Chapter Text
What is death?
Death is something usually enigmatic, mysterious. It escapes understanding, eludes simple explanations and absolute truths. Men fear it, they flee from it as they would a disease, sometimes, some even seek it out, but it can never be tamed. It is a wild beast, lurking in the shadows of every moment, reminding each of us of the fragility of our existence.
Often, people ask themselves… Is death merely the final full stop at the end of the story of a life? One snuffed out like a candle, disappearing as quickly as it appeared? Or is it a doorway left ajar, leading to the unknown?
Death cloaks itself in mysteries and silences, presenting itself sometimes as a kind companion, other times as a merciless enemy.
For some, it is the echo of eternal rest; for others, a transition into another form of being.
Because of that, it wears thousands of faces. Thousands of facets. Psychological, physical, philosophical, social, spiritual, cultural, and many more.
It can take the shape of a vehicle, an animal, the rejection by one’s loved ones, the abandonment of old beliefs or cultures, the slow erosion of identity and convictions, or the loneliness of an old man.
It can be brutal and sudden, like a starving predator, or slow and gentle like the descent of a bird’s feather, twirling softly in the air.
But today, it does not present itself as such.
Today, it comes in the form of a masked kid, now crouched in the shadows of a container, observing the dimly lit warehouse where the reaper’s target was hiding...
...
My eyes were narrowed behind the red lenses of my gas mask, my right hand firmly gripping the handle of my revolver, while my left hand tapped nervously and lightly against the metal of my cover.
There were two guards at the entrance:
One man had a hammer-shaped head, his eyes deeply sunken into the shadowy sockets of his skull. He wore a leather jacket lined with spikes at the shoulders, torn pants, dark combat boots, and was armed with a heavy metal baseball bat.
He was leaning against the wall, motionless, almost like a statue.
The other guard, however, was far more active. He paced back and forth, clearly nervous.
I found him visually revolting. He looked like a failed mix between a monitor lizard and a human. He had reptilian eyes, but while the left side of his face was human, the right side was swollen and bloated, scattered with olive green scales.
The swelling was so extreme that his lips were parted, letting a tongue hang out—far too long to ever fully fit back into his mouth.
He too wore a leather jacket, though his had a twisted piece of scrap metal as a shoulder pad. The look was completed by gray dockworker pants, spiked black shoes, and fingerless gloves.
However, what caught my attention the most was the assault rifle he held in his hands.
Obsolete for this era, sure, but I was starting to think Giran really wanted me dead by sending me here.
One less nuisance for him to deal with, right?
Two days earlier.
My worn-out, dirty white sneakers hit the pavement with a steady rhythm.
The neighborhood where Giran had proposed we meet was a real shithole. Drunks, hobos, you could find everything here.
The stench was foul, piss and dog shit, cigarettes and trash.
Not to mention all kinds of lunatics roaming around...
I raised an arm and adjusted the hood of my black hoodie over my face so it was hidden. That way, I could avoid any kind of trouble. A kid was an easy target in places like this.
Especially when you saw the kind of scum hanging around…
Between the guy hacking his lungs out like he was about to spit the plague, the homeless dude pickpocketing another poor bastard as a prime example of urban Darwinism, the guy in joggers eyeing me like he was sizing up my worth, the dumbass tagging ‘Fuck the system’ without probably knowing which system he was talking about, and the guy glued to his phone like his life depended on it (which it probably did), there was everything…
A pigeon landed in front of me and gave me a downright nasty look.
…
Shit, even the birds were judging you here.
This place was completely messed up.
Anyway... A bar, that was my meeting point with the man. More precisely, behind a bar.
Which made sense, I guess. As a broker, he was probably pretty well-known…
I pulled a small piece of paper from my pocket, the one where I’d written all the info down… especially the address. And I was probably getting close.
Probably.
That was the key word here.
I was wandering around this place blindly, and I didn’t want to pull out my phone and turn on the GPS for obvious reas—
There was the sound of shattering glass, and two men rolled out of a storefront window. The owner came out seconds later, a mountain of bulging muscle, eyes burning with anger, and a twisted grin of pure hate on his face.
The two guys got back up trembling, swaying like trees in the wind, one clearly drunk off his ass, the other probably shitting himself, if the rancid stench coming from that direction was anything to go by.
Useless fucks. Shut up, even if I kind of agreed with the person inside of my head two-thirds of the way.
…Yeah. Shithole neighborhoods. Like I said.
I tucked the paper away and crossed the street, forcing a driver to slam on his brakes and honk while shouting insults at me. Didn’t care. I wasn’t staying on the same side as those three lunatics, especially since the store owner was handing out the beating of the century.
I wondered if any heroes or cops would show up at some point. Otherwise, I wouldn’t bet on those two making it out alive... The guy looked pissed .
With all this trash around, I really thought you could call these neighborhoods ‘Dead for the Nation.’
The local lowlifes were already gathering around the commotion, whispering bets to each other, leaning against walls or sitting at bar fronts. Personally, I gave it five minutes.
The sound of a fist slamming into flesh and muscle echoed behind me, followed by a cry of pain and the loud crash of a trash can being knocked over by a falling body.
Hmm… Scratch that. Two minutes, tops.
A cold chuckle escaped me.
Why was I even thinking about this? Didn’t matter. I had to stay focused on the task at hand.
Finally, after thirty minutes of walking in circles, and after stepping in a dog’s diarrhea that turned my soles into a chunky brown mess, I found the bar.
A joint with a facade lit up in yellow, green, and pink neon lights, with a bouncer standing in front, arms crossed, wearing a serious expression. A real mountain of flesh and muscle...
