Personal Dragon Business

DRAGON GIRL’S HOUSE, JEJU ISLAND, SOUTH KOREA – TWO DAYS AGO

A box. A Metal box, and darkness. The endless swaying of the ship making her nauseous. June felt trapped, and she was alone for such a long time. Then the man with the distinctive tattoo- on his chest, a tiger with a dragon in its mouth. He opened the cell and tossed a bucket and bottle of water and a box of crackers. That was all she got. He spoke but no sound came out of his mouth. She could not remember his face, but his tattoo was seared into her mind.

June woke up in a cold sweat, letting out a gasp of fear. She sat up and buried her head in her hands, wiping the sweat from her forehead. Military retirement had been uneventful save for the return of the dreams.

A knock came at her door. Her mother, Juri, with her instincts sensed something was off. “Ja-eun, are you okay?”

“Bad dream, eomma. It’s okay.”

SOMEWHERE OVER TSUSHIMA ISLAND – 8:00 pm
Dragon Girl didn’t want to take the long roundabout way of getting to Osaka. She set her GPS and took a direct route. She set her gravitic flight system to its cruising speed, increasing G’s to increase her velocity. She was approaching Jeju Island when she was greeted by two JDF fighter planes who flew on her flanks. She was hailed on her comms soon after, identifying themselves as the JCAB. “Attention. This is the Japanese Civil Aviation Bureau. Dragon Girl of South Korea, you are entering Japanese Airspace. What is your purpose? Over.”

“Purpose of visit. Personal, Leisure, vacationing. Osaka. Over.” She said inside her helmet, taking a moment to put together Japanese words.

There was a pause before they responded.

“Confirmed. Welcome to Japan, Dragon Girl. But maintain altitude at 2,000 feet outside cities and 200 over urban centers. Over.” They said, and signed off, the jets breaking off.

“Arigato Gozaimasu.” She signed off and adjusted her altitude, waving the jets goodbye, the pilots giving her the thumbs up.

OSAKA– 9:00 pm

June came into Osaka Bay, the massive body of water with the lights of the city making for a wonderful neon sight. Her eyes settled on Port Island, and the sight of the container fields triggered bad memories in her head. She skips the container fields and heads into town, looking for dinner. But first, she switches her suit from her stealth DG uniform to her civilian attire, mimicking yoga pants and a sweater, as well as glasses and tying her hair in a ponytail. She then lands in a relatively uncrowded residential district in Kobe, in a back alley.

She would walk the streets as Nerdy, postgrad student June. She finds herself a hotel, checks in, and heads back out to find herself an authentic ramen stand, which wasn’t too hard. She finds one in a tucked away street, and takes a seat, the street seating only having a capacity of six. An elderly gentleman greeting her with a smile and a menu. June was feeling especially hungry, order an extra large with extra Chashu pork. The man assembles everything by hand, and June takes in the fragrance of the ingredients.

::Seminole County Florida -  7 Days Ago::
8:43AM

"I didn't think she would get upset..." Suerte said after a low sigh, finishing a text to her employer before pocketing the phone.  Dom side glanced at his daughter, and smiled shallowly as he brought the car to a slow stop at a red light.  His kid was always of few words, but she had been cemetery quiet all morning.

"Upset, yes, but not at you; Japan was where I lost my wings..." Dom explained, Suerte nodding.  The light turned green, and he put foot to pedal softly, easing into acceleration.  His daughter was eying him, the silence pregnant with expectation.

Dom sighed now.

"It scared her, and myself for that matter, pretty badly.  My main ability was gone, and she thought she'd lost me.  It was enough to make me pop the question after I recovered.  We put away the masks, and put down roots here...two years later we had you, and our lives were complete." he finished.

Nodding again, Suerte looked out the window, watching the tree and brush dense scenery of undeveloped land roll by.

"Now I know.  You guys told me how you both started out, but not how it ended." Suerte said finally.

