Posting my submission for this year's fanfiction contest. A few notes on the whole thing below. Slight edits made to the contest version. And if the title didn't clue you in, yes, this is a DDD story.
substance_DepenD(Dance)
A sweet fragrance filled her lungs with every breath she took. The stinging sensation that accompanied it penetrated her entire chest, but she was able to suppress her coughing to wheezing sounds. The smell was a hard-to define mixture of nail polish and alcohol. A smell many would find nauseating, but to the woman it was calming like nothing else.
Her being used to-...no, even fond of it like this would be a sign of worry for many, but not for her. In this moment, all she could feel was euphoria born from numbness.
And a desire for more.
Rummaging through her small, cheap-looking handbag the girl gripped a brown-tinted bottle. Her steps turned from walking to stumbling, now completely breaking the facade of a woman in full possession of her mental faculties she tried to keep up.
A living being has a lifetime to learn and internalize how to control its body functions. Nature did not intend for a human to suddenly unlearn how to move its musculature.
Nature also did not account for her substance abuse.
Here she was, more shaking than standing, trying her hardest to figure out how to make her leg move. The coordination of a muscle pair she barely had any feeling of anymore seemed impossible, an act of dexterity simply beyond her, as if trying to fit a thread through a needle's eye while being electrocuted. It had ceased to be a part of her, and now it was just another object within her field of vision she could not affect with her mind, no matter how hard she tried.
The bottle. She used her involuntary stop to read the bottle.
In this state she was barely able to decipher its label, but she had already memorized what it said.
99% Methanol. Warning Flammable.
The last part was true. The former, a mislabeling, or rather a lie.
For a second she wondered if it was the paper that had lied to her or the one who had printed these. She tried focusing her stare on the bottle as this question became more and more pressing to her addled mind, and its form slowly changed into a shape that she was sure must exist in some way, yet was certainly indescribable. Its wavering motions caused her to feel sick; her eyes were now lacking a point of focus.
Seasick in a standstill.
She looked around. She was sure she had been here before.
Shikura City. On her way home. That was her goal. Such a simple thing to remember and yet it felt like a massive achievement, an achievement that should be rewarded with another huff of the substance in the bottle.
Again she looked at it, trying to find the cap of the bottle, its shape still changing with every new angle she saw it from. The fluid inside it licked at its shifting borders, strangely more coherent in structure than the vessel it was contained in.
As she pried and pried she once again had a moment of clarity. The texture of the cap had been strange, as if...
She had taped it shut. Outsmarted by herself. What a good girl she was, trying to prevent herself from overdoing it in her intoxication. She would have taken another huff to honor such a stroke of genius, but the current situation made this impossible. She would need some scissors or a knife to get to more of it.
She started licking her lips, in search of the aroma from before. Tiny pearls of sweat ran down her face, and as her tongue touched them the indescribable taste from before came through to her.
She did not need the bottle anymore. Her body had reacted to her desires. A new function that it had developed not too long ago.
The news called it possession. Professionals called it a disorder. How strange. What meaning did possession, a seizure of control by a foreign will, have to somebody who relinquished control whenever she pleased? What was a disorder to somebody who preferred a sickened mind to a “healthy” one?
And still, it would be wrong to call it a gift. It simply was. Another part of her body. Like an arm. Neither good nor bad, just existing to be used as she saw fit.
After she pulled down the surgical mask she wore over her face, she pulled the sleeve of her black hoodie over her elbow. There were no inhibitions left in her current state. Frantically, she started licking her lower arm in her craving of the substance.
The taste was unmistakable
The mask had been a small countermeasure against the smell that oozed from her mouth and nose, and an easy way to avoid identification on the streets.
Not that they were particularly busy at this time of the night. Not to mention that even the most rational citizen would probably avoid talking to a girl wearing a surgical mask at this time of the night.
Still frantically engrossed in licking her own arm, she spied something of interest out of the corner of her eye.
Beyond her craving there still existed a mind with a mission.
Even in her current state she recognized it. On the hood of the car, a three pronged star in a circle. A huge almost tank-like car right next to her. A symbol of status and money.
In that moment the symbol could just as well have been a right-inclined swastika. It was a symbol of hatred to her. So hatred was what she felt.
There were not a lot of people in Shikura City driving this kind of car. The brand simply attracted these kinds of people. But she had to make sure. Walking over to its side, she stared into the driver's window.
A reflection of herself greeted her. Bloodshot eyes, dark rings under them. A hood pulled over unkempt, short hair. Not so pretty after all.
Another lick of her lips. Again the slightly alcohol-like taste greeted her.
She had to make sure. Holding on to the flask in one hand, she again shifted through her bag for a small, cylindrical object. It felt cold against her skin, and her grip on it was slightly loosened by her sweating.
With a rather inelegant flick of her wrist the small object expanded into a baton, the clicking sound endlessly reverberating, reminding her of heavy machinery in use. The rythmic, eternal echo of the clicking had something almost musical to it.
One.
She placed the end of it on the window.
Two.
She pulled back.
Three.
A thud. Nothing else. A slight pain in her wrist, dulled through a narcotic filter. A normal car window would be broken by now, but this was an armored car.
No ordinary businessman in Shikura City drives an armored car.
Clumsily she tried to retract the baton. A last longing look to the bottle. A last licking of her lips.
It was enough.
She tried to tell her body what to do but her consciousness had already been ejected from it. Like a crane operator she tried to steer her own arm muscles to push the baton back together while still holding on to the bottle. The movement was slow and stilted. The levers she pulled did not seem to have the effect she intended, as if the controls in her mental cockpit had been reversed and rearranged.
The hands started sweating harder, shaking under the pressure applied to them.
In a small moment of clarity it decided to not retract the baton, putting it back into the handbag with the end inelegantly sticking out. Carefully measured but clunky executed movements tried to trace the opening of the handbag before finally letting go of the baton, dropping it inside.
A job well done. To reward itself it licked its sweaty hands, but the sensation of the taste had become weaker already.
The input of the machine seemed to be broken.
A step back. Pitcher up. Another frantic search through its handbag and it had what it needed. A cheap orange non-refillable lighter.
The spirit had been relegated to mere suggestions, watching over the machine execute the closest analogue to its will.
Another step back. It almost stumbled over its own legs again as the world kept turning.
The spirit had now finally lost all of the comfort she found in the numbness of the state it had been in. She felt only aggression, and the machine executed her will.
With a crashing sound her treasured bottle landed right on top of the car's hood, the precious fluid leaking down on it.
Only a second later, the lighter followed.
A bang. The sound of the car siren. And it, running. The few remaining lights at this time of the night caused immense pain in its forehead as it passed by them. Every single step it took sounded like the bang of a drum, warning it of some undefinable assault, endlessly repeating.
