she just did all their research for them.
It wasn’t lucky for anyone else. Corey thought he was a nice person before he met her. Then he realized he had never thought more violently about ways by which someone might become mute.
But now that she had - well, she was still speaking, but Corey was zoned out so far that he just couldn’t hear her and didn’t really want to try - he found himself at peace. For a moment he had been afraid he had gone deaf, but he could still hear the sounds of the city. It gave him a new perspective on life - one that didn’t involve her babbling about ninjas and conspiracy theories for hours on end.
Had someone ruffied him? He glanced around the patio of the restaurant, hoping it was some hot European chick and not some creepy old guy.
“Oh, oh! I have this new theory!” His happiness was so short-lived. “That KGB guy-” The best conspiracies still had soviets in them. “The way he was murdered! It totally had to be a ninja.”
“Do you have any proof?” Oh, god, why? Why did his niceness and his investigative training have to come out at the same time? What atrocities had he committed in a past life?
She nodded, gulping down an entire lemonade to prepare her for her rant. Corey really hoped she choked to death. He tried to tell himself that she was a good investigator, that she had talent, but her wild ideas still sometimes got in the way of that. “I tracked down a payment. At least I think it’s the payment, since it’s been bouncing around in cyberspace for days and I’ve been tracking it on and off before it got lost somewhere in Madrid. The only memo I could get out of its encryption was something about gold - I’ve saved the patterns and have been matching it up to other known encryption codes, to see if we could find the person who made the payment. But the amount is what was interesting. Traditionally Ninjas were paid in 100 pounds of gold per kill, and the price matched up for the gold value index of that day, and it’s an odd number. Usually you see payment increments ending in zeros, but this one was $1,555,999.90. Seriously, who would give a shit about the ninety cents? Only someone who is extremely OCD or someone you really don’t want to mess with - i.e. a ninja.”
Corey rubbed his temples, wishing he could have tuned her out during her rant, but she was doing her job. At least he got that out of it. The encryptions were being looked at, and she had caught the uncatchable payment. “Now you just need to look at all the other millions of mysterious wire payments made daily so you can find the pattern.”
“Oh, I’ve already started that,” she said, waving him off and sticking her hand into his plate of fries. He really hoped her hands were clean. She ate as she spoke, nodding to herself. “I only have to search gold prices, and they stay in certain parameters, so it should be easy.”
“But what if your theory is wrong, and that isn’t the reason the price fluxuates? What if it’s something else?”
“Then I’ll be disproven, But I’m pretty sure I’m right,” she replied, munching on her fries. “And the price of the kill probably doesn’t vary with how easy someone is to kill. Training any sort of assassin this good takes a lot of resources, and since once they’re contacted the target is pretty much guaranteed dead I think 100 pounds of gold is a pretty fair price. There are some stockholders that could learn a lot from them.”
Corey raised an eyebrow. “Like business executives reading ‘The Art of War?’”
“Exactly!” Naomi shouted, her mouth still full. Corey closed his eyes and turned away, dabbing his face with a napkin. Whatever it was he felt suddenly drop on his face, he hoped it was rain.
Genre: Action. Ninja action. Allegorical Crack. Lots of it.
Pairing: Ninja pairings. Quite literally. Mostly bromance, with the b hanging off of it like that annoying hangnail that just won’t go away no matter how much you pick at it. You can look deeper. In fact, some people would encourage you to do so. Some people like your author who looks at Leeteuk and Kangin and needs fluff. Or people like your author’s roommates, who are looking over her shoulder and demanding HanChul. Or SiHanChul. Or a Heechul Harem.
Rating: PG-13 for violence.
Disclaimer: The point of this story centers on the fact that you can’t own a human being. I’d find it rather hypocritical if I owned Super Junior and wrote this. Nor to I own Ninja Assassin.
Summary: A Ninja Assassin Parody and a Super Junior Satire. Hankyung escapes the oppressive rule of the Ozunu clan of Ninjas, his brothers slowly but surely following him into exile. It is not necessary for you to suffer through Ninja Assassin to read this. I don’t really pay attention to the plot of that movie after chapter 3, anyways.
Oh, my. I can’t believe I’ve done this. I’ve never written a fanfiction about real people before. I find it rather odd. Not as odd as casting a Korean man as a ninja, but that’s not what is of paramount importance here.
What I need you to know is that this is not an allegory to not celebrate opposite day which is not today.
---
Chapter 1
Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four
---
Benny just wanted to have a normal night. Really, having a dad who worked as the leader of a team of gunrunners sucked. Apparently there was some sort of gang war going on, and he hadn’t been allowed out of the house without someone with him for a long time.
