Gregory wanted to speak, but he held his tongue. The atmosphere, still thick with the smell of gunpowder and clotted tension, made him decide to stay silent. Until finally, Nate's low, rusty voice—like old iron—slid through the suffocating silence.
When Nate had opened his eyes a few minutes ago in the bar's hallway, Gregory could hardly believe it. Not because he thought Nate was gone forever—but because of how quickly the change had happened. One second, there was Noel with his innocent, awkward blue gaze; the next, those eyes had turned into Nate's cold grey, and his entire posture shifted like a snake ready to coil around its prey. Gregory had wondered where Noel had gone, but this wasn't the right time to ask. The important thing now was: Nate had returned.
"Gregory! Grab the gun in my rucksack!"
Gregory didn't waste time. His hand reached into the dull green army rucksack hanging from Nate's shoulder, and his fingers immediately touched the cold iron grip of a Colt M1911. He pulled it out, and with practiced movements, the two men spun around, forming a perfect back-to-back formation, their eyes and gun muzzles sweeping the room.
Nate glanced briefly at the woman still sitting on the floor. Her body trembled uncontrollably, her small hands pressed against her mouth so hard that her fingernails turned white. Tears and smudged mascara formed dirty black lines down her pale cheeks.
"Please... don't hurt me, sir," she whimpered, her voice hoarse with despair.
"Get out!" Nate growled, his voice short and merciless.
The woman scrambled to her feet, then ran staggering out of the room, her high heels clattering unevenly on the wooden floor before finally disappearing.
Nate was indeed a ruthless killer who would torture anyone he deemed worthy of death, but he held an unwritten code: he would never harm women and children.
The man then shifted his sharp gaze to Basciano's still-dazed subordinates. "Drop your weapons if you don't want to end up like your boss." To emphasize his threat, Nate kicked Vincent Basciano's lifeless body with his boot, sending the corpse rolling stiffly on the blood-soaked red carpet.
Hesitation showed in the mafia men's eyes. Some of their fingers twitched nervously around their triggers, while others slowly began lowering their arms. The name "Killer Rabbit" was like a ghost that shriveled their courage.
"What's your plan?" Gregory hissed, his lips barely moving.
Nate didn't answer verbally. His sharp grey eyes glanced briefly toward the large glass window on the side of the room, which reflected the twinkling city lights. Gregory immediately caught his meaning. A silent conversation passed between them in seconds, then both nodded almost simultaneously.
"One... two... three!"
Gregory spun and fired three quick shots toward the window. The sound echoed, and glass shattered outward like a crystal rain, opening an escape route. At the same moment, Nate had already crouched low, moving like a shadow. Crack! Crack! Crack! His shots were precise and efficient, wounding the mafia men's arms and legs. Cries of pain filled the room, and weapons fell from injured hands.
"Nate, come on!" Gregory shouted from the window ledge, now covered in dangerous shards of glass.
After ensuring the primary threats had been neutralized, both leaped out nimbly, their boots crunching on broken glass. They landed in the dark hallway behind the bar. For a moment, there was only the sound of their own breathing and the roar of the night wind. But their assumption that they were free proved premature. Just as they were about to turn into a narrow alley, a large man with a scar-covered face suddenly emerged from behind a dumpster, raising his gun.
Nate reacted faster, grabbing Gregory and pulling him into the dark shadows of the alley. Gregory, who had already turned around, returned fire. Bang! Bang! Both shots missed, hitting the brick wall and spraying stone fragments.
"This way!" Nate pulled Gregory's arm deeper into the maze of stuffy, foul-smelling alleys.
They stopped briefly in a dark niche. Gregory leaned against the rough, cold brick wall, his chest heaving irregularly. His breath came in ragged gasps, forming white mist in the cold air. Nate, by contrast, stood upright with barely audible breathing, his eyes constantly monitoring like living sensors. The difference was clear: Gregory was the brain behind the scenes, while Nate was the executor who spent his life in the field.
Nate peeked carefully around the corner. Gregory almost asked a question but held back again. He watched Nate's gaze fixed on something he couldn't see. Slowly, Nate raised his gun, ready. Just as he was about to move, their pursuer appeared from the opposite end of the alley, gun already raised.
"Nate!" Gregory screamed in warning.
BANG!
Only one shot rang out, echoing through the narrow hallway. The man jolted, then crumpled like a rag doll, a small black hole growing on his forehead. Fresh blood immediately pooled on the paving stones beneath his head.
