Jackson & The Ninja

~Brandon James Scott Scholl

Jackson walked towards the black masked figure ahead of him. He didn’t know who it was or where they had come from but this was the last time he would allow the stranger to kill the people around him that he loved and cared for.

“I don’t know who you are,” Jackson yelled. “But whoever you are, that was the last time you will take the life of anyone!” The figure took a stance showing he was ready for a fight. Jackson stopped 10 feet away from the black dressed ninja. He was ready for anything.

Just then the attacker shot a fist at him and Jackson moved to his left just as a knife slid out of the enemy’s sleeve. This person was insane. Did he even know who he was attacking?

Jackson spun around and grabbed the intruding wrist, turning it, making the knife fall out of its grasp. Then, he spun back around the other way and slammed the palm of his hand into the elbow. By the sound of bone breaking loudly, he knew that he had broken clean through. However, not a sound came from the ninja. He let go of the wrist and then jumped in the air thrusting a foot at the masked attacker. As he reached the peak of his jump, the ninja caught his foot, pulling him down to the ground. As he fell he put his hands out in front of him, catching himself from slamming into the concrete and then pushed off his hands, slammed his other foot up from the bottom on the ninja’s face, and then landing on his feet farther back.

Just then the ninja pulled a katana out from the sheath behind his back and aimed it at Jackson. Jackson knew that this was not going in his favor at all. He looked around for something to defend himself and saw a raggedy towel sticking out of a trashcan next to him. He grabbed it, rolled it up, and held it between his two hands. The attacker cried and then lunged at Jackson. With the grace of a dancer, Jackson pivoted to his left, wrapped the towel around the blade of the katana, and flung it away from their fight. Then he spun farther, coming up behind the still lunging ninja and kicked him in the left kneecap. This made the ninja fall to the ground back.

Jackson dropped down behind the masked man and wrapped his left arm around their neck and then pressed his right hand on the right side of their face.

“Who sent you and why,” Jackson asked. The only response he obtained from the failed ninja was silence.

“I won’t ask another time. Who sent you here and why?” Still, the attacker kept quiet.

“Alright, you have to the count of three. If you don’t answer by then, I’ll break your neck.” Yet again no words left the lips of the murderer that he held in his arms. Jackson pushed with his right hand on the side of their neck and heard a loud snapping sound, then the body that he was holding hostage went limp in his grasp.

He laid the body down on the ground and walked over to the sword that he had flung away during the scuffle. As he observed the blade it instantly became familiar to him. The craftsmanship was original and rarely seen in this part of the world. It was made in a remote part of Japan and only given to the warriors of the Oonagi. The Oonagi were a mythological group of people who were supposedly nothing more than a legend created to scare the criminals of Japan. Now, however, it seemed that they were not only real, but they were heartless murderers.

Jackson walked back over to the now limp body on the ground. He took the sword’s sheath off of the dead ninja and strapped it to himself while sliding the sword in its place as well, within the sheath. He was going to find out who ordered the personal attack on him, and they didn’t have any idea what Jackson was going to do them next.