New York was that city you always saw in the movies. When you arrived, the first things you noticed were the skyscrapers, the lights, and the noise. It was huge, fast, and it felt like it never stopped.
Of course, it had its good side: there was always something to do. Broadway, Central Park, museums, concerts, food from every country… diversity was everywhere, and it was impossible to get bored. Everything seemed within reach.
But there was also the bad side. Traffic was a nightmare, the subway chaotic, and living there cost a fortune. It wasn't unusual to see luxury mansions and, just around the corner, people barely getting by.
The city shone, but it wasn't perfect. There were neighborhoods full of tourists that felt safe, and others where it was better not to walk at night—you might not make it out alive.
Still, not everything was bad. There were green spaces like Central Park, where you could breathe for a moment, though even there, the city's hum never completely faded.
The diversity was intense. In the same neighborhood, you could hear several languages and eat dishes from anywhere in the world. That gave the city its flavor, but it also made each area develop its own character, and sometimes, those characters clashed.
The contrast was constant: luxury in Manhattan, hardship in the Bronx or parts of Brooklyn. It was as if New York kept reminding you that not everyone experienced it the same way.
In the end, that was New York: a city that dazzled and drained you, that drew you in and intimidated you.
And for this city, so used to people coming and going, an unexpected individual had just arrived.
At midday, with the sun high in the sky, the streets were packed with people on the move. Cars crowded the roads, and taxis circled restlessly, hunting for passengers.
Among the countless streets, one car came to a stop.
"Thanks for the ride, Max. You saved me a long trip."
A boy in plain clothes stepped out of the car. He wore a blue T-shirt and black jeans.
"Don't mention it, it's the least I could do. If it weren't for you, I doubt things would've turned out this way."
"If something like that ever happens again, you know what to do," the boy said with a smile.
"I doubt I could even come close to doing that… but now I see things differently. It's something I'll never forget."
Max's face grew thoughtful, as if a single experience had been enough to show him that not everything went as expected.
"Haha, when there's no path, all it takes is violence to make one."
"A few hours ago I'd have fought against that idea, but now… I think you're right."
All it takes is one bad day to corrupt a man.
"If life gets tough, just punch it in the face."
For Max, that bad day had turned into a strange one—full of unanswered questions, and centered on a boy who didn't seem to care much at all. Still, it was interesting enough to leave him with a wide smile.
"I'll keep that in mind. I hope we meet again, Desmon. See you."
With that, Max pulled away in his car.
"I've still got plenty of time… should I do some sightseeing before leaving? I mean, I've got a few months to spare."
Talking to himself, the white-haired boy, Desmon, began walking aimlessly. Maybe that could be considered strange, but what he carried with him was far stranger.
"What business do you have in this city, and how long are you planning to stay in the country?"
As he walked calmly, a woman's voice caught his attention. She wore a brown coat and a hat that shaded her eyes. Her black hair was so sleek and beautiful it could easily be mistaken for real, but in truth, it was just part of her disguise.
"Sightseeing?" Desmon answered in a thoughtful tone.
"All the destruction you caused in less than twelve hours doesn't exactly back up your words…"
Her voice was sharp and serious, as if she couldn't bring herself to believe or trust the boy standing in front of her.
"It wasn't my fault, I mean, everything went boom before I even realized it."
It wasn't as if Desmon had decided things should turn out that way.
"And what happened on the highway—don't you know how that happened either?"
"Just one of those things in life. Still, I'd prefer if you stopped following me. I want some privacy."
If that woman spoke so casually to Desmon, it meant they'd been keeping tabs on him ever since he entered the country.
"Your very presence in this city is as dangerous as an entire army."
"You'll make me blush."
The woman could only let out a long sigh.
"Back to the point—how long will you be staying in this city?"
She would never openly threaten him. After all, she already knew his record: a threat best avoided.
Anyone could ask the assassins sent after him for confirmation… though none would answer. They were all dead.
"I have no idea. I've got no way to reach the place where my job's waiting…"
"I'll get you a vehicle."
She didn't hesitate; clearly, this had been arranged beforehand.
