The warehouse reeked of blood, gunpowder, and sweat. The air was thick with smoke, the flickering fluorescent lights barely illuminating the battlefield of broken bodies and spent casings. Taro crouched behind a shattered concrete pillar, his breath shallow, heart hammering like a war drum against his ribcage. His hoodie was torn, stained with blood—some of it his own. His hands trembled from exhaustion, but his grip on the knife remained firm.
This wasn't how it was supposed to go. They had planned to strike first, cripple the Vipers before they had a chance to retaliate. Instead, the ambush had turned into a slaughter—his people, the last remnants of Kaito's gang, were either dead or had fled.
Taro was alone.
Except for Mia.
Somewhere in the chaos, she was still fighting. She had insisted on coming, and now, Taro regretted not forcing her to stay behind. He couldn't afford to lose her too.
A distant gunshot snapped him back to reality. Footsteps—rapid, aggressive—closed in on his position.
A Viper thug rounded the corner, rifle at the ready. Taro didn't hesitate. He lunged forward, slamming his knife into the man's throat before he could react. The blade sliced through muscle and artery, warm blood spraying against Taro's cheek. The man let out a sickening gurgle, fingers twitching as he crumpled to the ground.
Taro exhaled sharply, stepping over the body. No time to stop. No time to think.
Another enemy appeared—a taller man wielding a crowbar. He swung it at Taro's head, the metal cutting through the air with deadly force. Taro ducked just in time, the weapon smashing into the concrete pillar behind him, sending shards of debris flying.
Taro countered with a brutal elbow strike to the ribs, feeling bones crack beneath the impact. The thug stumbled, gasping, but didn't fall. He roared in anger, bringing the crowbar down once more.
Too slow.
Taro caught the weapon mid-swing, yanking it away before slamming it into the man's knee. A sickening crunch. The thug screamed, collapsing onto his side, but before he could beg for mercy, Taro ended it. He drove the crowbar into the man's skull with a sickening thud.
Panting, Taro wiped the sweat from his brow, his vision swimming from fatigue. His muscles ached, his body screamed for rest, but he forced himself to move.
Then—
A gunshot.
Pain exploded in his shoulder, the force of the bullet knocking him back. He gritted his teeth, clutching the wound as warm blood seeped through his fingers. His vision blurred, his legs wobbled.
A figure emerged from the shadows—a Viper soldier, rifle still smoking. The man smirked, confident.
"End of the line, Ishida," he sneered, raising his weapon for the finishing shot.
Taro tried to move, but his body betrayed him. He was too slow, too tired.
Then, out of nowhere, a blade cut through the air.
A dagger embedded itself in the gunman's throat. His eyes went wide with shock as blood poured from his mouth. The rifle slipped from his fingers, clattering onto the warehouse floor. He gasped, stumbled, then fell—dead before he hit the ground.
Mia.
She stood behind him, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her dress torn and splattered with blood. Her dark eyes burned with a fierce determination as she met Taro's gaze.
"We're not dying here," she said, voice trembling but firm.
Taro gritted his teeth and forced himself to stand. The pain in his shoulder was agonizing, but he ignored it.
He looked at her—at the desperation, the fire in her eyes.
Then he nodded.
"Then let's finish this."
---
The Torture Chamber
The dimly lit storage room reeked of sweat, iron, and fear. The only sounds were the occasional drips of water from a leaking pipe and the ragged breathing of the man tied to the chair.
Saito. A Viper lieutenant. A man who had once commanded power and fear. Now, he was beaten, bruised, and barely conscious, his head slumped forward. Blood dripped from his split lip onto his torn shirt.
Taro stood before him, his knife glinting under the flickering lightbulb. His wounded shoulder throbbed, but he didn't care. The only thing that mattered was the name.
The name of the man who had destroyed his family.
Saito stirred, blinking through swollen eyelids. He coughed, spitting blood onto the floor, then chuckled weakly.
"You think you scare me, kid?" His voice was hoarse, defiant. "You're just another fool playing gangster."
Taro said nothing. Instead, he stepped forward and drove his knife into Saito's thigh.
The man's scream was raw, primal. He thrashed against the restraints, his muscles straining, but there was no escape.
Taro twisted the blade.
Saito howled, his entire body jerking in agony.
Mia stood in the corner, arms crossed tightly. Her face was pale, her expression unreadable, but she didn't stop Taro. She didn't say a word.
Taro leaned in, his voice low, cold. "The politician backing the Vipers. Give me his name."
Saito clenched his jaw, sweat dripping down his face. "Go to hell."
Taro exhaled slowly. He grabbed the man's fingers.
Crack.
A bone snapped. A scream.
Crack.
Another finger, another cry of agony.
Taro's face remained emotionless. "I can do this all night."
Saito trembled, his breath coming in short gasps. The pain was unbearable. He had prided himself on being strong, unbreakable. But Taro wasn't just torturing him—he was methodical, precise. He was breaking him piece by piece, dragging him down into the depths of suffering.
Finally, Saito gasped, his voice barely above a whisper.
He gave the name.
A name that sent ice through Taro's veins.
The name of the man who had orchestrated everything.
The man responsible for the massacre of his parents.
Taro stepped back, his grip tightening on the knife. He stared at Saito, at the raw terror in his bloodshot eyes.
He could kill him now. End his miserable life.
But he wouldn't.
Not yet.
There were bigger monsters to slay.
And Taro Ishida was just getting started.
To Be Continued