Assassin Among Heroes Chapter 38

Many things irritated Kai Chisaki. Germs, police, Quirks, untidiness…the extensive list grew longer daily. If he were honest, it was as though almost everything upon the earth existed to annoy him. Fortunately, he also prided himself on a measure of self-control. It would be unbecoming and frankly childish for the leader of the Shie Hassaikai to lose his marbles over the first thing that disturbed his perfectly ordered schedule. No matter how much he despised it, unexpected occurrences happened. This was part of life, there was no avoiding it, and he adapted all the same. 

His boss was much the same. Through him, the old man ensured the yakuza clan survived through the Age of Heroes (oh, how he hated that term). Brought low and barely a shadow of its former glory, true, but it survived when others fell. A trait Chisaki came to appreciate only after he took the mantle of oyabun himself. 

That being said…

“Let me get this straight,” he spoke, with a voice so placid and level even a deaf man could hear the rising frustration. “Despite my clear instructions and warnings, we’ve lost another lab?”

Hojo nodded, the bald man’s stoicism ever-present in the face of his leader’s wrath. “I apologize, oyabun. I failed to impart the seriousness of your orders to my men. They clearly ignored the measures I ordered them to take, else they wouldn’t have perished so quickly.”

Chisaki felt his grip tighten on the polished mahogany desk. He’d recently bought the desk after the last one was ruined during a…lapse of control. So as much as he felt the urge to carve out a piece from the edge at least, he forced it down.

Despite knowing it could happen, nasty surprises such as this never failed to trigger that itch.

“How bad is it?”

“Wrecked on almost every level. The equipment’s smashed, barrels toppled over, and I’m sure we’re missing a chunk of the cash. We don’t even have power because the fuse box is smashed to hell and back, so all the chemicals in the cooling unit are suspect. We’re checking whatever’s left, but I wouldn’t get any hopes of finding a supply we can safely use.”

“And the men?”

Hojo’s eyes narrowed, and even through his facemask, Chisaki could tell he was gritting his teeth.

“Dead to the last.”

Chisaki inhaled, his breath akin to a hiss through his mask. 

Selling Trigger-laced drugs was a masterstroke Chisaki was proud of. When he’d ordered the drug’s production, he realized he was producing far less than anticipated, which by itself wasn’t a high benchmark in the first place. Trigger was notoriously difficult to produce, and the equipment he had ready, while worth every yen, was substandard compared to the facilities in Italy or Nicaragua. Most of the world’s Trigger was sourced from there, with Thailand barely scratching third. So while he was ready to accept limited output, the scant barrels of the first batch showed how bad the situation was. He’d retreated to his office, and as he vented by using his Quirk to deconstruct and reshape a nearby mug, he saw tthat he patterns on the mug had accidentally warped. A lapse in his usual concentration…but the proverbial lightbulb then sparked to life.

Why not mix the rare drug with the product they already had? It would increase their presence in the market, and they could charge generous extras

It had taken some testing, but he managed to do it. Three years of studying Chemistry and Biology had paid off once more. Another thing he couldn’t thank the old man enough for. Once he streamlined the process for the yakuza cooks, money rolled into the Hassaikai’s coffers so fast that it was like a minting machine.

It was all going so well; the drugs were produced on schedule and with excellent quality, distribution was expanding at an acceptable pace, and the police were completely blind. Not even the few heroes who were smart or brave enough to stick their noses into their business had a clue.

Then why the hell was this happening!?

“Double the guards on all remaining outposts. Pull back men from out of town if need be. No one is to enter any hideout without authorization from the Eight Bullets. Any who fail to listen are dead. Sustain production, but freeze all transports in and out of the city. We can use this opportunity to stock up. Above all, maintain discretion. Calling the cops on our own hideout might’ve covered some tracks, but we cannot slip up.”

“As you wish, young master,” Hojo replied. “And the perpetrator?”

Chisaki’s gaze narrowed ever so slightly, but it was enough to chill the room. Was the answer not obvious? “I prefer him brought alive. I want to know who we’re dealing with…and he must be made an example of.”

Hojo nodded and bowed before leaving the room. A quick glare at the two guards flanking the door sent them scurrying. All that was left was him and the office, with silence hanging in the back. 