I ignored him and turned into a nearby alley that reeked like hell. Rats scattered with high-pitched squeaks, and I felt a surge of disgust at the idea of going deeper. The mental tumor agreed, twitching slightly at the back of my head.
Ugh. But whatever, go in there, or look like a failed cosplay of a Wolfenstein soldier.
A deep breath of that rancid air that stung my throat later, and I ventured into what might as well have been labeled ‘ BIOHAZARD ZONE .’
I reached the end of the alley, a dead end, in front of a red door with chipped paint. The wood was practically rotted through, gnawed away by mold and termites.
My hand dove into my pocket again and pulled out the small paper. There was a code on it too, something that must’ve been invented hundreds, maybe thousands, of years ago.
Two quick knocks, one long, three quick, two long... And finally, one knock on the top of the door.
That’s what the paper said. For a moment, nothing happened, and I double-checked what I’d written on the slightly yellowed surface. Had I missed something? Misread the instructions?
I was sure I hadn’t forgotten anything...
Then, I heard the lock click open, and I raised my eyes from the paper... Standing in the doorway was a man, wearing a violet blazer, matching pants, and a scarf that looked creepily like human intestines wrapped around his neck.
He looked to be in his forties, maybe early fifties, with short gray hair combed to the right, bangs hanging over narrowed pink eyes that scrutinized me behind round glasses. His brow was furrowed, and one hand stroked the goatee on his chin...
How could you not recognize the guy?
He only appeared a few times in the anime, but you couldn’t forget him.
Giran.
"Tell me, kid, you sure you’re at the right address? The supermarket’s not here."
Well, that answered a question that had been nagging at me. We hadn’t met in person before. Without even waiting for my response, Giran started closing the door…
I didn’t have time to think about what to say, that would come later. So, I did what you see in every movie: I wedged my foot between the door and the frame.
"I have an appointment," I said in a cold tone, masking the growing fear inside me as I realized stupidity really is synonymous with stupidity in situations like this. At any moment, he could have a gun and put a bullet between my eyes.
"It’s under the name Mustard," I added, with a half-hurried tone that betrayed the pressure I was under.
The pressure on my sneaker stopped, and the door opened again, the crime broker looking at me with a rather surprised expression.
"Come in, then," he said, stepping aside, and I entered.
The place looked a lot cleaner than the outside, hell, it almost looked like a mafia hideout. Velvet couches in purple and burgundy, a white marble coffee table…
A shelf with several bottles and glasses…
And a heavy oak door at the back.
I turned my head toward the entrance just in time to see Giran glance outside and lock the door, which looked much more luxurious from the inside. I understood then that it was all a camouflage. Hmm, smart, and expected.
The man walked past me and motioned with his hand for me to follow. I did, and he led me to the door I had spotted earlier.
It was an office, once again decorated with impressive taste. A massive oak desk, a velvet chair for the broker, and simple rolling chairs for clients.
A few paintings here and there, things that looked expensive.
Ridiculously expensive.
Giran practically collapsed into his chair with a sigh, crossing his legs and pulling out a cigarette, which he stuck in his mouth.
"A kid…" the broker chuckled slightly, full of confidence, pulling out a pistol that he used to light his cigarette.
"Tell me, kid, what brings you into the biz, hmm?"
I pulled down my hood, revealing my face, my eyes locked intensely on the man across from me.
"Circumstances I’d rather keep to myself."
Giran raised one eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. Of course, he must’ve had way scarier clients than me… And we both knew who was the boss right here, right now. It wasn’t me.
He brought the cigarette to his mouth, took it between two fingers, pulled it out, and let out a puff of smoke.
"Trying to play the mysterious type?" he rolled his eyes, almost amused.
"Nice try, kid, but that doesn’t work on me."
The mental tumor in the back of my head stirred, a deep sense of contempt flaring up in the pit of my gut. I wondered how we’d handled this the last time via phone.
Had I… had I almost exploded on him? I thought I could almost hear a voice in the back of my head.
Pretentious little shit.
That contempt kept churning in my stomach, and it didn’t look like it was going anywhere…
‘Stop growling. That doesn’t help anything.’
Yeah yeah yeah.
In that moment, I had to summon every ounce of mental willpower not to strangle myself.
"Well then… Mr. Mustard…" Giran had pulled a little notebook out of a drawer.
"Your name sounds familiar…"
He started flipping through the pages, and I refocused on him. Eventually, he stopped on a name and let out a ‘Mhm.’
"I see… Gas mask, gloves. First order…" he murmured before taking another drag of his cigarette.
"So you're a repeat customer. What are you looking for this time?"
I leaned back in my chair, a bit tense.
"If you could get me a British S10-style gas mask, a Mich 2000 helmet, and a Glock 17 pistol…"
Giran immediately pulled out his phone, and I almost burst out laughing at the case, fortunately, I held back.
He tapped a few things and made another “mhm.”
"That… plus that… So that’s this much… Plus… A Glock 17, right?"
I nodded.
"Weirdly specific…" Giran muttered while typing something else. "23,134.94 yen, total."
He looked up when I let out a strangled noise, a smile spreading on his face.
"Yep, kid, good gear’s expensive. Even if it looks old school and cliché."
I stared, stunned by the price. That much? It was almost unbelievable. How did I pay last time?
Giran took another puff from his cigarette, chuckling. The contempt inside me flared again.
"But… I do have an alternative…"
My gaze hardened. An alternative? What was it? Be a mule for some gang? Move his merchandise for years?
