Standing directly in front of him, as if it had been summoned from the air, was a pitch-black figure. It was humanoid but not human. Its body was composed of a dark, smoke-like substance that writhed and coiled, and from its back sprouted a pair of massive, tattered wings that seemed to drink the light around them. The creature's face was a featureless void, but John could feel its gaze on him, a silent, knowing presence.
He knew what it was. It was a part of him. A reflection of his new, impossible reality. He was no longer just John. He was an Ajin.
John's eyes went cold at the thought, his heart pounding not with excitement but fear as his brain began to conjure up the horrible future he could face if this was found out. The life of an Ajin was one of constant persecution, experimentation, and fear. He could not, would not, let that happen.
His gaze fell to the unconscious guard lying close to him. A problem to be solved. Without a moment's hesitation, John's hand clamped around the man's neck, a sickening crack echoing in the sudden silence as he snapped it. He shoved the limp body aside, his mind already racing.
With the ghostly form of the Ajin still swirling at the edges of his vision, John's eyes locked onto the source of the gunshot. The phantom, an extension of his will, showed him the exact position of the shooter. The man stood up from his hiding spot on a rooftop, a smug smile on his face, clearly believing his job was done.
From the shadows of the containers below, the remaining men of the Viper Gang began to emerge, their ambush no longer necessary. John took control of the sniper rifle on the ground next to him. His hands were steady as he aimed down the scope at the cocky shooter on the opposite roof. A single shot rang out, followed by the distant sound of a body hitting the concrete.
The sound sent a jolt of fear through the Vipers below. They looked up at the water tower, their faces a mix of confusion and terror. Another shot echoed through the factory, and another body dropped.
Panic erupted. A man screamed, and a storm of bullets erupted from every corner, tearing into the water tower. John, however, was already gone. He willed the IBM to disappear, the shadowy figure melting back into the shadow of his mind. He found a military knife on the unconscious sniper's body.
John held the knife as he pinned it to his neck, pulling as he drew blood. Something necessary for whoever may be keeping an eye on him.
"Three, two, one," he counted down in his head. Just as the men below focused their fire on the tower, John took hold of the sniper's body and hurled it off the platform. The thud of the body hitting the ground drew their attention.
In that split second, John vanished. He leaped from the tower, melting back into the shadows of the factory, his true hunting ground, and this time, he had a score to settle.
John's appearance on the tower made the ninja watching him pull his hands away from the button he was about to press. Meanwhile the man with the suit had a frown on his face seeing as John was still alive.
John landed in a crouch, the momentum of his jump absorbed by his trained muscles. The factory district was now a symphony of panic and gunfire. The Vipers, their carefully planned ambush shattered, were no longer a disciplined. They were just men, scared and exposed. They shot wildly at the water tower and the body of their fallen comrade, their fear turning into a reckless barrage of wasted ammunition.
John's found his first target, a man reloading his pistol behind a rusted tanker. The military knife was clenched harder as he moved, a flash of movement. He was behind the man before he even realized it, the knife slicing through the night. The body dropped without a sound.
The Viper's fear at losing their target was clear, as John moved through the factory district. His previous restraint, the calculated strikes to render men unconscious was gone. His mind, still reeling from the impossible resurrection, was now consumed by one thought, erase all witnesses. Every man here was a potential threat, someone who might have seen a glimpse of his impossible reality. It was irrational but right now, he didn't care.
As bodies fell, a domino effect of terror swept through the remaining men. They broke rank, screaming and running, their discipline dissolving into a panicked scramble for survival. But there was nowhere to hide from a ghost. A flash of light from a muzzle, a burst of fire, a quick shot. A man's foot was all that remained behind a stack of crates, his comrade lost in a spreading pool of crimson.
John emerged from the darkness, his form silhouetted by the moonlight. He was drenched in blood some his own and some wasn't. It was to be expected when fighting a group of armed men. He knelt, his eyes falling on a walkie-talkie that lay beside a lifeless hand. He picked it up, his voice hoarse and raw from the adrenaline and the cold. "Hello," he said into the device, the word echoing into the silence of the night.
Back in the city, the man with the cigar was no longer a picture of casual confidence. His usual calmness was shattered, replaced by a pale, stunned silence as he watched the screen. The flickering images of the massacre in the factory district, the sheer brutality of it all, had wiped the smirk from his face. His cigar, forgotten, went out in his shaking hand.
John's instructor was equally taken aback. He finally got a clear glimpse of the man behind the killing spree and recognized him instantly. "How did John end up in this situation?" he muttered, more to himself than to the gang leader. "And with a cop?" His mind raced, trying to find a reason for this impossible turn of events. A League trainee, the best of his generation, caught in a gang war in a foreign city and allied with law enforcement? It made no sense.
Then, a voice cut through the tense silence. "Hello," it said, the sound raspy and raw from the walkie-talkie. Both men stared at the device. The gang leader's hand trembled, gripping the communication device as if it were a red-hot iron. The reality of what had just happened, what they had witnessed, was settling in.
"I know you are there," John's voice came again, this time without the initial hoarseness. It was clear and sharp, cutting through the static with a chilling finality. "I know who you are. And I know you have her."
"I previously thought about us meeting and maybe working together," John's voice crackled through the comms. "I was lenient on your men out of respect, but you have now put an unwarranted fate on me, and a heavy price will be paid for that."
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