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“So you’re a writer.” Layla giggled as she brushed back a strand of her bright, blonde hair to better reveal her bright, white smile. “What do you write? Romance?”

“No,” said Steven, giving a charming little laugh of his own. He finished the last bit of wine in his glass and signalled their waiter to bring another bottle. “My work is non-fiction. Investigative reports into history, myths, and legends, that sort of thing.”

He leaned towards her conspiratorially.

“But you know, I am thinking of expanding my market,” he said. Layla gave the desired reaction, laughing, and he continued on. “Perhaps you could help me resear… GET DOWN.”

The next thing Layla knew Steven had slammed her to the floor, himself landing on top. Strangely, she noted how unexpectedly loud their smashing cutlery was, but she moved on to the more pressing issue.

“What the fuck,” she groaned.

His hand clamped over her mouth.

“Shhh,” he hissed. He was looking about them, as an animal on a hunt. Layla wondered why there was no uproar over his actions by the restaurant’s other patrons but she decided she could provide her own.

She bit his hand and as he pulled back kneed him the groin, pushing him off.

“Don’t shush me, you fuck,” she said and started to sit up. She froze half-way up though when she realised why no one had come to her aid. They were all dead.

All their fellow diners and the wait staff were slumped on chairs, tables, the floor, even food. Blood gushed from their chests, necks, or heads where small, metal squares were embedded. At first shock prevented any reaction. It broke when her focus landed on their waiter lying on the ground, wine from what was to be their next bottle mixing with his blood. His right eye stared mournfully at her. The left had been replaced by one of the metal squares.

Layla inhaled to scream.

Steven covered her mouth and dragged her to the floor again before she could do so. She flailed against him briefly but she really didn’t have the fight in here.

“Listen, listen,” he said. Her panicked eyes snapped to him, giving him her attention. “Good. Those things that killed everyone? They’re shuriken. Throwing stars. I saw them before they smashed through the window. Do you know who uses throwing stars?”

Having a question to answer, an idea of what was behind the horror, helped her to calm down. She gave an answer, though it was muffled by Steven’s palm. He hesitated for a second then slowly withdrew his hand from her mouth.

“Ninjas?” she whispered. “Like the movies? I thought they weren’t real?”

“Well, that’s actually the problem,” said Steven. He gave a sad grin over an inside joke. “They’re not real.”

“Then who the hell …”

“Look,” said Steven, “from what I can tell, they’re at least three of them out there. They’re going to first wait to see if we come out.”

“Are you sure?”

They barely heard the bang of the kitchen door slamming open by a returning waiter before he was already falling dead to the ground, three throwing stars having cut into his forehead.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” said Steven.

Suddenly the lights went out.

“Damn it,” cursed Steven.

“What?”

“They’re in the building,” he said. He struggled with an idea then spoke again. “Layla, I’m deeply sorry. These men are after me, and they’ll not stop until I’m dead. I’m going to make a run for it and try to lead them away. They’ll probably leave you alone.”

“THERE’S THE TRAITOR! HE’S MINE!” a voice yelled from the darkness.

“GET HIS WHORE, TOO!” another joined in.

A howling man-like shape detached itself from the darkness, running towards them wielding a long, slim sword. Layla couldn’t believe it. A ninja was charging them, getting closer, and swinging his katana in an arc that would split open Steven’s head.

What was more unbelievable was the speed with which Steven stood up to meet the charge with a heavy, wooden chair. Steel and seat collided, and while the blade did slice in, it stuck halfway through. With a yank Steven pulled the chair and weapon away from the shadow warrior. He then lashed out with his foot to nail the ninja’s crotch.

“Fuck,” gasped the ninja. “Oh fuck! Fuc-”

The ninja’s gasping exclamations were cut short as Steven placed him in a choke-hold. Steven pressed the sharp edge of the recovered katana against the assassin’s gut. The ninja was now a human shield.

“Dude,” a voice said. “He’s got Carl.”

“Yes!” shouted Steven. “I got Carl. Layla get behind me!”

He hissed the last command at her and she somehow managed to follow it, despite her confusion.