"Recently, I’ve had a new supplier trying to cut into my market… Tried to play nice at first… Turns out the stuff he sells is crap. Sadly, some clients go with him because it’s cheaper…"
At that moment, it felt like I was being handed a side quest…
"What, you want me to go rough them up?"
Giran’s smile widened.
"Better. Take him out, and the gang he hired for protection. In this line of work, we hate scammers. Do that, take their earnings, and you can afford your gear."
I hesitated for a moment, gears turning in my head…
"How many of them are there?"
Giran shrugged.
"A dozen, max. But since you’re a ‘villain’, that shouldn’t be a problem, right?"
The jab hit home. I took it personally, more than Giran probably intended. I wasn’t a villain. I was forced to be one.
It felt like he just wanted to see if I had what it took to get my hands dirty… If I’d survive or chicken out.
Oh, I’d survive, alright. He’d see. And I’d rip that smug little smile right off his face.
"I accept."
The man’s grin widened, and he extended his hand, which I shook with a bit of reluctance.
"Perfect. We’ll meet again when you’re done."
Well, I had to think rationally.
I wasn’t a professional criminal, nor a seasoned fighter. So charging straight ahead like a bull was out of the question.
Anyway, the moment I stepped into the light, that half-lizard guy would turn me into Swiss cheese. I could always take them out from a distance, get rid of the two long-range fighters, but there were several problems.
One, the further the distance, the less accurate a revolver became, and an assault rifle had both better range and a higher rate of fire.
Two, the element of surprise would fly straight out the damn window, and I wouldn’t be able to get into the building.
Three, if they weren’t idiots, and in the unlikely case I actually took out both guards before they could react, the others either wouldn’t come out, or they’d leave through a different exit.
Fourth and final point: the broker would most likely bolt the moment he heard a gunshot.
So I had to think tactically. Oh yeah, last thing, I didn’t know the quirks of any of the guys.
My fingers tapped softly against the metal… Tactical, tactical, tactical… How the hell could I handle ten guys better armed and more experienced than me… None of them were likely ranked higher than D, and me, if I remembered correctly, I was Rank… Oh right. Rank nothing at the moment. Great.
Didn’t change a thing, those guys still had more training. I gritted my teeth.
Come on, think Kumowa…
Option 1: Go around the back. There had to be a rear door, maybe even a generator since there was light. I’d bust the generator, sneak in, eliminate them one by one, and done. Risky, but…
Actually no. Not doable. They’d definitely check on the generator to see what happened, and the moment they realized it had been deliberately sabotaged, I’d be screwed. Plus, I wasn’t elite, those gang losers weren’t either, but I still didn’t have the strength to strangle one of them. And who knew what quirks they had? One of them might be able to detect me.
Option 2: Charge in like an idiot and hope Lady Luck decided to bless me. Unfortunately, life had been a bitch since the start of this isekai, so I wasn’t counting on it. And anyway, I’d already thought it through. Not happening.
Option 3: Set the building on fire… Sadly, if I wanted to intercept the target, that was out, the whole group would just escort him to safety, and I’d get lit up like a lightbulb.
Unless the guys were complete morons and just stood around like vegetables, it wouldn’t work…
Option 4: Diversion… A supplier like that had to have a getaway vehicle hidden nearby.
No, I had a better idea. Simulate an attack. But how? All I had was my phone, my gear, some ammo, a revolver, and my quirk… And all the surroundings were metal containers I couldn’t open…
Okay, I had a plan. First, find their vehicle, then create a diversion, I would find something on the way. I backed away into the shadows, my only friends in this place, and stood up. Right… I had to find that damn four-wheeled thing now. It had to be off to the side somewhere, maybe even guarded. But at least searching for it gave me time to come up with a distraction idea.
I started moving, as silently as possible through the area, weaving between containers in a maze of steel and concrete, alert to every sound, every unusual detail.
Sometimes I stopped, trying to calm my pounding heart and the heavy breathing in my gas mask.
I don’t know how long I walked, time didn’t mean much in that place, sometimes circling around, looking for the vehicle. It had to be somewhere around here…
Then, after a good hour and a half… voices. Two voices. I went quiet again and looked for the source.
“So, when do you think the client’s gonna pay us?”
The voice was muffled but strangely close… Come on, where could they be…
“I dunno. Maybe two days tops… It better be a fat paycheck.”
I looked up and realized they were just on the other side of this wall of containers. Was it there? I followed the wall, slowly, carefully… no noise, no sudden moves… Finally, I reached the corner and peeked around. An opening, five meters ahead. I approached, gripping my revolver in the stress, and looked. There. Just as I suspected.
A black and white van. No license plates, no markings, I knew I’d hit the jackpot. There were two guards. Dressed like their pals at the warehouse entrance. One was bald and armed with an LMG, the other had these massive fangs sticking out of his lips, and he had a machete.
Hell, he looked like a failed orc cosplay…
I quickly analyzed the setup, the opening where I stood might be the exit, like a garage.
On the other side, I saw a smaller one, probably where the target would come out… Okay… Now the diversion…
Memorizing the way, I slowly headed back toward the warehouse, my brain spinning without finding an answer… Then suddenly, I had one.
I looked down at my revolver… A smile spread across my lips… Of course… What were revolver bullets made of? They had to contain black powder to fire.
I had a plan. Break a few bullets, spread their contents around, and set it all on fire to make an explosion. If I was lucky, shrapnel would be created and serve as projectiles, the resulting smoke would cause confusion, and the blasts would sound like gunfire.
Unfortunately, I’d have to sacrifice a few rounds… and I didn’t have much to begin with… Oh well, a few should be enough. I decided to go through with it and quickened my pace. My heart was pounding, both from the pressure and the excitement.