"For us, it wasn't an end, just a new beginning.  You never stop being a hero, even after retiring the tights. You simply stop going out of your way to be one.  Eventually, one chooses peace, chooses to live...." Dom replied.

A pause.

"I understand. Mom's just worried about me, because I'm like you." Suerte said.

"She's worried about you because you're our daughter.  Parents worry. But..." Dom trailed off.

"But what?" Suerte pressed.

"...we have confidence in you,not just  as our kid, but as an adult.  You'll be fine out there; I was able to calm her down some last night when I told her you were going to Osaka specifically, and not Tokyo." Dom said.

"Tokyo is where you lost your wings?"  Suerte asked.

Dom groaned.

"Shinjuku, yes."

::195 Craddick Avenue (Private Drive), Sanford FL - 7 Days Ago::
9:00AM

"...my late husband was one that simply needed to travel, his transient spirit led by the winds, and business propositions, and other such; he had a private airfield made so he could bring as many bottles of Scotch, and firearms with him wherever he went..." Mrs. Craddick droned with her typical enthusiastic, mildly imbibed tone. The vodka martini in hand and white sun hat completed the image of the prodigal trophy wife that outlived her husband.  Suerte added in the necessary "Oh, I see." and "Wow." where expectations demanded.  

Dom rolled his eyes, and shook his head as they approached a waiting, white, sleek bodied jet.  His eyes lit up then, and he actively engaged Mrs. Craddick in conversation about the model of the jet, and how fast it went. Meanwhile, Suerte began handing her luggage to a flight crew of young, chiseled men wearing speedos and black bowties. Blushing, and trying not to stare anywhere she'd be embarrassed to, Suerte passed her backpack containing the Nightjar costume and accessories to a long haired pretty boy.

"It's okay to look, that's why we're here!" said the Fabio clone with apparent ESP, fanning one of his hands over his washboard abs and wavering that same hand over his crotch. "I am Arlecchino.  I will be serving your ginger ale, as you are under the age of 21."  Suerte turned beet red, and quickly retreated to Mrs. Craddick, who, was seeing Dom off.

"...I assure you, Dom, she is in good hands; I'll have her smoking cigars, and slapping male strippers on the ass by the time I give her back to you!" she was saying as Suerte approached, placing an all too friendly hand on her father's hip.

"Mrs. St. James will be pleased to hear that,"  Dom said, removing Mrs. Craddick's hand, and looking over at Suerte. "Do a good job for Mrs. Craddick, that is, if she gives you any time away from the fun to do it."

Mrs. Craddick unleashed a peeling laugh, Suerte adding a soft, somewhat nervous one into the mix.

::Osaka, Kobe - Present::
9:00PM

It felt good to fly.

Swooping and diving into the few shadowy haunts untouched by bright neon, and radiant displays.  It also felt good to get away from Mrs. Craddick for a night, and enjoy a calm evening taking the air, and some aerial shots of the vast city she was exploring.  Suerte didn't know a lick of Japanese, or kanji, kana, or anything, and something about that was strangely liberating.  

The polite, friendly people expected very little from her save a broken syntax food order she read out of a phrase book.  Other than that, past some curious looks, the populace left her alone, and didn't engage.  It was relaxing to be important to absolutely no one .

Out of the corner of her eye, Suerte saw something flying into the city, coming from the direction of the container fields.  Not a plane, drone, or bird from the look of it against the moonlight, but something more human with wings.  Angling her own, and catching currents, Suerte flew closer to the roof tops, trying to keep site of the figure, but also keep herself hid.

She couldn't have both.

The figure disappeared into the urban landscape.

Suerte huffed.

Landing in an alley, Suerte retrieved her backpack, putting on the jeans, flannel, and shoes inside.  Glasses replaced the domino mask she peeled off, and she was ready to take to the streets.  While up in the air, she could smell a plethora of good aromas, and now her stomach was growling for them.  City pictures, and mysterious flying figures could wait.  It was time for her to find one of those crowded stands, take a seat, and eat a solitary meal.

A side street.

Ramen noodles?

The smell of pork!