Through this cacophony the voice of a man could be heard, shouting. The machine interpreted syllables, tried to form them into words, understand their arrangement in a sentence and parse it back to the spirit, but it was unable to. Only intentions became clear to it.
The man was not amused.
It turned around, looking back. Not for the man. If he wanted a fight he could have one. As of that moment all feeling had vanished from the machine.
She just wanted to see its-...no, her work again.
It stepped towards the man, ignoring the trash cans and lamp posts in its way as they bumped into it without effect.
A declaration of war, made possible by the union of lighter fluid and diethyl ether.
The man was holding on to a switchblade, but the confidence the weapon had given him a few meters ago seemed to wane as the machine approached closer and closer.
A warning of Shikura City's most dangerous to the band of pathetic criminals known as Nanase group.
And with an effort greater than what it took to end the man's life just seconds later, the girl tried to put a smile on her own face.
-----
The guy seemed like he did not expect this kind of ambiance. I could not blame him, even I did not feel comfortable in here most of the time, though it had nothing to do with the room itself anymore. The blue shimmering lighting that covered the entire box-shaped room with all the little gizmos strewn across it was unsettling to humans on a subconscious level. You really realized that the light that came down here was filtered through the water tank on top of it, and that made you think of all kinds of outlandish scenarios involving suffocation and drowning and all those other fun things.
But I think what really unsettled the guy was that me and my employer looked like a freak show, and the light didn't factor into that.
He and his two buddies probably regretted their choice of attire right now. Or well, at least their choice of shoes. Their clothes were probably chosen to make a certain impression here, all styled up in their expensive designer suits, but it didn't change the fact that Their shoes looked like they had been dragged through shit.
Turns out dress shoes were not the best choice of footwear for a walk in the forest.
“So, you must be Kaie? My name is Hirono. It is a pleasure...”
His buddies didn't get to talk. They looked like teens put in uncomfortably scratchy suits for the family photo compared to how natural the middle-aged man seemed to pull the look off. I bet these guys would act a lot more comfortable in some kind of shitty-brand v-neck talking to some vapid sluts about how they are totally raking in the cash from their occupation as human trash.
“Isn't respect the most valued commodity when dealing with partners in your circles? Calling me Kaie is awfully casual of you, don't you think?”
The two muppets were now obviously angry while Kaie threw them an honest smile, one they probably could not see very well due to the lighting. He really was enjoying this, but I don't think I could really appreciate the situation as much as he did. God knows what it takes to kill this...demon, but I know I don't want to take any chances with some pissed-off thugs.
The leader seemed to be startled for a bit before he started, rather nervously, smiling himself.
“Please excuse my impoliteness. Mister Karyou it is then.”
“How did you find this place?” Kaie tilted his head. Goddamn it, stop being so cute. It's a man. It's a man. Very young too. Do you want to get arrested? Though from the looks of it our new friend here could totally get you out of prison...what am I thinking?
“I like to listen. And when people talk about possessed there are always all kinds of strange rumors. From conspiracies to self-diagnosis tips to remedies. And one of these remedies was an eccentric living under a water tank.”
Rumors are like a festering cancer in the town of Shikura. People like Kaie and Hirono however were always on the lookout for them, for different reasons, obviously, but they both knew that people don't start whispering for no reason. Oncologists of a city, always searching for the source and where it spreads.
“Eccentric? I guess I could let my manservant clean up a bit...so you are having trouble with a demon possessed?” Kaie let his head fall on the bed. I guess he was enjoying the fact that he had all his prostheses on for once.
Apparently the humorous part was over for our sharp-dressed friend. His face lost all of its previous ease and his whole body tensed up as if he was awaiting a uniform inspection.
You would probably fail that inspection at shoe shining, mister.
“Yesterday a business partner and friend that I valued and treasured was stabbed to death in front of his own burning car.”
Wow. Somebody here does not fuck around.
“I imagine there are some people that would do that, why would you assume it was a possessed? A lot of ordinary crime gets attributed to these people, you know? Maybe it was just somebody who wasn't quite happy with how he ran business.” said Kaie as he tugged on the bed sheet with his pitch black left arm.
A good question, really. I can't imagine these guys having too many friends. Shikura is a center of power for them, and is as such basically uncontested, but you never know when some cocky upstart gangsters want to infringe on their turf.
“There were witnesses.”
Well, that was fast. Either they knew this before the police or because of them, and at that almost instantly. Corruption must be really bad in this town, I never thought of it. It did explain Tomato's car now that I think about it.
For a second I wonder what she'd do if I told her that little gag personally. Probably something involving a lot of cover-ups and vehicular manslaughter.
“And what did they say that lead you to the conclusion of it being a demon-possessed?” Kaie sounded increasingly bored. It seemed that with every new question the danger of this turning out to be a waste of time increased.
“My friend, he pulled a knife on his attacker, and in a desperate attempt of self defense...”
“...of course.” Kaie absent-mindedly looked at the small peak he continually raised up and collapsed again with his tugging. He's probably the only guy in this city who dared to speak with a gangster like this without being a gangster himself.
“...he stabbed her in the throat. She was bleeding all over the place. And yet she continued to beat the hell out of him, somehow getting the knife out of his hands.” It seemed like Mister Tough here had trouble keeping his voice from breaking there. The wound had been inflicted only yesterday, so it was still fresh.
“Nobody did anything?”
“They called the police. Was too late. She had the upper hand, and even after he cut out half her throat she killed him with multiple stabs to the chest. She was relentless.” He pushed through his discomfort, but in doing so his two monkeys shot each other increasingly worried glares. They probably didn't get paid to pat his shoulders though, so they abstained from commenting. I guess it would break the professionalism at play here.
“People pushed to their extremes can do the most amazing things.” Kaie sat up. Now he was intrigued. Not necessarily because of demon possession, but that didn't sound like a contract killing at all.
What really captured the attention of the “boy” was human emotion. A contract killing, done for cold, hard cash, that was boring. A murder committed for reasons beyond reason, out of sheer human impulse, that was something he could really indulge in.
What a nasty hobby. Truly, rich people are the worst.
“Believe me,” as he said that, he looked deeply into my eyes, unable to find Kaie's in the twilight of the room. “I've seen things that could be described as that, but there is no extreme that lets a person walk off a slit throat.”
I didn't feel fear. I was not able to anyway. But there was something really sharp in the eyes of this man, as if he was in every moment absolutely sure of what he had to do to achieve what he wanted, no matter how taxing or cruel it may be.
“So what happened to that attacker?” Kaie's face. still obscured by the strategic placement of his bed. was now adorned with his trademark wide smile again. Just looking at it made me feel uneasy, and it wasn't even meant for me.
