I stare across the parking lot, my one good eye taking in the scene that's rapidly spiraling out of control. There's a palpable electricity in the air, a tension that's all too familiar. Then, she appears - Boginya, the woman White Snake now calls a companion, a word that stirs a complex knot of emotions within me. I watch them, standing together, and the realization that the boy is their son, adds a new dimension to this twisted reunion.
The pieces start falling into place, each revelation aligning with a clarity that's both enlightening and disconcerting. The boy's presence confirms a bond I hadn't fully comprehended until now. It's a strange feeling, seeing a part of White Snake, a part I thought I knew, reflected in these two.
But there are others here too, unknown elements that add to the chaos. The black-haired man that stands with a demeanor that's as cold as it is lethal. When I question their affiliations, his response is as straightforward as it is unsettling. A yakuza, here to kill, unbound by the intricacies of our past dealings. His indifference to the situation, his single-minded focus on the task at hand, it's almost admirable in its simplicity.
Then there's this strange girl, ASCLEPIUS, an enigmatic figure whose allegiance to the agency is as clear as it is concerning. The agency's involvement complicates matters, their reach and resources a variable I hadn't fully anticipated.
It's clear that the situation is slipping beyond my control. White Snake, with her newfound allies, poses a threat that's both immediate and deeply personal. The agency's involvement only adds to the urgency. It's time to retreat, to regroup. But not without leaving our mark.
With a swift gesture, I signal my team. The time for subtlety has passed. Gas masks are secured, a necessary precaution for what's to come. I watch as White Snake and Boginya react, their instincts to protect the boy overriding everything else. They retreat towards the staircase, their actions a dance of survival.
"KAKO, UNLEASH THE PLAGUE!" I command, my voice echoing through the concrete expanse. Kako moves with a purpose, a determined gait as he unleashes the dense, poisonous smoke that fills the parking lot.
The smoke envelops everything, a thick, choking cloud that obscures vision and overwhelms senses. It's a desperate move, but one that's necessary. In this game of chess, sometimes the board needs to be reset.
In a blink, the dark-haired boy, NANAYA, springs into action. His movements are a blur, a swift, decisive leap that snatches ASCLEPIUS, hurling her towards the safety of the staircase with the others. My hand shoots up, signaling my mercenaries to open fire. But it's too late; our opponents have already scrambled into the staircase's relative safety. NANAYA, however, remains exposed, his agility almost superhuman as he weaves through the hail of bullets.
A shot finally finds its mark, striking him in the flank. He crumples to the ground, his blood flowing on the cold concrete. It seems a futile, albeit brave, act. The gas will ensure his muscles betray him, sealing his fate.
But then, something astonishing happens. NANAYA's hand twitches. Slowly, impossibly, he rises, his face contorting into an expression that seems less than human. With a macabre gesture, he smears his own blood across his face, transforming his features into a nightmarish visage.
"My name is NANAYA. And my rank is ONI!!" His voice, tinged with a grotesque glee, cuts through the chaos. He leaps again, the gas strangely ineffective against him, and his knife finds its next victim, a comrade’s shoulder. In a fluid motion, he rips off the man's gas mask and dons it himself, a maneuver so swift it leaves no room for intervention.
"Nice to meet you!" he quips, his voice a mocking echo in the tumult. He's a whirlwind of violence, slashing through my men with terrifying efficiency. The mercenaries, hesitating to shoot their own, switch to knives, but it's clear they're outmatched in this close-quarters dance of death.
I react instinctively, drawing the blade concealed within my prosthetic arm. Our blades clash, metal singing against metal, a dire ballet of thrusts and parries. NANAYA's strength is formidable, his strikes fueled by an inhuman fury.
But even the mightiest has limits. Gradually, I see it - the strain on his face, the slight falter in his movements. His muscles, taxed beyond their limits by the gas and his own exertions, begin to betray him. His attacks grow slower, less precise, and I seize the opportunity, pressing him back with renewed vigor.
It's a matter of moments now. His resilience is waning, his energy spent. NANAYA's final stand, as impressive as it was, is reaching its inevitable conclusion. His body, pushed beyond its limits, can no longer sustain the ferocious tempo of our duel.