Suerte sat down at the stand, a salaryman to her right, and a towering woman wearing a sweater , and yoga pant to her left. Realizing she was gawking at the possibly 7' woman rudely,  Suerte withdrew her phrasebook and attempted to engage the smiling old man that had a knowing look on his face that she was going to be haphazard conversation at best.

"OoO-iIsh-ii...er...um...Ni-kuU...uh...One-GaI-shi-masuUu..."

Old ramen guy looked at the newcomer. He was short and stocky, but he was built quite wide. He probably did a lot of weights in his youth, his hands thick with callouses. “Nani? Sumimasen! Eigo wa hanasemasen… Anooo… ramen? Tabetaidesu?” He made a gesture with an empty bowl and some chopsticks, with a fairly cheery smile.

June slurped up a big helping of noodles, when Suerte stepped in and struggled to communicate. She seemed like a young tourist, probably came to Japan without a plan. She helped her in the most basic way. June spoke Japanese without breaking stride in drinking the soup. ( “Hey mister, get her the same thing I’m eating. On me.” )

The man smiled at the large lady who had an appetite and could speak the language. ( “Ahhh! So generous! You got it!” ) He opens a drawer and grabs two stacks on noodles, then sets them in the boiler. As the noodle cooked, he began scooping up the components of a great bowl of Sapporo style ramen – putting in dashi, shredded mushroom, seaweed, leek, onion, a boiled egg, and the MVP- the stewed pork, a generous helping of it. Then came the thick brothy soup, thick with fat and flavor, then aromatic sesame oil, a dash of chili, and finally the cooked noodles.

“Shokuji o tanoshinde!” The old man presents Suerte the Extra Large ramen bowl, that almost took up the width of the ramen’s stand’s thin table. a gourmand’s delight.

“He said, enjoy the meal…You must be a tourist. First time in Osaka? What brings you here?” June asked Suerte, making light conversation.

There was a brief moment where she thought her delivery of words out of the phrasebook had been successful, but through quick observation was able to discern that the exchange between the amazon woman and the elderly noodle maker was what put the bowl of ramen before her.

She was thankful.

Then...

“He said, enjoy the meal…You must be a tourist. First time in Osaka? What brings you here?”

That caught her off guard, but in a good way.  Suerte had grown accustom to not saying much in the last few days, and had taken it for granted she wasn't going to receive any attention from anyone but her employer.  

A casual conversation was a welcome treat at present, and Suerte wasn't about to waste it as she picked up the chopsticks, and clumsily managed to position them in her hand.  Since arrival, she'd managed to develop a basic proficiency with the local utensil.  Back home it was fork and spoon fare.

"First of all. Thank you very much, and thank you." Suerte said first to June, and then to the man who made the meal (even though he probably didn't no what she said), her soft voice and smile warm.  She then turned to the ramen, plunging the chopsticks promptly into the bowl.

"My name is Suerte St. James, a freelance photographer for a professional tourist; I'm not sure if you've heard of Olivia Craddick, but she's a rather extravagant socialite trying to gain some celebrity via whirlwind travel.  My pictures grace her website, facebook page, twitter, and instagram." Suerte explained, slurping some noodles, and instantly relishing the vibrant, flavorful taste.

Sighing with contentment, Suerte reached for one of the side pockets on her backpack, zipping it open.

"It is my first time visiting Osaka, and Japan, well...traveling outside the US altogether, really.  Getting the passport on short notice was a hurdle, I tell you..." and Suerte pulled out one of her business cards, and one of Mrs. Craddick's tacky, laminated advertisements for her new youtube channel. "...but it was worth it. Now that I'm here, I'm mystified. We got nothing quite like this in Florida." Suerte trailed off, looking up and indicating the neon lit city they occupied with her unguarded eyes wandering.  "...it's overwhelming how alive it all is..."

Something occurred to Suerte then as she held the cards out to June, taking in another mouthful of exquisite ramen. The towering woman, the figure back lit by the moon, flying over Osaka before. She smirked to herself.

