#manriki

Equipment often refers to mechanical components, buuuut... I took some creative liberties with the definition.

Equipment Failure

“Oh, that’s very illegal.” A suspicious gaze cast upon his weapon, tightening their grip on something hidden behind their back.

“And fighting in the streets isn’t?”

“I didn’t say my work was legal either. But working for morals is far more respectable than working for the highest bidder.” The mercenary shrugged at that, casually swinging the weapon: a light but sturdy chain with a heavy weight at both ends: one as a handle, one as a bludgeon.

“Someone wants you gone. They’d find a way to do it even if I weren’t here.” And he reeled the chain back to strike at his opponent who jumped out of the way just in time.

“What is that thing anyway?” the vigilante asked.

“Manrikigusari. Or a manriki.” He grinned and held it up, sliding a hand along the chain links. “It originated in Feudal Japan.”

“And you, what, just picked this up? You do understand I’m not the one to test new techniques against, yes?”

His body still remembered the wounds of previous encounters. Yes, they were certainly dangerous.

“I’ve trained in many different techniques. You’d be surprised.”

“Surprise me then.”

The vigilante lunged forth, flicking out a baton and reaching for his side. But the chain flew up and pushed it away before it could make contact. The weight clipped their hand and they gasped softly.

“Surprised?” He was beaming now, proud of his work.

“Not bad at all.” They readjusted their grip on the baton and swung it through the air. Reminding him of the consequences, should he slip up.

He took it as a challenge and struck first this time, sending the weight spiraling through the air at them. They sidestepped and swung again, this time making contact with his hip, and they went for a jab when the weight slammed into their thigh with bruising force.

The vigilante stumbled back, gingerly testing weight on their foot. Thankfully he hadn’t hit a joint. Their opponent took it as a sign of weakness and strode forward to finish them off, but they deflected his blow and pulled themself back upright. 

They exchanged blows like that, both growing wearier as the fight wore on. 

“Just… give up already!” The mercenary huffed.

“I’d rather… not meet your employer… ngh!” His manriki punched them square in the stomach and swung back for a second blow. Out of desperation, they stuck out their hand to defend themself. 

The chain struck hard, but they closed and trapped it in their fist.

“Ha!” It hurt like hell and they could hardly feel more then numb tingling, but this was their chance. He wasn’t letting go of his only defense, but they were physically stronger.

One harsh pull forced him forward to his hands and knees. 

‘Shit! Let go, you- gAH!”

The vigilante smashed his wrist under their foot, digging and twisting their heel until his grip gave out. And that foot stayed in place as they tucked the baton under their shoulder and gathered the manriki into their own hands. 

“This is a handy little thing, really. Maybe I’ll try it myself someday.” They tried it out, spinning it unevenly but making contact with his opposite shoulder, eliciting a cry. It was tucked into their pocket with a satisfied hum and they finally let him back up. 

“Give that back, asshole!” Predictably flailing for their pockets despite his bad wrist... Their baton slammed him up against the narrow alley’s wall. 

“We’re playing with my weapons now, bud.” One hand barred him with steel and the other drew a dagger. “Now, I need a name. Your employer’s in particular.”

Hands flailed for theirs, but with two bad arms it was hardly effective. 

“I ain’t telling you jack!” His carefully curated neural accent slipped away in times of stress, it seemed.

“Would you rather crawl back to bleed out on their doorstep?” The pointed tip explored his side, feeling for the best place of entry.

“I said what I said.”

“Suit yourself.” Their dagger plunged in deep, then pushed to the hilt when that wasn’t deemed quite enough. The mercenary’s mouth was opened in an “O”, only realizing he could scream after looking down past the baton.

“You dick!!! You stabbed me!” Ragged breathing set on rather quickly. “You…! I don’t- I don’t have a phone!”

“Am I to blame for you being an absolute dunce, now?”

“Fuck off!”

“You don’t have to tell me twice.” They gripped the hilt, preparing to wrench it out of the wound, but… “You know, on second thought, this isn’t anything special.” They pulled out a handkerchief and rubbed it over the grip to erase their fingerprints, jostling it in the process.

“No, please- don’t!” 

Manriki Finger Claws (unknown manual circ. 1850s, Japan)

So far on the Japanese Movie WatchList 2020 are these titles....