Gregory sighed in relief, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. He approached Nate, who was still standing in perfect pose. "You're still amazing and fast as always," he said, trying to hide the remnants of nervousness in his voice.
Nate only smiled faintly, a rare expression that was almost meaningless. With automatic movement, he holstered his still-warm gun into the rucksack. They both approached the lifeless pursuer. The man lay motionless, his eyes wide open and empty, staring at the night sky polluted by the city's light pollution.
"Wow, he died easily," Gregory commented, patting Nate's shoulder to release the tension.
"Can you get the car? We can't leave this body here," Nate said flatly, his alert eyes continuing to scan every window and rooftop around them, searching for danger that might still be lurking.
Gregory sighed deeply, this time more because of the troublesome extra task. "Alright, alright," he muttered, before turning and walking quickly out of the alley, following the route they had previously agreed upon to find their vehicle.
*
In less than an hour, the headlights of an old classic Chevrolet Caprice sedan swept through the dark alley before stopping with the engine still purring. Gregory got out of the car, his face tense as he approached Nate, who was crouching beside the body, his latex-gloved hands methodically searching the victim's pockets.
"You took bloody ages!" Nate grunted in annoyance, standing up and removing the dirty gloves before stuffing them into his jacket pocket. He walked over to Gregory, who was opening the car's trunk, which smelled of oil and old rubber.
"The traffic around Times Square is a nightmare," Gregory complained, staring at the corpse with disgust. "Police and cop cars have blocked off several streets. Seems there was a shooting incident at a nightclub."
Together, they struggled to lift the stiff corpse into the trunk. A metallic clang sounded as the body lay down among the car tools and a jack. Gregory slammed the trunk lid shut until it locked tightly, and they immediately sped away from the place, the car's lights sweeping through the dark outskirts of the city.
*
The sound of rippling water blended with the silence of the night on the pitch-black banks of the Hudson River. A cold wind blew from the river's surface, carrying the pungent smell typical of brackish water mixed with sand and oil from an old pier in the distance. Manhattan's lights across the river were still on, their yellow-orange reflections swaying on the dark water like an ever-changing abstract painting. Nate and Gregory watched the Chevrolet slowly sink, air bubbles hissing out from the gaps in the doors before finally disappearing into the dark current. Without saying a word, Gregory immediately hugged his friend tightly, patting Nate's back several times. Without hesitation, Nate returned the embrace, his cold hands still carrying the scent of the river and death.
"I thought you weren't coming back," Gregory said with relief after releasing the hug, his breath forming white mist in the cold air.
"Stupid! That's impossible," Nate retorted, patting Gregory's back somewhat irritably. How could the soul of a hitman like him let his body be possessed forever?
"You know, about someone taking over your body?" Gregory asked while reaching for a pack of cigarettes from his pocket.
Nate corrected him while accepting a offered cigarette, his voice slightly softer than usual. "He didn't take it. I gave it to him."
"W-what?" Gregory was stunned, the lighter in his hand stopping mid-air. "But why?" His expression turned serious, staring at Nate, who was lighting his cigarette. In that small flame's glow, the shadows on Nate's face looked deeper than usual.
Nate didn't answer immediately. He inhaled deeply, letting the smoke fill his lungs before exhaling slowly. For a moment, his grey eyes seemed to gaze into the distance—not across the river, but into a time long past.
"You know what it's like to live fifteen years with one purpose, Greg? Kill, take revenge, and die." His voice was flat, but there was a subtle tremor at the end of the sentence. "That wound... it makes you forget what it feels like to be human. But him, Noel... somehow, he reminded me."
Gregory fell silent, digesting the words that rarely came out of Nate's mouth.
"I just wanted to feel it one more time. Being human. Before it all ends."
"Someday, you'll understand the reason," Nate said, exhaling smoke. Although reluctant to explain further, his faint smile was still visible in the darkness—a smile that Gregory had never seen in all the years he'd known him.
He took a deep breath. "I found the answer to what happened in the past in the personal safe of the former Director of Tsvetkov & SON. Inc."
Nate reached into his military rucksack lying on the frozen ground and pulled out a worn leather notebook about three centimeters thick. Its cover was cracked, and its pages were yellowed with age.
Gregory received it carefully and began reading the neat handwriting inside. "This can't be..." he said softly, his eyes widening.
