How many logs fell today?
Clad in white surgical scrubs and a freshly cleaned apron, Shiro...
Clad in white surgical scrubs and a freshly cleaned apron, Shiro...
-
The site has now migrated to Xenforo 2. If you see any issues with the forum operation, please post them in the feedback thread.
-
Due to issues with external spam filters, QQ is currently unable to send any mail to Microsoft E-mail addresses. This includes any account at live.com, hotmail.com or msn.com. Signing up to the forum with one of these addresses will result in your verification E-mail never arriving. For best results, please use a different E-mail provider for your QQ address.
-
The rules regarding NSFW links have been updated. See here for details.
Shiro [Godzilla One Shot]
- Thread starter ScriptGenius12
- Start date
-
- Tags
- godzilla japan world war 2
- Created at
- Index progress
- Incomplete
- Watchers
- 14
- Recent readers
- 0
ScriptGenius12
Versed in the lewd.
- Joined
- Feb 25, 2019
- Messages
- 1,099
- Likes received
- 5,981
How many logs fell today?
Clad in white surgical scrubs and a freshly cleaned apron, Shiro pushed the metal cart down the halls of his domain. On a surgical tray, his favorite blades gleamed in contrast to the dull red-stained rags under them. Moans, crying, screams, and coughing echoed from the doors to the left and right of him, alongside some laughter and tell-tale whimpering; the men of his unit were having their fun.
As a married man, he had no interest in such proclivities, especially considering the state of the filthy, starving, and diseased monkeys that made up his research stock. But if the guards and researchers under him were practically volunteering themselves to become new infected test subjects like that moron Sudo, well, that was more for him.
It was all for him.
He pushed and pushed for bioweapons research, and in exchange the Emperor Himself had practically granted him his own private kingdom. One where Shiro was, for all intents and purposes, God.
With a skip in his step and a wolfish smile on his face, he slammed the cart through the open door to the laboratory, one of many. They had a special guest today.
Under the spotlights upon a sheet-covered table lay his prey. A man both hated and feared around the world, now helpless under the leather straps like thousands of others had been.
To him, only Kai-shek, Zedong, MacArthur, or the cripple sitting in the White House would have been a better catch.
The naked man cursed in Russian, spittle and threats flying out under his bushy mustache. Yet when he turned to see Ishii standing there, he paled, yellow eyes wide as he began screaming for mercy, or maybe something else, in the same languages that so many others had begged and yelled and pleaded with under his knife.
Shiro stepped closer, thinking of how much he was going to enjoy this. He wouldn't have much time left, not with the Red Army and the American bombs coming soon.
Standing over his prey, Ishii drew a steel hatchet above his head like an executioner. "Damn you for ruining my fun!" he roared as he drove the blade down into Stalin's ribs.
Blood and bone splattered outwards-
And upwards. Shiro cursed as bone shards slashed his face while blood coated his glasses, forcing him to take them off to wipe them-
Shiro blinked rapidly, doing a double take as he looked at the body. Or rather, what had replaced it in the second it took for him to remove his glasses. Instead of the weathered body of the old dictator, what was on his table was the soft body of a young woman, a bloody slash where he swore he had just chopped into Stalin. Confused, his eyes trailed up the body-
-And stopped at the agonized face of his daughter.
"Harumi!" he screamed, knocking over his cart of blades in shock as he fell over, scrambling backwards as the scraping and clinking of the fallen scalpels and a dozen other tools of torment echoed like cannon shells in his ears.
no no no no no no no no
My own daughter! How-
Where Harumi should have been, there was only an empty table, one splattered with blood and flies.
From the corridor outside, he heard a rumbling. Sweating and pale, he turned just a flood of red water suddenly burst into the room, enveloping him, getting into his mouth his eyes his nose his ears-
A taste he was more then familiar with.
The taste of blood.
Shiro's screams turned into gurgles as the blood flooded into his lungs, flailing as he felt himself falling down, down into the depths where there had once been a solid floor. He screamed as he began drowning in the red, his flesh and bones creaking under the pressure-
-Suddenly, above him, through the deep red, there was light
Shiro awoke to the sensations of hot pavement below him and a constant, painful throbbing in his head, and a soreness in his legs and the biting sensations of scratches in his limbs. He blinked, overwhelmed as he turned onto his back.