Why not?

"You have me at a disadvantage in two ways. I don't know your name, and I can't fly without wings like you...?"

June looked at the business card and Suerte, seeing she was pretty young. She must have a decade on her, geez, when did she get old? It feels like only yesterday she was a rising teen superhero… “You know there’s like, a million influencers and self-proclaimed “YouTube Travel Vloggers” out there. All the kids I know want to be the next star.” June felt old saying 'All the kids'.

June simply nod-nods at the fresh traveler. Her perspective was understandable from someone on the other side of the world, compared to someone who had Japan as a neighbor. “Well, congrats on your first international trip. Japan is a wonderful place to visit, but I wouldn’t live here long term.” She took a big gulp of soup. “Pretty expensive if you’re not careful.”

Then Suerte mentions that she’d seen her flying around. A wild guess or… Ah, so she was witnessed by someone after all. June picked up on her heart rate and electrical feedback, and didn’t figure she was about to attack, just someone nervous on their first overseas trip. Besides, she didn’t have the menace or outfit of a thug primed to attack. And too young as well. She decided to humor her instead.

“As to how I fly without wings, I use a gravity manipulating device of alien origins to essentially ‘fall’ in whatever direction I pick. I got this device off the body of a subversive alien entity that called itself ‘Prophet’, raising a cult in the Metro Manila area back in '24 - '25. The device was repurposed for my personal use, and the alien’s remains are stored in a secret base somewhere in South Korea. Mere knowledge of this base is grounds enough for terminating an unauthorized person. So now I have to take you to the pier and snap your neck, throwing your body into the water.”

June paused to watch her response, perhaps maybe she'd get a rise out of Suerte.

“Just kidding… I’m not here on any official business. I’m just here as Ja-eun, or June, as most of my English-speaking friends prefer. I’m here on personal reasons. Are you here just as Suerte, or are you here for business with your made-up name?” June decided to throw her own curveball question once she’d emptied the bowl of its solid contents. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about the Yakuza would you?”

While she knew the death threat had to be made in an entirely jocular way, there was something about a seven foot tall woman frankly telling you she would kill you with a straight face that made one wonder to the contrary.  Still, the Nightjar steely mettle for a moment came to the surface.  Eyelids closing to slits, and a toothy grin bordering on a sneer formed on her lips.

Mentally, she was prepared for a fight she would likely try to retreat from if she could.  Heart pounding in her chest so hard she could hear it drumming in her ears, Suerte sobered when her acquaintance laughed it off, and continued on casually.  The woman gave her name as June, and then hit her again with another surprise that put her on guard.

"Are you here just as Suerte, or are you here for business with your made-up name? You wouldn’t happen to know anything about the Yakuza would you?"

Suerte found her mind reflecting back a week...

::Seminole County Florida -  7 Days Ago::
8:47AM

"Shinjuku, yes." Dom answered. He took a deep breath, and waited.  Suerte picked up on the silent welcoming.  Dad was ready to open up a little further if she pressed.

"How did it happen?"   Suerte asked.

"Myself and your mother were at the top of our respective games back in 2007.  I was working an angle at the time for the CIA to get tabs on various smuggling rings, isolate key individuals who wanted out, get them to snitch and enter protection, then gut the rings.  Your mother was still a part of the Philippine's hero culture, a major player, and we had worked together on more than one occasion, we were intimate, so it made sense she would lend a hand in the far east when one of my investigations pointed to the Yamazaki-gumi in Shinjuku Japan..."  Dom started.

"Yamazaki-gumi?  That was a powerful Yakuza syndicate."  Suerte interjected, Dom nodding.

"Emphasis on was.  Your mother and I brought it down, the hard way, when our inside man, a high profile smuggler, turned on us, luring us into a trap.  We had an ally in Kabuki-dono, and his efforts are part of the reason her and I are still alive today, but to make things brief, you can have all the power in the world, but a numbers game wins in a battle of attrition.  I lost my wings, your mother lost her nerve to wear the mask ever again, and Kabuki-dono a painful death.  We crippled the syndicate, but couldn't bring their boss, or the smuggler to justice, the two most important figures in a human trafficking, and weapons smuggling ring between North Korea and Japan.  Pyrrhic victory."  Dom's recitation ended with a long exhale.