But Benny was smart enough to take care of himself. He was eighteen, and he was practically the brains behind the operation. His dad had nearly been caught so many times before he took over the planning that it really hadn’t been funny. At least his dad was smart enough to understand how integral Benny was to his job, but this was way too much appreciation. Just because he was practically a mafia lord did not mean he wasn’t going to be a teenager.
“Finally manage to sneak away from Blackbeard?” Garret asked, offering him a cigarette.
Benny took it, nodding, before lighting it. He didn’t really know why Garret was his friend - he didn’t ever remember giving the other boy permission to hang out with him, but Garret was always there, and seemed to take great pleasure in calling both him and his father pirates, though sometimes with a certain, creepy degree of awe. Whenever Benny asked him why that was, he always blew of the question with something about the flying spaghetti monster religion, and that would be the end of it.
So Garret was a freak, but really, he could do worse. At least no one would be able to question him when Benny finally sacrificed him to the F.B.I.
“Do you have any plans?” Benny finally asked, staring up at his taller friend.
“I was going to meet some girls.”
Benny looked the other boy/man/thing up and down before continuing to walk down the sidewalk. Garret was a freakishly tall, pale gangster wanna-be with a bright red afro and a goatee of the same color.
Not even a blind chick. There was no way that Garret actually knew girls. But Benny literally had nothing else to do, and mindlessly hitting on chicks for a few hours before his dad found him and dragged him back home would be a useful distraction.
“Where are we headed?” Benny asked, taking a long drag on his cigarette as he walked.
“The Buffalo Wild Wings,” Garret stated simply. “It’s Saturday night, and all the hot football chicks will be there. Hopefully cheering for OSU, but forbidden romance between myself and a Michigan State-er-”
“Dude, this is Virginia. No one cares.” Benny turned into an ally. “Come on, I know a shortcut.”
Garret stopped short, refusing to step into the ally. “Hey, man, as your unofficial bodyguard I it is my duty to warn you that as a pirate, shadows are definitely not your friends.”
“Why the hell not?”
Garret was squinting like he couldn’t see him anymore. Was he nightblind or something? His possible uses were quickly dwindling. “The ninjas are out for you, man. You’re not in your element. They can come at you from anywhere on land.”
“Oh, I’m fucking scared of Naruto, believe -”
Benny’s sarcasm was cut off by an ungodly shriek. Garret thought for a moment that it sounded like a rabbit being killed - and that was truly disturbing - as all the blood drained from his face. “They are real,” he whispered, a moment before a shuriken planted itself between his eyes.
---
All Han Geng wanted was to have an uneventful walk from where he worked to his apartment. Nothing else. He never caused problems for anyone, and he wasn’t greedy, but every once in a while someone had to ruin his day with a sword or a mace - that one had been interesting - or something.
He had walked into an alley to get away from the general press of rush-hour foot traffic, and that’s when his pursuer had realized it was useless to hide anymore.
To her credit, she was pretty and she was serious, but after the initial exchange of blows, it only took a quick dodge and a jab to her wrist to make her lose her grip on her sword. Hang Geng grabbed it almost the moment her grip loosened and brought the blade down through her shoulder and chest until it hit her heart. With an air of professionalism, he stuffed her into a trashcan and continued on his way, at a much more hurried pace than before. She would probably not be working with a partner, but her clan would no doubt notice her absence in a few days.
Once again, he would need to move.
Of course Han Geng had been expecting it for weeks, looking over his shoulder at every moment and upgrading his traps in the interim, waiting for someone to strike. Staying for longer than a few months in any one place was almost unheard of, and he was planning on changing his location again soon, anyways.
He had already begun the preparations, informing his landlord of a sudden illness in the family. He would need to leave, and quickly, probably within the week. There was nothing at the apartment to really be attached to, either, he thought, unlocking his door. That was mostly to keep the civilians safe - anyone snooping would probably not have the skill to avoid the traps he had made. He would dismantle them last, the day he left, and would have to put them up again whenever he found a new place to stay.
Even a ninja had to sleep.
He went into his usual afternoon routine, beginning with the first order of business - food. His stove was pressed against the wall with all of the other furniture in his room. He needed to keep the floor space open, both for training and to prevent anyone from sneaking up on him. It was a paranoia long drilled into his mind that had only sharpened in his exile. He opened a cabinet door the way he opened every door, remaining behind it to shield him from any unwanted surprises that he may not have sensed.
Satisfied that nothing would explode or cut his hand off when he reached in, he quickly found a pan and set about boiling noodles for his dinner.
He was not a talented cook, and the foreign versions of the foods he was used to had long ago become tasteless to him.
