BANG!
Moustache takes a shot at the super-hearing guy with his revolver. The bullet streaks through the corridor, but at the last possible instant, the guy’s head jerks to the side, and the bullet narrowly misses its mark. The tension in the air is suffocating as we all process the near miss.
Instinctively, I seek cover behind Moustache, who in his hasty movement steps on my foot, prompting an involuntary wince. My heart races and I can practically feel the adrenaline coursing through my veins. The situation has escalated to a deadly dance, and my mind races to find a way out.
With his voice trembling, Moustache speaks up in a desperate attempt to reason with our assailant. “D-didn’t you say the major wants to see me? No need to hurt me, I’m coming.”
I internally roll my eyes at Moustache’s attempt at negotiation. This is not the time for empty words. The guy’s laughter rings in the corridor, mocking Moustache’s plea. “Aaaah nooo! It was just something funny I wanted to say while coming in. Major wants you dead actually, he thinks you know too much. He doesn’t want you to say too much to the bureau.” His tone grows cold and merciless. “So, it’s bye-bye, Boss.”
The click of his shotgun loading fills the air, sending shivers down my spine. Time seems to slow down as he raises the shotgun, and I can practically feel the imminent danger in the air. The air grows heavy with anticipation, a stifling weight that seems to press down on us.
Just as he squeezes the trigger, Moustache and I move in perfect synchronization, leaping in opposite directions. I roll to the left, the blast of the shotgun sending shockwaves through the corridor. The force of the explosion propels us both, and I feel the sting of the impact as I tumble and slide across the floor. The sound of ringing echoes in my ears, a deafening reminder of the close call.
When I finally come to a stop, my heart is pounding in my chest, and my body is aching from the impact. I quickly assess my own condition, relieved to find that I’m relatively unscathed, save for a few scratches and bruises. My attention immediately shifts to Moustache, who groans in pain as he struggles to his feet, a large piece of debris embedded in his shoulder.
The situation has taken a dire turn, and my mind races to find a way out of this.
With Moustache injured and our options dwindling, I know I need to take control of the situation. Adrenaline surges through me, sharpening my focus and drowning out the ringing in my ears.
Gripping the handle of the knife tightly, I take a deep breath, steadying my trembling hands.
I inch forward cautiously, my movements deliberate and controlled. The corridor feels narrow and suffocating, the tension between us nearly palpable. I keep my stance low, my body coiled like a spring, ready to strike at a moment’s notice. I can see him clearly now, his gas mask reflecting the dim light as he reloads his shotgun, his movements unhurried and calculated.
As he finishes reloading and raises the shotgun once again, a surge of determination courses through me. This is it. I lock onto his silhouette, every ounce of my being focused on him and the knife in my hand.
With the agility of a hawk in flight, I spring forward, my heart racing within my chest. His head tilts slightly, but his super hearing can’t easily pick up on my movements when I’m airborne. I pour all my energy into each step, ensuring they’re light and soundless, my body moving in a dance of lethal grace, and I close the distance between us in a heartbeat.
Given my petite frame, my sister’s lessons on attacking from below come to mind. Yet, witnessing NANAYA’s fighting style has broadened my perspective. I’ve realized the importance of combining techniques. Birds, after all, must be lightweight to take to the skies.
My knife flashes in the dim light as I bring it down in a controlled arc, aiming for his exposed forearm. But he’s quick, reflexively shifting his stance in tandem with my movements. The blade glances off his protective gear, the metallic clang ringing in the air.
He counters with a swift, sweeping motion of his shotgun, forcing me to jump back to avoid being hit. I weave and dodge, my body moving fluidly as I attempt to find an opening.
"HERE!" Moustache’s voice suddenly pierces the air from behind, and the sound of an object hitting the floor reaches my ears. I glance at it momentarily, my attention shifting, and in that split second, my opponent seizes the opportunity to kick me aside. I hit the ground with a painful thud, my flank throbbing as I land right next to the object Moustache just tossed my way.
As the guy readies his shotgun for another round, I take a brief moment to fathom its mechanics. Ultimately, I decide to rely on luck, focusing instead on aiming my revolver at him and firing. The recoil in my current position sends my hand smacking painfully into my head—it would have almost been comical if the situation weren’t so dire. Shooting accurately is far more challenging than it appears!