The moon greeted him. And so did the ashes and smoke illuminated by its light. He could hear screams, faintly in the distance through his ears, his hearing dulled yet throbbing. He gingerly touched his left ear with a withered hand and felt a hot, liquid sensation with a drop in his heart. What had happened? Lifting his arm and looking down, he saw that he was wearing his usual nightwear since the war.
He blinked stinging tears through the blurry heat around him-
Heat.
Tokyo was burning.
In the street where he lay, he could see smoke and fire pouring out of the larger buildings around him. The smaller ones were smothered in falling smoke as ash continued to rain. Greater fires rose in the distance. Screams echoed both close and afar, along with the sound of something coming down on the Earth with great force, like an explosion or a bomb-
The ground below him shook along with his vision just as he was stumbling upwards. Shiro yelled and grunted as he slammed onto the hood of a nearby abandoned vehicle, one of those fancy western ones as fallen dirt and sparks jumped up from the ground around him, covering him in black filth as he swore and tried to stumble away from the thumping.
An earthquake? Where was everyone else? Why was it only him on this street-
He fell to his knees, scraping them. As he grabbed onto the nearest thing he could hold, a wooden utility pole-
In the windows of an abandoned store, he saw himself. Ash and dust on his skin and gray robes as he coughed and frantically wiped the dust off his face. He could now see the gash, an ugly weeping thing on his forehead. He took a moment to think through blurred vision as he considered what had happened. All he remembered earlier was setting down for bed after a long day at the clinic when suddenly-
It was night. He was dressed for bed. Something was happening in the city. People were running and shouting outside as he blinked and looked from the window. Screams and explosions and fire in the distance and then-
Another tremor sent his old body to the ground as he rolled. As he breathed heavily, his old bones creaking, he turned his head once-
Rubble made of shredded streets and wrecked vehicles, including a tank flooded in from around a corner.
Far down the street next to the corner where the flood of debris had originated, a brick building exploded.
He thought it had. It was actually collapsing, falling as something-
Forced itself through.
A heavy gray pillar set down through the dust-
Then he saw the four ash-stained nails protruding through the bottom of it.
Something he recognized as foot.
The foot was followed by another through the dust and ash that was omnipresent in Tokyo. And then-
All thought left him as a living mountain made of gray flesh stomped onto the street, rising flames and clouds of ash behind it, as if the swirling orange and gray storm was alive and following the living mountain. Attached to massive gray arms thick with charred scales and muscle, four-fingered claws tipped with ash-stained talons clenched and unclenched into fists. The body they were attached to could truly be called a living mountain, a massive armored chest of gray and black scales and muscles. A few bronze scales, gleaming like gold, were randomly scattered across the chest. And then there was the head.
Jaws filled with jagged teeth. Beyond the jutting fangs was the pitch-black void that was the mountain's maw. A saurian head, one that most would call a hornless dragon or a tyrannosaur.
And then there were the eyes.
Molten golden pits, bloodshot vessels glowing red in the night.
And as Shiro coughed and sputtered on the ash-laden ruined streets, he lifted his head and saw it.
And it saw him.
Unit 731 was established by Imperial Japan in occupied China.
In those bloodshot eyes, madness reigned.
Madness and agony.
Unit 731 engaged in lethal human experimentation on a massive scale, primarily involving bioweapons, chemical weapons, conventional weapons, and whatever the sadistic masters of the facilities involved desired.
Agony and hatred.
Many experiments had no obvious scientific value and were often done for the pleasure of the researchers.
And something beyond the human mind's ability to comprehend.
So he went mad.
Shiro's scream was a wordless open-mouthed thing, terror shaking his limbs and driving tears and sweat to fall from him as something began to well up in his throat.
As the war began to near its end, with Soviet forces incoming and the atomic bombs falling on two cities, all facilities were demolished as best as the unit could. All prisoners of the unit were killed in the retreat from Manchukuo.