Outwardly, the only sign Chisaki gave to indicate unease was the furrowing of his brow, but underneath his beak-shaped mask, his teeth ground like chainsaw blades. Questions churned deep within the recesses of his mind, as speculations and theories bounced off the walls at lightspeed.

He got up violently and strode out of the office, his guards snapping to attention when he left the door. Footsteps joined his pace, but he didn’t need to turn to see who it was.

“Any clue who it could be?”

Hari Kurono, known to the underworld as Chronostasis, shook his head. “We’ve made a lot of enemies, boss. Criminals and heroes alike wouldn’t pass up a chance to mess with your operations.”

“I’m more interested in knowing which one of them has the capability to deal this much damage so quickly. Any tags or calling cards at the scene? Some people can’t resist bragging.”

“Nothing obvious or subtle, unless you count the bodies. That’s no amateur knifework.”

“How many?”

Kurono tilted his head upward, strands of his silver hair dropping from under his hood. “If I were to enact such an operation, I’d want to minimize chances of getting spotted. And considering the state of both hideouts…I’d say a four or five-man team, nothing bigger. Trained for sure, but I couldn’t deduce the presence of a Quirk.”

In short, nothing which could narrow down the list of culprits. The remaining yakuza families would never intrude so brazenly into his territory. They were too occupied with managing their own affairs. Chisaki ruled out the police and any local heroes for the same reason and the image they needed to uphold. Which meant…

“I need a list of every villain gang we’ve dealt with or eliminated in the past six months,” he said. “If one of them could so much as cut butter, I want to know.”

“Done.” 

The two soon arrived at the threshold where wood met solid gray. Past the sliding doors and woven mats, everything ahead of them was pure utilitarian design. More rooms and labs than most universities, surrounded by reinforced concrete, descending several levels underground. Most would find the sudden change jarring, but Chisaki drew comfort from the sterility. It was in these halls he made the true strides in his efforts for the Hassaikai. 

As he strode past the corridors, Chisaki clenched his fists behind his back, his nails on the verge of piercing his gloves. All that mattered were his goals. The drugs were a stroke of genius, true, but ultimately meaningless compared to the money they brought in. Money that was meant to be used for a higher purpose.

Whoever thought could stop Chisaki from achieving his purpose, of turning the old man’s dream into reality…just signed their entire family’s funeral arrangements. If there was even a body left after he was done with them.

“Oh, one more thing,” he said. “Put the Eight Bullets on a rotation patrol around each hideout. Don’t tell the men.”

“Who do I start with?”

“I’ll leave that to your discretion.” He stopped before an iron door, locked with sliding bars. Typing on the nearby panel, the door began to open with a hiss.

When the light was finally cast into the creeping darkness, Chisaki ignored the whimpers emerging from the bed and the huddled form under its blankets. Any hesitation from those sounds of despair was long gone; only cold necessity remained.

“Use this batch for the surprise inspections. We can afford a minor loss if the endgame is guaranteed.”

-x-

‘Let’s hope this isn’t another bust. I think my deduction skills are rusting.’

‘Thou art dealing with a different breed of kalb, contractor. Rabid vermin all, but these bear a modicum of intelligence. Thy previous efforts at tracking shall bear less fruit than anticipated.’

I do not grumble, despite my hesitant acceptance. The afternoon sun drifts toward the skyline, and I pace the streets, Concealed, clad in my outfit and bag over my shoulder.

Unfortunately - like always - Mawla was right. The fatso wasn’t forthcoming and the others were too dead to provide me with relevant information. The only reason I discovered the second drug lab was thanks to copious use of my Quirk and my Zabaniya, topped with a pinch of luck. Even though the thugs did their best to keep their business hush-hush, they always left a tell wherever they frequented. Blackened windows, vents for exhaust…and criminals couldn’t resist the allure of bill-riffling. To be fair, most people couldn’t; even I wasn’t immune from the urge. 

Another tell: thugs love to talk when they think no one is listening. Alas, the reach of my hearing is not a factor they account for.

‘I left a few alive after I stormed the place, it’s not my fault they were stubborn or clueless. There wasn’t even anything on the lab supervisor’s phone I could reliably use.’

