Judging by the fury in these vermin's eyes, they really think they're going to turn me into Swiss cheese. Too bad the day's not on their side — and lucky for me, because the real problem starts inside.
I grab one of the brutes by the arm, spin my body, and land a knee to his gut that folds him like paper. His rifle slips from his hands, and before he can complain, I press the barrel of my pistol under his chin.
BANG.
Blood splashes on my boot. I drop the body. One down.
Two more move. They start firing. I throw myself to the ground, roll to the side, and respond with two shots — one to each knee.
They scream and stagger, but not for long. I twist, push off with my arms, and land a synchronized kick to their faces.
CRACK.
Both collapse. Silence.
I advance. Two more ahead. One tries to reload.
"You won't make it, buddy."
I run, leap, and lock my legs around his neck. He spins with me as I slam him to the ground. My eyes are already on the others, charging like an untrained herd.
I raise my pistol, shoot three times. Bodies drop like freshly felled trees. Dead weight. Dry thuds.
I glance down at the unlucky one beneath me.
BANG.
His head turns to mush. I leap up and inhale the acrid scent of gunpowder and blood.
Then... footsteps.
Coming from the side of the building. Many.
"Oh great. Reinforcements," I mutter, spinning the pistol as I press against the wall, cold sweat dripping from temple to jaw.
They approach. The sound of steps slows. Time to move.
I step forward and open fire. Two go down before they know what hit them. The ones behind shoot blindly. I move between them like a shadow — fast, precise, merciless.
With a snap, my knife materializes. The black blade with blue accents cuts the air and slashes a neck. Hot blood splashes my face.
One tries to aim at me. Bad idea.
I yank the wounded one's body and use it as a shield.
RATATATA.
The bullets tear into their own teammate. I grin.
"That's friendship, right?"
I shove the corpse into him and, before he can react, kick him in the chest.
BANG.
Clean shot between the eyes. He drops like a sack of garbage.
The last one takes two steps back, trembling.
"R-Retreat!" he shouts, turning away.
"Seriously?" I say, lowering my weapon. "Bunch of cowards."
I approach the digital lock. My fingers glide toward the panel, ready to start hacking, when I hear that sound.
A dry click in the air, like a metallic groan.
Shit.
I turn my head.
A damn bazooka.
Time slows. My eyes follow the rocket headed straight for me. Without thinking, I push off the ground and jump, wind slicing through my coat as I launch into the air.
At the peak of the jump, my feet touch the rocket — for a surreal second, I use it for momentum. My muscles contract, body spins midair with precision, and my left eye closes as the other lines up the shot.
"You guys just don't quit," I mutter, pulling the trigger.
The explosion happens behind me. An orange flash lights up the area, licking the locked doors with heat and smoke. The blast propels me forward. But the bullet's already gone. A sharp crack.
The bazooka-wielding goon barely has time to widen his eyes before the bullet tunnels through his forehead.
I hit the ground. Solid landing, knees slightly bent. He falls too — with less... finesse.
I glance at the digital lock. Still intact.
"Lucky for me the idiot had lousy aim." I clap my hands. "Reinforced. Cute. Let's get to work."
A floating keyboard projects in the air, bluish code lines dancing beneath my fingers. My eyes keep scanning the area, alert for surprises.
"Seriously, a bazooka?" I mutter. "Who the hell fires a missile at what they're supposed to protect? This is what happens when you let amateurs play with big toys."
The keys click fast under my fingers as I hack the security.
"The Empress must've shelled out some cash knowing I'd come…" I mumble, half-smiling.
The keyboard vanishes with a soft beep. The door opens with a metallic hum. But as the gap reveals the interior...
More goons. Guns drawn. And that coward who ran earlier is standing tall, wearing a smug "got you now" look.
"Look who showed up," he says, deep voice laced with arrogance. "Guess I'm not such a coward after all, Kronos."
I sigh, rubbing my forehead with the barrel of my pistol.
"Is this for real? Have you guys ever tried... I don't know... bingo? A book club? Maybe a brothel?" I nod toward the hallway. "I know the Empress screwed our rights, but being a goon must pay decently."
One of the soldiers glances at the leader, hesitant.
"He's got a point, boss."
"Shut up, moron!" growls the leader, eyes sparking. "You trying to piss off the boss even more?"
I roll my eyes, spreading my arms.
"Alright. Screw it." I take a deep breath. "This is on you."
I draw my second pistol mid-air and charge.
Gunfire rains down like a steel storm. I dive between the bullets, body fluid, graceful like a ballerina drunk on adrenaline. I spin midair, pistols firing in sync. Each shot hits its mark. Each step perfectly calculated.
Bodies drop like dominoes — one after another, no time to scream.
And me? I land on the floor, spinning my pistols around my fingers.
"This is what happens..." I exhale, walking among the corpses, "...when you invite the wrong guy to a gunfight."
The sound of my boots echoes softly on the cold concrete as I move through the narrow hallway, flanked by empty cages. The stench of rust and old piss still hangs in the air, as if pain had soaked into the walls. Each step feels like a whisper in a graveyard.
At the end of the corridor, a spiral metal staircase leads upward. I make a quick gesture, and the pistols vanish like digital smoke. I step onto the first stair and climb slowly, feeling the metal creak under my weight.
At the top, a plain steel door. I turn the knob just enough to crack it open. A lone goon. Back turned.
Perfect.
I push the door open like defusing a trap. I crouch and slip in like a shadow, silent. With a subtle flick, my knife appears, shimmering dully. I rise slowly behind him, cover his mouth firmly, and drive the blade into his chest.
A muffled gasp escapes his throat. Eyes wide. Life draining.
I pull the knife back and let the body slide quietly to the floor.
"Huh…" I murmur, wiping the blade on his jacket. "At least this one didn't scream."
I move down the hallway at a slow pace. Another door ahead. I rest my hand on the handle and frown.
"Did they spend all the extras outside?"
I shoulder the door open and enter a massive room. The smell of stale antiseptic hits me like a slap. Cold. Sterile. Dead.
A lab. Or its bastard cousin.
Empty stretchers. Surgical tools crusted with dried blood. Some lights flicker, casting restless shadows on the walls. I activate the lenses in my eyes and switch to thermal mode — the floor lights up with red markings, almost artistic. Blood everywhere. Spilled like paint on a sadistic canvas.
"What the hell is going on here?"
I approach a table. A notebook lies there, like someone had just set it down. Paper and pen. Almost nostalgic.
"Who still writes this shit by hand?" I mutter, picking up the notebook.
I flip through. One, two, three pages… and my stomach twists.
Organs. Race trafficking. Not just slavery — dismantling. Elves, Kitsunes, even lesser species being chopped up and sold for parts. Black market. Like butchered meat.
I breathe deeply. Rage tightens my chest like a lead vest.
Elves… just humans with pointy ears. Kitsunes… just girls with fox ears and tails. And still treated like spare parts.
Footsteps.
I snap the notebook shut and place it back on the table, hiding behind the door like a wraith.
She enters. Blue hair tied in a bun, white lab coat. Scientist. The goon behind her looks more worried about his own breathing than the room's security. She grabs the notebook, skims it quickly, and walks towa rd a door on the other side of the lab.
Perfect.
I slip from hiding. Approach like a ghost, and before the idiot even notices me, the pistol's already in my hand. Cold metal — comforting. Familiar.
"Let's see where this rabbit will take me..." I whisper, following the two of them into the dimly lit lab, my eyes fixed on the scientist.
— "The fox-girl is mute… and blind," the scientist says coldly, her heels echoing against the concrete floor as she strides forward. "The client requested a functional product. No defects."
— "She wouldn't stay still," grumbles the thug behind her, his voice thick and indifferent. "The boss had to handle it."
They enter through a security door, and I follow, sliding behind them like a shadow. I hide behind a cracked concrete pillar, the air thick with the stench of mildew and dried blood. I peek out.
There she is.
Inside a metal cage, curled in the corner like a living shadow. A Kitsune — skin pale as porcelain, long black hair cascading down to her waist. She's naked, covered only by her own shame and the darkness. Her silver tail, its tips tinged pink, trembles slightly — not from the cold… but from fear.
My eyes sweep the room.
Four armed guards. The scientist. And the girl… like an animal about to be slaughtered.
On the floor, among old crates and rusted surgical scraps, I spot an iron shackle — the kind that looks ripped straight from a medieval dungeon.
I raise an eyebrow.
— "What's this fossil doing out of the museum?"
I pick up the iron sphere like an old soccer ball. The weight is good. Familiar. I toss it into the air, let it spin across my fingers. The soft metallic hum echoes gently through the room. Then I grin.
— "Time to warm up."
The scientist steps toward the cage, typing something into the panel next to the electronic lock.
And that's when I toss the ball high… take a firm step forward, twist my body, and kick it hard.
The shackle flies like a silent comet, cutting through the air — and through the head of the nearest thug. The sharp crack of bone, followed by a wet squelch, becomes the symphony of violent justice. His body collapses like a sack of bones.
The room freezes.
The scientist stumbles back a step, eyes wide. All the others turn to look at me.
— "Well, well," I say with a half-smile, stepping out from the shadow of the pillar. "Looks like I fell straight down the rabbit hole."
— "It's him… it's Kronos!" the scientist gasps in panic. "Shoot him!"
Hell breaks loose.
Bullets rip through the air. I duck behind the pillar, the concrete chipping away under the impacts. My pistol vanishes in a flash of blue, replaced by a sleek white sniper rifle with cerulean accents that materializes in my hands.
— "Let's have some fun," I murmur, twisting the scope dial and resting the barrel against the edge of the pillar.
I pop out for a split second.
Bang.
One shot. One brain splattered on the wall. Clean as a surgical cut. The sound of impact drowned in the chaos of gunfire.
I pull back into cover, rolling my shoulders like I'm just getting warmed up.
— "I love this beauty…" I say, glancing down at the rifle with something close to a sigh. "But let's be honest… too much gun for too few targets."
With a snap of my fingers, the rifle dissolves like digital dust.
Time to handle this my way.
— "I've gotta take it easy… the Kitsune in the cage doesn't look anywhere near conscious," I mutter, cracking my knuckles like a dancer before the next move.