The air is thick with tension and the acrid smell of the gas. Just when I think the situation might stabilize, she reappears. Boginya, her face obscured by a gas mask, her eyes burning with an unspoken fury. The grip on her knife is not just tight; it's a clear display of rage, a readiness to unleash havoc.
Following close behind her is a group I hadn't expected – a cadre of individuals clad in the traditional attire of the Tibans. These are the agency's people, no doubt about it.
Boginya's voice cuts through the air, commanding yet laden with a personal vendetta. "See him? That's their boss. But he's mine. If you touch a hair on his head, I slit your throat. Take care of the rest."
The agency members react instantly, acknowledging her order with a sharp "Yes, miss." Their weapons, an assortment of modern and traditional, are drawn in a choreographed motion.
I clutch Abhi close, his small body trembling with fear as we rush towards the staircase. My heart hammers in my chest, each step echoing the frantic beat. It's been only two days since I last saw Boginya, but in the midst of this chaos, it feels like a lifetime.
As we reach the relative safety of the stairwell, away from the immediate danger, I finally let myself take a breath. I haven't had a moment to properly reunite with Boginya, my thoughts consumed with protecting Abhi. But now, as I see her, all the pent-up emotions burst forth.
Without a second thought, I leap into Boginya's arms, embracing her with all the strength I have left. Her familiar scent, the feel of her arms around me, it's a comfort I've desperately missed.
Boginya purrs, her hands wandering on my chest in a way that's both familiar and slightly embarrassing. "Ahhh, that's my Boobies... my dear antistress... Do you have any idea how stressed I was? Where have you been all this time?!" Her voice is a mix of relief and playful admonishment.
I can't help but laugh, even amidst the distant sound of gunfire. "Boginya... One day we'll have to talk about the way you treat women..."
She raises an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Not women! Just you! You get the privileged treatment!"
Abhi, who had been quietly sobbing, suddenly pipes up, a note of embarrassment in his voice. "I'm still here, you know." Boginya, ever the doting figure, scoops him up in a comforting embrace, cuddling him until he wriggles to escape.
I glance around, feeling the urgency of our situation. "We should keep moving. We can continue this reunion later." But Boginya shakes her head, her resolve clear.
"I won't go back until I take care of him."
I try to reason with her. "He isn't worth risking your life for. He's just a creepy, lost man."
Our conversation is interrupted by the arrival of a group of people descending the stairs. The area, already cramped, becomes even more crowded. Boginya looks around, her. "Wow, it's crowded in here."
In the cramped staircase, the tension is almost palpable. A girl in a yukata, someone I never expected to see again since our encounter on the boat, suddenly appears. Her gaze flickers between Boginya and me, a hint of recognition in her eyes. "Have I seen you before?" she asks, but nobody answers. The moment feels surreal, like a bizarre pause in the midst of chaos.
Seeking to redirect the conversation, I jump in. "They've been throwing gas in the parking lot, so don't go in without masks."
Immediately, the members of the agency, dressed in Sunninketam, react with a mix of relief and smugness. "See! I told you we did well to keep those masks!" one exclaims.
Another adds, "I'll never doubt you again!"
The group of yakuza, however, are less prepared, exchanging confused glances among themselves. The girl in the yukata raises her hands in a resigned gesture. "Fair enough, the protocol won this time," she admits, acknowledging their lack of foresight.
Then ASCLEPIUS, the boy dressed as a girl, bursts into the stairwell. He looks around at the queue of oddly aligned people and comments, "Why are there more people in here than at my stand at conventions?" The remark is so out of place that everyone simply stares at him, deciding he isn't worth the mental effort, and promptly ignores him.
As the agency members start to descend the staircase, intent on going in first, Boginya intervenes. She asks one of them for a gas mask. The agent hesitates, then refuses. Without a moment's delay, Boginya pulls out her knife and states coldly, "It's an order."
The situation escalates when another agent draws his gun, his words sharp and dismissive, "We don't take orders from midgets!"
Boginya's response is swift and brutal—a kick to his groin followed by a knee to his head. As he reels from the pain, she produces a card I've never seen before, emblazoned with the agency's logo. "It's an order from Koteloppolo SIRONA." The card reveals her crazy sister’s rank: #21 in the agency.