‘The forces thou seek hast learned from their errors after thy first raid. Their hold cracked when they deemed it ironclad. Thou must sharpen thy senses to a degree as never before. Utilize every resource at thy disposal.’

I grimly nod. ‘I’ve already asked Dabi to ferret out whatever he can, but he warned me not to expect miracles. Intercity criminal relations aren’t well-known, and I’ve spooked the Tokyo underworld enough for total radio silence. No way anyone is looking to do business with Shizuoka now.’

Mawla hums in frustration. ‘It occurs to me now that thy lack of contacts proves a hindrance to thee. At the height of the Order’s power, whispers from the Nile to the Hindu Kush reached the towers of Alamut. No room or chamber was walled tightly enough to prevent the Hashashin from planting an open ear. Even in this age of widespread information, sometimes knowledge must be retrieved by hand.’

I wince as his words sink in. A spy network was something I most definitely didn’t have, and Dabi barely counted. I’ve contemplated a few times on starting one, but…

‘I think every chance I had of making connections with anyone in the underworld or the law went out the window the moment Domino’s death was leaked. It’s only gotten worse since then; it’s not like there’s a waiting list of criminals looking to work under a vigilante who kills criminals. And I’m not risking a chance someone could rat me out.’

‘Paranoia serves an assassin well, yet its success can prove to be its undoing. Thy reasons are sound and logical, and so far thou hast accomplished much within the reach of a city.’ He pauses for a moment before snorting. ‘No, from thy accounts of this ‘internet’, thy net can cover the farthest reaches of the world, constrained only by thine skill.’

My eyes flicker to the shuttered windows above me, idly noting the sounds of life thumping from behind their frames. ‘Again, it’s way more complicated than it sounds. Sure, I can fish for information, maybe sift through those damned forums and find something legitimate that isn’t a fanboy raving about how his crush dumped him, but how long until someone tracks me down? You remember what happened with Shadow Gear. They started to trace me despite the TOR and VPN. If some shadowy criminal organization can do it, then the government can do it in seconds.’

A car drives past me, scattering stray leaves in its wake. Taking note of the street sign, I turn right. The same quiet hum of tranquility and sleepiness lingers in the air. I find it hard to believe at times this is a proper city; where’s the rush, the electricity, the constant presence of life?

No, the last one is a lie. Life and humanity are just as present here. Simply tucked in a blanket of… serenity is too strong a word. Contentment. Yes, that’s better.

And just like Tokyo, all aspects of life are found here. The mundane and paragonic out on the streets…while the darkness and rot linger behind closed doors and within basements.

…I hope I can erase some of that here.

‘Sooner or later, thy decision will come to haunt thee, contractor,’ Mawla warns. ‘Relying on thy current tactic leaves thee open to entrapment.’

‘Again, I know. But there are too many risks involved, and so far, using criminals’ phones works.’ Despite my comments, I don’t ignore the tightening in my gut. Changing tactics as the situation demands is a skill beaten thoroughly into me by now, but this is not such a situation. ‘I’ll try to think of an alternative, but for now, I’ll stick to the reliable.’

‘And predictable,’ he fires back. ‘Thou hast covered thy tracks well enough so far, yet a honed pair of eyes shall spot thee if the waters are not muddied.’

‘...when we get back, I’ll think of something. I promise.’

The road continues ever forward, and the well of impatience begins to stir.  I press against a building and watch as a mother and daughter walk past me, the child babbling about school while her mother nods and smiles, fully attentive. 

…at least Mom hasn’t asked any questions yet. I have a justification ready, but ‘research trip’ sounds very weak on paper, even if it is a distortion of the truth.

Voices grow muted as I tread the new street. Far from the main road, no one is out, even on the balconies. Windows are shuttered tight and the drivel of mindless entertainment only leaks from a few houses. Cars are parked along every inch of the sidewalk, their taillights covered with dust. 

Was this a neighborhood for retired folks? Or were people too lazy to clean? Both answers are possible, and I don’t think I’ll get cookies for guessing.

I might be meandering, but I wouldn’t build safe houses so close to each other if I were a crime lord. I hadn't scouted this area before, and it was far off from the two previous drug labs. Stands to reason that, presuming the operations were all within city limits and these Hassaikai were comfortable in their power, there should be one somewhere around here -

“ -fucking move it!”