I moved through the maze and returned to my original position. I quickly checked on the two guards. They hadn’t changed. The hammer guy had moved to the other side of the door and seemed half-asleep. The lizard guy was smoking a cigarette, maybe trying to calm down, but still cast suspicious and anxious glances around.
Perfect. Without knowing it, that guy would be useful to me…
I sat down, leaning my back against the container wall, and pulled a bullet from one of the pouches on my belt. I tried to crack it open with my fingers… No luck…
Damn… I put the bullet on the ground and took off my gas mask, letting it hang around my neck, then picked up the bullet again… Alright… I better not swallow any of this… I clenched it between my teeth and bit hard. The bullet started to slip, so I bit down even harder, and after a good thirty seconds, it finally cracked.
I barely had time to cup my hand to my mouth and catch the black powder, while the now-empty bullet bounced on the ground with a dull thud.
My heart froze, and I listened carefully. No movement, the sound must’ve been too muffled to be heard.
Unfortunately, I had no idea where to put it now… Right, I hadn’t thought of that… Or wait… The helmet. My free hand took off the heavy green helmet and set it upside down on the ground.
Soon the dark powder poured from my gloved hand and fell, swirling in the air, directly into the hollow surface. Watching it was mesmerizing, I could’ve stared at the particles floating effortlessly in the air for ages, like sand in an hourglass, but time, ironically, was something I lacked.
I rubbed my hands together, leaving only a few stains that could’ve been mistaken for dust on my gloves, and took another bullet between my fingers, then between my teeth.
The constructs of enamel and dentin throbbed in pain after forcing them into such an ungrateful and ill-suited task, and honestly, I wasn’t ready for round two. But I forced myself.
Then a third time, a fourth time, and more still, until nine empty rounds decorated the floor, and in the helmet rested 9.63 grams of black powder.
Using more would’ve just been a waste, wouldn’t it?
I ignored the dull ache hammering my teeth and picked up the casings left on the floor to leave no trace behind… Slowly, cautiously, I scattered the black powder on the ground, in compact little piles to make sure they’d burn for a while.
After that, I just took a glance from behind my cover… The guards, luckily, still seemed absorbed in their miserable routine. The hammer-man was still slumped against the door but occasionally nodded his head. The lizard-man, for his part, was on his third damn cigarette.
Alright, now all that was left was to light the damn thing up and hope for the best. I grabbed two new bullets, crouched near the first pile, and started striking the two bits of metal together.
Come on, come on, little spark, show yourself pretty please…
I wasn’t a pyromaniac, but please, I really wanted to see something burn…
A drop of sweat rolled down my forehead. I took a moment to wipe it off before it could fall into my eye… Then I went back to my arduous task… Come on… Something in the back of my skull was screaming at me to blow it all up.
Fine. If fireworks were what they wanted, for once I’d oblige.
One sharp strike, and a few sparks fell onto the powder.
Caught off guard, I stumbled and fell on my ass. I scrambled back up, realizing what was about to happen, grabbed my helmet in the process, and moved away fast.
One second…
Two seconds…
Three seconds…
Four seconds…
Five seconds.
…
Ten seconds…?
I let out a disappointed sigh, double disappointment, even.
Putting on my helmet, which reeked of gunpowder and where a few particles settled into my filthy blond hair, I prepared to pull out the bullets and try again…
But a sharp crack echoed.
A sudden flash lit up the ground.
The explosion, modest though it was, sent a shower of glowing embers into the air
Immediately, the first pile ignited and blew, scattering the other piles which also ignited and exploded, making as much sound as an assault rifle.
Screams erupted. The lizard-man dropped his cigarette and stumbled back in a panic, yelling like a howler monkey. The hammer-man jolted upright, his hand already reaching for his weapon as he dove for cover.
Perfect.
Putting on my gas mask, a satisfied smile stretched across my face as the world turned red behind the lenses…
The tumor seemed to enjoy the show, but I knew it’d be back to annoy me later.
My quirk activated, and I charged forward, releasing a screen of purple smoke to cross through quickly without taking any detours. The smoke lazily spread around me like ghostly hands reaching into the air. To spice things up as the lizard-man fired a few shots before diving for cover again, shots that missed me by a wide margin, I cocked the revolver and pulled the trigger.
The blast, much closer to my ears than the little powder piles, made my eardrums vibrate as it echoed inside my metal helmet.
The bullet hit a crate if the sound was any indication.
I cocked it again and fired once more. Probably missed again. Also, the police or heroes were probably going to show up soon, after all, it was a pretty big distraction…
Nah.
More loud than big.
It had to have been heard for miles around in the silence of the night. Good, more chaos, the better. I dove behind some containers just as the response began. The rest of the gang probably arrived, because I heard a machine gun fire a burst before it was cut short by another black powder blast.
Still, no time to think, I had to find my way back. I focused on that, using the ‘landmarks’ to guide me through the metal maze at full sprint.
I slipped, slid, but damn it, I had to reach the spot before the target… And as I pushed forward, my breath thundered in my ears, blood pounding in my temples, heart hammering like a drum, and the canisters on my back endlessly thudding against my spine. Thankfully, I finally reached the spot, at the same time as the target, no less.
As I burst out of the ‘garage’ exit, I saw the target: a pot-bellied man in a burgundy jacket, whose pudgy fingers clutched a briefcase to his chest like his life depended on it.
Even behind the opaque glasses he wore, the only feature besides his pig-like face and very short black hair, I could see the panic and fear.
The man with him wore the gang’s gear, plus a custom ballistic mask marked with two chains crossing over the center. The gang boss. He was armed with brass knuckles stained with dried blood, blood that could be there since ages to be fair.