Well, not right now. That smile meant he wanted me to look into it. I didn't know if I was too comfortable with that idea to be honest. Prodding in yakuza circles was kind of at odds with my life expectancy planning.
“Nobody wanted to hold her down, obviously. And that woman was masked, so no identification beyond lots and lots of blood on the scene.”
DNA evidence, pretty strong once you actually narrow down suspects. Which was his main problem right now. He wouldn't have come to us if the police had a reliable lead. Not like he would let the police act in such a case...
“So how do you know it was even a woman?” Again, Kaie tilted his head to the side. With his doll-like body I was almost afraid that his neck would just snap. Not like I thought that would kill him, but it would probably be very troublesome for me to put the pieces back together afterwards.
“She slurred some words. Nothing coherent. With the way she was running away from the scene after the incident, the witness thought she was drunk.”
"Anything else of note?”
It seemed like had been waiting for that specific question, almost cutting off Kaie mid-sentence. “She wasn't really drunk. Maybe she needed some extra courage to mess with Masaki, because the car had been lit on fire with ether. Not exactly the number one choice for arson. And the witness reported that she seemed to have taken a few pills while running off.”
“Doesn't that make her a customer of yours then?” Kaie clasped his hands, his voice increasing in vigor.
“Nobody in this city that we know of sells ether, but maybe. We can't exactly pin her down with the info we got. And even then I don't feel comfortable sending people under my patronage to kill something which seems to shrug off lethal knife wounds.”
“My my, that's quite the interesting situation here. That does indeed sound like a possessed. I'll have somebody under my patronage look into it. But don't think I will play gun for hire for your group now, Mister Hirono. Let's just say this case...intrigues me.”
“I understand. I cannot thank you enough.”
“Don't thank me just yet, Hirono. Letting the hounds loose often forces criminals to new extremes.”
The man bowed. Probably the deepest he had ever bowed to a 14-year old. Or at least somebody who looked 14-years old. Then he gathered his two monkeys and went out of the door.
It told us a lot about the pressure he faced currently. A lot of which would now be passed onto me.
“Arika, it seems that there is something I would like you to do.”
“Take the dog for a walk?”
A little joke, with a lot more truth to it than I would have wanted.
-----
There was no point trying to phone up my “police contact”. The yakuza would probably give us all the hints she would have given me, and more. Not to mention that I'd still probably rather deal with gangsters than with that unpleasant woman. Instead I wanted to meet a good friend of mine who could help me here otherwise. Just a few tips, something where I could start from. That would be all that was necessary for now.
To that end I invited him to a restaurant. A bit of an exaggeration, really. Actually it would be closer to a bar. Nebula they called it, quite aptly if you looked at it. Or tried to breathe in that place. Sometimes I was afraid careless arm movement would poke my own eyes out in that smokey atmosphere.
It was all but impossible to get a table during the busy evening hours, so I guarded mine with my life and wallet since half an hour ago. I ordered juice at regular intervals. No alcohol; I needed to remember everything. Not to mention that getting this info out of my friend here would require a certain amount of precision.
I saw him come through the door. He looked kind of worn-down and and exhausted, but he was still a man of impressive stature. A small, woven braid hung from the side of his spiky hairdo and his dark brown eyes seemed to scan the fog for me.
I waved before I realized what made him look so exhausted.
He did not come alone.
“Arikaaaaaaa! Hiiiiiiiiii!”
It was a voice like a cheese grater against a chalk board. There were few times when I was happy to see her, and this was not one of them. I wasn't sure if Tsuranui could have had any worse timing.
“Met her by chance, really. I told her we were going to eat, and she just tagged along.” Kirisu pulled one of the stools back and sat on it. Him sitting next to Tsuranui looked like the setup to some kind of optical illusion, Tsuranui looking tiny in her chair, while Kirisu made it look like a fishing stool.
“So Arika, you wanted to talk about something?” Kirisu said with his arms crossed on the table. He seemed quite tired. Probably because of Tsuranui.
“Yes, yes. How have you been? Just felt like meeting you. You know. For some guy talk.” I shot Tsuranui a glance.
“Eh? Guy talk? That sounds so strange when you say it like that...” Tsuranui blurted out, not being able to take a hint. I was really not sure if she was just innocently obtuse or deliberately trying to get a rise out of me. She had already waved at a waiter, showing no intention of leaving.
“Sounds weird, yeah, but hey, at least I get some free food.” Kirisu joined her in a tag team of embarrassment.
At least there was one way I could turn this situation in my favor.
“Exactly. After all Tsuranui will pay for us today.” I still fixated her but my annoyed look had changed into a bright, honest smile.
“Eh? Shouldn't a man always treat a lady?” replied Tsuranui dumbfounded, her hand against her chin.
The shirt you are wearing could feed me for a month, and that's your reaction?
“Well, uh, see Tsuranui, this is an Italian restaurant, right? In Europe, men get invited by the women. It's a strange and fascinating culture.” I tried to swindle my way out of this. She had to make this more difficult to me, so a white lie was only fair.
For a second she pondered on my answer, exaggeratedly tapping the side of her face with her index finger.
“Oh, if Arika is so poor that he has to make up stories about foreigners I guess it can't be helped. It will be on me. But only if you promise to drink with me.”
That went a bit different than I expected. Still, to quote a good friend of mine, at least I got some free food.
The evening passed by rapidly. I absent-mindedly doodled in a notebook I had on me as conversation went to pointless places. Decanters of wine emptied themselves rather quickly, and the sun being down meant that alcohol wasn't the only problem I would have if I wanted to keep my memories of this event.
After a pause in conversation I bring up what I needed answered.
“By the way, did you hear about that gangster being stabbed? I hope this doesn't escalate in some kind of street war.” My eyes shift between Tsuranui and Kirisu, resting on Kirisu just long enough to see how he reacted.
Poker face.
“Eh? You mean the one with the burning car?” Tsuranui was well-informed regarding gossip and actual news, so just a mention of a newsworthy event straightened her posture in a flash.
Kirisu chose tactful silence and relaxation.
“Yeah. Sounds like it was some rival gangster. He got stabbed in the abdomen over and over. With his own knife even!” I tried to sound uncharacteristically excited. Come on Kirisu, just a few hints and we can talk about bars, friends and all that other irrelevant stuff again.
“Eh? It's a hitman that doesn't bring his own knife?” She seemed really into this. A morbid kind of curiosity, so unladylike. Like many other things about her.
“Strange isn't it? And they said that they found drugs at the scene too, apparently they used some inhalant to light his car on fire.” Trying to stoke the fires a bit I kept shooting Kirisu glances.
Come on. Come on.
“Do you really think that's a good conversation topic? You're going to give Tsuranui nightmares.”