A normal ear wouldn’t have picked it up. 

I look to my left. Shuttered windows. Two floors. An innocuous family vehicle, parked behind a closed gate.

And no sound of bright-eyed children or disgruntled family came from behind that painted door, where a camera hangs snugly in the upper corner.

“Sound and sight, bestow upon me thy revelations…Zabaniya.”

The world flashes and falls into darkness. Pulses strike my eyes as the map begins to form within my mind. Twelve, thirteen…and something very big. Huge, twice the size of the form under it.

A bruiser? Hmm…doable. I might need to trap him first.

Three figures on the top floor stand and move their arms, all with their backs turned. The last one places something thick in his hands on the ground beside him, against faint bubbling and sizzling. They repeat the process several times, and a few other whispers finally clear up.

“-shipment should be ready-”

“-only what’s needed-”

“-might be tricky, but we’ll manage. There’s even a bonus package in case people get nosy.”

“What if they still give us trouble?”

“Same as usual, but this time hide the bodies. No accidents. Oyabun wants no evidence. He’s one step away from spreading our innards on the floor.”

…well, it doesn’t sound like a home kitchen class, that’s for sure.

‘Mawla, you think…?’

‘Trivial questions only yield trivial answers.’

Welp, that’s a confirmation.

I blink and the world returns to normal. Now, I could try and force open the gate…but I’d rather not tip my hand too early. The roof, perhaps? No, there aren’t any balconies I can spy from, and I don’t know if there’s a hatch or an opening up there.

That leaves one option.

After stashing my bag in a nearby alley, I take a few steps back while facing the stone wall surrounding the house. With a deep breath, I sprint to the wall and jump. My fingers barely grasp the edges of the bricks and I pull myself upward, scrambling until I vault over the wall and land on the other side, rolling on the ground.

Fuck, that was annoying. At least there weren’t any iron spikes; my suit is tough, but I’d rather not test its limits. 

I gather my breath and push myself back on my feet. The door is still closed, and I hear no changes from behind. At a second glance, I notice a small intercom lodged near its right. Hand on my knife, I walk up to the door and press the button. 

A faint buzzing picks up from inside the house. For good measure, I press the button three more times. For a few moments, I stand there, resisting the urge to tap my foot. Don’t these people know what courtesy is? I mean, yeah, they’re yakuza, but they shouldn’t ignore basic manners! I rang the intercom like a normal person!

…a normal person who’s about to kill them all for the crime of murdering for drugs. Stop rambling, Ritsu!

Finally, I hear footsteps approaching and move to the side, out of proverbial sight. The door opens and a seedy-looking thug steps outside, holding a machete. He scans the front yard, befuddlement further marring his ugly features.

“They screwin’ with me?” he mutters. He fully exits the door, and while he searches the grounds, I slip behind him and enter the house. The hallway’s a little wider than the last two, and even the paint looks fresher, a dark oaken shade. A staircase pierces through both floors at the hallway’s far end. The footsteps are much clearer now, with most of them congregating on the first floor.

“Hey, quit pullin’ my leg!” the thug yells and slams the door behind him. “If it’s about that stupid shogi match, then I’ll swear by my drunk-ass dad I didn’t cheat-”

His eyes shoot open as a squelch silences him. He sways, reaching slowly for the knife lodged in his throat…and falls on his back, the light leaving his eyes. 

One down.

The knife flies back to my hand and I break into a run, my Quirk at full alertness. Doors fly past me as I follow the breathing and heartbeats of the yakuza. Recalling the details from the Zabaniya’s mental map, fleeting as they were, I kick down another door and spot two gangsters reclining on a couch, one cleaning his nails with a switchblade. They stare at the open door and my knives fly again, lodging themselves between each of their eyeballs.

When the blades return to my palms, my heart thuds against my ribcage as a burst of static breaks out behind the couch. 

“Kengo, who’s the guest? Come in, over.”

…fucking walkie-talkies!? 

It must’ve been in the thug’s jacket at the entrance. But why didn’t he use it before?

I don’t even have time to curse myself for not checking because the moment I bolt outside the door - 

The floor trembles. 