I raised my revolver, cocked the hammer with a click, not even thinking.
The broker saw me and opened his mouth to yell something, but whatever he said was lost to me as the gun’s blast drowned out all other sounds in a high-pitched whistle.
The bullet struck the machete-wielding man’s latissimus dorsi, pierced clean through the small intestine, and exited through the front in a splash of crimson fluid and bodily matter from the rupture of the subcostal artery. The criminal rose onto his toes, dropped his machete which clattered to the floor, and twisted his arms behind him in reflex, letting out a strangled scream of pain.
Then, as quickly as the shot rang out, he collapsed face-first to the ground, stifling a grunt as he curled up like a frightened child, a puddle of blood spreading beneath him, his life dripping in carmine rivulets from his wound.
The bald man raised his weapon, but a second blast from my revolver rang out, the recoil lifting my arm as the gun jumped in my grip. The shot missed but came close enough to throw off the burst he sent in my direction as he was forced to retreat.
My heart jumped when the bullets tore into the container to my left, sending a cascade of sparks around me, painting me like some demon with glowing red eyes straight out of hell.
I cursed softly and had to take cover again as bullets were fired from under the van.
Clever bastard.
I pressed myself against the wall just as bullets tore into the ground. Damn it. I hadn’t thought this through. I heard shouted orders, a door opening. I quickly glanced over.
Back door of the van. I cocked my revolver and fired a round that slammed into the metal with a loud clang . No other effect.
The bald guy had repositioned, and I nearly lost my head when he shot at me from behind the hood.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
This was a mess.
This was a fucking mess.
It was.
A.
Fucking.
Shitshow.
I activated my quirk, smoke filled the entrance. But through it, I heard something.
A cough from the engine. The creak of mechanisms coming to life.
Those bastards were trying to get away! I couldn’t let them escape.
As the gas spread, I dashed forward. When the gas touched the vibrating front hull of the vehicle, an explosion rang out.
The bullet shot through, I saw its path, tracked it through the gas and the swirl it left behind as it spun...
It pierced the front plate and smashed the engine behind it, tearing through the central block.
Hit.
But the next second, I was suddenly exposed. The gas was blown back by a strong gust of wind, leaving me out in the open like an idiot. The bald man gave a cruel grin, his arms smoking from four holes in his forearms after using his quirk. I realized my mistake. I had no idea what their quirks were. That’s something I suddenly became painfully aware of as I dove to the side, landing hard on the ground in a pathetic heap. Pain flared in my leg, and I was completely dazed.
The click of an empty LMG echoed in the air.
"Shit!" cursed the bald man. I raised my pistol, cocked the hammer, and fired. The gun, held off-balance, sent the bullet veering low and left when I’d aimed for his head. The shot bit into the man’s shoulder in a crimson geyser and splinters of bone, exiting clean through. The guy screamed and spun like a ballerina before collapsing.
A groan escaped my lips as I noticed a nasty tear in my leg, blood slowly oozing from the wound, not lethal, not deep, but painful all the same.
"Son of a bitch!" suddenly growled a voice, and a shadow blanketed me. I looked up in a panic, finding myself face to face with the ballistic mask of the leader as he violently grabbed my collar and lifted me off the ground like a sack of garbage.
Any attempt to struggle was useless.
Now so close, I could see his eyes through the mask’s eyeholes. Bloodshot, furious, darting back and forth between my right and left eyes in blind rage…
"Son of a bitch," he spat again before hurling me like a sack of shit.
-BAM.-
My body hit the ground like two lovers embracing under a full moon. An ironic expression, given it was night... But I had bigger problems.
I felt like I’d been hit by a train. Thankfully, the canisters and helmet took most of the impact.
I groaned in pain, propping myself up on one elbow to reach for my helmet with my free hand... Fuck... My head was throbbing from the impact, making everything spin...
"DIE!"
The shout forced my eyes up and I had to roll to the side to clumsily get to my feet.
The ground where the man had slammed his brass knuckles had exploded. No guarantee my head wouldn’t have burst like a watermelon from that punch. He ripped his hand from the crater and telegraphed another blow, twisting his hips toward me. I scrambled back, nearly falling on my ass.
Even if I saw the punch coming, I didn’t have the training to react properly.
I needed something to hold him off…
Otherwise he was going to kill me. No training needed to figure that out. Just basic logic.
A well-built arm passed through my field of vision as I frantically looked around, my panic worthy of an Oscar performance…
Even if I wasn’t an actor...
Then, pivoting on my half-working leg with a pained groan...
There!
The machete of the guy with the second belly button!
I rolled under yet another blow, drawing an irritated grunt from him, and reached out as I ‘got up.’
“Hey! Get back here, you bastard!” the criminal growled, and I felt his hand close around the back of my collar just as I grabbed the machete’s handle. “Come back here...”
He pulled me, and I slid, gripping the handle tightly. I ended up rolling on the ground, praying I wouldn’t impale myself on the blade I clutched to my chest. I was stopped by a leg slamming into my ribs, and I let out a whimper at the sudden pressure.
“Got you now, no more dodging, you little shi-... Huh?”
His smug voice turned to surprise as he noticed the machete, and I didn’t waste a second.
Not giving his brain time to register the danger, I drove the blade into his thigh, then into his side.
Blood sprayed, mixed with bile from the stomach, and the disgusting cocktail splattered me from head to toe.
The gang leader howled in pain, stumbling back and groaning, his hands clutching the weapon jutting from his side, panting heavily.
I stood up with difficulty, legs trembling with fear, and wiped the blood off the red lenses with my sleeve.