Kirisu finally spoke up in a jovial, teasing tone. But it was too late to change the topic by teasing her. Tsuranui the shark smelled the blood in the water.
“It all doesn't add up to a hit...wouldn't they try to get rid of the evidence too?” She took a sip from her glass, and Kirisu followed.
“But who else could do something like that?”
“Somebody with nothing to lose, or somebody who lost something very precious. Takes a lot of courage to go up against gangsters if you ask me.” said Kirisu, now visibly uncomfortable.
“They also said he totally slit his attackers throat. Their blood was everywhere, and they just walked it off.”
“Arika, is this going to be about demonic possession again?” She pouted. Bad sign. Losing the thread of the conversation there, and it gives a jumping-off point to slippery Kirisu here.
“It's a theory.”
“You seem kind of fixated on that stuff lately. Maybe it really was just some junkie.” Kirisu leaned back in his stool, now relaxed once more.
“But where would one of those hide?”
“If somebody wanted to live anonymously in this city they'd pretty much have to contact the yakuza.” Kirisu seemed unreasonably cooperative now.
“Unless they'd be in the recovery center!” Tsuranui offhandedly mentioned it, as if it was a matter of course.
“Huh?”
“Drug Rehabilitation and Recovery Center? You know, that Christian thing.” She said, nipping at her glass again. “They have help programs for addicts and stuff.”
“You mean a mental hospital?” I asked her with a confused look. Was she thinking of that prison-like thing?
“No. Nononono. It's on the outskirts. Oh Arika, you really need to read the news more often. There was a magazine article about the volunteer workers in an issue of...”
A magazine is not the news you idiot!
I cut her off. It was just a hunch, but even that was more than enough for now. After all I wasn't the only one investigating this issue, so looking somewhere not immediately obvious might be for the best.
“Here in Shikura?” Even Kirisu seemed surprised. I guess it wasn't exactly common knowledge, which as a plus made me feel less stupid about myself.
“It's a rural area but still easily reachable by train. Big enough to live comfortably but not big enough that the drug market becomes a problem for recovering people. Very few places are better than Shikura for that center...you know, this topic is getting kind of boooring.”
“See, I told you, she's all scared now.”
“I'm not.” Tsuranui pouted. Honestly I would be surprised if there were things that could even scare that girl. Her brain was probably too occupied by vapid gossip to leave even the tiniest speck for something as trivial as fear.
“Still Kirisu, you should probably walk her home. The Streets are unsafe right now, especially at night. And I bet more people are intimidated by you than they are by me.”
One armed scrawny kid versus pony tailed athlete? A clear win for Kirisu.
“Are you actually worrying about me?” Tsuranui seemed energetic again, almost jumping out of her seat.
In the most matter-of-fact tone I could muster, I replied to her.
“Of course! Unless this is the last time you treat us, that is.”
“Meanie.” Tsuranui pouted again as I poured myself the last few drops of the wine.
-----
It was bitter in her mouth, and she got tired of it. Over an hour had passed since she gad first tasted it, and she was beginning to get thirsty.
It was a bit like waiting for a dear friend to come with only a vague time of meeting, and the same mixture of anxiety and boredom filled her. But without her very special friend, this entire operation would be pointless.
A vending machine was what she needed most right now.
Not like it was too hard to find one. Very few sources of light illuminated the deserted industrial park during that time of the night. It had quite the bad reputation around this time. And that was for a good reason.
As she stepped towards one of the vending machines, she noticed that her feet felt weighted, making the task of walking over to it a difficult one.
Together with her dry mouth and her heart's unusually fast-paced rhythm, it was a good sign.
Plastic mockups of different drinks greeted her with warm light, each of them with its own separate button under it.
Some sports drink would probably be for the best. After all she had to stay hydrated through all of this. The next few hours would be very strenuous for her body.
With some difficulty she managed to fit a few small coins in the slit, and with a satisfying tone of metal hitting metal the machine let her know that her money was good enough for it.
Slowly her hand neared the oval-shaped button below the sports drink. She had to be careful; after all the other buttons had been focusing their pupils on her for a while now, and the timing was of great importance, since she had no idea what would happen if the button closed its lids as she was about to press it, their act of opening and closing sounded like a hundred camera shutters going off after one another.
Thinking about it blinking was a nuisance, for her and for the buttons. Not that it stopped her eyes from drying out anyway, or that the buttons were actually able to see anything, no matter how much they looked like human eyes. The only thing they could do was trace her and upload her information into the central body from which the yakuza could probably find out her permanent residence, her intentions, her deepest, innermost thoughts, her hair color, her eye color, maybe even her cup size. In this modern world there was just no way to keep your privacy anymore.
As her fingers finally touched the squishy eye, a hot sensation ran from her fingertips all up her arm, and on a closer inspection of her own finger, it seemed that there was a drop of hot tar on it; maybe she irritated the eye after all. Rumbling informed her that the drink had hit the chute, but she was not trusting the vending machine anymore; maybe it would bite down with its bright, shiny teeth just when she was about to reach for the bottle, so she just left it in there. If somebody else would defeat this monster, he would be rewarded accordingly, she thought to herself, and so she walked away with the satisfaction of leaving treasure to a future hero.
Just where to?
The buildings around her were mostly for storage, giant blocks of corrugated sheet metal and small windows that were far too high for her to catch a glimpse inside, and in her current state every shadow that left just the tiniest bit to her imagination seemed to move like a voracious animal, showing a glimpse of teeth polished to a white sheen and more eyes than she was comfortable with. Thankfully a reliable source had informed her about the place.
The only problem being that she could not decipher her own hand-drawn map.
Somehow there were five long black worms crawling all over it, mingling with each other as if fighting for dominance on the piece of paper. Obviously disgusted she shook the sheet and with a splashing sound the worms hit the ground, where they were swiftly dispatched with her shoe and a satisfying squishing sound.
Unfortunately this had left the sheet completely blank.
“Shit.”
“Is there a problem, miss?”
A man. Casual outfit, Hawaiian shirt showing hints of a trained physique. Shorts. Sandals. Sunglasses. Weirdo.
“Yeah. Yeah. I need to find the place.” The destination. It was the most important objective of tonight's expedition, if only her map had not fallen off, then she would have been able to find it easily.
“Hm? For what purpose?” Curious guy, maybe an agent of theirs; no tie though, no suit; then again it's not like this was some kind of bad movie, and if it was it must be a horror one, and in the horror one she would be the monster, and this man would have to be an innocent victim, so he could not hurt her. Would not hurt to tell him.
“The place where they are. They have to be removed from this city.” The truth. Maybe he could not handle it so she monitored his expression to the best of her abilities, but he seemed calm, relaxed, his black brows raised in surprise at her answer before slightly changing his expression to a questioning one.
“But why?”