Someone with a more philosophical mind might say that taste was a useless distraction to his mission - survive. Perhaps that was true - the purpose of food was to nourish the body and supply it with the energy it needed to function properly. But Han Geng no longer belonged to that school of thought.
Taste, pleasure, connection, all things associated with living, these things were important now. It was not enough to be a peon, to be owned. It was only that being free came with its own troubles.
Frustration and fatigue gnawed at the edges of his mind. He had long since learned to ignore those feelings, and he wasn’t entirely certain if his life of freedom was so much better than living with his clan. He trained himself harder, and had to move constantly, with no real home to return to.
Now he had a different sort of home. It was not rooted to the earth and in a sense was just as unstable and foundationless as he was, but it was vastly superior to the mountain retreat of the Ozunu. It existed not in space or time, but in the simple assertion that he was not alone in his struggles. Really, that was all a person needed.
Collapsing on his bed, he decided he would have to ignore his training regimen. He needed to contact his brothers.
---
No one really knew much about Naomi Fisher, beside the fact that she talked. A lot. Not really about anything, but her mouth was always moving, and sounds were always coming out of it, but Corey Langer really couldn’t understand a word she said anymore.
His conversations with her had never made sense, but not it was beyond that point. He was just filtering out all the words as completely unimportant. For her part she didn’t seem to care that he was almost catatonic, slumping over in his chair, eyes glazed over as he held his burger inches before his opened mouth. But he was just so stunned he couldn’t speak.
It was almost like she had shut up. He would shed tears of joy if he was capable.
He supposed it was lucky for her that her that her inability to keep her mouth closed didn’t interfere with her job - she wasn’t an agent, she just did all their research for them.
It wasn’t lucky for anyone else. Corey thought he was a nice person before he met her. Then he realized he had never thought more violently about ways by which someone might become mute.
But now that she had - well, she was still speaking, but Corey was zoned out so far that he just couldn’t hear her and didn’t really want to try - he found himself at peace. For a moment he had been afraid he had gone deaf, but he could still hear the sounds of the city. It gave him a new perspective on life - one that didn’t involve her babbling about ninjas and conspiracy theories for hours on end.
Had someone ruffied him? He glanced around the patio of the restaurant, hoping it was some hot European chick and not some creepy old guy.
“Oh, oh! I have this new theory!” His happiness was so short-lived. “That KGB guy-” The best conspiracies still had soviets in them. “The way he was murdered! It totally had to be a ninja.”
“Do you have any proof?” Oh, god, why? Why did his niceness and his investigative training have to come out at the same time? What atrocities had he committed in a past life?
She nodded, gulping down an entire lemonade to prepare her for her rant. Corey really hoped she choked to death. He tried to tell himself that she was a good investigator, that she had talent, but her wild ideas still sometimes got in the way of that. “I tracked down a payment. At least I think it’s the payment, since it’s been bouncing around in cyberspace for days and I’ve been tracking it on and off before it got lost somewhere in Madrid. The only memo I could get out of its encryption was something about gold - I’ve saved the patterns and have been matching it up to other known encryption codes, to see if we could find the person who made the payment. But the amount is what was interesting. Traditionally Ninjas were paid in 100 pounds of gold per kill, and the price matched up for the gold value index of that day, and it’s an odd number. Usually you see payment increments ending in zeros, but this one was $1,555,999.90. Seriously, who would give a shit about the ninety cents? Only someone who is extremely OCD or someone you really don’t want to mess with - i.e. a ninja.”
Corey rubbed his temples, wishing he could have tuned her out during her rant, but she was doing her job. At least he got that out of it. The encryptions were being looked at, and she had caught the uncatchable payment. “Now you just need to look at all the other millions of mysterious wire payments made daily so you can find the pattern.”
“Oh, I’ve already started that,” she said, waving him off and sticking her hand into his plate of fries. He really hoped her hands were clean. She ate as she spoke, nodding to herself. “I only have to search gold prices, and they stay in certain parameters, so it should be easy.”
“But what if your theory is wrong, and that isn’t the reason the price fluxuates? What if it’s something else?”
“Then I’ll be disproven, But I’m pretty sure I’m right,” she replied, munching on her fries. “And the price of the kill probably doesn’t vary with how easy someone is to kill. Training any sort of assassin this good takes a lot of resources, and since once they’re contacted the target is pretty much guaranteed dead I think 100 pounds of gold is a pretty fair price. There are some stockholders that could learn a lot from them.”
Corey raised an eyebrow. “Like business executives reading ‘The Art of War?’”
“Exactly!” Naomi shouted, her mouth still full. Corey closed his eyes and turned away, dabbing his face with a napkin. Whatever it was he felt suddenly drop on his face, he hoped it was rain.