It had stopped for a moment, perhaps regarding the small, twitching thing in the ashes. Or perhaps it had also gone mad.
Then it began to move forwards again, shaking the streets harder as it got closer and closer to him. Windows shattered. The fires across the city rose higher. Screams continued to rise with the flames.
His mind all but lost, Shiro had a brief moment of lucidity as his body stumbled and tumbled in the streets with every smashing imprint of the massive feet, hearing something breaking in his chests and legs as it got closer and closer.
The shock, he realized. The shock of it all was the only reason that pain wasn't consuming his body.
He knew the human body well. And at his age, the adrenaline would not last long.
In exchange for total immunity, the leadership of Unit 731 disclosed all the information they had gained from their "research" to the United States.
While Hideki Tojo and other war criminals met their ends by the rope or the blade, the surviving staff of Unit 731 would never see a courtroom.
And in that moment, he could see its arms, which had seemed so stiff, lash out as it slashed into the nearby buildings in a sudden frenzy like a bear ripping into a beehive, exposing the massive lines of jagged spines jutting out from its back, each one covered in a black coating of dried blood and ash. Stone and plaster spilled from the gutted collapsing buildings alongside-
Something wet and red fell next to him.
Something all too familiar. More of them fell, screaming and crying or silent and dead onto the streets around him, dressed in rags, robes, business suits, whatever they had been wearing at the time as they fell from their hiding places onto the street in a horrific splatter of red and blood and shit, falling like-
The number of Unit 731's victims has been estimated to be between 200,000 to 300,000.
-logs.
Logs
Logs
Logs.
It was then that he understood.
As a cover story to local authorities, the main facility was a lumber mill.
How many logs fell today?
He began laughing as he lay on his back, blood and vomit and spit falling from his lips in a demented animalistic gurgle as he began clawing at his own ash-stained face in utter insanity. Blood and death surrounded him as it always had. The moans were far closer.
Some of the fallen were still alive, barely. Moans were silenced as quickly as they came as death raced to claim them as it already had so many times tonight. As it would continue to do so.
He had never been much of a believer. But he was now.
They thought they had escaped, even if their nation had been utterly humiliated they were still alive.
They were wrong.
Japan was already dead. Her people were already dead. They just didn't know it until now.
Karma had come for them all.
He was laughing as the shadow of the living mountain fell directly over him and the twitching bodies. He was laughing as a massive tail, one tipped with blackened spines of its own, slammed into a nearby building, bringing it down as more people fell or jumped from broken windows. He was laughing as the mountain suddenly seized in place and began shaking as uncontrolled fires raged within its body, a wordless scream coming from the open jaws, white light flashing from the cavernous maw like a flickering flashlight. He was laughing as people with only one functioning arm or leg tried to crawl away.
He was laughing as the mountain's claws dug into its palms with a sound like that of metal scratching metal magnified a hundred times over while the heavy arms they were attached to shook and twitched along with the rest of its upper half. He was laughing as the long tail wildly snapped from side to side like a whip, raining debris across the flattening ward as it cut through the few nearby buildings that it hadn't already destroyed. He was laughing as the mountain's veins and jagged spines glowed with a glowing white and then azure light, laughing as the spines on its began thrumming and creaking, shuddering and shaking like leaves in the wind as they rose from the burn scarred flesh and slammed down into the massive torso.
The living inferno lurched forwards, leaning over the dead and dying as it stared directly down at them through red-hot eyes. Its skin ignited in a burst of white flame and steam, a towering lantern in the hellish landscape that is Tokyo.
Shiro's laughter turned into hacking gurgles as the smell of burning flesh, his own and theirs, mixed with the ash and smoke flavored air, their frail bodies cooking from the sheer proximity to the mountain.
Its jaws distended open, an azure sun shining in the back of its throat.
Through the omnipresent haze of heat, smoke, and agony, the newborn sun would be the last thing Shiro would ever see through his melting eyes.
It was beautiful.
A flash of light.
An explosion of fire and flame tearing across the ward, destroying everything in its path. Scattering ashes and dust where buildings and people once stood.