Now that she'd heard a reader's digest synopsis of events, Suerte had to ask.

"What was his name?"

"We never had anything but a nickname, or code name for the smuggler..."

"Not the smuggler, but the man who took your wings..." Suerte interrupted.

"His name was Satoshi Yamazaki, went by Susanoo.  He was the leader of the syndicate."


::Osaka Japan - Present Day, Present Time::

Suerte laughed.

"A pleasure to meet you, June; you caught me off guard there.  One of your stature could back up such a threat!"  and she slurped down another mouthful of noodles before continuing.  "I tend to catch people who throw themselves off high things when I'm not being sucked into DnD dimensions*.  But here, I'm but the woman leisure."  Suerte stated coyly.


Her next words she chose more careful than the last, her soft, gentle voice taking on a slight edge, the Nightjar persona now in the driver's seat.

"I have no history specifically with any Yakuza here.  At least none that exist anymore...You?" Suerte asked at the end, turning the table back the other direction.

“This might sound a bit cliche, but I’m looking for a man with a tattoo on his chest… a tiger head devouring a dragon.” June paused, wondering if the name was a bit of a mouthful. She came up with an appropriately ominous nickname.
“This… Yakuza… Dragon Eater. I want to find him and have words with him.” June said, and by her mood and tone it was not going to be cheerful words.

Ramen Guy served them some herbal tea to top off their meal. At hearing the word Yakuza being mentioned a few times by his customers, he warned June, “Young lady, you shouldn’t look for the yakuza! They are nothing but trouble! They extort businesses, are loan sharks, and lots of other unsavory things!” He said, his voice filled with concern.

“I am sorry, but this is a very personal issue I need to resolve.” She then turned to Suerte, speaking in English. “That was odd of him to mention the specific kinds of activity the Yakuza get into.”

As June finished her Ramen and scanned her smart watch on Ramen Guy’s E-payment, she glanced at the reflection in the glass covered menu, of a man in a suit hurriedly fleeing from something. June picked up his elevated stress and heart rate from her electro-receptive sense, and her instincts told her that the man was in trouble. He had ducked into the nearest high-rise building, virtually stumbling in. Two large men in full flamboyant suits – one in white, one in purple - followed him not long after.

“…I guess it’s true, sometimes you find trouble, and sometimes trouble finds you. Wanna see how my flying works?” She looked at the building, twenty floors high.

Following the path of June's eyes, Suerte spotted the panicky man entering a nearby, towering commercial building, concluding that in Japan, one could build towers to God without being scattered. Then she noticed the two conspicuous tails, getting Mr. Moto vibes from the one in the white suit, causing her to push aside thoughts of Peter Lorre. The purple suit worn by the other torpedo belonged more on Steve Harvey, Elton John, or the late, great Prince.

The flashiness of their attire was almost vulgar.

Advertised a certain decadence.

Hinted at an audacious pride, and intoxicated sense of power.

“…I guess it’s true, sometimes you find trouble, and sometimes trouble finds you..." June said, Suerte nodding as she slurped down some of the broth. She had gobbled down all the noodles in the bowl.

Dinner was now over. And it was time to get down to business.

"Yakuza?" Suerte uttered under her breath.

"...Wanna see how my flying works?” June finished her sentence. Good Question. A loaded one, perhaps. Something about how June phrased it seemed to be invitational in nature to Suerte.

The question Suerte had to ask herself was 'did she?'.

A blink of a moment's consideration, and...

"Sure. It will be educational, and I can get into a dust up too; haven't played 'throwing elbows, catching hands' for a good minute." Suerte replied calmly, as if she were talking about something as mundane as a fast food order or a deli purchase. She looked at June expectantly.

