Chapter 229: The MPD's Special Medicine
The luxury international hotel stood nineteen stories tall against the Ginza
skyline. Sikorsky and his group were currently in a presidential suite on the
twelfth floor.
But just moments ago—BOOM!
A violent explosion ripped through the seventeenth floor. Every window on that
level shattered simultaneously. Plumes of thick white smoke billowed from the
jagged openings, though strangely, no flames followed.
Clatter-shash!
Shards of glass and metal window frames rained down like lethal hail, plummeting
toward the pavement below and sending pedestrians screaming for cover.
There was no doubt now—this was a coordinated terrorist strike.
Despite the Shinshinkai's rapid evacuation efforts, some people had been unable
to escape the upper floors in time. The guests and staff from the seventeenth
floor had been herded onto the eighteenth, where they were now being held as
"hostages" alongside the occupants of that level.
There were roughly twenty people in total.
The man occupying the nineteenth floor was the same hooded individual who had
entered the elevator earlier. He was heavily armed with high explosives,
firearms, and tactical blades.
Among the hostages were a few Shinshinkai disciples. After a brief assessment,
they realized the hooded man was far too well-prepared; a blind attempt to
escape would only result in a massacre. They chose to play for time, calming the
other terrified civilians.
"Hmph. A wise choice."
The hooded man sat on a folding chair in the center of the floor. He held a
tactical shotgun in one hand while using his other to dial the Metropolitan
Police Department on an untraceable phone.
Metropolitan Police Headquarters, Situation Room.
Special Official Mitsuo Sonoda stood before a heavy round table, presiding over
a high-stakes secret summit. The men gathered here were titans of international
law enforcement:
Deputy Commissioner Hidenobu Nago; the US Department of Justice Deputy Director
John Spencer; FBI Director Bart Allen; former KGB high official Valentin
Sokolov; and the UK Criminal Court Director Joris Norton.
These heavy hitters were all linked to the various prisons the death row
convicts had escaped from. They were here to discuss the "Convict Invasion" and
the recent aggressive movements of IDEAL and The Worm.
"Please review the dossiers provided," Sonoda said, his voice heavy with the
weight of the crisis. "As of now, the criminals Speck and Dorian have been
apprehended and are back in custody."
"Three suspects remain at large, and the MPD is exerting every resource to
locate them."
"Specifically, Sikorsky's location has been triangulated. He has orchestrated a
kidnapping and is currently being handled by specialized personnel on-site."
Sonoda gripped the edge of the table, his knuckles turning white. "We have
invested an immense amount of time and manpower, yet the results are negligible.
We are counting casualties, not arrests."
"I am not here to berate you for allowing them to escape your respective
jurisdictions."
"I am here to ask... no, I am here to demand your full cooperation!!"
The hard-boiled official stared down the international representatives. Finally,
the former KGB official, Sokolov, broke the silence, turning his gaze toward the
FBI's Bart Allen.
"As the saying goes... 'To cure a poison, one must use a stronger poison'."
Sokolov's eyes crinkled. "Director Bart, I hear that inside the Arizona State
Prison, there is a most... 'unusual' inmate. One who recently arrived in Tokyo."
"A man who is technically a prisoner, yet enters and leaves his cell as he
pleases. A man so dangerous he can only be monitored by a 24-hour dedicated
reconnaissance satellite. And if we speak of his lifestyle inside those walls—"
"Mr. Sokolov," Bart Allen interrupted, his brow furrowing. "You seem quite
well-acquainted with the United States' greatest embarrassment."
"We could view this proposal as a 'Special Medicine'. It might indeed yield
results."
"However," Bart continued, "for us, the police, to formally request the
assistance of a convicted criminal... no matter how dire the situation, it
defies all protocol and logic."
Sokolov let out a series of dry, hacking chuckles. "You just admitted it would
be effective! Besides, the man is already on the ground in Tokyo!"
Bart Allen let out a weary sigh. "He is here as part of the prison's own escort
for Dorian's potential transfer. It is an internal departmental matter. You
people simply don't understand the sheer terror of the monster known as Biscuit
Oliva."
The argument continued, the meeting spiraling into a stalemate.