"Yes, my father's journal. Everything is recorded neatly here, complete with names and their dark transactions."
Gregory stared at Nate with an uneasy feeling. "What are you planning?"
"To continue my father's delayed plan." Nate threw his cigarette butt into the river, the small red spark disappearing into the darkness.
Gregory clenched his fist. "But that's suicide, Nate."
Nate didn't look at Gregory's expression; without a word, he turned to leave. However, his arm was caught by Gregory.
"I've been thinking about it for fifteen years," Nate said sharply. "Alexei knows every one of his father's accomplices well. After he took over the company, all those 'mysterious' accidents that befell them... they weren't coincidences."
The words echoed in Gregory's mind. "I still don't understand."
"Davidovich Tsvetkov had the same journal. Before he 'died,' he gave me half of it." Nate sighed. "Alexei must have kept the other part."
Now Gregory understood. This was about erasing traces—forever.
"But if he still has that journal, that means..."
Nate nodded slowly. "He has more complete evidence than we do. And he knows we have it too."
Gregory took a deep breath. Now he understood why Nate had to "disappear" for a while.
Nate grabbed Gregory's shoulder. "This time, please help me one last time. I promise I'll follow your wish to retire."
The night breeze blew gently between them, carrying the pungent scent of river water. Gregory stared far into the dark river. After a moment, he said, his voice almost swallowed by the wind, "He's a good kid. I'm not sure he'll want to get involved in all this."
Nate smiled crookedly. "Bad people are born from good people who've been hurt."
"You promise?" Gregory asked once more, his voice nearly carried away by the wind.
"Yes, I promise." Nate extended his pinky finger. With a heavy heart, Gregory accepted it.
"But, I still regret that you're sacrificing your own body."
"Soul summoning comes at a high price, Greg. And my soul in this body won't last much longer." Nate's smile was forced, and Gregory knew it wasn't just empty words.
They sat side by side on the bank, watching the full moon reflected in the black river water. The silence of the night was suddenly broken by the sound of a rumbling stomach.
"What was that noise?" Gregory asked, looking around with a deliberately innocent face.
"That's my stomach," Nate answered flatly.
"Bloody hell, I forgot to feed 'you' since yesterday afternoon." Gregory rubbed the back of his neck, feeling guilty.
Nate landed a light punch on Gregory's head. "Ow, that hurts!"
"Serves you right."
Gregory stood up, extending his hand with a wide smile. "Come on! Operation Stomach Rescue!"
Nate smiled, took that hand, and stood up. They left the river and its dark shadows behind, their steps walking together toward the warmth of dawn that was beginning to creep across the edge of the sky.
*
Towards dawn, Nate and Gregory were already in a new sedan they had "acquired" from a motel parking lot. As they passed their old apartment building, they saw blue and red rotator lights flashing. Several police officers stood at the entrance.
"When I fell asleep, I heard a very loud gunfire from the next room," said a woman in a bathrobe to the police officer taking notes, her voice still trembling. "When I peeked out, someone came out with a gun."
"Did you see his face?" asked the officer.
"Because I was scared, I immediately went in and locked the door," the woman said nervously, her hands still gripping her robe's collar tightly.
A young police officer approached with evidence in a transparent plastic bag. "Sir, we found this inside."
The senior officer took the plastic bag containing a white rabbit mask stained with blood. "Rabbit?" he muttered, his eyes narrowing toward the apartment now surrounded by police tape.
From behind the dark car window across the street, Gregory whispered, "Nate, your mask."
Nate stared at the plastic bag for a moment. That mask had been part of him for years—a symbol of fear for his enemies, the identity that made him known as the Killer Rabbit. Now, lying there, it was just another piece of evidence at a crime scene.
"I don't need it anymore," Nate answered shortly. He turned the ignition key, and the sedan's V8 engine roared. With one smooth motion, they turned and sped away, leaving the commotion far behind.
Inside the car, Gregory glanced sideways. "So, now what?"
Nate didn't answer, but the corner of his lips lifted slightly. In the rearview mirror, the apartment lights grew smaller and smaller, finally sinking into the glittering lights of New York City as it began to wake. Somewhere inside this body, Noel was probably sleeping in a dark corner of his consciousness, unaware of what had just happened. And Nate promised himself: before it all ended, he would make sure that kid—the innocent soul who had once warmed his cold body—would get a better life than the one he himself had lived.
[•°]