Chapter 24: Final Resolve

..... WHEN I WOKE UP....

a male voice echoed in the dark abyss.

GASP!

An unknown man gasped violently, snapping back to consciousness from the darkness. He immediately sat upright, his eyes straining as his vision focused on a massive library shelf directly in front of him.

"Hergh... Hergh... Hergh..." the man panted heavy breaths, glaring down at the floor. His legs were stretched out before him in a wide, awkward V-shape as he clutched his chest.

"Where... am I...?"

He looked to his right. Two tall bookshelves stood opposing each other, creating a narrow, shadowy aisle that led out into the darkness. He quickly turned to his left—it was the same setup, but he was backed up near the far end, inches away from a solid concrete wall.

I THOUGHT I WAS DEAD.

the male voice inside his head echoed again.

He raised both of his gloved hands, staring at them in disbelief, turning his palms back and forth.

"I'm... alive!" he gasped. "How did I even get here...?"

"Ugh—!"

A sharp, violent pain shot through his brain. The man clamped his left hand over his forehead as a fragmented, distant memory rushed back:

FLASHBACK

His vision was locked onto the dark tread of a boot descending from above, blotting out the light and plunging him into absolute blackness.

Through the gloom, he could feel his left hand being stretched out by a towering figure in the shadows.

He couldn't make out the man's face in the dark—all he could see was a terrifying, brilliant white grin with two glowing, golden round eyes staring down at him from above.

"—Say Hi to Valhalla—"

STOMP!

Everything went blank.

The assassin's eyes snapped wide open in the present, returning to reality.

He dropped his hand from his head, falling completely silent as his breathing remained heavy and erratic.

"Huff.... Huff... That bastard. I thought he... actually almost killed me," the man muttered, a cold sweat breaking out on his neck.

He let me live... he realized mentally.

"He's going to regret that..." the assassin growled.

"Ugh— Sss... Arhhhg...!" He grabbed his head again, grinding his teeth as a brutal migraine flared up. Shadows covered the upper half of his face.

"I'll have to report to him. He won't believe I actually failed... but we clearly have no idea what kind of monster we're dealing with," the man muttered, contemplating his next move. "I thought he was going to be an easy target..."

He let out a long sigh, leaning his head back against the wall and staring up at the dark abyss of the ceiling.

The image of P—the dark silhouette, the glowing golden eyes, the terrifying grin, and the boot coming down in slow motion—was burned into his mind.

That guy is a complete monster, he thought. I have to warn them... and someday, I'm going to kill him myself.

He turned around, searching his immediate surroundings, and paused as he spotted something lying on the floor behind him. It was his hat. He reached out and snatched it up.

He quickly patted down his coat and tactical gear. Something was missing. Panic setting in, he dropped to his knees and began frantically crawling around, searching the dusty floor.

"Where is it...?! Where is it?!" he hissed.

He ducked down, peering under the bottom shelf, then snapped his head back up in the dark.

"That son of a B**ch...!" he cursed, his fists clenching in rage. "He stole my gun... That bastard!"

Slowly, painfully, he forced himself to stand.

CRACK... CRACK! CRACK!

"AAAAHHH...!" he groaned softly, wincing as he stretched his stiff waist and back.

Once he regained his balance, he dusted off his hat and slid it firmly onto his head.

The light caught his features—it was the very same assassin who had tried to execute P after P hacked the police station database to gather intel on Hanabi and the cult.

BAM! BAM!

BAAAAM!

The assassin kicked open the locked back door of the abandoned cafe, stepping out into the cool night air.

STEP.

RUSTLE...

He tilted his head up, looking into the quiet night sky as the bright full moon hung above the city.

It's night already... he thought.

He stood in total silence for a moment. To his left sat a row of overflowing trash cans, tucked away in the narrow alleyway between a sequence of tightly packed commercial buildings.

"Tsk," he spat, making his way toward the alley exit leading out into the street.

He navigated a tight walkthrough path between two high-rise buildings, stepping cautiously toward the quiet pavement ahead.

A few vehicles were parked along the curb under the dim streetlights. But before he could step completely out of the alley, he instinctively pulled back into the heavy shadows.

He spotted two figures holding flashlights, walking toward a vehicle parked in the middle of the road.

A police officer slid into his patrol car, while his partner turned off his flashlight and walked around to the driver's side door.

STEP... STEP... STEP...

SLAM!

BRR... VOOOM!