"That sounds almost too good, but I don't want to owe you anything…"
"If it gets you out of this city, consider it free of charge."
"Works for me!''
With transportation guaranteed, Desmon casually mentioned the place he needed to go. It was a remote location, far from any main road.
-What kind of job does a guy like him have in a town that remote?
The destination caught the woman off guard. She could make the arrangements, but it would take hours.
"No rush. I just need to be there before the next blue moon, which is still months away."
Being summoned to a nearly forgotten village in the middle of nowhere to take out a demon on a deadline—nothing unusual.
The demon itself wasn't the problem; the real annoyance was the distance. That's why Dante had dumped the mission on his idiot son.
"I see… in that case, it'll take me a few hours to get everything ready."
"Fine by me. You know how to find me, so I'll go do a little sightseeing," he replied cheerfully.
That should've settled things, but the woman couldn't help looking at him like he was an idiot.
"Anywhere in the world, walking around with a giant sword on your back is a crime."
As expected of Desmon, he carried Alastor on his back—the devil arm given to him to make things easier. Even if it was only borrowed, he'd still have to return it later… and probably pay for the loan.
"I'll only be out for a few hours. I doubt the police will..."
"Hand it over. I'll give it back later."
"If you say so..."
Without much fuss, Desmon gripped Alastor and handed it to her. She nearly lost her balance just holding it by the hilt the way he did.
-It's heavy…
Regaining her footing, she glanced back at Desmon.
"Now, the best thing would be if you..."
But as she tried to warn the white-haired boy not to cause trouble, he had already vanished.
-Where did he go?
She looked around, but there was no sign of him anywhere. Quickly, she reached for her communicator.
"Do you have his location?"
It was bad enough being assigned to keep Desmon from turning the city upside down—now she had lost him completely.
"He managed to slip past most of the cameras, like he knows exactly where they're placed."
"Tch… this guy's a real headache."
She could only curse under her breath, hoping Desmon wouldn't cause any trouble in the few hours he had.
How much chaos could one seemingly harmless guy cause?
…
The briefcase lay on the ground, directly beneath a flickering light that seemed determined to pick the worst corner of the parking lot. The father stepped back, cold sweat running down his neck; his ragged breathing sounded amplified through the hidden mic in his jacket.
He wasn't alone. Even if it felt like he was.
From a distance, dozens of eyes watched him. Between the cars, plainclothes officers pretended to be passersby or security guards. At the exits, unmarked cruisers waited in the shadows, ready to cut off any escape route. On nearby rooftops, the unit's snipers tracked every suspicious movement.
In the black sedan, Stabler sat with the engine humming, ready to roar. His grip on the wheel was so tight his knuckles had turned white.
"This doesn't feel right… what if he's not coming for the money and this is just a setup?"
At street level, inside the mobile command post, Cragen oversaw the operation through multiple screens, surrounded by technicians. Every camera in the lot had been tapped, and a live map displayed the positions of the undercover team.
"Stay calm. No one moves until we get visual confirmation of the person coming for the money. This guy's clever; he won't go down that easily."
Dealing with a psychopath was bad enough — kidnapping a woman and her baby made it critical.
Near the parking exit, Benson waited, ready to intercept.
"We've been tailing him; he always seems one step ahead. I hope this time it works."
They'd failed before, arriving minutes too late, every single time. This wasn't some rookie.
At the north exit, Fin scanned the perimeter with his usual taut calm. Two uniformed officers stood a short distance away, ready to move on the signal.
"If he tries to run, we'll be waiting."
Up on the emergency stairs, Munch watched from the gloom with his trademark cynicism, even amid the tension. Beside him, a young officer was breathing too loudly. Munch glanced at him and muttered,
"Easy, rookie. He doesn't know we're here. That's the only thing on our side."
Suddenly, the metallic echo of footsteps rang out. A hooded figure appeared, slowly grabbed the briefcase full of cash, and walked away.
Cragen saw everything, but he didn't give the order. If they were wrong, everything would have been for nothing.