At that moment, an officer burst into the room with urgent news regarding the
Ginza hotel explosion. He also brought the hooded man's singular demand,
captured via a recorded line.
"I hear 'That Man' has arrived in Tokyo."
The hooded man's voice was a low, chilling rasp saturated with ice-cold killing
intent.
"Send him to me. Personally."
"Let the monster who destroyed my life—Oliva—stand before me! I'm going to make
him regret he was ever born!"
As the storm brewed outside, chaos had already erupted within the hotel.
IDEAL's original plan was to use the hooded man's explosion as cover to seize
the entire building and secure Hina Hongo. They didn't care about the hooded
man's fate or his revenge against Oliva.
But they hadn't planned on The Worm.
As rival global syndicates, IDEAL and The Worm had clashed before, but rarely in
a direct, frontal confrontation. They had underestimated each other's reach.
Now, they had slammed into each other head-on!
Following the blast on the seventeenth floor, both IDEAL and The Worm units
mobilized, racing through the building to locate Hina Hongo. The hostages were a
secondary concern; as long as the civilians didn't resist, the killers ignored
them.
Time was the only factor that mattered. Whoever found the "Revolutionary
Princess" first would control the chemical weapons and the field of battle.
The Sinister Equilibrium was held by a thread.
Third Floor.
An IDEAL hitman squad and a Worm mercenary unit—each consisting of seven or
eight men—collided in a T-shaped corridor.
The two team leaders locked eyes, their hands twitching near their sidearms, but
they held their fire, neither wanting to start a loud war before finding the
target.
But then, from the other end of the corridor—the stairwell—two people emerged.
Their presence was like a lightning bolt in the dim hallway.
The woman wore a sleek, practical tactical suit, a military blade at her hip and
a sidearm holstered at her waist.
The man beside her wore simple trousers and a T-shirt. He was bare-handed, yet
he drew every eye in the hall. He looked infinitely more dangerous than the
armed men surrounding him.
"Oh? CQC in a confined space," Fusui Kure noted, scanning the room. "Ren-chin,
this is different from a match in a ring. Weight classes matter less here, and
your movement will be restricted by the architecture."
Ren Shiroki nodded. "Got it."
Beside him, the ink-wash lines swirled. His "Sensei" was already briefing him:
[Monitor the geometry of the room, Ren. Check your sightlines. Be mindful of the
lighting. Do not get tunnel vision.]
[Be swift. Be sharp. Be precise.]
Ren's pupils quivered as red veins spiderwebbed across his sclera. "Roger."
[ENGINE]—MAX OUTPUT!
Every word from Fusui and his phantom Sensei was internalized and processed. His
mind cycled through a hundred opening moves.
[SATSUI CHOICE]—READ!
Facing nearly twenty armed killers at point-blank range, the map of lethal
possibilities opened before his mind's eye. But regardless of which counter he
chose, his fundamental desire remained unchanged: he wanted to test himself.
Confined space? Armed enemies? Environmental hazards? He wanted to taste it all.
"Nice. This is perfect!"
BANG!
Ren launched a high-level scan-kick. He didn't hit a torso; he targeted a
mercenary's hand, shattering the man's fingers. As the merc's handgun hit the
floor, Ren stomped on it, pinning it to the carpet while simultaneously sliding
forward.
In the blink of an eye, Ren Shiroki had stepped into the "No-Man's-Land" between
the IDEAL and Worm squads.
At this range, unless they were high-level military specialists with zero regard
for their own lives, the mercenaries would hesitate to open fire for fear of
hitting their own teammates.
"Phew...!"
Ren exhaled a cloud of hot steam, his voice dropping into a raspy, excited
murmur.
"If I want my 'Sensei' to teach me, I have to rely on the reality of the
battlefield. That's her world."
"Urban operations... interior building combat... point-blank slaughter...
multiple hostiles... unknown variables... and I have no idea where the next
bullet is coming from."
"These are all the disadvantages I can see."
Ren's bloodshot eyes shifted, looking at the two team leaders. He dropped into a
low, coiled crouch. A savage, happy grin split his face.
"Don't let me down, boys. Give it your best shot!"
(End of Chapter)
☆☆☆
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