A towering cloud of dark smoke in a terrifying familiar shape. Black rain and ash pouring down across the rest of the city.
Silence.
And then, across a city of what was once thirteen million people, an earth-shaking roar.
A primeval scream.
A cry for blood.
A call for slaughter.
A declaration of war.
1892-1954
Shiro Ishii in Life:
Doctor, Surgeon, General, Husband, Father, Murderer, Monster, Butcher
Shiro Ishii in Death:
A statistic
Clad in white surgical scrubs and a freshly cleaned apron, Shiro pushed the metal cart down the halls of his domain. On a surgical tray, his favorite blades gleamed in contrast to the dull red-stained rags under them. Moans, crying, screams, and coughing echoed from the doors to the left and right of him, alongside some laughter and tell-tale whimpering; the men of his unit were having their fun.
As a married man, he had no interest in such proclivities, especially considering the state of the filthy, starving, and diseased monkeys that made up his research stock. But if the guards and researchers under him were practically volunteering themselves to become new infected test subjects like that moron Sudo, well, that was more for him.
It was all for him.
He pushed and pushed for bioweapons research, and in exchange the Emperor Himself had practically granted him his own private kingdom. One where Shiro was, for all intents and purposes, God.
With a skip in his step and a wolfish smile on his face, he slammed the cart through the open door to the laboratory, one of many. They had a special guest today.
Under the spotlights upon a sheet-covered table lay his prey. A man both hated and feared around the world, now helpless under the leather straps like thousands of others had been.
To him, only Kai-shek, Zedong, MacArthur, or the cripple sitting in the White House would have been a better catch.
The naked man cursed in Russian, spittle and threats flying out under his bushy mustache. Yet when he turned to see Ishii standing there, he paled, yellow eyes wide as he began screaming for mercy, or maybe something else, in the same languages that so many others had begged and yelled and pleaded with under his knife.
Shiro stepped closer, thinking of how much he was going to enjoy this. He wouldn't have much time left, not with the Red Army and the American bombs coming soon.
Standing over his prey, Ishii drew a steel hatchet above his head like an executioner. "Damn you for ruining my fun!" he roared as he drove the blade down into Stalin's ribs.
Blood and bone splattered outwards-
And upwards. Shiro cursed as bone shards slashed his face while blood coated his glasses, forcing him to take them off to wipe them-
Shiro blinked rapidly, doing a double take as he looked at the body. Or rather, what had replaced it in the second it took for him to remove his glasses. Instead of the weathered body of the old dictator, what was on his table was the soft body of a young woman, a bloody slash where he swore he had just chopped into Stalin. Confused, his eyes trailed up the body-
-And stopped at the agonized face of his daughter.
"Harumi!" he screamed, knocking over his cart of blades in shock as he fell over, scrambling backwards as the scraping and clinking of the fallen scalpels and a dozen other tools of torment echoed like cannon shells in his ears.
no no no no no no no no
My own daughter! How-
Where Harumi should have been, there was only an empty table, one splattered with blood and flies.
From the corridor outside, he heard a rumbling. Sweating and pale, he turned just a flood of red water suddenly burst into the room, enveloping him, getting into his mouth his eyes his nose his ears-
A taste he was more then familiar with.
The taste of blood.
Shiro's screams turned into gurgles as the blood flooded into his lungs, flailing as he felt himself falling down, down into the depths where there had once been a solid floor. He screamed as he began drowning in the red, his flesh and bones creaking under the pressure-
-Suddenly, above him, through the deep red, there was light
Shiro awoke to the sensations of hot pavement below him and a constant, painful throbbing in his head, and a soreness in his legs and the biting sensations of scratches in his limbs. He blinked, overwhelmed as he turned onto his back.
The moon greeted him. And so did the ashes and smoke illuminated by its light. He could hear screams, faintly in the distance through his ears, his hearing dulled yet throbbing. He gingerly touched his left ear with a withered hand and felt a hot, liquid sensation with a drop in his heart. What had happened? Lifting his arm and looking down, he saw that he was wearing his usual nightwear since the war.