The man was shaking, gripping the weapon with all his strength. Blood ran down what was left of the blade and over the hilt, painting the leather red, dripping onto the ground. I thought he was finished.
Oh… what a mistake…
I watched him steady himself with incredible effort, and before my astonished eyes, he dug his heels into the ground, clamping an iron grip on the slick, blood-soaked handle…
And, with an almost animal roar, he tore the blade from his side and charged like a bull, machete raised high.
The revolver was raised, the hammer was cocked in a hurry, and I fired without waiting or aiming. The bullet hit him right in the mask, at jaw level. His head snapped back as if struck by a powerful uppercut.
I expected to see blood fall to the ground from the back of the shattered head, but the only thing I got in return for that shot was a punch in the gut that sent me flying against a crate.
This time, neither the helmet nor the gas canisters protected me.
I saw white and black for a split second.
I slid on the ground and got up, arms trembling…
The criminal stood back up, leaning maybe a little too far forward, head looking at the ground, trembling like a leaf, unstable on his feet that were slowly giving way.
Then he took a step forward, a second, a third, and limping, he advanced, blood flowing from beneath the mask, and some teeth fell from the edges of the helmet as he spat quite audibly.
Then he lifted his head.
The mask was unrecognizable, dented, with a very clear impact mark, sure, but with a bump like a boil had formed on it.
The criminal raised a hand and slid it not between his face and the mask, but between the two parts of the smashed mask, and soon a bullet, my bullet, crumpled like a sheet of paper, fell to the ground.
I was stunned.
Don’t tell me… That piece of crap had taken a damn bullet…
At almost point-blank range?
“And that’s ‘hen ‘ou’re proud to wear ‘is kin’ o’ ‘unk…”
The guy hissed, clenching what was left of his teeth. He must have lost some teeth and suffered some facial fractures, but he was still alive… And still capable of breaking my face.
Leaning on the wall, I got up with difficulty, first bringing up a knee to use as support and pushing myself upwards, breath short…
Right into his grip. I punched his mask as soon as he lifted me. There was a very audible crack in the already fragile or broken nose, and the guy saw red.
He slammed my head several times against the container, then threw me down hard onto the ground. Face first.
The gas mask shattered, tearing my face with shards of red-tinted glass and bits of green metal.
Two silent screams.
The man grabbed me by the back of a canister and threw me. The flight lasted a full four seconds before I crashed onto the ground and rolled nearly two meters.
I tried to get up, but my body was screaming too much information. Far too much.
He grabbed me by the collar again before I could rise and carried me at his height like a worthless sack.
His eyes. Bloodshot. Black rage in both orbs.
He spat words.
I didn’t understand.
Too confused.
Too white.
Too deafening.
Too painful.
A blow to the face.
Another.
I lost count after that. The tumor screamed pain and fear, twisting my already aching skull.
My vision blurred.
I couldn’t die.
I was going to die.
I was going to die.
I was—
…
In combat situations, it has been observed that many people succumb to disturbing psychological phenomena, shaped by the horror they witness… Or the experiences they endure.
Among them, one of the most feared is this state of murderous frenzy where the survival instinct turns into an unquenchable thirst for destruction.
When fear seizes the mind, it often twists perception. It erases the distinction between the necessity to fight and the intoxication of carnage. Caught in the turmoil, overwhelmed by pain, the incessant noise of screams and the blows they take, that is the moment when something inevitably flips inside body and reason. The heart pounds in the chest, adrenaline floods the veins like a torrent, and all hesitation goes out like a candle blown out by the wind.
The opponent then becomes a target to be taken down, exterminated, and smashed to pulp, an obstacle to break and overcome by any means.
Some people describe this trance as a red veil falling over their mind, a total loss of rational control where only the act of killing or pulverizing matters.
The fear that should have frozen them transforms into a furious engine, pushing them to acts of blind violence, often far beyond what immediate necessity demands.
In this second state, the screams of pain become a distant background music sung by an orchestra of vocal cords, a symphony of suffering, where friendly and enemy faces blur, and only the destructive impulse of a formidable machine powered by hatred, fear, and rage remains.
It is often only much later that one realizes the consequences…
…
G̷o̴ ̵a̷h̴e̴a̷d̷!̶ ̶K̶I̶L̵L̸ ̵H̸I̶M̸!̵
My heart exploded.
My fingers clenched.
My breath became an animalistic rasp.
A roar in my ears.
.
My elbow.
.
His throat. The man let out a strangled groan.
.
He let go.
.
I fell.
.
The ground welcomed me harshly in its cold embrace.
.
I didn’t care.
.
I got back up, driven by adrenaline.
.
I was shaking.
.
Everything was deafening.
.
Everything was white.
.
Everything was pain.
.
Only pain, and nothing else.
.
I had to kill.
.
I had to survive.
.
A laugh escaped me.
.
Shoot him.
.
Shoot that bastard.
.
SHOOT HIM.
.
Blood pounded in my temples.
.
Pain faded into the background.
.
The world pulsed to the rhythm of my heart and the adrenaline flooding it.
.
My fingers clenched the grip of my revolver.
.
The barrel rose.
.
The boss spat a curse as he struggled to stand, hindered by his injury.
.
I cocked the hammer.
.
He charged.
.
G̸̛̳̟̥̏Õ̶̢̩̲͎͜!̷̵͎̎!
.
My finger squeezed the trigger.
.
-BANG!-
.
A deafening blast, the weapon jumped in my hands. He bellowed his rage, his hatred.
.
His still-healthy thigh exploded in red.
.
He toppled forward.
.
