Chapter Text
Keith watched the stars from under the hood of his jacket, the bustle of the noisy market dimming as the night went on. The cold steel of his knife pressed against the inside of his arm, hidden up his sleeve as he cased the people surrounding him. Tonight, one of them would feel his blade, and it was only a matter of picking which one.
He wandered amongst the thinning crowd, hand darting out almost invisibly to snag an apple sitting on a nearby stand. The man behind the stand didn’t bat an eye, which was a goddamn shame, and Keith scowled as he took a bite of the wax-like fruit. It was a poor mock-up of the fruits that existed centuries ago, but it was the closest thing to nutrition left in this god-forsaken world.
In moments, there was nothing but the fake core left, and he dropped it to the ground, shoving past a loitering teenager.
“Watch it,” he spat, glaring down his nose at him. His dark brown hair had an obnoxious curl and his military uniform spoke for his accomplishments.
“Sorry, Officer Griffin,” Keith told him, barely glancing at the name tag on his chest. He raised his eyes, smiling wickedly when the soldier recognized their ethereal purple and the scar marring his cheek. “Guess I just don’t learn.”
Officer Griffin’s hand flew to his waistband, reaching for his gun. “Akira Kogane, you’re under arrest—”
“Looking for this?” he twirled the laser gun in one hand, admiring the barrel. “You should really remember who you’re working with.”
Griffin’s bracelet beeped, a message flashing on the screen. The name “Ina” scrolled across it and Keith grinned as the young man went pale.
“Got a soft spot for a little lady, huh?” he teased, waving the gun in his face. “Wonder what she’d do if I sent you home with a couple extra holes.”
“Leave her out of this,” Griffin demanded, hand flying to cover his bracelet. Those devices were only reserved for those who could afford it, only those rich enough, entitled enough to waste their money on needless fancy toys instead of helping the hundreds of young people suffering in the slums.
“Not a chance, pretty boy,” Keith told him, socking him square across the face. He stumbled, but regained his composure, the crowd parting as Keith pushed the hood of his stolen jacket back and displayed his bleached-white hair for all the spectators to see.
Akira Kogane was known for five things in the Western Sector of the American Empire:
- His eyes, a shining unnatural indigo that was no doubt the effect of layered mutations
- His knife, sharp and with deadly accuracy, known to leave marks and often mistaken as a sword in some accounts of his escapades
- His scar, running down his left cheek, story untold.
- His hair, white as snow and obviously dyed, but iconic nonetheless.
And his ruthless behavior, his inability to feel, to empathize, to understand when to stop. People feared him because he wasn’t afraid to cross boundaries, and that was just how he wanted it.
“AKIRA KOGANE, STAND DOWN!” an officer across the market square shouted, laser gun charging with a familiar whir. Keith rolled his eyes, spinning around and leveling Griffin’s gun at the new opponent.
“Do you know how many times I’ve heard someone say that?” he asked, exasperated. “Get some new lines, I’m begging you.”
“In the name of Lord Altea of Altea Quadrant and Emperor Zarkon of the American Empire, you are ordered to stop!”
Keith took a few steps forward, daring the soldier to fire, daring him to make a move in retaliation. His eyes glinted dangerously as he grew close enough to read the soldier’s nametag, to see the hint of fear in his eyes, to feel the heat from the gun’s barrel as it charged.
“Friend of Griffin’s, Officer Kinkade?” he asked, nodding back to where the other soldier was still scowling at him. Little Ina must’ve been a hell of a soft spot.
“Surrender now, or I will be forced to shoot.” Kinkade threatened.
“Keep talking and I will be too,” Keith told him, shaking the gun as a quick reminder. Kinkade let out a huff and Keith was smug for a moment, but only a moment as he heard the shuffle of feet behind him. In a moment’s thought, he spun around, firing a shot, barely a warning, at Griffin’s feet. “Two on one isn’t quite fair, now is it? Maybe I should choose one of you and…” he rolled his shoulders, shrugging a bit. “Level the playing field?”