The night was quiet by New York City standards. Considering the whirlwind her life has been since she left China so many years ago, the relative calm was as welcome as it was frustrating. Perched on the ledge of an abandoned building in the warehouse district, the young Japanese woman sighed softly.
Tonight's reconnaissance was proving once again to be fruitless, and she was finding it a bit difficult to stay as focused as she needed to be. She was tired and her muscles were a bit sore and stiff. It was an unfortunate drawback to working as a ballerina for her cover, though she found ballet to be one of the most rewarding endeavours she'd ever delved into. It was one she took as seriously as her wushu training, which was to her existence as the very breath in her lungs.
Aimi breathed deep again. A quiet, deliberate drawing of breath, and exhaled slow and even as she stealthily changed her position on the ledge to stretch her long, leanly muscled legs, being careful to stay in the shadows. She closed her amethyst colored eyes and allowed her other senses to rise. She felt the night breeze sift through her loose, waist length raven hair, feeling the tickle of an inky black tendril brushing across her alabaster skin and full lips. Taking note of the the direction it blew from, she parted her lips and allowed the flavour, texture and scent to pass over her tongue and palette. She inhaled through her nose, and felt the wind's vibration along her skin, which she could feel even through her jacket.
Aimi then opened her eyes and cast her unusual gaze deliberately upon her surroundings. In the same manner that she could detect certain things differently from what was considered normal, through air movement, scent and atmospheric change, she could see beyond what is considered normal as well. Aimi had always had extraordinary night vision, but if she concentrated, she could focus on objects in such a way as to almost magnify them. She could even see something akin to heat, in the form of a faint sort of aura. The only people who knew of these things were the monks who raised her, Grand Master Sifu Li Chen, and her guardian, the one called The Rat King.
She had never been formally tested, and was warned that no one should know. She was told that she should not worry, and that these were gifts she could use to help people. Their origin and true purpose would be revealed when the time was right. So she used them. Her gifts had proven useful on many occasions, and on many missions. Her employer was pleased and she was compensated well. Aimi did not always find her missions tasteful, but she knew that she served the greater good, and that was good enough. For now.
Aimi's current mission had her wondering though. Her personal Intel had revealed information that had her questioning her employer's motives. She was beginning to wonder if he was really as altruistic and benign in his dealings as he had led on these past 8 years.
Nevertheless, it was imperative that she find the man known simply as The Oni. The rumour was that he was amassing the components for a weapon capable of destruction on a galactic scale, as well as an army to support him. They also say he wears an Oni mask, and that people die wherever he goes. The deceased are found in a state best described as 'having the life literally sucked out of them.' All that was left of their bodies being a barely recognizable husk.
The young Asian woman shivered at the vision this conjured. It was unspeakably insidious. This Oni-man must be stopped. To this end Aimi found herself in New York city, searching for clues. She had found a cover as a ballerina with a local ballet theatre company, which she found she adored. It gave her a creative outlet while she conducted her search. Her cover as a dancer gave her access to many potential informants. People who may have unwittingly had business dealings with The Oni, for she was certain he also had a cover as an upstanding citizen and businessman. Aimi had also been told of a group of vigilantes, four of them quite possibly not even human. Part of her mission was to find them. Perhaps they had seen or heard of something that would yield a critical clue. Perhaps they had even had a run-in with the man or his agents.
She had been in New York City for four months now and while she was certain she had detected them on occasion, she had not been able to pin them down.
So, night after night, regardless of whether she'd had a performance, attended a fundraising gala or had a day off, The Asset found herself on the rooftops of NYC, watching and waiting. Her eyes sharp, her senses extended as she waited for what she knew would come eventually. Perhaps not tonight, nor tomorrow, but soon. Her Intel was never wrong, and neither was her intuition.