He blinked stinging tears through the blurry heat around him-
Heat.
Tokyo was burning.
In the street where he lay, he could see smoke and fire pouring out of the larger buildings around him. The smaller ones were smothered in falling smoke as ash continued to rain. Greater fires rose in the distance. Screams echoed both close and afar, along with the sound of something coming down on the Earth with great force, like an explosion or a bomb-
The ground below him shook along with his vision just as he was stumbling upwards. Shiro yelled and grunted as he slammed onto the hood of a nearby abandoned vehicle, one of those fancy western ones as fallen dirt and sparks jumped up from the ground around him, covering him in black filth as he swore and tried to stumble away from the thumping.
An earthquake? Where was everyone else? Why was it only him on this street-
He fell to his knees, scraping them. As he grabbed onto the nearest thing he could hold, a wooden utility pole-
In the windows of an abandoned store, he saw himself. Ash and dust on his skin and gray robes as he coughed and frantically wiped the dust off his face. He could now see the gash, an ugly weeping thing on his forehead. He took a moment to think through blurred vision as he considered what had happened. All he remembered earlier was setting down for bed after a long day at the clinic when suddenly-
It was night. He was dressed for bed. Something was happening in the city. People were running and shouting outside as he blinked and looked from the window. Screams and explosions and fire in the distance and then-
Another tremor sent his old body to the ground as he rolled. As he breathed heavily, his old bones creaking, he turned his head once-
Rubble made of shredded streets and wrecked vehicles, including a tank flooded in from around a corner.
Far down the street next to the corner where the flood of debris had originated, a brick building exploded.
He thought it had. It was actually collapsing, falling as something-
Forced itself through.
A heavy gray pillar set down through the dust-
Then he saw the four ash-stained nails protruding through the bottom of it.
Something he recognized as foot.
The foot was followed by another through the dust and ash that was omnipresent in Tokyo. And then-
All thought left him as a living mountain made of gray flesh stomped onto the street, rising flames and clouds of ash behind it, as if the swirling orange and gray storm was alive and following the living mountain. Attached to massive gray arms thick with charred scales and muscle, four-fingered claws tipped with ash-stained talons clenched and unclenched into fists. The body they were attached to could truly be called a living mountain, a massive armored chest of gray and black scales and muscles. A few bronze scales, gleaming like gold, were randomly scattered across the chest. And then there was the head.
Jaws filled with jagged teeth. Beyond the jutting fangs was the pitch-black void that was the mountain's maw. A saurian head, one that most would call a hornless dragon or a tyrannosaur.
And then there were the eyes.
Molten golden pits, bloodshot vessels glowing red in the night.
And as Shiro coughed and sputtered on the ash-laden ruined streets, he lifted his head and saw it.
And it saw him.
Unit 731 was established by Imperial Japan in occupied China.
In those bloodshot eyes, madness reigned.
Madness and agony.
Unit 731 engaged in lethal human experimentation on a massive scale, primarily involving bioweapons, chemical weapons, conventional weapons, and whatever the sadistic masters of the facilities involved desired.
Agony and hatred.
Many experiments had no obvious scientific value and were often done for the pleasure of the researchers.
And something beyond the human mind's ability to comprehend.
So he went mad.
Shiro's scream was a wordless open-mouthed thing, terror shaking his limbs and driving tears and sweat to fall from him as something began to well up in his throat.
As the war began to near its end, with Soviet forces incoming and the atomic bombs falling on two cities, all facilities were demolished as best as the unit could. All prisoners of the unit were killed in the retreat from Manchukuo.
It had stopped for a moment, perhaps regarding the small, twitching thing in the ashes. Or perhaps it had also gone mad.
Then it began to move forwards again, shaking the streets harder as it got closer and closer to him. Windows shattered. The fires across the city rose higher. Screams continued to rise with the flames.
His mind all but lost, Shiro had a brief moment of lucidity as his body stumbled and tumbled in the streets with every smashing imprint of the massive feet, hearing something breaking in his chests and legs as it got closer and closer.