“Too much fear. It is extortion. They keep their position with fear. Respect is what they call it.” But respect was not what it was, it was just an image, not like they tried much to cultivate one, they were never the traditional type, maybe calling them yakuza was wrong in the first place, then again the classical yakuza may have died out decades ago, who knows, still probably the closest term.
“Do you respect them?” Short question.
“No.” Short answer.
“Do you fear them?” Hard question.
“Not now.” Easy answer.
“So what will you do once you find this place?” His hands go to his hips, as if he had made a decision, not a hostile one, he was not going to call the police, he wasn't going to call the gangsters, he was supportive, supportive of what she did.
“Kill them all and take the delivery with me.” Firm statement.
“Very well. Let me show you where it is then.” Firm answer.
He took her by the hand and she felt the warmth of his touch, comforting in the cold sweat she was bathing in right now, her hoodie still pulled over her red bangs.
He pulled her through the dark streets of the industrial park, and with his touch her heavy feet became light again. Her mouth was still dry and the faint smell of fumes seemed to stick to it even more so because of this, but it was not like she minded with him in tow. Fences seemed to be no hindrance as she climbed over them with ease, the barbed wire at the top not hurting her at all as it pierced her skin. Sure she, contrary to him, now had blood on her hands, but it was a warm, comforting feeling, a reassurance that she was in fact alive and progressing towards the goal. They approached the target.
Compared to the gigantic storage halls from before, this seemed more like a shed, not much bigger than two shipping containers stacked together. A roof, a door, and 2 windows on each side peeking out of the wavy metal surface were the only indication that this was even meant to be a permanent building. Otherwise it would have looked like it was intended for transport.
“This is it.”
The man told her. She was thankful, truly and utterly so; without him she would have taken ages with her body dragging her down, with no way to find this little hideout wedged between what seemed to be factory buildings and with no way to get past the fence.
She was so touched by his charity that she almost did not mind that he never existed.
As she tried to grab his hand once more she realized that she was fishing in empty waters.
A sensation overcame her body, like a step in the abyss during a particularly vivid dream. Just for a second there was clarity.
The location was right. She was at the right place. All that mattered now was to go in as fast as possible and do what was needed to succeed, then run for her life.
With her last moments of reasonable thought she came closer and closer to the door.
She took a deep breath. She was about to take a dive. About to immerse herself in the flow of the river that separated dream and consciousness, not fully belonging to either.
Delirium.
And with a sensation so unlike what she was used to, a fuzzy feedback that ran through her leg, she kicked in the door.
And was promptly greeted by a gunshot.
“Yeah, hate to tell you but climbing up a fence does make a lot of noise.”
Second. Third. Fourth. Fifth. Sixth. Seventh. Eighth. Click. Magazine goes out.
“Don't get close to her.”
In her chest. All over her chest. Her stomach area too, maybe three of them, maybe two, with the third one she was not quite sure.
Strange feeling to breathe through these holes. Stranger feeling to hear the bubbling with every strained breath.
Somehow she was still breathing. Choking too. Coughing a bit. Her arms, which she had instinctively wrapped around her thorax, were full of blood.
But not a lot of it.
Then she felt sick.
“Wait, wasn't she supposed to have black hair?”
“Maybe she dyed it, who gives a shit. Get me the other mag. We gotta shoot her in the head.”
Voices. Fuzzy vision didn't let her make out much except for shoes and the legs of a table, strategically positioned in the middle of the room.
And two duffel bags.
She raised her hand. A stop sign.
And vomited a torrent of at least ten balls of coagulated blood.
“Urgh, that's nasty.”
Once more. The bleeding seemed to have almost stopped, and a lightheadedness overcame her. A bit of a headache too.
What a strange fever, the only way to get it was to take medicine in the first place.
She was still standing.
Normal fever purged infections. Strange fever purged inhibition.
Tear rolling down her face.
Feeling the pain.
For the first time
Just crying.
The sound of a gun cocking.
“Please...please...”
Under heavy breaths and sobbing she tried to reason with the man.
“I don't...”
Coughing and bubbling again. She could barely draw another breath.
“I don't want...”
She fell to her knees as more and more strength left her body.
“You're scared? Afraid to die? Now? Bad timing. Should have thought about that before you killed one of our own.”
The man stepped forward.
Sobbing had now turned to full on bawling. They say human emotion is infectious, but the approaching gangster showed none of it.
It was not like she needed to affect them.
“...n-no. Not scared.” And as quickly as she had begun she had stopped. Sniffing sounds accompanied her every word.
And a dancing shadow from the corner of her eye, expanding and contracting as if breathing, crept slowly out of the corner of the room, licking like flames at the man's feet.
And from this blind spot they enveloped him, dragging him into oblivion.
The voracious animal had awakened.
The only thing that was heard was a gasp as he drew his last breath, followed by the sound of a gun hitting the floor.
“I don't want...I don't want you to survive this.”
With her face still contorted in pain and slowly scrambling backwards on her knees, she looked to the ceiling.
And covering almost all of it were a thousand blinking eyes.
Muffled screams were all the remaining one could muster.
Even the room felt more than them, and yet she was expected to treat them like humans.
The eyes cried along with her, and from their tear glands came a torrent of hot tar, cooking the gangster alive.
The girl on the verge of death rummaged through her pockets in search of a painkiller.
After emptying the entire bottle she threw it to the ground.
She still had a lot of work to do.
As the pain left her body, wounds seemed to vanish with it.
Quickly she was back on her feet. Even quicker she grabbed the duffel bags and ran for the exit.
Sirens were already heard in the distance. While she appreciated the music she was not planning to stay for the lights.
And with her hard-earned booty she vanished into the night, a bitter taste still in her mouth.
-----
It took almost an hour by train from my humble little residence to the recovery center. Calling it a clinic or something similar would be overstating it. What I saw when I entered the humble-looking western-style house seemed more like some kind of friendly weekend get-together of some middle-class housewives. Behind a small entrance hall, where I changed into a pair of comfortable slippers, there was a table set up around which a wildly mixed group of people were seated. Some of them were close to what I pictured, a man roughly my age with visible cheekbones, wearing sunglasses indoors for example. Others seemed to have come to the wrong place, like the middle-aged lady that seemed to judgmentally scan me upon entering.
“Hello?” I asked the room more than the people in it.
“Come in. Come in!” A friendly male voice greeted me. “My name is Father Mitsushima. It's nice to meet you.”
He seemed almost too eager to greet me as he stood up from his desk, which had been parked right next to the entrance like a sort of makeshift reception. These guys didn't really make a profit, so this was an absolutely earnest greeting, not like some drawn out “Welcoooooome” when you enter a store. No, this guy, clean shaven and a crew cut, but giving off a relaxed aura due to his casual attire, was honestly happy to meet me. He introduced himself as “Father” but all that could have indicated a religious background was a small cross around his neck, pronounced due to his white shirt.
