Tokushima, Japan - Eight Years Ago
An irate Takagawa stormed about his estate that night, breaking status and screaming curses into the atmosphere. Takeshi watched his quarry from the comfort of a tall building overlooking the Takagawa house. Through his sniper lense, he saw quite a bit of his tantrum. His daughter and what was left of his security detail were following at a relatively safe distance and, from what Takeshi could catch as he passed by open windows and cracked doors, they were attempting to quell his anger to no avail. He didn’t need to hear everything Takagawa ranted about, but he knew it was about the untimely deaths of many of his men.
Something at the east entrance of the house caught his attention. On schedule, a delivery truck drove by, "accidentally" losing a small barrel of kerosene that rolled onto the sidewalk. That was his signal to move out. He glided down the scaffolding as quickly and quietly as the structure allowed him to.