His brass knuckles sliced through the air.
.
I sidestepped on my limping leg.
.
The air whistled past my cheek as his fist grazed it.
.
A chuckle slipped out of me, born from a fevered mind stirred by a jumble of negative emotions. I crouched next to the man now on the ground, growling in pain, clutching his injured leg, trying in vain to stem the bleeding.
For that wound, weren’t there already two smaller ones?
Broken bones jutted out of his knee, muscles torn. He looked at me. I pressed the barrel of the gun against his forehead, on the mask. His eyes filled with fear; he raised an arm. I crushed it violently under my boot, ripping a scream from him as his wrist snapped beneath my foot. A vicious smile spread across my face as I cocked the hammer.
-Click!-
Nothing came out when I pulled the trigger. Silence fell for two seconds. Then a laugh. Heavy, pained. Forced. I stared straight into the criminal’s eyes. His shoulders shook with the laughter driving him… Even facing death, he dared to laugh?
No matter, he’d learn soon enough.
I grabbed the gun by the frame and raised it high into the air.
“No… bullets… huh?”
Mocked the man.
I didn’t answer and brought the gun down, barrel first.
The man arched his back, his hands rising with a chilling screech toward his mask from which now gushed a stream of crimson and viscous blood at the eye opening.
I withdrew the weapon with a disgusting sucking noise, raised it high again, and let it fall like a hammer on a nail. The barrel tasted blood and flesh again, and another scream escaped the man…
My swollen, battered face broke into a satisfied smile, but something was still missing.
I withdrew the gun from the right eye slit of the mask, red with blood, and stood up, leaving the bastard to groan and convulse on the ground.
-Clack!-
Went the cylinder as I snapped it open and loaded six bullets with deliberate slowness…
-Clank!-
Went the cylinder as I closed it.
-Clack!-
Went the hammer as it was cocked.
-BANG! SPROTCH!-
I didn’t even look. There must have been everything contained inside a head splattered over two meters around.
I lowered the gun with the smoking barrel and moved toward the back of the van.
My hand grabbed the side of the door, and my red, swollen face with its sore cheek glanced inside.
-BANG!-
There was a flash of light and a sudden gust of air brushed past my face. A bullet lodged into a container behind me.
I looked at the point of impact with unnatural calm, then turned my attention back to the man inside... He dropped his little pistol to the floor and curled up in the back, clutching his briefcase close—
-BANG!-
I lowered my weapon after feeding his head a single steel kiss that blossomed in his memory and stole his dreams.
The man's blood-stained hands stiffened in a last reflex around the briefcase, and I climbed inside, slightly shaking the vehicle. Wrestling the object from the cold, rigid hands of the now headless corpse was no pleasure, especially due to the contact with skin that was cooling and losing color quickly, but I finally managed it.
The body slumped to the side, and his right arm hit the ground with a dull thunk.
I stared at him, void of feeling, cocking the hammer without really wanting to... But wasting a bullet would be useless. The fury inside me had faded now that there was nothing left to massacre.
After rage comes emptiness...
Strange tears ran down my eyes as my body reacted negatively to my actions.
I shook my head, then gave it a light smack. That snapped me back to reality and pushed away the horrified mental tumor that weakly insulted me with every name imaginable. What a weak-minded brat... And yet he played the villain...
"You're pathetic... you hear me? Pathetic..."
I whispered to myself, almost to no one. It stirred, and I gritted my teeth.
"You think I enjoy this? Killing people? And you’re the one asking me to do it? The one who got us both into this mess?"
It protested weakly, blaming me for everything.
"AND WHAT?!" My voice echoed sharply in the compartment. There was no anger in my voice. None. Just deep exhaustion... and pain...
I felt like my leg, face, and gut were on fire... My jaw had also probably dislocated, but if it was the case I wouldn’t be able to speak
"Was it me who had a bigger ammo stockpile than a Greek regiment? Or who had a brand-new gas mask in his locker?"
Meanwhile, I was the one who had just used those bullets to kill.
"That’s not the point, idiot. You were already prepared, you already made a move. I don’t give a damn about the reasons, don’t care about your partner, what I know is that you’re already knee-deep in shit."
Only deep confusion answered me.
"Don’t play dumb with me, runt, you know exactly what I’m talking about."
Even more confusion.
"Did you get hit on the head or what?" I spat, my empty voice filling with frustration, "Oh, screw it, go fuck yourself far away."
To cut off its complaints, I snapped the briefcase open sharply. Yeah, there was money. A lot of money. I closed it and turned around...
Only to find myself staring down the barrel of an LMG.
The bald man was there, standing straight, his incapacitated arm hanging limply at his side, his weapon braced against his flank, finger on the trigger. His face wore only satisfaction and a grimace of pain.
"You little son of a bitch..." he spat. I read in his eyes deep rage, as well as deep sorrow, "You know what, scumbag? Before you hit the ground to go dance with the devil, I’m gonna tell you something."
He pointed at a body outside.
"Katagiri was a good guy. A family man who just wanted his twins and wife to have a good life. So he’d go out one night every two like this to join the gang and watch that fat pig. Tomorrow, me and him were supposed to watch a movie and have a drink."
My pistol was in my hand; I just had to raise it and pull the trigger. It would be over quickly. But... I didn’t want to do it just yet.
A second headbutt from the man’s scream.
"The gang’s boss? An unemployed guy who got fired from his job because he was a little out of it. The pay that fat bastard you just killed was supposed to bring him was big. Big enough to open a food truck. His crepes were the best. Hell, you know what? I’m gonna tell you something he said, anyway, you won’t repeat it after I kill you. He even promised a cop friend of his that they’d be the two organizing the mess. The other guy promised to look the other way."