The air is charged with a newfound respect—or perhaps fear—for Boginya. The agent reluctantly hands over his mask, his defiance evaporated. The power dynamics in the room have shifted, and it's clear that Boginya isn't someone to be underestimated.
I stand face to face with the bad guy, the air around us crackling with the tension of our impending clash. My hand grips the knife tightly, every muscle in my body coiled and ready. The agency members engage the mercenaries in a fierce battle, their shouts and the clashing of weapons creating a chaotic symphony around us.
I lock eyes with the bad guy, his presence a towering embodiment of all the conflicts and battles that have led to this moment.
The fight begins with an explosion of movement. I lunge forward, my blade slashing through the air, aiming for his defenses. He parries with a skill that speaks of years of combat experience.
Our dance is deadly, a series of thrusts and dodges, feints and strikes. I can feel the adrenaline coursing through my veins, the rush of combat sharpening my senses. Every move I make is met with equal force by him, his one good eye focused and unyielding.
The sound of the battle around us fades into the background as I concentrate on my opponent. This embodiment of evil is a formidable adversary, his every move calculated and precise. But I'm not just fighting for myself – I'm fighting for Boobies, for Abhi, for everything that they’ve endured.
I press on, my attacks growing more aggressive. I can see a flicker of surprise in the bad guy's eye as I push him back, step by step. There's a satisfaction in seeing him on the defensive, a sense of retribution for all the pain and chaos he's caused.
But he’s resilient, his experience evident in the way he adapts to my style. He counters my assaults with a cunning that forces me to change tactics, to think on my feet.
As the fight intensifies, I can feel my body straining under the effort. Each strike requires more effort, each dodge more taxing. But I can't afford to show weakness, not when so much is at stake.
Our blades clash with a ringing sound, sparks flying from the contact. I'm aware of the danger, more than ever, the possibility that this confrontation could end in tragedy. A few months ago, I was fighting in an almost suicidal way, not caring if I lived or died. But now, I don’t want to die anymore, I want to live! I want to live so I can see Boobies when I wake up tomorrow! And the day after! And the day even after!! UNTIL THE WORLD ENDS!
SO, I WON’T LET THIS GUY TAINT MY HEAVEN!
With a surge of effort, I launch a series of rapid attacks, pushing the evil guy to his limits. I can see the strain in his posture, the slight delay in his reactions. I'm close to overcoming him, close to ending this long-standing conflict.
As the battle rages on, I know that this confrontation is more than just a fight. It's a struggle for closure, for understanding, for the chance to move forward from the shadows of the past. And I'm determined to see it through, no matter the cost.
Suddenly, the Major's kick lands squarely on my chest, sending me sprawling backwards. My breath hitches from the impact, my body slamming against the cold concrete. I brace myself, expecting the final, fatal blow as he looms over me, his blade poised.
But then, he hesitates. His arm freezes mid-air, the deadly edge of his weapon mere inches from me. My heart pounds in my ears, every instinct screaming for action, but my body is momentarily paralyzed by the shock of the unexpected pause.
"I won't kill you, actually... I don't want you to get hurt. I'm sorry," the Major says, his voice a strange mixture of resolve and regret. I'm stunned, unable to process his words. This man, the source of so much pain and conflict, is now expressing concern for my well-being?
He continues, his words cutting through my disbelief. "I understand that you're precious to her, so hurting you would mean hurting her. I don't want to do it anymore."
Before I can react, the Major acts. A stun grenade arcs through the air, exploding in a blinding flash of light. The parking lot is enveloped in chaos, the sound of the blast echoing off the walls.
I'm momentarily disoriented, my vision whited out, my ears ringing. Anger surges through me, raw and unfiltered. "DON'T FUCK WITH ME! YOU CAN'T JUST PUT THEIR LIVES IN DANGER AND THEN SAY YOU'RE SORRY!!!!!!" My voice is a roar in the disarray, my words fueled by a tumult of emotions.
"PAY FOR YOUR CRIMES, YOU PIECE OF SHIT!!!!" I shout, my rage a tangible force. The injustice, the pain he's caused, it can't just be undone with words, with sudden remorse.
