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Samurai Soviet in America Ch. 1 Idols and Muggers

I write classic "good vs evil" creative writing pieces with smart twists inspired by vintage action cinema, gaming, and heavy metal.

It was an arduous journey of dark crates, endless storms, starvation, rapid changes from freezing cold to boiling heat but that was only the beginning of my war with corruption and treason. The path of a righteous man bearing weapons is never easy; there is no smooth sailing for me as that is reserved for the complacent. I refuse to conceal my weapons as there is no reason to; only those on the payroll of traitors would impede me. Shihan Kenshiro has taught me to recognize good and bad people, "Some good people serve a bad master; cripple if you must but, do not kill them."


Back in the USSR, we could walk our streets holding shovels and freely go anywhere we pleased but in the West, everything is surprisingly segregated and oppressive; never did I imagine that. This discovery came to me when I finally reached my destination; New York, USA. Here, even the way you are dressed is under scrutiny; blue jeans and a leather jacket apparently, get you dirty looks from authorities and bystanders alike. However, I could avoid the former by maneuvering through back alleys, rooftops, and other undesirable locations.


"HEY!" I heard a deep voice call out from the darkness as I walked past, "I'M TALKIN' TO YOU!"

"Gimme your jacket and wallet!" the same voice demanded but this time, substituting the word "please" with a revolver and a flurry of expletives. The last my assailant ever saw in his lifetime was the flash of my Katana. Two strikes blending into one where one sliced his weaponized arm and the other finished him off with a throat slash. Now he knows what Iaijutsu (居合術) is; a counter-attack-oriented art of drawing the Katana sword that can also be used aggressively as a premeditated surprise attack. All he can do now is gurgle and admire his severed limb as I walked away; showing no regard or status to his previously dominant position.

"He killed Izzy, man!"

"Jump 'im dudes!"

"Whatever attitude you are in, do not be conscious of making said attitude; think only of cutting."

— Miyamoto Musashi 1584-1645.

Many other such attempts at a rallying cry followed suit as the entire alley came to nervous life; teeming with anger for their desperate situation. My sword is still drawn in Te ura Gasumi no Kamae stance; (covering my head from the side) protecting me from a surprise attack while also setting up for a lethal slash that would disable an attacker if he's lucky.

Spilling his insides on the dirty pavement if he isn't. There are only 4 of them, as I anticipated since they made more noise than moves, all average street punks thriving on surprise attacks from the dark. However, I sensed one of them had a small pistol hidden in his inner coat pocket; not only was he positioned in the center of the crowd but looked the most confident out of everyone. Big mistake to rely on your weapon as opposed to yourself.

Te ura Gasumi no Kamae

Te ura Gasumi no Kamae

All at once like hyenas, they leaped at me swinging their crude arsenal of nail boards, pipes, and pocket knives. All I had to do is step back and after a forward slash, an attacker brandishing a pipe lost his torso. Te ura Gasumi no Kamae provides enough leverage for that kind of strike. His cries of pain were heard by the entire country; the best he can do is crawl away erratically using his hands, wasting his waning strength. Mr. Pocket Knife attempted to stab at my torso and got a broken jaw and multiple head trepanations from repeated pommel strikes. Now he tastes his own blood while shambling away seeking safety and distance from me.

The 4th guy was nowhere to be seen, probably ran away but, as predicted, the last thug dove into his jacket. I didn't think about getting shot as I didn't think about the consequences of challenging these lowlifes for I focused on cutting. Executing a forward roll, I've driven my sword into my last assailant. The small pistol dropped to the ground as the inefficient prop that it was in a real battle. Before the lowlife died, he stared at me in intense fear, making eye contact with him scared all the bravery out of his soul.


The West stinks of fear, crippling debt; spiritual and material alike where people blame anyone but themselves for their inadequacies, inferiority, and bad decisions. The average person is always oppressed, just in a different way wherein "safer" areas it's by the authorities whereas by lowlifes in places police presence is minimal. After I killed those thugs, many vultures landed on their corpses to pick whatever they could from them. Pictures for their over-the-top, sensationalized coverage in the news; adding to the catalog of fears that people already have. Springboards for their public image as some overpaid actors make themselves look like saints on the backs of dead people.


I saw the above unfold since I hid my presence and stayed in the alley; hiding in plain sight and observing the government's reaction. Police were the last to show up while the first was well-dressed, well-to-do actors; I discovered that because said people always spoke of the upcoming productions they were involved in.

"I, Trina Karlsson, star of Captain Amazing, was the biggest activist to speak out on gun violence, and today, I'm speaking out on blade violence; what you see should be reason enough to ban all knives!" a short blonde woman chirped as 3 giant cameras followed her every move. Much to the displeasure of casual observers who just looked on in disgust.

Yes it is, Brie.

Yes it is, Brie.

"Well, how do you propose we defend ourselves?!" an elderly black woman spoke up, "If you took off your sunglasses for 5 seconds, you'd see that those people are Izzy and his gang; they terrorized us since '79!" The blonde woman clearly didn't expect backlash, "He mugged and shot my daughter and now he's dead and, I'M GLAD HE'S DEAD!" the black woman yelled, swinging her cane. "What do you know?! You don't even live in the city!" she finished, "Keep fake-carin' Trie; the Lord is your judge!


Civil rage was too much for the country's elite; gesturing the camera crew to stop filming, Trina backpedaled briskly. The black woman's mention of God seemed to petrify the actress since she didn't even attempt to damage control nor save face. A Soviet actor or actress will never talk about things bigger than themselves; never have I seen anyone elevate and try to appear more important than they really are till now. Could she be involved with the corrupt government?

I think she's also a proxy to spread the same poison that kills innocents and start wars overseas and therefore, I now have a starting point in my war with said poison. Celebrities it seems, are idols with actual power here but as power has to come from somewhere; it's clear that they are well-connected with politicians and those above them.

© 2021 Jake Clawson


Keerthi Nambiar on June 26, 2021:

enjoyed reding it

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