Stomping sends every pore in my body to full alert. In the far halls, a shadow grows along the walls. Clenching my fists, I rush to the staircase. I pick up some voices from the nearby rooms; even if I have to leave prematurely, I can still do some damage.

The door swings open and I spot three, holding various packages and desperately needing a comb and a razor. Before they can react to the opened door, I throw my knives again. The instant the first two go down, I lunge at the third with my dagger, bringing us down to the floor.

I try to force down the blade, but he flails wildly under my grip. The stomping grows in intensity, each quaking step hammering through my organs as I desperately try to finish him off.

Wood splinters. Shouts of rage. Arms whack the air, narrowly missing my head as I try to land that blow. Come on you shitstain, give up!

The goon opens his mouth, and my knee meets his groin, muting his cries. More shouting, blending with the cascade of havoc. His grip slips. The blade finally comes down, sinking into his neck, right as his hand finds a grip on my body. A choked snarl escapes his lips and the light begins to fade from his eyes. Carving the dagger through what remains of his throat, I pull and pull and pull as the thuds rise to a crescendo. 

Let go already! You’re dead or dying!

Drawing whatever strength I can, I finally wrench his dead grip free. For a moment, my eyes fall on the gaping tear in his neck, flowing with blood. I feel myself panting as I force myself to get up, flicking the blood off my dagger. Sheathing it, I glance at the other knives lodged deep in the yakuza’s skulls. Good, they won’t be getting up, even from a flimsy throw. I don’t even pay attention to the would-be evidence surrounding them as I retrieve them. 

This situation is going south fast. You need a plan of action, Ritsu, my head screams as I rub it. Reinforcements are probably gunning for this place…but shit, I can’t let them pack up and rebuild elsewhere. Fire maybe? Yeah, burn the place down. It’s not far-fetched, but I need to find the lab with the flammable chemicals. But I can’t risk -

…something’s wrong. Missing.

The drums have gone silent.

But where did they -

A scream tears the world apart.

One moment I lie in the shadows, the next I cower behind a ratty couch. Dry air scrapes my throat as my masked face kisses the ground.

Rubble flies past me as I feel drilling in my ears. My heart is on the verge of exploding. The blood rushes everywhere as I grip my head because everything’s so loudloudloudmakeitstop -

“WHERE ARE YOU!?”

A shadow blocks the light. 

I was right. He’s a giant.

Arms the width of tree trunks. Towering over everything in the room. A beak-shaped mask, hiding a face crowned with a mane of red.

Glowing red.

The fire behind him. Cloaked in black, with a glowing crimson slit.

I dare not move; not even a twitch.

The beak stares at the body, and the snarl emanating from it belongs more to beasts than men. His posture is hunched, ready to kill and break, and I glimpse his meaty fingers clench. The shadow he casts hides everything but that mane of red 

fluttering above his helm

“It’s fucking fresh…” He scans the room with the ferocity of a rabid dog, head zipping from side to side. “You’re still here, aren’t you?”

He grabs a table and ends its existence in a shower of sparks. His arms spin and spin, and the bulging muscles deepen the growing pit inside. With a near-primal howl, he sends his fists flying and FUCK!!!!

The world breaks again; over and over in a cycle of agony.

“Come out, you little shit…”

He drags his sword along the floor, filling the air with a horrid screeching that's melting my ears - damn you, move!

I can’t stay I can’t I gotta leave why can’t I move!?

Shattering, chaos. Wood flying. He’s kicking the bodies and punching the wall -

Each step seems to shake the very earth around me, the echoes reverberating through my very bones -

The floor warps under his feet. He’ll come soon, the couch won’t hide me.

“Not so tough now, are ya!? Too scared to fight head-on instead of hiding like a pussy?”

No. No. No.

“Show yourself and I’ll just smash your head in, nice and clean! If I have to tear this shack down before I get to you ya, there won’t be enough of you left for a fucking urn!”

Wood and concrete stand no chance. Another punch, another hole. That glowing hair of brownredbrownred. 

The street erupts from under my feet. Nothing I tried worked.

“You mess with the boss’s shit, you better hope you’ve got no relatives to mourn ya! Cause we’ll come after them too!”