I scramble to my feet, my body aching but driven by an indomitable will. The Major's actions, his sudden turnabout, they're a betrayal of a different kind – a denial of the accountability he owes to those he's wronged.
As my vision finally clears, I realize the Major and his remaining mercenaries have vanished, like ghosts in the night. The other agency members, equally bewildered, begin to scatter in search of another exit. I feel a sharp pain in my leg as I limp toward the staircase, now eerily empty.
Ascending the stairs, I enter the first-floor hall, a grim sight greeting me. The remnants of a brutal fight lie scattered around. DARIUS's decapitated body on the floor is a stark testament to the violence that has transpired. A sense of grim satisfaction washes over me – GON has won her fight.
Drawn by the sounds of commotion outside, I make my way through a gaping hole in the wall. Outside, I find Schwa and Abhi, along with the yakuza group, all seemingly waiting for direction in the aftermath of the chaos.
Before I can speak, ASCLE-PYON approaches, thrusting a walkie-talkie to my ear. My insufferable sister’s voice, furious and unmistakable, blares through. "SO YOU'RE THE ONE WHO STOLE MY AGENCY ID, YOU FUCKING BITCH!! I LOOKED FOR IT EVERYWHERE! WHEN DID YOU EVEN DO IT, YOU STUPID PIECE OF SHIT...!" Her tirade is relentless. I quickly cover the device, muffling the stream of expletives.
Turning to Schwa, I relay what I've learned. "They left through another exit. The agency's trying to find it now." My voice is steady, but inside, frustration simmers. The Major's escape is a bitter pill to swallow.
Abhi, ever observant, suggests a possibility. "The two buildings close to each other might share the same parking lot. There's a staircase that leads to the other one." His insight sparks a memory; it’s on this building’s rooftop that we met with Moustache.
"If that's true, I'm going to beat Moustache to death," I think to myself.
Rushing to the rooftop with Boobies, I leave Abhi in the somewhat questionable care of ASCLE-PYON, but not without a stern warning. "If you so much as lay a finger on him again, I'll kill you." My tone leaves no room for doubt or negotiation.
On the rooftop, Moustache stands, seemingly as surprised to see us as we are to see him. He stammers incomprehensibly at Boobies. I can't help but be a little amused, amazed that he's just been standing here all this time. However, the absence of the Major and his mercenaries is disconcerting.
Then, a sharp metallic sound shatters the stillness, echoing across the rooftop. A hidden gate splits apart, revealing a heliport where a massive attack helicopter sits menacingly. Memories of past encounters with helicopters flash through my mind and I instinctively look for cover, but there's nowhere to hide.
As the helicopter's engines roar to life, preparing for takeoff, I shout desperately, "MOUSTACHE, DO SOMETHING!!" He tries to play the cool hero, pulling out his revolver and firing at the helicopter, but the bullets simply ricochet off its armored exterior. It's a futile gesture.
"Maybe it's better to let them go..." Boobies sighs, resignation in her voice. But the idea of just watching them escape grates on me, too frustrating to bear.
The helicopter starts to hover, its blades slicing through the air, ready to fly off into the horizon. Suddenly, Moustache's phone crackles to life, my sister’s voice blaring through the speaker. "DIANA, CAN YOU HEAR ME, YOU STUPID FUCK?!"
I let out an exasperated sigh. "I can't believe she went this far just to shout at me about her stupid ID. See Boobies, this is why I don't want a smartphone, it can be hacked like that." Boobies gives me a look of pity while I shrug.
Her horrifying voice continues, piercing through the noise of the helicopter. "I'M GOING TO SHOW YOU HOW TO TAKE CARE OF A HELICOPTER!" I roll my eyes, bracing for whatever her idea of 'taking care' involves.
Then, out of nowhere, what I recognize as a sharp, anti-armor tile from ORPHEUS' super crossbow zips across the sky, a deadly projectile on a collision course with the helicopter. It strikes true, smashing into the helicopter's blade with devastating accuracy.
The helicopter lurches, losing control. It veers off, smashing into the neighboring building in a violent explosion. The blast echoes across the rooftop.
The rooftop, now eerily quiet in the aftermath of the explosion, feels like the closing scene of a long and tumultuous act.
