He was still sitting there, motionless, his body hunched on the couch. The flickering light of the television danced across his pale face, but his eyes were distant — hollow.
His breathing slowed, but his thoughts didn't.
They wouldn't let him go.
> "Takeshi! You need to contribute to our society!"
That voice echoed again, sharp and mocking. Then came the laughter — six people, maybe more, all jeering at him like he was nothing. Their faces blurred in his mind, but the sound of their voices stayed clear, bouncing inside his skull like knives.
Flash.
In his mind, a grotesque scene returned.
Workers slammed butcher knives down onto slabs of meat in a dim, blood-smeared room. Their aprons soaked crimson. Thick chunks of flesh thudded onto wooden tables. The air smelled metallic.
The way they moved — ruthless. Almost too practiced.
Takeshi let out a strangled gasp and grabbed at his temples, his whole body trembling. His face twisted into something else — something darker.
Something... not normal.
His eyes sharpened.
The fear twisted into something colder.
He stood up abruptly.
Walked straight across the apartment.
He didn't pause. Didn't hesitate.
In one motion, he pushed aside the bookshelf near the back wall, revealing a smooth steel panel with a lock. His fingers danced over a hidden keypad. Click.
The panel shifted.
A secret door creaked open, revealing a steep set of stairs that descended into darkness.
He rushed down, feet hitting the concrete fast — heart even faster.
Underground, the lights flickered on automatically — cold white LED bulbs lighting up the room inch by inch.
And what lay there wasn't normal.
On the walls — weapons.
Neatly mounted.
Organized with precision.
There were pistols with extended barrels: SIG Sauer P226, Glock 17 with threaded suppressors, a Beretta M9 fitted with a red-dot sight.
A row of submachine guns: an H&K MP5SD, a suppressed Uzi Pro, a KRISS Vector in matte black.
Sniper rifles lined the far wall — Barrett M82, Remington 700, all equipped with night scopes and silenced muzzles.
Shotguns, pump and semi-auto — the Benelli M4, the SPAS-12.
Ammunition boxes stacked neatly below.
One wall was lined with gear — combat vests, tactical gloves, goggles, military-grade earpieces.
Next to it — a cabinet of prosthetics, artificial skin masks of different faces, wigs, colored contact lenses, even fake scars. Perfect for vanishing in plain sight.
Takeshi's hand hovered for a moment.
Then he picked out a matte-black handgun with a built-in suppressor.
He checked the magazine.
Fully loaded.
He tucked it into the holster at his hip.
Next, he grabbed a black tactical vest — worn but solid — and strapped it over his chest. Over that, he pulled on a navy-blue hoodie. Across the chest, bold white letters spelled one word:
"PART-TIMER."
He zipped it halfway.
Then paused.
A flash of memory shot through his mind again.
That same butcher room.
That same sound.
Meat — real or not — being chopped with raw brutality.
His hands trembled for a second.
Then steadied.
He looked up.
His reflection stared back at him from the glossy glass of the weapons case — face calm, eyes sharp, a thin trace of something… unhinged.
Something had changed.
And there was no turning back.
He pointed the gun to his own head.
Not to pull the trigger.
But to feel it.
To remind himself how close death truly was.
His finger rested lightly on the side of the silencer, not on the trigger — just enough for the cold metal to press into his skin.
His eyes stared forward, unblinking.
But they weren't blank.
They were burning.
With something raw.
Something deeper than anger.
Revenge.
The background behind him dissolved into black, like the world itself had vanished — leaving only him, the silence, and that look in his eyes.
---
Morning.
The soft, cheerful music of a local news station played on a television somewhere.
A female anchor's voice filtered in, clean and professional.
> "Breaking news this morning…"
> "Six bodies were found near the Shibuya subway train station at dawn."
> "The victims — all male, estimated to be between 18 and 25 — appear to have been shot in the head at close range."
> "Authorities also report… several of the victims had their fingers severed, most likely with a butcher's knife or similar tool."
> "Investigators are working with limited footage due to blackout zones in the area."
> "Images have been blurred due to the graphic nature of the scene."
On screen: grainy, distant CCTV clips.
Six lifeless bodies slumped against a wall — their faces obscured, blood pooled at their feet.
Red. Silent. Final.
> "This marks the 5th violent incident reported this month in Tokyo's underground sectors, though officials have not confirmed any link to the previous murders."
The news rolled on.
But the screen cut back to black.