“Carl?” she said. “What kind of name is Carl for a ninja? And what’s with the surfer talk?”

“I told you,” said Steven back over his shoulders. “Ninjas are not real.”

“Yes … we are” Carl croaked.

“No you’re not,” said Steven. He tightened his grip on Carl and started to shout. “Now listen! You out there! My lady friend and I are getting along with your friend Carl here. Right, Carl?”

“Right” choked Carl.

“Right. Now, we’re going to take our fascinating conversation outside.” He visibly pressed the blade closer to Carl. “If you want your friend to live …”

Two stars streaked into Carl’s head.

“Fuckers,” Carl said and died, slumping into Steven’s arms.

“NINJAS FEAR NO DEATH!” the voices from the dark called.

“NINJAS AREN’T FUCKING REAL, YOU IDIOTS” screamed Steven. “Layla! Stay by me, we’re going to move to the door. Quickly now.”

They shuffled back, Steven continuing to use Carl’s corpse as protection. Layla stumbled nervously forward into the dark, trying to keep a hand on Steven. When she lost that hold she turned around in great fear, relieved to find him still behind her. She returned to look out into the dark in front of them. Her view was blocked by a ninja. As he swung his blade down, she managed to scream.

Steven whipped around, dropped Carl, pushed her out of harm’s way, and in the same motion parried the swing. He could not do the same for the kick the ninja delivered to his head. The blow was hard enough to lift Steven off the ground and he crashed hard on his back, dazed. Layla looked with horror as the ninja laughed, raising his katana high above his head, building for the final drive into Steven. She closed her eyes fearing what would come next.

Hearing the pulpy sound of flesh tearing she began to. The world had gone insane with ninjas, who were not real, killing everyone and she was next. Her mind did the only thing it could to protect her and tried to shut out the world. This was why it took her some time to realise that she was being gently shaken and called by Steven.

“Layla! Layla! It’s all right.”

Opening her eyes, Layla saw him at her. Still standing over them was the ninja, frozen in the position she last saw him in, except now with an expression of disappointed surprise. Maybe because it looked like he had stabbed himself. Except his katana was still in his hands, and the blade that was sticking out from his chest was slowly disappearing back into it. When it was completely gone, the ninja swayed and then fell forward, revealing a crouching figure.

The figure unfurled itself into the most beautiful woman Layla had ever seen. A statuesque example of the ethereal beauty an Asian woman could achieve. Her exotic eyes and pouty lips were framed by long raven hair which tumbled and merged into a tight leather cat-suit outlining a tighter body. Gloved hands held her bloodied katana out, an extension of her arms.

“Who’s she?” said Layla. She could not suppress the hint of jealousy.

“She’s half my next book’s advance,” replied Steven.

“What?”

“Her name is Miko. She’s my bodyguard,” he said.

“Bodyguard?!?!”

“Yes. I think I need one, don’t you?”

“To protect you from the ninjas who are not real?” said Layla.

“Ninjas are real,” said Miko, cleaning her blade. Her voice was soft, clear, and filled with an emptiness that was both attractive and frightening.

“They’re not real,” sighed Steven. “That’s why they’re trying to kill me.”

“What?” said Layla again, tired of the word.

“I’ll explain later,” said Steven and addressed Miko. “Did you get the other one?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Where were you anyway?”

“Washroom.” Giving her blade one last look down its length, Miko sheathed it and faced towards Steven and Layla, eyes down in a respectful manner. “There are more outside. More will come. This city is no longer safe. The car is outside and I called for the plane. We should go.”

“Right,” said Steven. He turned back to Layla. “Listen, again, I’m so sorry about this. I didn’t think they would do something so public and loud. But I suppose they’re not really limited to anything. They’re not real.”

“Ninjas are real,” said Miko.

“In any case,” continued Steven, “we’ve got to go now.”

“What? Go? I don’t know,” said Layla, hesitating. “I mean, shouldn’t we call the police, hold out here until …”

“There’s no time,” snapped Steven.

He grabbed at her hand. Any fear Layla felt was replaced with a hot anger.

“Hey, fuck off,” she yelled, pulling out of reach. “You’re the reason I’m here!!!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” said Steven. He held up his palms. “But we really have to go.”

“Fine,” said Layla. “But you’re going to explain why you’re being chased by ninjas who are not real.”

“Ninjas are real,” said Miko. She was leaning alongside the main entrance, peeking out slightly to scan the parking lot.

“Okay,” Steven said. “Let’s go.”

He then smiled at her like before all the trouble started. She could not help but return it in the same spirit. Layla took his hand, kicked off her heels, and walked with him to the main doors, opposite from Miko.

“Here’s the plan,” started Steven. “Miko will go first, then you and I will come running behind.”

“That’s the plan?” said Layla. “Shouldn’t we try something less … kamikaze, like sneaking out the back?”

“Car’s out front and time’s short. Trust me,” said Steven, “OK, ready?”

Layla reluctantly nodded. Looking at Miko, Steven also gave a small nod. The warrior woman returned it then charged through the doors, shortly followed by Steven and Layla.

Layla marvelled at Miko blazing ahead of them, her booted feet lightly tapping the ground. Suddenly Miko snapped out an arm. Something flew from it to the right. From its direction of travel came a gurgled choke, and looking to its source Layla saw a black lump flatten to the ground. Three more times Miko repeated the action, each time being rewarded with some sort of death rattle.

Suddenly, battle-cries came from above them. Layla looked up and shrieked as a pair of ninjas fell on top of her and Steven. One was already dead before he hit the ground, the other wrestling in mid-air with their dark, guardian angel Miko.

The two warriors tumbled together, separated, and landed on their feet, katanas locked. Slashes and swings followed at an incredible pace. Layla was transfixed by the deadly ballet playing out before her. Steven got her running again, but she tried to maintain sight of the spectacle until they turned a corner.

“How does she do that?” said Layla. “Is she a ninja?”

“No,” answered Steven. “Ninjas are not real. She’s a samurai.”

“Samurai are real?”

“Samurais, yes. Ninjas, no.”

“Ninjas are real,” said Miko, suddenly appearing before them, causing Layla to emit a small yelp.

“Sorry,” said Layla.

“Accepted,” said Miko. “The car is this way.”

Following Miko, they came to the car. Steven urgently let go of her hand and ran, almost skipping, to the driver’s side. Layla, on the other hand, stopped in her tracks in disbelief.

“That’s your car?” she said.

“The other half of the advance,” said Steven and ran a hand lovingly along the hood of a cherry red, white tired, tail-finned, classic Cadillac convertible. He leapt into the driver’s seat with schoolboy glee, reaching across to open the passenger door and waved at her. “Come on.”

Shaking her head, Layla climbed in. Miko had already placed herself in the rear, facing backwards to protect their tail. Steven twisted the keys in the ignition. The engine roared to life and with a quick eyebrow raise to Layla, he peeled out of the parking lot.

“Now can you tell me why we’re being hunted by ninjas who are not real?” Layla asked Steven as he glided them through the light, night traffic.

“Ninjas are real,” said Miko from the back.

“And why does she keep saying they are? Though based on the evidence I have to agree.”

“Miko is paid to defend my person,” said Steven. He entered the expressway. “Not my work. But the fact is I did the research, I have the evidence, I know ninjas are not real.”

“Ninjas are …” began Miko.

“We know,” said Steven. “Ninjas are real.”

“Yes,” said Miko. “They are also right behind us.”

Steven checked the rear-view mirror.

“All I see is a large, black …”

The large, black tractor-trailer smashed into their rear. The Cadillac skidded for a moment before Steven brought it back under control, and slammed on the gas. They accelerated straight again, putting distance between them and the semi.

Miko continued to astound Layla. The samurai was now standing in the back, solid as a rock despite the winds generated by their speed. Only her hair seemed uncontrolled, wild, an effect adding to her mystery and beauty. Miko drew her katana.

“They’re still coming,” she said. How could a voice so soft still carry in this wind?

“Hmmm,” grunted Steven. Again calculation crossed his face. “Layla, get us to the airport.”

He let go of the wheel.

With a screech Layla lunged across the front seat to grab at the wheel, the car beginning to list into another lane. She managed to right it and slowly slid over. Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed Steven crawling to join Miko standing in the back, the sword appropriated from Carl in his left hand. In his right he held a more ornate katana with greater comfort and control that he must have pulled it out from somewhere in the back. Layla’s attention was needed on the road ahead however, and she turned back forward.

“Do you know what everyone claims is the first story of the ninja?” Steven called back, bellowing against the wind.

“No,” she replied. Layla glanced into the rear-view mirror. Black forms could now be seen along the sides of the trailer, sidling towards the front closer to them.

“A story in two of the oldest texts of Japan, takes place in the first century AD. About Prince Yamato and how he conquered an enemy of his people. A warlord held a great banquet at his palace, and Prince Yamato slipped in disguised as a girl. Smitten with the newcomer, the lord had ‘her’ sit by his side and amuse him. Eventually the party wore on and the lord and his warrior fell into drunken stupors. That’s when Yamato killed them.”

“So, what,” said Layla, “ninjas are not real because … they’re gay?”

“WE ARE NOT GAY!”

Layla had meant to only look back for a second, but once again got caught up in the action. Three ninjas jumped from the truck towards Miko and Steven. With a spin kick, the samurai woman planted a boot against the chest of one sending him under the wheels of the semi. Continuing her spin she decapitated another. Steven, roaring with laughter, caught the strike of the last ninja with one blade and skewered him with the other. The body was cast off to the side.

Layla snapped back to the road just in time to see the fast approaching rear of a SUV. Cursing herself for forgetting her place, she managed to avoid the collision. The SUV’s tank-topped, muscle-head driver gave her the finger, but only briefly as the semi ploughed through him and his vehicle.

The sight shocked Layla, but at the same time she felt a strange exhilaration. She set herself to face the road, but continued to flick her eyes back to the rear-view mirror every other second, not wanting to miss anything.

“No, ninjas are not gay,” said Steven, resuming his dialogue. Combat forced him to deliver it in short, shouted bursts. “Story is given as an example of the sneakiness of ninja. Their cunning. And of how ancient ninjitsu is. Except it’s never mentioned by name.”

“But it was the first story,” Layla yelled back. “Maybe, you know, the word for it didn’t exist yet.”

Steven did not reply immediately. He was relieving another assassin of his limbs. Miko was doing something horrible to another ninja’s face.

“Valid point,” said Steven kicking away an arm. “But next claimed record of ninja-activity is 1000 years later. Still no direct mention of ninja. Just a group of samurai sneaking into enemy camp to assassinate leadership at night. Centuries of civil war follow, all reports following that same pattern; samurai sneaking into castles, no mention of the word ninja. Tell me, what would you wear to hide in the dark?”

“Something that covered you head to toe in black,” said Layla making a certain guess.

“Exactly. Excuse me.” Steven found himself in a fierce duel with a warrior wielding fork-like daggers that Layla knew she had seen in some movie. Blows were traded back and forth until the ninja caught Carl’s katana with his dagger and flicked it out into the road. His triumph was short lived as Miko impaled him through the head.

“Thank you,” said Steven. “Where was I. Oh yes. So, all these tales of ninja are really about simple guerrilla tactics. Samurai being bastards, safely cutting the throats of their enemies, instead of honourable combat. DUCK!”

Layla obeyed, and watched as a ninja flew over her head, landing with a thud on the Cadillac’s hood. He seemed dead at first, lying in the large dent he had created but then in a blur flipped over and lunged for her. A split-second later he was sliding off the hood with a dagger sprouting from his face. Layla saw Miko nodding at her before the samurai turned away to catch a ninja in mid-leap, cleaving him through the centre.

“Anyway,” said Steven, using a break to wipe his blade. “After the wars peace came to Japan. Arts flourished, especially Kabuki theatre. On stage, the stories of the sneaky samurai were romanticised.

“At first this was done directly by making them romantic. Great warriors became great lovers, as skilled in the bedroom as they were on the battlefield.” Layla swore Steven’s reflection was winking at her.

“But then religion, mystery, and magic were added. Stagehands, dressed in black, would perform tricks that made props and actors fly, smoke, and disappear. Here, in illusion, the legend of the ninja was born.”

Steven was tackled by a ninja coming in too hard and fast to block. They fell into the back seat. Miko moved to help but two more shadow warriors landed next to her. She found herself continually blocking one or the other, unable to help Steven who was resorting to fisticuffs with his ninja. He finally managed to throw the ninja back into one of Miko’s attackers, knocking them both on to road. Her other foe was soon dispatched.

“The final piece of the puzzle comes in pre-World War II Japan,” said Steven. “With nationalism rising, the Japanese propaganda machine wanted to offer its own vision of a super-man, like the Nazi’s Aryan race. So cunning, sexy, magic warriors - what more could be asked for? The ninja was born. The ninja was made up.”

Seeing the mouths of two tunnels up ahead gave Layla an idea. She headed towards the left entrance, decelerating slightly. The semi trailer drew closer, as did the tunnels. At the last possible second, she wrenched the wheel to the side, abruptly sliding them into the right tunnel. The truck could not execute the same manoeuvre, and careened on into the left tunnel, sloughing ninjas as it went.

“Are you crazy?!?” Steven yelled, picking himself up out of the Cadillac’s rear foot well. “What’d you do that for?!?”

“Why’d you think?” said Layla, put-off by his reaction. “I lost them!”

“Only for a while! These tunnels remerge down the line!” He climbed into the front passenger seat.

“Sure, but at least I bought you guys a breather. And we could get off, change route …”

“No, no, they’ll be ready for that. We’ve got to get to the airfield, this is the fastest way.” Steven slumped in his seat, almost pouting. They drove on in silence.

“If ninja are not real …” Layla started to ask.

“Ninjas are real,” said Miko keeping vigil in the back.

“… who’s after you?”

“Ninjas,” said Miko.

“No, not ninjas.” said Steven. “Ninjas are not real. They’re fantasy - but what a fantasy. Like a lot of Japanese culture, ninjas play big here in North America. But more than other fads, people didn’t just WANT ninjas. People wanted to BE ninjas. People like Carl.”

He paused.

“People like me.”

He said it with such a tone of shame. Layla reached over to pat his leg and gave a sympathetic smile. He nodded his head in thanks.

“I mean who doesn’t want to be Superman?” he said.

“More like Batman,” suggested Layla. “Batman was always cooler because he didn’t luck into powers; he made himself who he is. And he’s sneaky and dresses in black.”

“Exactly,” said Steven. “Anyway, seeing a market, several ’schools’ of ninjitsu opened up, claiming legitimacy with the false histories. Students flocked in and the schools got rich … and now had a growing army of highly trained assassins.”

“Skilled like Carl and his surfer buddies?” Layla smirked.

“Okay,” said Steven, “so levels vary but they’re all loyal and ready to do anything to complete the fantasy.

“So, like any good technical school, they started to help ‘place’ their graduates - industrial espionage, political assassinations, terrorism. Those who do the dirty work don’t complain. With a jet-setting lifestyle flying from one hit to the next, beautiful women to seduce at each stop, they’re living the dream. Who could turn it down? You were Bruce Wayne. You were James Bond. You were ninja.”

“You turned it down?” guessed Layla.

“Even worse,” he said. “I spied. I killed. I fucked. And then I wrote about it.”

With the end of the tunnel visible, Steven, burdened by his admissions, wearily got up and moved back to the rear.

“I wrote about the training, my adventures, the growing power of the schools. Which was bad enough. But then I decided I should be real writer-ly and research ninjitsu history. That’s when I discovered that it was all fake.

“When I published my book ‘Lying in Shadows’ I knew exactly what was going to happen.

“The schools were furious, my classmates more so. Of course they were; someone was telling them they were working, laughing, killing to continue a tradition that never existed in the first place. Taking their students’ anger, wisely lest it be turned back on them, all the schools called for my execution. I’ve been running ever since.”

The tension grew higher as the tunnel’s end drew closer but Layla completely deflated it when she began to snort and giggle.

“What?” asked Steven.

“You’re the ninja Salman Rushdie?” said Layla. “The target of some kind of ninja ‘jihad’?”

As they exited the tunnel, their laughter was drowned by the black tractor-trailer returning to the chase. Once again it pulled up behind them and from it came wave upon wave of black clad assassins. In Layla’s view through the rear-view mirror, Miko and Steven became a blur of black, blades, and blood.

A break in the attacks came, but already more ninjas could be seen sidling closer, preparing for more assaults.

“Miko,” said Steven. “End it.”

“Yes,” said Miko.

Miko flew. Layla did not know any other way to explain it. The samurai did not pump down or push off her legs. She simply stepped effortlessly out into the air and glided to gracefully land on the truck’s hood. The grace disappeared as she stabbed hard and repeatedly through the darkened window at the unseen driver.

The rig swerved left, right, and began to tip over, shedding and crushing ninjas. Miko back-flipped, somehow slowly, to return to the Cadillac. Sparks flying as it ground along the road the tractor-trailer slowly screeched to a halt.

As the wreck faded in the distance behind them, Layla’s brow furrowed as a thought dawned on her. She tried to brush it away, not wanting to bother Miko, who was resting in meditation, and Steven, who was excited and high, cheering their victory. He landed himself next to Layla and planted a kiss on her cheek. She returned a tight smile back, but in her head the little idea grew.

Reaching the airfield, she was surprised to find they were allowed with little hassle to drive to the hangers and runways. Following Steven’s grinning directions they arrived at a large transport plane. A wide ramp led into its open rear.

“Just go on in,” said Steven, springing out and running along to the driver’s side. He gave a nervous look-around. “Hurry, we’ve got to get going.”

“No,” said Layla. She killed the Cadillac’s engine and got out. “I think this is where I get off.”

“Really?” Steven looked bewildered and disappointed. “Well I thought we would …”

He then leaned in with his lips puckered, but found his path blocked with her hand.

“No,” Layla said. “I’m not going to be part of this fantasy.”

“What?”

“The ninjas, the chase, all of this fantasy.”

“But I told you it’s a fantasy!” said Steven. “It’s why I got out of it!”

“Really, Steven?” asked Layla. “Tell me something, if Lara Croft over there …”

She indicated Miko, who for the first time that evening was wearing a smile befitting her gorgeous face.

“If she could take out that truck as easily as she did, why didn’t she do it at the beginning?”

Steven’s eyes widened, stunned at what she was implying. Small, incoherent grumbles began in his throat but before they could become an explanation, Layla pressed on.

“You say you’ve exposed these schools, so why aren’t the police cracking down on them? In fact, where are the police? We’ve left a trail of bodies all the way here!

“It was you who wouldn’t let us call them in the first place. And every-time we could have avoided a fight, get away at the restaurant or in the tunnels, you’ve had us head into the next battle! And you’ve escaped each encounter cheering, grinning like a fool!”

“What are you saying?” he said, his lost and hurt expression gone and replaced with a tighter, grimmer look.

“That as much you may say you’ve left ‘the game’, you haven’t. You’re still in, and you love it, swept up in the illusion!”

A silent but filled moment passed between them.

“You didn’t complain, before,” accused Steven. “You came along.”

“Yes,” said Layla, and caressed his cheek with a hand. “And you know why? Because I got swept up in the exciting ninja fantasy as well. With its handsome heroes, beautiful sidekicks, fast cars, and amazing adventure it is far more attractive than real life. But it’s still not real. And people are still dying.”

“But I …” he began.

“You didn’t leave it Steven,” said Layla, almost motherly. “You may think you have. But not really. Not at all. You’re still a handsome hero, with a beautiful sidekick, driving a fast car, on an amazing adventure. And here you are flying off to another one.”

She then kissed him sweetly on the cheek and gave a quick wave goodbye to the now grinning Miko, who returned it with the clichéd, hyper-enthusiasm of an Asian school girl. Gently laughing at the image, Layla turned away and began a long walk to the terminals.

“Good night, Layla!” called out Steven.

“Good life, Steven.”

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons License.

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