"Ready when you are." her vocal tone lowering, and taking on a rasp, Suerte had buried herself into her Nightjar persona. The costume and wings were needed to complete the transformation, but mentally, the civilian was put away, and the vigilante had surfaced.

June nodded and led them to the nearby dirty, garbage filled, urine smelling alley where no one was watching. Some truly extra-terrestrial tech, looking like a spinal column, began to light up with energy, and June slowly ascended up the side of the building, as they followed the elevators up and up.
The exchange reached the roof, and June had quietly landed, hiding behind a large condenser to observe the confrontation. The Yakuza pursuing their salaryman quarry until he had nowhere else to run. If Nightjar had followed, June provided the translated play by play.

“…Hey Ken! Your payment has been two weeks overdue now!” The white dressed Yakuza did the talking.

“I swear, I’ll get the money! It … it was stolen… stolen by some girl I ran into!” The salaryman pleaded, holding up his business suitcase like a shield.

“Don’t lie to us Ken. You have the gambling itch. Money melts away in your hands like ice. But… this disrespect to our Boss, when he helped you in your time of need. We can’t let this disrespect slide.”

“Loan sharks.” June remarked. Internally, she felt pity on the man being harassed - if it was true he had lost loan money to gambling, then he needed professional help. The yakuza preying on his vices, knowing he would lose his money, was despicable.

The two yakuza men grab Ken by his suit and violently backhand him a few times, causing the man to ask for mercy. “Mercy? Mercy? You have cheated our organization of rightfully owed money, Ken!” They bring him to the edge of the old building, leaning him on the flimsy railing over a twenty storey drop.

“I’ll go and make sure the guy doesn’t fall over. Think you can handle two Yakuza guys?” June pats Nightjar on the shoulder, wanting to see what the young hero can do. June goes over the edge and flies over where the man was being dangled over, keeping an eye out.

Nightjar nodded.

"Yeah, I can handle the torpedoes." she replied steadily, remembering her last bout on a rooftop down in Daytona. A madman with an automatic decided to unload on civilians, even managing to hold the authorities off when she dropped in to make the save. The fight went south for her fast, and she got a lucky break, surviving the night.

Nightjar had learned plenty from that encounter, and wanted to put that learned experience to work here. Seeing Dragon Girl fly into position, Nightjar spread her wings, and flapped, launching herself upwards. She came down amongst a mass of antennae attached to a tower. Nightjar clung to the tower, taking in the situation now beneath her.

The Yaks were pouring it on stronger now, slapping the pleading man, and thrusting him precariously against the rail.

No weapons drawn.

Focus solely on the indebted.

Nightjar had the advantage of surprise.

What mattered was how she decided to use it.

A work of James Matthew Barrie came to mind. Nightjar grinning as she dropped into the shadows of rooftop, hiding behind an air vent. She breathed in and...

"MwA-Ha-hA-HAH!"

The angry discourse went dead silent. Nightjar grinned wider, inhaled deeply once more, and again...

"Mwwhaah-hah-hah-HAAAH!"

The tell-tale clicks that followed hoarse, soto voce words alerted Nightjar that she likely hade their undivided attention now. Peering around the vent, Night Jar spotted the two men faced in her direction, gats drawn. One heading straight towards her while the other broke off to come around from behind.

Nightjar darted to the edge of the building as swiftly and quietly as possibly, throwing herself off and then swooping back up to the communication tower, looking down beneath her as both men met where she had been seconds ago.

She stifled a mischievous giggle.

Sure, there was a language barrier, but superstition spoke all dialects .

Nightjar had learned that directly attacking wasn't always necessary; in fact, escalation was often a bad idea. Winding the yakuza thugs up long enough for Dragon Girl to make the save would be the safest route at the moment.

Puckering her lips, Nightjar spat.

The white suited Yakuza grabbed the top of her head, looking up with a scowl. There was no one above him and his colleague. Nightjar was now perched on the top of the neon sign anchored to the edge of the building.

She could do this all night...