The engine roared to life, and the patrol car pulled away smoothly down the left side of the street, its roof lights remaining dark. The faint red and blue reflection flashed across the alleyway where the assassin stood hidden, but his low-brimmed black hat kept his face completely concealed in the dark.

The moment the coast was clear, he stepped out of the shadows and casually approached a pristine, well-maintained 1992 Mercedes-Benz 500E parked nearby.

He slid a thin, professional metal pick from inside his coat lining, inserted it into the driver's-side lock, and executed a swift lockpick.

CLICK.

The door unlocked. He grabbed the handle, slid into the leather driver's seat, and pulled the door shut behind him.

SLAM!

He sank back against the headrest, letting out a heavy groan of pain as he rested both hands on the steering wheel.

"Ugh... haa..." He took a deep, steadying breath.

BRR-BRMMM... VOOOOM!

VROOM!

The assassin started the engine, pulled out from the curb, and turned the Mercedes onto the main road, disappearing into the dark night beneath the glowing moon.

WOOOOOSH...

The cool wind whistled through the quiet streets as the moon lit up the cityscape.

Suddenly, a tall silhouette stepped into view, blocking out the moonlight. He stood with his right hand casually shoved into the pocket of his green Lakers jacket.

"Haa... You Son of a B**ch, did you actually expect me to be dead?" a man's voice asked warmly.

It was P. He was standing in the empty amusement park at the exact spot where he had said goodbye to Hanabi, holding a stolen phone to his left ear.

"Yeah..." the unknown caller replied brightly over the line.

"Me, out of all people? Why would you ever think that?" P asked, genuinely curious.

"Well... if you look at your track record... it's just you," the caller chuckled. "Sometimes I get this weird feeling you're gonna get hit by a speeding truck and die, or randomly jump off a high cliff just because and end up dead in the process."

The caller continued, "I can barely imagine a normal day in your life... I don't mean that in a bad way, it's just that you look like a guy life loves to toss around. You and problems are like pant and ass."

"Well, I'm getting used to it," P said, taking a seat on the wooden park bench beside him.

"Because that's what you do—you fking adapt," the unknown caller said softly. "It's just... it's been so damn long since I last heard that iconic voice of yours."

The caller paused, his tone shifting into genuine warmth. "....We were worried about you."

"...Well, you shouldn't be. All of you need to mind your own business," P said flatly.

"Tsk— don't be like that. I manage to finally get a hold of you, and this is the thanks I get? You're heartless, even to an old friend," the caller complained.

"Man, I missed you too... But I thought I warned you," P said, his tone turning icy cold.

A heavy silence hung over the line.

".....What do you mean?" the caller asked, his voice suddenly dropping its casual tone.

"...You think I don't know... that you're literally here right now?" P said.

....

Hundreds of meters away from P's location, perched on the dark roof of a high-rise building overlooking the amusement park, stood a shadowy figure.

The wind whipped against his long black coat as it flapped behind him. The screen of his phone lit up the side of his face, displaying an UNKNOWN NUMBER on the display.

Slowly, the man lowered the phone from his ear to his side.

Below, P was looking out across the empty park. The caller was far out of normal visual range, utterly impossible to spot with the naked eye.

"What are you... Batman?" P spoke into the mic. "Come on down here, will ya? Let me see your face for a minute... old friend."

"...I don't need to," the caller said, bringing the phone back to his ear. "And what the hell are you doing in Japan anyway?"

"I should be asking you the exact same thing..." P countered.

"Do you have any idea what we just did for you up here...?" the caller asked. "We cleaned up your entire mess."

"Cleaned up my mess... 'Pant and Ass', huh? I see now... No wonder I felt so light earlier," P realized, nodding slightly.

"You're a busy ass, bringing non-stop problems to a random girl," the caller remarked. "Is she your girlfriend?"

"One— She's the one with the problems, not me. Two— She ain't my girlfriend. Three— She isn't random. She's... I don't really know, but... I'm going to be staying in Japan for a while," P stated firmly.

"In Japan for a while? Why...? Oh— is it because of your back? I heard from Habi—"

"Don't you say that goddamn name!" P cut in instantly, his voice snapping with raw, volatile fury.

On the rooftop, the caller froze in shock, the blue light of the phone screen reflecting in his wide eyes.

"—Don't you ever say that name..." P growled, his jaw clenched tight.