“Nice to meet you. My name is uh...Shozai.” Introductions were quickly taken care of. I tried my best to match his rather casual tone.
Oh, right, he thinks I am a junkie. Let's clear up some misunderstandings then, first.
“I'm here to check the facility out, for my...sister. She has a lot of issues that need some taking care of.”
The best lies are merely embellishments of the truth. Helps you to keep track of things.
“In that case I think one of our volunteers would be the best choice. A tour is, as you see, not really something we offer, but she will be able to answer every question you might have.” He waved over to the girl sitting at the top of the table. Really plain looking, a bit older than me.
Being kind of startled out of my conversation I shoot the man a confused look.
“Pardon me, but is there a reason why you can not answer my questions?”
“I think I am not qualified as much as my honored colleague is,” he says with a smile “Hitomi, would you mind? I'll take over for a bit.”
From her seated position on the ground the girl stood up. A strand of her hair, which she had done up in a bun, was wiped from her face before she responded, revealing, big, radiant eyes.
“Sure. Hello, my name is Hitomi Ueda. Can I help you?”
She seemed kind of nervous, taking shallow breaths while talking.
“Uh yeah, as I told your colleague I am looking at this facility for my sister. My name's Shozai by the way.” I was getting more and more routined at these introductions. Maybe I should print some business cards to go along with it.
“Well then, Mister Shozai, anything specific you want to know?” For the second time, a warm, welcoming smile, and again it felt utterly sincere.
People being sincerely friendly kind of creeped me out to be honest. Maybe I was spending too much time with Kaie after all.
“So what does this place do exactly?” I asked her. I didn't know too much about it besides what Tsuranui told me, and considering I didn't want to risk her going on a tirade again that was quite lacking.
“We're offering outpatient and daytime outpatient support for people wishing to get over their drug addiction. We offer counseling and support groups mostly; medical counseling should be done by a doctor. Is your sister currently...” Seems like she rehearsed this a lot, but I wasn't here for the whole tour. I needed answers to a much more concrete problem, so I cut her off.
“...actually she is currently institutionalized.”
“My condolences. I hope she stays strong.” Out of nowhere she grabbed my hand with her own two and raised it to her chest as she looked into my eyes. I was not ready for this kind of escalation! We had barely met!
Also don't make me feel bad about myself lady. Whatever, I am doing this for all the right reasons. I think. Gangsters are people too, right? Maybe not the most correctly living ones. And it's not like Agonist Disorder sufferers are known for their restraint, so I am doing everybody a service. Nobody blames the detective in a pulp novel for lying either.
“I am merely looking for options on what to do next.”
“You haven't given up on her. That is good.” Finally she let go of my hand. Either because she had said what she wanted to say or because she actually realized it made me uncomfortable.
Okay, now answering to that would have to end in a blatant lie, so I let it go. My brain capacity was not sufficient for one that big.
“What does this counseling involve?” I keep playing the role of concerned brother. Which required quite a bit of acting talent. My only concern regarding her would be if she's safely locked up.
“A twelve step program. Total recovery is the goal, and it is usually achieved through a multitude of means. We have some leaflets about what they exactly involve. Usually we try to do so with group therapy, which involves...”
Wait, those guys at the table REALLY were all junkies? Even the auntie?
“Shouldn't we keep addicts away from other addicts? They might sell each other their...” I was about to finish my sentence before Miss Ueda returned the favor of cutting me off.
“You wouldn't let your sister talk to me?” There was a slight notion of her being hurt because of my statement in her wry smile.
“You're an addict?” But me being surprised at them straight up employing junkies took precedence over an apology.
“The basis of the program is having people involved that understand their struggle beyond having read studies about what kind of neurological processes are involved to develop dependence. And I prefer the term ex-addict.” I should have come here a bit more informed. The smile on her face had vanished.
Maybe I should try my hand at a compliment.
“You don't really look like...”
Her reaction was to cross her arms and her neutral expression turned into an obvious frown.
“So what do addicts look like? We have people of all kinds seeking help from us, from pressured kid to housewife to World War veterans. While I find your involvement admirable, maybe you should think over your stereotypes first.”
“Housewives?” Somewhere else, take that conversation somewhere else.
“I presume it was some really aggressive marketing.” She shrugged.
Are those gangsters selling drugs or fashion now?
“Marketing?” My disbelief came through. For just a second I imagine a billboard advertising for a speed sale and have to suppress a giggle.
“The gangsters in this city are trash, and Speed is their snake oil. Almost eighty percent of our patients are here because they take it. Maybe your sister too? Word of mouth spreads uses beyond just having a good time, and soon you have it penetrating every level of society.” Anger was in her voice, but it wasn't against me. It was against the yakuza.
“She's...yeah...yeah, that is totally it.” I should have sounded more secure, but that was all that I could manage for now. Not that it was necessary to be convincing.
Ueda had switched into full monologue gear.
“Doesn't matter if you need to stay focused because of work or pumped up for a party, the answer is always amphetamine. Kids take it for exams or stress relief, while dad uses it so he can work through the nights and still play with them in the evening, and mommy uses it as fat burner and appetite reducer so she feels 25 again. Nowadays we even get people in here that take it as analgesic. There was a patient that got addicted after she took it against menstrual pain, imagine that. And after all is said and done, they come down and feel horrible. Until they discover that they can just take it against its own adverse effects, build up a massive tolerance, and meanwhile the yakuza are rolling in cash.”
Seems more like she should wear that cross. Would fit her crusading attitude.
“If people are willing to throw the cash at them they are just satisfying a demand...” Not like I sympathize with the yakuza, but neither do I with the people that keep financing them like this. Those are the ones that keep this machine well oiled after all.
“With loan sharking for indebted customers and hit and run attacks when they don't pay? Not to mention they cut it with whatever seems handy at that time. There are people that occupy a niche, and then there are people that exploit the downtrodden even further.” From second to second she sounded less like a therapist and more like an activist.
What does she propose, an ethical code for drug dealers?
“I guess there is a strong anti-yakuza sentiment among the support groups.” At least this allowed me to probe a bit in the right direction.
“Yes. Not too long ago they actually had somebody standing outside of the center's grounds, just looking a bit menacing. Securing profits I guess. We try to take these people away from temptation and when they are finally strong enough to resist it on their own volition they are extorted back into it by human filth...” She shook her head in disappointment, though maybe that wasn't the right word. A mixture of sadness and rage. Not like she could do anything about them.
Out there there was somebody who did though.
This center was probably the key after all. Silently I thank Tsuranui for paying attention to useless things, then regret it seconds later. She's the kind of girl who would even let a silent mental display of gratitude get to her head.
“...where was I? Oh yes, we also have experience with people abusing prescription drugs. People that go through painful operations or rehabilitation, especially due to spinal injury often develop dependence on painkillers, which in turn are also often supplied by the gangsters.” For some reason she did a pause here and once again smiled at me in the trademark Rehabilitation Center sincerity.
“Further, as sad as it is, the gangsters have been expanding their market so we deal with more and more people addicted to MDMA and cocaine.”
“I see.”
We continued our talk for a few more minutes. She gave me a few tips on how to convince my sister to attend meetings and what I could do as a brother to support her outside of them. She told me how she had been studying psychology and started experimenting with drugs because it fascinated her from a professional's point of view, until she lost control, and her journey back into sobriety. And finally we came to the topic that interested me the most.
“Aren't you afraid it could have been somebody you treated?” I ask her with a worried look on my face.
“No. We don't have anybody that we treat for ether, and even if we had it would be confidential information that I am in no way obligated to give to you.” And she crossed her arms again.
I tried to work my charm for a bit. We got along greatly just a few seconds ago.“Why so hostile?”
“Because your questioning in that area made me think I made a mistake, so I'll just ask outright,” she said. She shot a look towards the table, then bowed slightly forward and continued to ask in whispers “do you work for the yakuza? Is this all a little trick to scout out whoever stabbed this guy? Because I'll tell you right here that...”
No. She couldn't play this trick on me. I opted to answer her intent rather than her question.
“I'm an...let's call me an exorcist. Yakuza or not, I work to protect the people.” My wallet too. And my life, don't even want to imagine what Kaie would do if I blow this event off. “The possessed are dangerous. Maybe she goes after yakuza now, but these people are unpredictable and soon she will lash out against innocents. So if you hear anything about her whereabouts, even if it's just a rumor...”
I wrote my number on one of the leaflets I grabbed from the reception desk.
“Call this. Please.”
An awkward pause followed. It felt like it took almost half an hour to me, in reality it probably wasn't even a full minute.
“Two things.” She broke the silence.
“What?” Honestly I had been close to walking away just seconds ago
“There are two things that I need to get answered first.” She said with a tinge of anger to her voice.
“Alright, ask away.” I tried my best to ease the situation with a casual shrug.
“First, does this sister of yours really exist?” Oh, tricky question. I don't think I could really consider her a sister anymore.
“Her problem is something different than drugs. But yes. She does.” Let's just say it like it really was for a change. I didn't make a good pulp novel detective. Maybe I should have gotten a hat.
“And the second one is, do you have a problem with painkillers?” Now that one came out of nowhere.
“What?” I raised a brow in disbelief.
“Your arm. You come to a Rehabilitation Center inquisitive about its methods for a family member with only one arm. Phantom pain, neurological complications, you name it. A lot can happen when you miss a limb...” Now anger seemed to have been replaced with worry.
“Hahaha...” I couldn't hold back a slight chuckle at her perceptiveness that lead her to a wrong conclusion.
“What?”
“I don't, and you know why?” Responding to my question only non-verbally she looked at me, puzzled. “Until next time, try to think about the difference between missing a limb or having lost a limb. Take care.”
And with a one-armed wave I took my leave from the rehab center.
-----
She took her leave from the scene. There was no doubt about this, it was a crime committed by a possessed. Otherwise the evidence just would not add up. There was a corpse fully encased in tar, a dropped, fully loaded gun and clumps of coagulated blood in a dried up puddle of the same.
The smell was not the most pleasant she had been exposed to. But considering the conservation of the corpse it was far from the worst.
A nonsensical crime scene. Or rather a crime scene that went beyond common sense. It would add up if she just knew more about the aggressor. Just what was his illness?
She looked over the little information that had been gathered. Three people were at the scene, going by the footprints. A bit of residue of white powder was on the table in the center of the shed. Parts of the shed were covered in tar, most of it right under the corpse. Gruesome death, but nothing somebody who worked in her department could not stomach.
“Hello? Can I speak to the one in charge?”
Yelling from outside.
A man in a dapper suit. His hair had grayed slightly, which gave off a feeling of calm seniority. Age did him well in general, though judging by his reddened eyes and the rings under them, stress must have been a major factor in his life recently.
“These people here were friends of mine. My name is Hirono. It is a pleasure to meet you finally, miss Mato.” A respectful bow. Not like he had any for a cop, but at least he was good at faking it.
“This is a crime scene. Back off.” As carefully as her unexpected guest had chosen his words it was only contempt she had to offer him. No disturbances on the job, no exceptions.
“I am sorry. But I think we might be able to help one another.” Weariness and friendliness in equal parts, from the mouth of a gangster. Lovely.
“I have no interest in helping you, so tell me what you know, and then leave.” Her expression remained stone cold, as did her tone. She was not in the mood for negotiations with a demon on the loose.
“Maybe we should continue this talk between the three of us. Just you, me and the superintendent. You'd be surprised how receptive your superior is to suggestions made by mine.” His voice increased in sharpness as he formulated a threat. He took a step towards Mato, focusing her with his dried up eyes.
“What do you want?” She was not intimidated by him, but there still was no need to trivialize an eventual promotion from where she stood. So maybe listening to him could be beneficial after all.
A smile accompanied a realization that he finally met open ears. “The stabbed one. Also a friend. These cases are linked.”
Of course they were.
“I don't think so.” She replied. Her gaze was interlocked with his, and neither seemed to move an inch.
“Nobody raised a hand against the Nanase for quite a bit, Miss Mato. Two of instances occurring shortly after another is no coincidence. So what I propose is an exchange of information. I grieve for my friends, so all that I get would be helpful to get over my trauma.”
Nobody steals her game. Not in her city.
“Are you trying to get me to compromise evidence?”
“Share it. Merely share it. I think it is in everybody's best interest that this criminal be found in the quickest possible manner.”
So he could exact some macho justice on the criminal to make an example for everybody else? She was a policewoman, not a hitman handler.
“Get out. Now.”
The man raised his shoulders, no longer seeming aggravated. “If that is your final answer I am afraid I will have to look for information elsewhere. Don't think I can't get them from your department.”
“Go.” Maybe it was a bluff. Maybe it wasn't. All she knew was that she did not want to see the man around anymore.
“Well then, farewell. Have a good hunt.”
She was overcome with a realization. She had to tap into a more personal source of information if she didn't want any to be compromised.
She had to act just the slightest bit autonomous.
Because yakuza did not inspire fear in Touma Mato.
The only thing that did was failure.
-----
Fifteen minutes.
Quick in. Quick out.
She dipped into the bag with a finger, digging a small amount of it up on her nail and slowly balanced it towards her nose.