Thankfully, my shot finds its mark on his left hand, or at least his glove. He curses vehemently, his ability to wield the rifle impaired. Regaining my footing, I spring onto his shoulders, determined to find a way to cut his throat. However, the gas mask he’s wearing is so oversized that there’s no exposed skin for me to target.
Before he flings me off with a swift movement, I manage to press the gun close to his ear and fire again, disregarding the recoil this time. The blast detonates right beside his ear, prompting a visceral scream of agony. He appears disoriented and possibly deafened, leaving him temporarily vulnerable and blinded. “HA! You can’t dodge this!” I laugh proudly,
And then, a marvellous opening presents itself. With a surge of energy, I exploit that vulnerability. My knife finds its mark, sinking into the soft tissue of his flank. His gas mask muffles his grunt of pain as he staggers back, his grip on the shotgun loosening.
The world narrows to a singular point as the blade finds its mark, and everything around us fades into nothingness.
And then, it’s over. He crumples to the floor, his shotgun clattering beside him.
Breathing heavily, I turn to Moustache, who’s managed to get back on his feet. "Nice work," he grins, his voice laced with relief. "But we can’t afford to waste a minute. His buddies might be lurking outside. It’s odd that they haven’t barged in yet, but let’s not press our luck. Follow me!"
I trail after him as he stumbles towards what looks like a broom closet. With a swift motion, he reveals a hatch that leads to an underground passage, complete with a ladder. "I’ll go first to guide the way," he offers, anticipating my question. "Make sure to seal it up as it was when you come down."
I observe him descending with difficulty due to his bleeding arm, and immediately after, I follow him into the enveloping darkness.
"No way, it’s you. After all this time. What the fuck do you want?" I spit, my curiosity piqued as to why she’s decided to reach out again.
"Yeah… I was wondering if you’re going to join the offensive against the terrorists," DIANA responds.
"What? Why do you want to know?" It doesn’t seem like her call is related to the boy… Does she not know?
"Well, it pains me to say this, but I need your help… Those guys have kidnapped Boob—ARTEMIS."
"What do I gain from this?" I stand up and change rooms to ensure the kid doesn’t overhear our conversation.
The bitch is kidnapped by the terrorists… That’s an interesting turn of events. Maybe we can even sell the boy to them after all? They must be interested in another way to hurt her…
"I don’t know, I’ll do anything. What do you want?"
"Come back with me and apologize, then I might consider it," I respond with a smirk.
"That’s not an option. I can apologize, but I won’t go back with you ever again."
Pissed, I click my tongue. "Fine then."
"I just escaped death again, so my ego and will to fight are at their lowest. Not that I have much of those normally, but anyway… I’m sorry, SIRONA. I apologize for the misbehaviour. Please accept it."
I grimace upon hearing those words that sound lifeless and devoid of sincerity.
"You’re such an absolute bitch, treating me like that and then crawling back to me, asking for help when you’re in trouble. I don’t plan on busting my ass for ungrateful people like the Banta and you!"
"Ah, I know. I’ll work really hard and buy you a collector’s figurine of Hunter x Hunter. How’s that?"
I fall silent for a moment, mulling over the proposition. On one hand, I don’t want to work after being treated so poorly. But on the other hand, I really want that figurine… Also, now that I think about it, the Banta might jeopardize my job if I’m absent…
I could also get back at the bitch and make some money by selling the boy to the terrorists.
"What exactly do you want from me?" I ask. "I’m not saying I’ll do it, but let’s hear what kind of absurd request you have for me."
“Hmmm… Long story short, I need a huge diversion…”
I listen to her explanations, surprised that she managed to come up with such a plan on her own, all the while sending some instructions to ASCLEPIUS through messages.
"So, what’s the verdict on my rice, my esteemed wardens?"
“It’s not bad," XIAO SHUI comments.
“Not bad at all," the other shidi chime in.
The Japanese boy wears an extremely pleased expression and smirks proudly. "And how about you, my faithful minion?"
"It tastes like crap, you used way too much water!" the woman exclaims.
