San Francisco, California

On a cold December night twenty some odd years ago, a baby was born to a prostitute named Abigail. The father was a mysterious Asian-American man that Abbey could not fully remember, but she was fervent in her belief that the child was his. All she could remember was that he had a tattoo of a dragon on his chest and abdomen. She never knew his name, but she felt regret that he might not know his son. He was a beautiful baby boy...a miracle...a blessing...a bastard. A Prodigy.

Ronin never remembered much of the brothel, nor of his mother. When he was four years old and barely able to speak, his father came for him. Jiro Ronin, he said his name was. His men murdered the brothel owner when she refused to hand over the baby. The rest of the ladies fell into line after that. Jiro allowed his men one night of carnal glory that night, while he and his closest associate took the boy back to the compound.

Jiro Ronin was a San Francisco business man and mob enforcer, the latest in a long line stretching back to a Yakuza Godfather in Tokyo. He ran fishing boats by day and illegal gambling rackets by night. When he was informed that he had a son, he was torn. This life was no life to raise a child in, and yet, he could not bear to allow his own blood to rot in a brothel in the slums of the city. He brought the boy back to his home and renamed him in honor of his family: Katsuro Ronin.

At the tender age of ten, Katsuro began his initiation into the Yakuza brotherhood. He was given his first tattoo, and a position within the family as an errand boy. For the next five years Katsuro did the leg work for the old men, earning a small wage and getting his name into the circle. He ran notes between them, carried their money, picked up their dry cleaning. He helped however possible. He was always on time and always got the job done right the first time.

At the age of fifteen Katsuro began illegal activity for the family. Most boys didn't start the real work until they turned 18, but Katsuro had shown an aptitude for criminal activity from a very young age. Adding to that was his crude sense of humor, which he had picked up from being around so many immoral men from such a young age. Katsuro was rarely serious, and enjoyed practical jokes and one liners whenever possible. This laid back and humorous persona made him very easy to get along with, if you could take the language. Almost everyone who came in to contact with Katsuro was drawn to him like magnetic force. Naturally, this popularity, combined with his father's legacy, meant he moved up through the family rather quicker than normal.

At sixteen, Katsuro killed his first man, a rival gang member. This sort of initiation was generally saved for men of age, but circumstances changed that for Katsuro. What began as a routine evening check up on a local fish market was turned upside down by the presence of the rival gang in the same market. This was Yakuza territory, and the SFCF knew that. But the Americans were growing in size and clout throughout the city, and had been infringing on territory much more often of late.

Katsuro and another young associate, Hideki, entered the fish market from a side alley. Normally it was bustling and loud, home to at least five fish carts, among other merchants. It was oddly quiet this day, causing Katsuro to reach out and grab Hideki and pull him back into the alley. Hideki opened his mouth to curse Katsuro, but the latter pressed a finger to his lips and motioned towards the far end of the market. The five largest fish cart owners had been lined up against a wall, facing the brick, visibly shaken up. Three SFCF goons were standing in a huddle maybe ten feet away, muttering to each other. A small crowd was watching on antsily, waiting to see what would happen. 

"We should go get help, Katsuro." Hideki whispered. Ronin shook his head. He pulled out two daggers; he was not yet permitted to carry a firearm.

"No, they're going to murder those people for not paying! How can we force people to pay us for protection if we can't protect them, Hideki? We have the drop on them, we can sneak up and catch them by surprise." Hideki, being in his early twenties, had a pistol of his own, but firing on them from this distance would surely start a firefight, and they would not survive if that were to happen. Their only chance was stealth. Hideki nodded in agreement, and drew his pistol from inside of his coat.

The two young men crept out of the alley, using the fish carts as cover and staying as low as possible. Using the dusk to their advantage, they crept across the market and up behind the gangsters. Katsuro turned and nodded confidently to Hideki, who nodded back apprehensively. In a flash of black and silver, Katsuro surged out of the shadows and shoved his first dagger into one of the gangster's backs. Before he had even pushed the dagger all the way in, he was moving towards the next one. With another flash of silver, and a spray of red, he slit the second man's throat. The third man let out an inaudible shout and drew his pistol from his coat and pointed it at Katsuro - he was too far away, he could not outrace a speeding bullet - but Katsuro just grinned at the man as Hideki pressed his pistol into the side of the man's skull.

"Drop it, friend." Katsuro said to him with a smirk, "And run along back to your bossman. Tell him this is Yakuza territory, and you will not mistreat the people we speak for. Not without consequence." 

The man lowered his weapon and placed it on the ground at his feet, all the while keeping his eyes on Katsuro. Hideki kept his pistol to the man's head all the while, and still he stared.

"Sorry, pal, I don't swing that way. Run along downtown, I'm sure you can find a couple queens to your liking." Katsuro quipped, stirring a muffled chuckle from Hideki. 

"Filthy Japs!" The man muttered, and spat on the ground at Katsuro's feet. Hideki hit him in the head with the but of his pistol, knocking him to the ground. He made a move for his pistol, but Katsuro was too fast for him, kicking out and hitting him square in the jaw. A tooth flew out of the man's mouth, almost comically, and blood dribbled down his lip as he crumpled to the ground. 

Katsuro bent down and picked up the man's pistol, pocketing it, the grin no longer on his face. It now shone with pure hatred, a look few had ever seen of him. He held one knife to the man's throat, and using his second, cut a deep gash into the man's right forearm. The gangster cried out in agony, but Katsuro did not remove the first blade from his throat.

"You've got about fifteen minutes to get that patched up. If you ever come back here again I will cut your heart out of your chest. Get the fuck out of here."

Four years later, the SFCF came for the Yakuza in earnest. Gang killings became a daily occurance in the streets of San Fransico. Katsuro was one of the Yakuza's best killers, becoming almost a thing of legend to the enemy. The Tattooed Demon they hailed him in their stories, he had tattoos on all visible parts of his skin. He killed three times as many as any SFCF man, but still, the Americans had quadruple the men at their disposal. In the end, the Yakuza were no match. The SFCF murdered every single man woman and child associated with the Yukuza, save for the handful who fled the city. 

Katsuro had led those few out of the city at the behest of his father, Jiro. Katsuro wanted nothing more than to fight and die with him, but Jiro insisted he was much too young for such nonsense. His beautiful death need not come today. Jiro sent Katsuro and the others to New York, where an old family friend and business associate who had begun an upstart crime family there. There Katsuro could continue his training, and maybe someday he would be able to return to the bay and take their revenge.

The train ride to New York was the worst period of Katsuro's young life. Devastated by the knowledge that his father would be dead by now, fearing for the lives of the few he had promised to protect, he temporarily lost his humor and laid back demeanor. In the days they spent on those trains and hotels, Katsuro spent many hours meditating in solitude. He vowed to honor his father and his family as best as he could. He stopped using his first name, going only by Ronin from that time forward, so that he would never lose sight of who he was.

One journey had ended, but another had just begun.