A grimace twisted his features.
"And that will never happen. Now... Die—?!"
Footsteps were heard, and the man turned his head. The first thing I saw behind him were four blue caps. Then a black bulletproof vest with 'Police' written in big letters.
Shit.
"DROP YOUR WEAPON!"
One shouted, I didn’t see which one. The man gritted his teeth, and I saw his finger dangerously on the trigger. The cops outside hadn’t seen me; I could still get out...
I glanced behind me, the windshield... Just had to get past the seats. The tumor started growling, I silenced it.
"DROP YOUR WEAPON, LAST WARNING!" another cop shouted.
I turned my gaze back to the man. He was shifting his eyes between me and the police... Now, he was looking at me...
I saw the conflict in his eyes. Shoot me or obey?
As soon as he fainted, I acted. I aimed the revolver and fired. The blast pierced my ears again, followed by a deafening cacophony as the glass shattered into a thousand pieces.
The man jerked in surprise, his head snapping so fast there was a crack, and a snarl of anger appeared on his face as he squeezed the trigger.
Several things happened simultaneously.
I jumped back, clutching the briefcase like a life raft, slipped between the seats, and flew through the shattering windshield... Glass shards tore my uniform and scratched my face.
Shots rang out from the police side, and the man screamed as bullets severed the muscles of his knees, causing him to fall forward while arching his back backward.
That made his burst hit the ceiling and some rounds ricochet. Luckily, apart from the passenger compartment and the headless body inside, nothing else got damaged.
My body rolled over the windshield and I crashed like a sack of shit onto the concrete.
"THERE’S ANOTHER ONE! GET DOWN!"
One of the cops shouted.
I responded by getting up, almost stumbling on the ground, but I steadied myself.
I cocked the hammer and pointed the weapon backward.
A bullet whistled past my already injured thigh, and I returned the favor. My shot hit a container behind the quartet. That didn’t stop the cops from instinctively ducking as they scattered to avoid clustering together too closely.
One bullet hit the briefcase but ricocheted.
I silently thanked it and kept running as fast as my wounded leg allowed, fire at my back. I reached the corner where I had first arrived and pressed myself against the wall as bullets bit into the metal and the ground. I fired one last shot, hitting an officer right in the bulletproof vest.
From where I was, I saw his mouth open as the air was knocked out of his lungs, his eyes widened, and he toppled backward, dropping his pistol.
He wasn’t dead, the vest had done its job, but he’d have one hell of a bruise… Still, it was enough to distract the other cops just long enough for me to make a run for it.
I left the carnage behind me, limping, trying to put as much distance as possible between me and the police (and potentially heroes) who might be nearby. Flashlights lit the sides of the containers behind me, but with enough turns, loops, and so on, I finally managed to slip into a deserted corner.
Damn, that was close…
Sweat was pouring down my face from the exertion, and stress had every muscle in my body tensed as I slid down against a container…
My leg was burning, so was my jaw… The cuts from my mask being destroyed and the glass I’d gone through had clotted, but I still felt like blood was running down…
Goddamn it…
I’d taken such a beating, and this was just the first time… All this for what? I opened the briefcase again… Bills…
A lot of them, sure, but fuck…
Was it really worth it? Lady Luck had smiled on me this once, but… would she smile again next time…? The only consolation was that with the new gear I’d buy, maybe I wouldn’t have to deal with this kind of mess again…
No, Lady Luck isn’t faithful.
She loves risky games, loaded dice, and stories where she always gets the last word. But she can get bored, turn her back at the worst moment, walk away with her white dress and wide white hat floating in the wind, that eternally kind smile on her face. And when she’s gone, all that’s left behind is emptiness and defeat.
And then she leaves the field to her loyal companion, the one who never tires.
Always there, always lurking in the shadows like a predator toying with its prey, always sharpening her blade, Death knows neither fatigue nor boredom.
She always advances with a calm step, her dark wings floating behind her, her cloak swallowing the light into darkness, ready to collect those who gambled their lives hoping Lady Luck would be there for them.
If I had been her emissary not long ago, her executioner, the one who had the power to spare or to toll the final bell, Death had been quick to turn her back on me, to reduce me once more to just another soul to reap… and hand me back to the whims of Lady Luck…
I clenched a fist, crushed my knuckles against the ground to force myself to get up with a grunt.
Still shaking from the remnants of adrenaline in my system, I leaned against the container to stop trembling like a damn tree in the wind, and a breeze brought a disgusting smell up to my nose…
Ah…
Shit.
In both senses of the word… I must’ve been so scared my body reacted accordingly… Fuck, would it even be possible to wash these clothes before tomorrow…? I couldn’t hang around, I had school tomorrow, if I wasn’t mistaken… Though, maybe I could skip it?
Dad leaves home early, and Mom too… I hadn’t even seen her since I arrived, she was like a ghost, to be honest.
The first day, when I didn’t sleep, I heard her come home at some ungodly hour, but the next day, when I got up to go to school with bags under my eyes dragging on the floor, she was already gone.
Already off to work…
I was used to it, but still, it felt weird…
But that wasn’t the point.
…
I wouldn’t go to school tomorrow. That was my decision. And besides, it’s not like I was really in any shape to go.
I had some things to process in the coming days…
As I limped away, I couldn’t help but think of the irony of it all…
Shit… I had just literally offered my hand to dance with two of the most capricious women in the universe and almost married one, and the only thing I had really triumphed in tonight was a questionable smell, a nasty gash on my thigh, and an absence mark on my record tomorrow…
Life was a real bitch.