DOA HQ - DISTRICT I - ATSUMORI'S OFFICE
Fuschida Atsumori barely looked up as Butch and his detectives filed into his office at DOA's HQ. It had become routine — the police sniffing around, always trying to uncover some damning piece of information about retributor operations. Annoying, yes. But inevitable.
The rules of engagement that governed the retributors were riddled with enough gray areas to keep council lawyers up at night — and the police knew how to exploit every one of them. Atsumori didn't blame them entirely. They were no different from civilians trying to wrestle with forces far beyond their control. But Butch? Butch was another matter altogether.
The history between retributors and the police was long and bitter. They didn't cooperate; they coexisted in the same fragile ecosystem, each trying to dominate the other. And though the retributors had the edge — thanks to powerful corporate backers and shadowy council alliances — the balance was always shifting. Lately, it had begun to tilt.
Two weeks ago, a retributor under Ghost Machines Corp was almost arrested. The attempt failed, naturally, and the incident never made the news. Butch and his boys got a slap on the wrist, but the brazenness had stuck with Atsumori. Hayato had waved it off, but Atsumori knew better. And now, here they were again.
He gave them a long stare before speaking.
"Gentlemen, I'd offer you drinks, but my doctor says I should only drink with friends. So let's keep this quick."
Butch remained unmoved. He tapped on his wristpad, projecting a holo-image of a woman. Steve Baflin's wife. Then another — Plukett.
"We have reason to believe one of your senior retributors, Agent Plukett, was the last known contact with Cynthia Baflin before she was found - well not exactly found but she was murdered in her home," Butch said.
Atsumori's expression hardened, though amusement flickered behind his eyes.
"Well, well, what are you trying to sell me this time, Butch? Are you accusing my people of something?"
"The agent works for you. I'm just doing my job. This was a murder—"
"murder..." Atsumori looked closely at the display, there was no body. He scoffed. "There isn't even a body, just minor questionable evidences,"
"This is murder, retributors have a known standing MO of wiping out evidences too close to them, this was one of them,"
"Still clinging to the noble mission of cleaning up the scum, huh?" Atsumori interrupted. "You do realize the deceased was connected to an ex-Bineth scientist, yes? That makes this sensitive."
Butch frowned. "The scientist was ex. The council ruled he was no longer affiliated at the time of her death. This is being handled as a civilian case."
"Impressive," Atsumori said, nodding. "You're getting better at spinning council policy. But you'll need to take that up with them, not me. Now… how exactly is Plukett involved?"
"She's confirmed as the last in contact with the victim. And there's more — the body showed signs of advanced thermal damage. Unknown tech. We believe the weapon used mirrors the effects of thermal laser vision. Which, as you know, Plukett possesses."
Atsumori sighed, clearly bored now. "So let me get this straight. You think my agent killed a civilian using tech that even you don't fully understand, and you want me to hand her over. Fascinating."
He leaned back, folding his arms.
"Tell me, Butch — do you enjoy wasting my time this much?"
Butch was about to respond when the door creaked open. Plukett walked in, composed and faintly amused.
"Well, look who the cops dragged in," Atsumori said, grinning. "Agent Plukett, how nice of you to join us."
"Agent Plukett—" Butch began.
"Hold it right there," Atsumori cut in sharply.
"You don't question my agents, Butch. That's not how you treat a lady."
Plukett giggled, calm as ever, and took a seat like this was a game she'd already won.
"I'll handle this," Atsumori said. "I talk to my agent. I'll tell you what she thinks of your… theory."
"This is BS," Butch muttered. "I know what you're trying to—"
"Careful," Atsumori warned, his voice dangerously low. "You know the rules, Butch. You can't go around interrogating retributors like some low-tier thugs. You want your men in body bags? Or are those too expensive these days?"
Plukett laughed.
Butch clenched his fists. He knew Atsumori too well. This wasn't the time to fight. He nodded tightly, swallowing his fury.
"We're done here. Let's go, boys. We still have a murderer to catch."
As the detectives filed out, Atsumori turned to Plukett.
"Tell me you disposed of the body properly."
"I didn't do it," she said calmly. "But they won't find anything. It's clean."
"I figured," Atsumori said. "Butch is starting to itch. He's looking for a win. Don't give it to him."
He studied her for a moment.
"So… what are you really working on, little bird?"
Plukett smiled faintly. "Something. It's personal."
"Ah. You mean it involves your ex-boyfriend, john'?"
She giggled again and stood.
"Be careful," Atsumori warned. "Stay away from Butch. He's unpredictable. And if he bites into something, he tends to sink deep."
Plukett mock-saluted. "Thanks, Dad. I won't forget."
Atsumori smiled softly. "You haven't called me that in years. I missed it."
She shrugged and walked out.
He leaned back, his thoughts drifting. He remembered her at eight years old — bloodied, clutching her own eyeballs in one hand and a gun in the other. Moon base. Secret research facility. The guards dead, the children broken. She was the only one who tried to escape when they arrived.
He'd found her. A fighter, A survival, Soothed her. Raised her. She was the most important thing left in his life.
She had walked with him when he split from Sons of War. She had been the first to believe in him.
Then his mind turned to Hayato. Something about that man's words had bothered him lately. Something hidden, layered beneath his usual dry dismissal.
Atsumori didn't like puzzles he couldn't solve.
And this one was starting to itch.