Skit 05: Musical Girl Murderface

"What's that noise?" Asked one Yakuza to the other, the two stopping their patrol along the hallways.

"What noise? I hear nothin'!" His friend replied, slouching his posture like a weeping willow in a storm.

"It's... the sound of heartbeats." And he wasn't wrong. In the distance there was the sound of a deep thruming base, like heartbeats, just outside perception's grasp, and, he swore, it was getting louder.

They stood there, waiting, the other getting closer and closer to saying 'C'mon, let's go!' Then he heard it, and perked up.

"I think I hear it too." He said, staring past his shoulder. It was coming from behind them.

Thumpthumpthump.

The two yakuza looked at each other, a secret message passing through their soul's windows. Easily, the two lift their guns and cocked them, ready for the oddity.

Then she showed up at the end of the hallway.

Sparking out purple neon, the tron-sailor suit outfit shone brilliantly. A couple of souped up speakers were mounted to her shoulders, the gun she was holding, pointed at them, required both of her slim hands. The gun had a wire hooking it to the speakers. Black hair cut short bobbed above the speakers, a dead look in those violet eyes behind those red rimmed glasses which glowed.

She, this little girl, was the source of those heartbeats. Music was coming out of the speakers, producing amazing amounts of base, which shook the foundation beneath their feet.

"I think I know this song."

"Hahahaha! What is this! In all my years as yakuza, I never have once seen this and I've seen a lot! Hey little gir-"

A finger caressed the trigger. The air rippled between them with the force of the song, dropping beats like a bomber drops bombs in WWII. The rippling air ripped everything apart, including the once slouching yakuza's face, who was sent flying out the window screaming. All that was left of him in the apartment was his gun. The other looked at it, then at the little girl. The gun was pointed at him. He turned and ran.

THUMPTHUMPTHUMP WIGGY YEEAP. The song was like demon's discoing out of hell, the entrance incidentally in the form of that girl. The yakuza was sent flying out of the window via sound waves like his friend, screaming.

The girl checked each room in the hallway, blasting down the door and sending any unfortunate soul caught in this rave-tastic purge to the great disco ball in the sky. She danced between each door, flourishing mad moves, never once missing a beat to dance to.

She did this the entire five stories of the apartment, lobby to top. She purged it of all life with the sound of her Mjolnir System.

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"The purge has been completed." Musical Girl Murderface reported into her phone. The speakers were silent, her tone deadpan.
"Good job. You have been paid in the usual metho-" Murderface turned and positioned the phone up to her speaker, then turned it on at max, pumping phat beats into the receiver and, hopefully, into her employer's ears. Go deaf, you white square. She closed her cellphone after a minute of intense beating.

With the song heavy in the air, she proceeded to dance out of the crumbling apartment - pelvic thrusting, foot tapping, and head bobbing her way back home.