"I knew your taste buds were malfunctioning the moment you pranced in wearing such a sorry excuse for attire. What is that creature? A baby dragon? Godzilla for kids?"
"IT’S A DINOSAUR, YOU JERK! I’M GOING TO KICK YOUR ASS!!"
Amidst their playful banter, I quietly enjoy my meal, content with how it fills my stomach. Eating has renewed my confidence in our survival, and a strange premonition tells me that I’ll be reuniting with TIAN SHUI soon.
After I’m done, I put my bowl down and order the Japanese man and woman to clean the dishes, then stand up to admire the world through the window.
The gentle pitter-patter of rain against it creates a soothing symphony that envelops me in its tranquil embrace. Each droplet seems to carry with it a sense of calm that lulls my mind into a peaceful reverie. The world outside is cloaked in a misty haze, as if the rain has cast a spell, momentarily hushing the chaos of life beyond.
But amidst this serene ambience, a sudden interruption jolts me from my reverie. A distinct, irregular knocking resonates against the glass. Its rhythm is neither hurried nor impatient, but rather deliberate, as if each tap holds a secret code or hidden message.
Intrigued by the unusual occurrence, I decide to crack open the window, much to the amusement of my fellow shidi, who offer their curious comments. And then, out of nowhere, a remarkably soft and lightweight ball of gum strikes me. Peering out, I search for the source of this small missile and catch a fleeting glimpse of a child’s silhouette darting away into the corner of the street.
“… They move through mist, their steps discreet. A whispered dance, a subtle beat…” The child’s voice sings out before disappearing under the rain.
“Hey, DARIUS, the door’s blocked by a damn drawer, which is why it’s a pain to blow it open! But don’t worry, we found it. All that wandering around the district finally paid off. I’m a hundred percent sure I heard his annoying voice from outside. There’s someone else here too, but they must be hiding since they heard us coming in, hahaha!” CHIRO yells from within the flat.
I quickly scan my surroundings, looking left and right for an alternative entrance. My eyes catch sight of a narrow back alley to the right. Squeezing my hefty frame into it, I hope to find a hidden passage, but the rain above me suddenly takes on a blood-red hue, drenching me in an eerie crimson downpour.
As I raise my gaze, I’m confronted with a chilling sight. One of our comrades that had disappeared a few hours ago’s lifeless body hangs in the alley, contorted and twisted like a rag on a laundry line. It’s as if he’s been squeezed dry by some monstrous force, and the unsettling image sends shivers down my spine.
A haunting nursery rhyme begins to hum in the air, a melody I’ve never heard before but instantly comprehend its sinister meaning. "... In rainy season’s whispered roar. They shield the isle, its secrets store…” I fire some warning shots, but the eerie chant seems to dance around, shifting from one side of the alley to the other.
Panic seizes me, and I rush back towards the entrance, ensuring no one’s in my line of fire. I shout out to CHIRO in desperation, “CHIRO, GET BACK! THEY’RE COMING! NO, THEY’RE ALREADY HERE!”
Yet, no response comes. Bursting my way into the apartment, I scan the room frantically, only to find CHIRO’s body sprawled on the ground.
My heart pounds in my chest as the childlike voice echoes from the door, taunting me with its eerie verse: “…In monsoon’s rhythm, they repeat.”
A group of ten figures dressed in striking blue-red Tiban attire, adorned with gas masks, stands there emotionlessly, an eerie presence that chills me to the bone.
As I rub my eyes to make sure I’m not imagining things, a woman’s voice pipes up beside me.
“How is it going, citizen?”
Leaning against the wall, this striking Tiban lady chews gum with a nonchalant air before offering me a piece. I take it with a nod, still processing the bizarre situation.
“We’re all good,” I reply, my tone matching her casual vibe.
“Awesome,” she responds, giving me a playful wink. “Area’s secured and cleared. If you need anything, just hit up the social service hotline.” With a chuckle, she gracefully ascends the building using a wire, disappearing onto the rooftop.
Glancing downward, I'm struck by the fact that the bodies of the two masked guys who tried to attack us and got taken out by NANAYA have utterly vanished.
Gazing out at the rain pouring down, I come to a realization: the rainy season is fully upon us.