The hooded person crossed to the park across the street, handed the suitcase to someone else, and received money for the job.
If they had moved in too soon, they would have caught the wrong person — a common tactic: use an innocent to do the pickup for a small sum.
Still, no one moved.
They didn't know if the real suspect had an accomplice ready to kill the woman or the baby. A surprise assault was their only option, but it left almost no margin for error.
All eyes tracked the hooded man, but no one followed yet. Undercover officers steadied their weapons; snipers kept their sights locked, waiting for a command that didn't come.
Taking him out wouldn't solve everything. In the last few days, the suspect had shown erratic and dangerous behavior. There was a real chance he'd try to kill someone if cornered.
The entire operation hung by a thread. Exactly by the contents of that briefcase.
The man opened it to check the money—
That was the signal.
Instantly, the mechanism inside triggered: a stun grenade went off. The briefcase had been rigged for exactly this moment, buying a few precious seconds while the target couldn't think or act.
"Now!" Cragen barked.
Officers surged forward, bringing him down and cuffing him in seconds.
"Target secure — search him!"
Surrounded by a swarm of police, he had no choice but to cooperate.
"I found something," one of the officers said, pulling a gold-plated gun from his pocket.
"I'm licensed to use it. And technically, it's not just a gun… it's something cooler than that."
"I've got a cartridge with rounds," another added, holding it up.
"Obviously, right? I mean, it's not like it works without bullets," the boy replied calmly.
"I found jewelry with bloodstains on it."
"It's not theft if I took it from a thief, you know?"
The white-haired boy, treated like a dangerous threat, kept answering with infuriating calmness.
"Better keep that attitude…" one of the detectives growled.
Stabler, growing impatient as that idiot showed no concern at all, was just about to teach him a lesson when his captain stopped him.
"Relax, you'll get your turn. Take him to the station!"
Since it was an emergency case, Cragen was willing to overlook his detective's methods. Nobody would blame him—two lives were at stake.
And so, within his first few hours in New York, Desmon ended up under arrest and on his way to an interrogation.
...
"I'm surprised you actually played along with the cops," Shizuka said as she awkwardly swung Alastor around.
At first, she thought the sword must have some sort of restriction, but midway through his story Desmon had explained that he simply didn't want Shizuka scratching or damaging it. Naturally, she fired back:
"As if that's even possible!"
There was no way a devil arm could be damaged by something ordinary—unlike how Desmon treated the sword.
"Everyone had their role, and honestly, I thought it was fun, so I played along."
"You're the only one who'd think being treated like that is fun…" She looked at him like he was an idiot, still swinging Alastor as she pictured herself facing that stupid demonic dog that had wrecked her car.
-Come here, you damn demon Clifford, I'll cut you in half!
What could be more entertaining than swinging a demonic sword?
"The way to enjoy life is by taking problems lightly."
"And did that situation end well?"
Shizuka finally lowered the sword—her body couldn't compare to Desmon's.
"On the contrary, it just kept getting worse and worse."
Desmon glanced up at the ceiling as if replaying the events in his head.
"Amazing how you can throw a whole city into chaos in just a few hours…"
"I guess I've got a talent for it," he said proudly.
All Shizuka could do was sigh at Desmon's attitude. He always seemed relaxed, even when everything was against him.
"So, does that explain this?" She pointed at the contents of the briefcase—the reason Desmon had started telling old stories.
"There's still a lot left to tell, and I'm exhausted after almost dying a few times today…" He let out a small yawn.
"Oh, come on — you're going to sleep now, right when it's getting good? At least finish telling me what happened that day."
As a responsible adult, Shizuka's priorities were crystal clear: finish listening to Desmon's story and take a short break before going back to swinging Alastor.
"You're like a little kid begging for a bedtime story."
"You're not one to talk, not after raiding the cookie stash I had saved."
"It's a free country."
Shizuka reached out and snatched a cookie just before Desmon could bite into it.
"Come on, don't be like that. Keep going—I want to know how you got out of that, and if they actually caught the real culprit."
"Fine, fine…"
Pressed and threatened with losing more cookies, Desmon continued.