How many people were still inside the factory? Sousei tried to get a read on the situation. There was one man at the bar—the flamboyantly dressed con artist, Yuuki Kimokawa. Two more were by the sofas. The man wearing camouflage clothes, a bandanna, and glasses was the arms dealer Hyougo Kurojima. The Glock 17 in his hand was probably one he’d modified himself. The other wore an expensive-looking down jacket and slim fit pants and had slicked-back hair. Tohru Hakayama. He was holding a tacky, shiny gold Beretta that Sousei had already seen in pictures. There was one more person, a woman with a shaved head who’d jumped down from a car and hidden. She went by “Midori” on the streets, but her real name was Yoshiko Watanabe. She was a vicious woman who’d killed another student in her class when she was ten. She had spent some time in a special juvenile detention center that had comprehensive medical, mental health, and rehabilitative programs, but since her release, she’d apparently murdered at least thirty more people. When detectives had tried to arrest her, she’d captured them, imprisoned them, and then tortured them to death before she fled. With such horrifying legends behind her, it went without saying that she was a wanted criminal.
Kurojima moved to shoot at Sousei.
“Uurrrgggh aaarrrggh…!”
At the same time, however, Shiro started to hurl himself at Sousei. Sousei met the attack with two shots to the man’s forehead, then headed straight to the bar. The thump sound reverberated in the center of his body.
That’s plus five.
Kurojima was a good shot. He was missing because Sousei was running at full speed, but otherwise, he would probably hit.
“Ah, fuck…!”
Kimokawa poked his head and shoulders out from behind the bar and turned his gun on Sousei. A Colt Government? Sousei thought, but he charged in regardless.
Kimokawa was holding the gun a strange way, with the barrel down and his elbow sticking out. He wasn’t even holding his gun with both hands. He shot three rounds, but the bullets flew off in the wrong direction. Kimokawa panicked and pulled his head back in, but by then, Sousei had already reached the bar. The magazine in his Ruger LC9 was empty, so he put it back in its holster and swapped it for his knife as he went around the corner of the bar.
“—Fuck you…!” Kimokawa yelled, sitting on his behind as if his legs had given out on him. Yet he’d managed to use his left hand to properly support the gun he was holding in his right. He wasn’t sticking his elbows out, either, this time. At least now, his shots would fire straight. However, Sousei was under no obligation to wait for Kimokawa to pull the trigger.
With his left hand, Sousei grabbed Kimokawa’s right arm, twisted it behind him, and immediately pinned him to the ground. Then, he stabbed the knife in his right hand into Kimokawa’s chest as Kimokawa desperately offloaded his gun toward the ceiling. Unconcerned, Sousei pulled his knife out and stabbed Kimokawa five more times until his body went limp. He hadn’t died yet, but he was no longer conscious.
They’re pretty strong as bad guys go, but they aren’t in the same profession as me, and they’re not combat professionals of some sort, like ex-military. Plus, they don’t have any cheats.
Sousei put his knife away and took the Colt Government out of Kimokawa’s hand.
This is a good job.
Kurojima’s gunfire stopped.
“Kimokawaaa…!” It was Hakayama’s voice.
Sousei stuck half of his face out from the side of the bar. There was no sign of anyone near the sofas or around the parked cars. As he hid behind the bar, Sousei ejected the magazine from the Colt Government. Part of it was transparent.
The magazine’s pretty high quality. It seems like a remodeled gun, so is this handmade as well? Three rounds left.
As Sousei reattached the magazine, the usual thump sound reverberated in his chest. Kimokawa had died.
Plus six.
Sousei took his empty Ruger LC9 out of its holster and swapped the magazines. Then, with the Ruger in his right hand and the Colt Government in his left, he took a quick breath. He dashed out from behind the bar, and Kurojima immediately started shooting. As he ran, Sousei fired off three successive shots from the Colt Government, then threw it away. He dove into a corner where the cars were lined up, and he heard Hakayama shout, “Midori, he went your way!” Midori didn’t respond. She might have been keeping quiet so she didn’t reveal her location to Sousei.
Kurojima was shooting at him sporadically. Sousei kept his head down as he weaved his way between the cars, occasionally peeking through the gaps underneath in search of Midori.
Not there…
The sounds of gunfire paused. Kurojima was probably changing magazines or guns. Sousei stopped moving.
She still hasn’t come out shooting… She’s taking her time.
He heard footsteps.
She moved? Is she gonna come and attack me…?
The footsteps were getting closer. It didn’t seem to be one person, but two at least. The sounds were different. One set sounded like sneakers of some sort, while the other was harder. Dress shoes. No, high heels?
With his back to the car door, Sousei squatted down. He readied his Ruger LC9, holding it firmly in both hands. He could hear one set of footsteps coming from the left and the sounds of the high heels coming from the right. Two people. Kurojima and Midori perhaps. Midori had been hiding where Sousei currently was near the cars—or at least that’s what he’d thought. Had he been mistaken? Midori might have moved near the sofas, where Hakayama and Kurojima were, while Sousei had been taking care of Kimokawa, and then she’d come to attack him with Kurojima.
Hakayama hadn’t come out from his hiding spot. If Sousei had trouble quickly disposing of Kurojima and Midori, Hakayama might just flee. He’d drifted from one organization to another like that for a while. Even when the teams or groups he’d formed were repeatedly destroyed or faced annihilation, Hakayama alone had always survived. That was another reason for his nickname GD.
Ever since he’d been in his late teens, Hakayama had made a living murdering and robbing as part of a group, and he’d caused a considerable number of deaths. He had also lost a lot of comrades. And yet Hakayama had hardly ever—maybe never—gotten his own hands dirty. He wasn’t a murderer, but the road he walked was littered with corpses. The number of graves kept increasing the longer he survived.
Hence his nickname GD—“Grave Digger.”
As a rare breed of coward and an extremely despicable man, Tohru Hakayama was both feared and respected by criminals.
Kurojima first.
Sousei had a number of reasons to consider, but he made his decision in a second. He pointed his gun to the left. Kurojima jumped out from the back end of a car, and as he did, the gun in his hands—some sort of assault rifle by the looks of it—fired off a spray of bullets.