The shock, he realized. The shock of it all was the only reason that pain wasn't consuming his body.
He knew the human body well. And at his age, the adrenaline would not last long.
In exchange for total immunity, the leadership of Unit 731 disclosed all the information they had gained from their "research" to the United States.
While Hideki Tojo and other war criminals met their ends by the rope or the blade, the surviving staff of Unit 731 would never see a courtroom.
And in that moment, he could see its arms, which had seemed so stiff, lash out as it slashed into the nearby buildings in a sudden frenzy like a bear ripping into a beehive, exposing the massive lines of jagged spines jutting out from its back, each one covered in a black coating of dried blood and ash. Stone and plaster spilled from the gutted collapsing buildings alongside-
Something wet and red fell next to him.
Something all too familiar. More of them fell, screaming and crying or silent and dead onto the streets around him, dressed in rags, robes, business suits, whatever they had been wearing at the time as they fell from their hiding places onto the street in a horrific splatter of red and blood and shit, falling like-
The number of Unit 731's victims has been estimated to be between 200,000 to 300,000.
-logs.
Logs
Logs
Logs.
It was then that he understood.
As a cover story to local authorities, the main facility was a lumber mill.
How many logs fell today?
He began laughing as he lay on his back, blood and vomit and spit falling from his lips in a demented animalistic gurgle as he began clawing at his own ash-stained face in utter insanity. Blood and death surrounded him as it always had. The moans were far closer.
Some of the fallen were still alive, barely. Moans were silenced as quickly as they came as death raced to claim them as it already had so many times tonight. As it would continue to do so.
He had never been much of a believer. But he was now.
They thought they had escaped, even if their nation had been utterly humiliated they were still alive.
They were wrong.
Japan was already dead. Her people were already dead. They just didn't know it until now.
Karma had come for them all.
He was laughing as the shadow of the living mountain fell directly over him and the twitching bodies. He was laughing as a massive tail, one tipped with blackened spines of its own, slammed into a nearby building, bringing it down as more people fell or jumped from broken windows. He was laughing as the mountain suddenly seized in place and began shaking as uncontrolled fires raged within its body, a wordless scream coming from the open jaws, white light flashing from the cavernous maw like a flickering flashlight. He was laughing as people with only one functioning arm or leg tried to crawl away.
He was laughing as the mountain's claws dug into its palms with a sound like that of metal scratching metal magnified a hundred times over while the heavy arms they were attached to shook and twitched along with the rest of its upper half. He was laughing as the long tail wildly snapped from side to side like a whip, raining debris across the flattening ward as it cut through the few nearby buildings that it hadn't already destroyed. He was laughing as the mountain's veins and jagged spines glowed with a glowing white and then azure light, laughing as the spines on its began thrumming and creaking, shuddering and shaking like leaves in the wind as they rose from the burn scarred flesh and slammed down into the massive torso.
The living inferno lurched forwards, leaning over the dead and dying as it stared directly down at them through red-hot eyes. Its skin ignited in a burst of white flame and steam, a towering lantern in the hellish landscape that is Tokyo.
Shiro's laughter turned into hacking gurgles as the smell of burning flesh, his own and theirs, mixed with the ash and smoke flavored air, their frail bodies cooking from the sheer proximity to the mountain.
Its jaws distended open, an azure sun shining in the back of its throat.
Through the omnipresent haze of heat, smoke, and agony, the newborn sun would be the last thing Shiro would ever see through his melting eyes.
It was beautiful.
A flash of light.
An explosion of fire and flame tearing across the ward, destroying everything in its path. Scattering ashes and dust where buildings and people once stood.
A towering cloud of dark smoke in a terrifying familiar shape. Black rain and ash pouring down across the rest of the city.
Silence.
And then, across a city of what was once thirteen million people, an earth-shaking roar.
A primeval scream.
A cry for blood.
A call for slaughter.
A declaration of war.
1892-1954
Shiro Ishii in Life:
Doctor, Surgeon, General, Husband, Father, Murderer, Monster, Butcher
Shiro Ishii in Death:
A statistic
Last edited:
