Like Shooting Yakuza Fish in a Barrel

Big things are happening at home. It turns out that one of our jobs pissed the Yakuza off.

They sent word through our message system demanding we meet with them. It pissed Brad off to receive so little respect but he figured it would be wiser to try to talk things out first. He was really pissed when the people there to meet us weren’t terribly high up the Yakuza food chain, little baby fish mobsters. How insulting. Plus, you can't really negotiate with underlings, who just do what their masters tell them.

I shall now present the conversation that ensued with the “pleasantries” and euphemisms edited out:
Brad: “We had no idea your organization would take offense from our actions. Be assured that it will not happen again.
Them: “Not good enough, bitches. You have to die.”
Brad: “You should really reconsider that.”
Them: “Our higher-ups said so. Know that you will soon join your filthy gaijin ancestors.”
Brad: “You should really reconsider that.”
Them: “No, we keel j00, h00rz.”
Brad, smiling: “If you insist.”

Then I ran at them at Schu-speed, disarmed them, and killed them with their own guns. Brad left them a note telling that these deaths will be enough to satisfy him over the insult the Yakuza did him, but we would kill many more if the Yakuza kept after us.

We’re already packing stuff into our car just in case. Yakuza has no sense of humor.