Made from plants and the greed of a few, filtered with blood and petroleum and smuggled in containers and literal shit.
A bit of powdered war imported from a foreign country to peaceful little Japan.
It was better that she held on to it than those that profited from suffering.
The feeling reminded her of her childhood. Like ripping open a packet of fizzy tablets and chewing on them.
Only that the tingling sensation spread far beyond her mouth and through her entire body. And that there was no mother here that could scold her.
Ironically she would actually be needed here.
Sparks were flying through her entire body. Little zaps of energy in every muscle movement, no matter if conscious or unconscious.
A little bag of electricity. It felt like she had been running around on an empty battery her entire life, and only now she finally felt what it meant to be fully charged.
She took off her shoe and put the bag back in. Even such a miniscule task made her feel like she just won a battle against all possible odds
There would be a multitude of ways to describe what she felt like right now. Euphoria, exhilaration, pure bliss or just high, but it all boiled down to one thing.
She was feeling amazing. She was invincible. It wasn't hard to imagine that people would kill for this.
And that was the problem. She had to be very careful. This would be her only one for this week. She swore to herself, and hoped she could keep the promise.
She stepped outside of the little alley.
Her feet made no sound anymore. Her flowing blonde hair was not the only thing drawing the attention of passerbys.
The girl was taller than them. Not because she had grown.
She was literally walking on air, looking down at the small, helpless peasants that would never taste what it felt to be truly alive.
Only a few little steps separated her from the bar next to her.
Calling it a bar might have been slightly inaccurate.
As she opened the door she was greeted by the unnaturally intense smell of smoke. Classy lighting was provided in the form of low hanging chandeliers and the furnishing incorporated leather seating as well as solid marble tables.
Not exactly a traditional Japanese venue. Nothing that she would usually spend her evenings in.
But tonight there was somebody here that she would need to talk to. She had received a small hint from a dear friend that he just had to be here tonight.
“I am sorry ma'am but tonight this venue has been reserved for a private party.”
The barmaid tried to be friendly but was swiftly ignored.
“Shhh.” She put her finger on her lips, not even dignifying her with a look.
She walked towards the only table that was currently in use.
A corner table where four people sat around an ashtray so full of cigarette buds that it probably could not be moved without ruining the table. They had been talking until they noticed the girl walking to them.
And realized that she wasn't what they ordered.
“Hey. HEY!”
“Hello Gentlemen. Am I disturbing something?”
In less than a second four guns were taken from various holsters and aimed at her head in close range.
“Oh. You stocked up. The last time word of armed members of the Nanase group reached my esteemed self I was told they had to share one gun between the two of them. It proved quite fatal.” Her voice was a playful sing-song. Fear was not meant to be felt by something as perfect as herself.
“You're dead meat.” The man sitting at the outermost corner,a young, well built bodyguard-type threatened her with his sharp words.
“I allow you to bask in my radiance and that is what you have to say? How disgusting. No wonder you are a dying breed.” Anger, and yet a hint of countenance
“Give me one good reason not to kill you on the spot.”
“Because I am here to deliver a message.”
“I'm listening.”
She slapped one of the thugs, or at least attempted to.
But her hand passed right through his face.
Not like she would touch trash like that.
There was no impact, no force applied. Her attack had not even resulted in a sound. For a second, the thug felt nothing. But after it had passed, nothing that could feel was left.
A clean brush stroke decorated the wall. Maybe a bit too much ink, the imperfections as the ink faded out were the real signature of a calligraphy enthusiast after all. The red was quite tacky too. Also the pieces of skull, brains and skin ruined the flow. All in all it wasn't a work somebody could really be satisfied with.
She had to try again.
The barmaid dived under the bar with a loud shriek, but it was all drowned out by the repeated thumping of semi-automatic handguns firing bullet after bullet, ejecting casing after casing.
Open warfare. This would not reflect well on the organization. How would they touch this up?
They flew at her. She could see them coming right at her face.
They were intended to hurt her. It was a simple law of the world. Force applied to an object had to influence it.
It was just that the woman did not feel like following it.
And thus, three salvos passed right through her.
The sound of broken glass. And another shriek.
Just a step to the side.
And with a dismissive gesture she pushed her hand through the second thug's stomach.
With a surprised “Eh?” his eyes, head, and entire upper body followed the motion of the hand through his body.
The spin from his hips, which were now separated from his torso with a ten centimeter wide divide, caused a, to her quite amusing, gory spiral to spray the entire table in intestines and blood.
Sadly this also erased her “stroke” from before. And she had just gotten fond of her avant-garde interpretation of traditional art.
And yet, not a single droplet had stuck to her.
Two left.
One of them ran, a slightly pudgy fellow that was seated next to the corner seat. He ditched his stool and tried to make a dash for the exit.
The woman just stretched her leg out.
But rather than tripping the man up it passed right through his knees, with the expected effect.
The soprano shrieking was now accompanied by tenor howling of pain, and what used to be a standing man was now reduced to a calf-less crawling bug. A feast for eyes and ears.
“As I was saying...” She turned to the last remaining member of the table.
“SHE'S GOING TO KILL US ALL! SHE'S GOING TO FUCKING MURDER US!” The man, leaking massive amounts of blood from his stumps tried to crawl his way to the exit.
“See, your colleague here has something you lack. Foresight. Because...”
“SHE'LL KILL EVERY LAST ONE OF US! THE BOSSES! THE GUARDS! THE RUNNERS!”
“Yes. Basically that. Unless there is the possibility of an agreement.” The girl clasped her hands to accentuate her proposal.
“We don't form agreements with killers of our brothers.” But the man, soaked from top to bottom in the blood of a dead comrade remained utterly stoic.
“If you would please hear me out, just in the interest of politeness...”
“YOU GOD DAMN FUCKING BITCH! MY FUCKING LEGS! MY LEGS!”
She shot the man a gaze that could have killed him. If she cared.
“Please watch your language and volume. We are having a conversation.” And calmly she continued, focusing on the shaken, drenched gangster in front of her. “See, if you can convince your boss to cease all activity of the Nanase group in the Shikura area I will not have to take out the trash personally. And I will allow you and all of your friends...to live. Otherwise I will work my way through the entire organizational structure, from top to bottom, until there is not a single one left. And I am not just talking your little dealing sub-endeavor here. The sweatshops, the extortion, the night clubs, the brothels, all of it. ”
“No.” No hesitation. His reddened eyes pierced through a coat of blood and pieces of his former subordinates and equals.
“You sound quite sure of yourself. I have my doubts if it will pay off. Good day, Mister Hirono. And send my best regards to your boss.” Waving her fingers playfully she left the venue, clean as she had entered it.
It was time to get a good night's rest. She had big things planned for tomorrow.
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Originally Posted by Arashi_Leonhart