"What do you mean don't say his name...? Wasn't he your guy from day one—"

"My guy from day one?! Hell no! He ain't that guy no more! He ain't that guy... I lost him!" P shouted, his voice laced with deep bitterness.

"Why are you saying that...? What the hell happened?!" the caller asked, deeply concerned.

"Just forget about it. If I went into the details, it would take way too long... All you need to know is that, thanks to him... I've never felt worse in my life. I got kidnapped two months ago," P said.

"Yeah, I know!" the caller admitted.

"...And some guy practiced using an axe on my back. On a Tuesday," P added coldly. Then he paused. "Wait... What do you mean 'I know'?"

"See what I told you? Now your back is even worse!" the caller tried to pivot, sounding worried.

"Hey, don't change the subject! You said 'Yeah, I know'! I knew it!" P clenched his right fist, his eyes narrowing.

"NO! I said nothing!" the caller lied quickly.

"Drop the act... I already figured you out, can't your brain get that? But well— it's a good thing that you called, though," P said, relaxing his posture slightly. "Wait...! How did you even get this number anyway?"

"...I—uh..." the caller stammered, searching for a cover story.

"Tsk, just forget it," P sighed, leaning back against the bench in the empty park. "The point is... I'm staying in Japan for a while. I have to get my back fixed, and most importantly... I have to stick close to that girl for a bit."

"Why...?" the caller asked.

"Does the name Kalbē Mōṯ ring any bells?" P asked cleanly.

"...Deathhounds?" the caller repeated, his tone instantly shifting.

"Yeah. You know something?" P asked, a faint spark of hope in his voice.

"Uhhh... No! Why do you ask?" the caller deflected quickly.

"Damnit. I need you to run some deep research on them. It's a cult that's transformed into a massive underground organization," P explained. "And that incident where I got axed... it was done by that same cult. And the woman you saw me with tonight... she's right in the center of it."

P fell silent on the phone for a long moment, staring up at the stars.

"This whole thing shouldn't be any of my concern, but..." P paused, his voice turning deadly serious. "It's just that my instincts are screaming at me to stay close to her... and you know very well..."

"MY INSTINCTS ARE NEVER WRONG," both P and the unknown caller said in absolute unison.

"P... it's over," the caller said softly, his voice dropping into a low, somber tone.

"...I know," P replied, a quiet, resolute expression settling over his face. "But she has... I'm going to stay and protect that woman."

"...Why? Why are your instincts acting up like this...? Or is it just because she's got a fine ass?" asked the caller

"I don't know... But maybe it's time I play Sherlock Holmes. Remember what I told you about the cult—I need intel," P demanded.

"P... I—"

"And didn't I give you a warning?" P interrupted smoothly.

".....Well, P, I don't know... but anything for your goddamn epilogue," the caller sighed in defeat. "But remember this... You can't squeeze in. I'm going to keep my distance."

P remained silent on the bench.

"It was good talking to ya—"

"...Yeah. And by the way... if you ever run into Habidi..." P said, his tone dropping an octave. "Choke him out for me, will ya?"

"Choke Habidi...? Man, that's between you and him, not me! But P, for God's sake... please don't blow up the entire planet!" the caller groaned.

"Don't worry yourself... I've got everything under complete control," P said with absolute confidence.

"Fking hope so," the caller muttered in utter disbelief.

"Stay in touch," P said.

"Yeah... will do."

BEEP.

P ended the call, sitting alone on the public bench in the quiet, empty amusement park.

WOOOOSH...

A soft breeze rustled through the trees as P slipped the stolen phone back into his jacket pocket.

"Haaa..." He let out a long breath, leaning back and looking up at the bright full moon in the night sky.

"Home..." P whispered softly to himself.

Meanwhile, in a hidden location:

STEP... STEP...

A man walked slowly into a pitch-black room bathed entirely in an eerie, blood-red light. Only his boots were visible as he crossed the threshold.

"Welcome back," a dark, imposing voice spoke from the shadows.

The figure was sitting in an executive leather office chair behind a massive desk illuminated by the crimson glow. "What took you so long...?"

STEP.

The cloaked man came to a stop directly before the desk, his low-brimmed black hat casting a deep shadow over his face. It was the assassin who had stolen the Mercedes.

"...Lu," the man behind the desk addressed him smoothly.

The assassin raised the brim of his hat, exposing his face to the red light. He was a sharp-featured Chinese man, his eyes locked in a fierce, unyielding gaze of absolute focus.