Introduction:
She knew she wasn't supposed to feel regret. That hadn't been part of her conditioning. She returned her katana to it's rightful place after she polished it on a shred of her pants, because God forbid, someone in this line of work gets the equipment soiled. Physically and emotionally exhausted, she sank to the ground. Fingering her Mon, she reminded herself the purpose.
"I am Mari Amari daughter of Katsu Amari, the Wrecker. We aim to rule. We wreck the opposers. No matter the consequence. Japan will be ours.”
That’s what I’ve been taught since I’ve been old enough to dress myself. They condition us to feel no fear, regret, pity, etc. To be merciless is key to winning a fight and defending our position in taking over Japan. No outsider is ever “recruited,” you’re born into it and the only way to leave is to die. We have a system of counselors in our clan simply called The Matchers. They choose who you marry (within the clan of course) in order to have the ideal offspring to fight alongside our top samurai. The ideal offspring qualifications is as follows: male, well nourished, wealthy, and they must share the same morally corrupt agreeance with the mission statement. With that being said, they don’t have an option to agree with the mission or not because it’s conditioned and shoved down our throats from the moment we enter the world; and if that doesn’t work, you’re killed. Some have pleaded to just be thrown out, but what they didn’t understand was they were being spared as well as protecting the clan’s confidentiality. When you’re thrown out of the clan, you are thrown right into the hands of the government, who will in no way be persuaded to salvage your life. No matter how much you tell them about the clan’s secrets.
I’m not at all the ideal samurai. I’m a woman. I am the Clan Leader’s only child. With that being said, there is no rightful heir to the hypothetical throne. I’m all they have and there is absolutely no way my father will pass leadership to another family just because he didn’t have a son. He’s trained me as a young man would be trained. He makes it clear to me that I am nor ever will be good enough, but he’ll have to settle since I’m as close as he’ll get. Yet he wonders why I question him. Why I disobey orders and bluntly disagree with missions. He does everything he can to cover up and correct my rebellious urges. This is how it ends.

The Story
The rest of my clan have already run off into the alleys to stake out shortcuts to and from the base, to find advantage points, and to use the shadows to defend from probable attack from the government hired fighters. They call their fighters the “Silent Steppers.” They boast to the citizens of how highly trained and unmerciful they are to give the citizens a sense of security and protection from the Wrecker’s clan. Realistically, not a single member of the Wrecking Clan has been caught, let alone harmed by the Silent Steppers due to the exact reason the name is ironic.
I can hear a Stepper approaching fifteen yards ahead around the corner to my left. It’s a woman. By the sound of the lighter and more graceful steps, it’s obvious she’s higher up in ranks. I press my back against  the wall to my left using the spaced shadow of the fire escape to my advantage. She walks past. I’m safe. I inch away from the wall and creep my way down the alley. Distracted by the ever present, immoral obligations appointed on me, I make the mistake of stepping on a stray candy rapper from the nearby dumpster. In that moment, the crackling of the wrapper sounds like a million gunshots in a six-by-six steel box. I freeze. Master Wrecker will kill me himself if he finds out about my snicker’s slip. I have no time to think of the immense amount of possible punishments due in my near future because she’s turned around and coming back. It’s useless to try to hide this time. She may be a miserable excuse for a samurai, but even a grade school child would know that wasn’t a sound made by an alley cat.
She spots me almost instantaneously and draws a pair of nunchucks from behind her. I haven’t seen nunchucks used in a fight for a while, it has mainly become a sport of showing off rather than used for self defense. I immediately straighten up, square my shoulders and begin my confident almost cocky stride towards my opponent. She starts to swing her nunchucks like it was something I should be impressed and terrified by but she doesn’t advance. She takes a step back. I have yet to even draw my katana and she is retreating.
That’s when I heard it. Thump. I stop. Thump. Thump. I draw both my swords. It was a trap.
The rest of the clan had passed through this alley and not one Stepper was spotted until now. Being the Master’s daughter is already dangerous, let alone being a fighting threat. A take a quick glimpse behind me. There’s six others, but when I look back at the woman she’s no longer there. I hit my tracker hoping the wreckers nearby can come to my aid.
They’re more skilled than I remember.  Before I move, they seem to know what I’m going to do. My plan was to wear them out enough to escape, but at this pace they’ll wear me out first. I haven’t got in a single hit and the clan has yet to come to help. Usually by now, I’d have the majority of them down and the rest running for the hills and the clan would’ve been here within seconds of the activation my tracker.
Something’s not right. They know all my moves. They obviously knew the clan wouldn’t come back or else they would have more fighters. They know me.
That’s when I see his eyes. Like my own eyes staring back at me.
Everyone has always told me the only thing I inherited from my father was his eyes and fight, and those were his eyes. I’m being attacked by my own father and clan. It’s another preparation scenario. When I was in training, my father would set up surprise attacks and scenarios that would happen in the real world to prepare me for possible situations.
So I fought with all I had, avoiding lethal strikes but making it obvious I’m able to do them. At the same time I can’t show weakness no matter how tired I am. It doesn’t seem like they’re making the same effort I am, though, to avoid taking the lethal strikes. So I’ve concluded, this is my final test. My father told me, there will be a final test and it will seem unbearable and worse than all the rest, but if I make it through, I’m ready for a leadership position.
I can feel warm blood trickling down my body, but I’m unaware if it’s my own. They’ve gotten in a few nicks but nothing major, and I’ve gotten two down.
I need to catch my breath.
I can’t stop.
They’re getting anxious to end this fight. At a funeral’s pace, I look myself, death, in the eyes. As he lunges, full sprint towards me. His sharp blade making contact right above my belly button, piercing my skin through and through. The sword sticking out my back, he grabs my shoulder and slowly lowers me to the ground as if trying making up for the death strike just afflicted by his own hand onto his only daughter. I’m on my knees when he removes his blade. Without cleaning it, he throws it into its rightful case on his back and watches my limp body fall to the ground completely.
Now I know the blood is mine, pooling around me. My life in a puddle I can’t contemplate. His blurry figure kneels down next to me, making ripples in the puddle, and brushes loose strands of hair from my face. The man I knew as my father removes his mask to reveal what I already knew. My own father had delivered my death. He looked into my eyes and through what I could still see, he look sorrowful.
“You shouldn’t have doubted the resistance.”
Blood has begun to run out of my mouth. He winces at the sight as if in pain.
“I never wanted to do this. I’ve spent months trying to come up with a way to correct your disobedience in a different way, but you’re are a threat alive.”
It’s getting harder to breath. He has become a dark moving figure in front of a darker canvas.
“I thought you would be my greatest success story. A girl to take the reigns from Master Wrecker. But you failed me with your big dreams and beliefs against our society. I didn’t tell your mother. She’ll be a problem too.”
I don’t know if he kept talking or if he left after that. That is what I heard before it all stopped. I could feel my heart jerk when it hit the breaks, and the last breath felt like dragging needles through my lungs, when the last drop of life left me, I had yet to hear regret from him.
I hope the same thing happens to my father. I hope he feels the pain that I felt. I don’t mean the physical pain, I mean the pain of having someone you thought loved you put a knife through your back and feel no pain themselves. Hope is all I can do because I know I won’t see them again someday.
I hope the resistance fails.