Get up. Get up. GET UP!!!

You’re not injured. He can’t see you. Why are you still here!?

More light. I look up, and my heart finally gives.

He can see. No, he can’t see. He can see. No. Yes. No. Yesnoyesnoyesnononoyesno -

The couch flies and then it’s gone. He stares at nothing at me, and his barrel chest, clothed in tattered white, heaves up and down, up and down. 

I finally twitch. A light motion, just the finger. Then, he rears his head -

Ḁ̵̓͛̒A̴̧̦̺͖͑̊͋̂͒̃͌̕A̷̭̗͊͌̓̏̕A̸̯͚̪͐̓̈́̏̽͒͑A̶͔̳̟̠͇͔͑̈͋Ȧ̴͈͈̈̒̋̓͌̚̚Ṙ̵̊̏ͅṚ̶̢̡̳͇͈͓̠̓̈̈́͒͂̅͘R̸͉̰̦͕̳̀͜R̴͍͔͙͋R̵̹̲̯̩͎͘R̸̖̦̗̘̬͓̳̖̈̃̏Ŗ̴̛̙̣͑͌̈́͛̄͌̈R̶͙̭̹̀Ǵ̵̢̬̼̥̫͋͌͐̑̎͒̕G̵͉̮̻̬̟͓̻̓̓́̾͊̐͘ͅG̸̳̈͒͠H̶̺̘̞̭͐̃͐̈́̇͐̓Ḧ̴̢̯̳̳̩̠̺̊ͅḨ̵̋!̷̞͉̝̬̭͉͛!̸̮̬͚̬͒̆̓̆͛͒͜͝!̸͈̳̼̣̀̃̈́͘

…no. He can’t be.

Not him, Ritsu. He’s not him. There are no shadows, no sword, no fire but there is glowing red and it’s right there.

‘Contractor, cease -!’

Monster. Monster. Monster.

My limbs freeze. I can still leave. He won’t see me. Why can’t they move?

Don’t move he can’t see. Don’t move he can see. Can can’t can can’t cancancancan -

“Uh, sir?”

…minions.

The monster’s head turns to the gaping opening, where a cowering man stands. “Uh, everything good here? Did you find him?”

Move damn you, move!

“Search the whole building,” the monster commands. “We are not letting this trash escape. If I don’t find him in the next minute, I’ll smash your bodies to paste! And that’s if the boss doesn’t get you first! You got that!?”

The man rapidly nods and vanishes from the scene. Leaving us…alone.

Closer. Closer. Boots crack the earth.

My hand wanders to a knife on my hip, even as the monster paces to and fro with his beak-shaped mask held high. 

One shot. Not to kill. For the first time ever, not to kill. Just run. Just run.

Every last drop of will that wasn’t drained, every morsel of strength I can still gather that hasn’t fled me. They all work in concert, slowly raising my hand, even as the monster stomps toward me. Any second now, he’ll feel my body on the floor…and I won’t.

…it fies. Clatters against what’s left of the wall, discarded with barely-formed thoughts. His head turns so fast, I hope it tears itself from the bulging neck.

Then…I run.

I feel weightless. Every drop of blood in my veins, every twitching muscle and heartbeat is the roar of a thousand storms. The noise nearly drowns me. But I ignore it. No, I still hear it. It mixes with my body’s cacophony, colliding and merging into an orchestra unfit for nightmares.

But I run.

Even as the monster ř̵͚̖͓͊̀͗̀͊o̵̗͐͒̈a̶͉̱̿̽̒r̴̜͙̤̥̈́̌͠ṣ̶͍̦̝̗̉ behind me, I run.

Past the confused goon, past the bodies and the rubble. I don’t care. Even as the house quakes under his blows, I run.

Did the rubble hit me? Am I bleeding? I threw up, I must have; how else could I explain the blood?

Am I outside? Is the door even real? O twilight, do not deceive my aching eyes.

I feel a thin strap across my shoulder blade as I turn and twist. The sky above is dark, but the shadows creep and lights are flashing redredredred.

So I run. Ignore that voice telling me to stop. I can’t stop, he’ll find me, he’ll kill me.

Nothing else matters.

I just run.

And all I hear is the roar. That, horrible, inhuman roar.