The Boss: "Emilia, I thought I had taught you better. If you lie to others, then at least make it believable."
He stepped closer, calm as a winter tide. Two fingers tipped her chin upward, forcing her to meet his eyes.
Emilia squeezed her eyes shut. A single tear slipped free.
The Boss: "Oh come on, Emilia, don't cry; an old man like me has a weak heart.
He released her, patting his chest with mock sorrow.
The Boss: "Seeing a young girl cry breaks my heart."
Daniel swallowed and took a step forward, voice shaking.
Daniel: "E-ehm, sorry, Boss, b-but I also have something to tell you."
The Boss turned his head, curiosity cutting through his stillness. He tapped his chin lightly, gaze drifting upward as if considering a riddle only he could see.
Daniel: "B-boss?"
The Boss: "Who are you again?"
He asks.
Daniel blanched.
Daniel: "W-what do you mean? I-I'm the new guy, Daniel."
The Boss: "Really? I don't remember hiring someone new."
Nearby, Broker clicked his tongue, impatience flaring.
Broker: "Yo Boss, I don't want to interrupt your conversation, but I don't have time for this shit; kill them or let me do it."
He interrupts them.
The Boss: "Broker, since when did we become so impatient?"
Broker: "Since I got fucking fooled by one of yours, you old fuck."
Fury tightened his jaw. Around him, his men leveled guns, muzzles gleaming like black eyes.
The boss turned to face him fully, voice rising.
The Boss: "So this is the thanks for when I took you in, when you were only a mere street kid, being beaten up daily?"
Broker's lip curled.
Broker: "Still holding on to the past, I see. I paid my debt to you at least double; matter of fact, you are still standing here thanks to me. So, seeing one of yours trying to fool me makes me fucking mad.
The broker responds in a similar, loud voice.
The Boss: "Yeah, you're right, you did pay me back."
His tone softened—calm, almost kind—as he turned his back as if to walk away.
Broker's smile spread slow and victorious. For a heartbeat, he believed the room belonged to him.
Henchman 1: "B-broker?"
Confusion crept into the man's voice.
Then the wet thud of bodies. Mouths filled with blood. Everyone around Broker folded at the waist—torsos sliding from their legs as if an invisible blade had drawn perfect horizontal lines through flesh and bone. Red spread across the planks in widening sheets.
Broker: "W-what the…"
The word died in his throat. He looked from the halved corpses to the boss, eyes blazing with sudden understanding—and terror.
The Boss: "But never say that you are the reason that I'm still here, you dumb shit."
He said it lightly, almost bored, his gaze pinning Broker like an insect.
The Boss: "See you living as a sign of us being quit."
He says to a raging broker.
Broker: "BOSSSS!!!"
His scream rattled the rafters.
A cold breath rolled through the hall. In an instant, fog poured over the floor, thick as wool, swallowing bodies and crates alike.
Emilia: "Our chance"
She grabbed Daniel's wrist and pulled.
Daniel: "B-but I can't see anything."
His face flushed crimson.
Emilia: "No problem, leave that to me."
She stretched her hand. The fog in front of them peeled apart, parting like a curtain and carving a narrow, clear path to the exit while the rest of the hall stayed drowned in white.
Daniel: "Whoah, Emilia, the fog was your doing, right?"
He asked, stunned by the effortless control.
Emilia: "Let us get out of here."
They reached the doors. Emilia lurched—then cried out. A deep slice opened along her right calf, red spilling fast. She hit the ground, teeth gritted.
Daniel: "EMILIA"
He tore off his sailor blouse, revealing a lean, trained torso, and pressed the cloth hard against her wound.
Emilia: "I'm alright, just a scratch. As a matter of fact, I did not expect you to be this trained."
She managed a ghost of a smile, surprised despite the pain.
The Boss's voice floated through the fog, mild as ever.
The Boss: "Running away like a coward might be something I taught you."
He stepped out of the mist and into the open air beyond the hall, each footfall unhurried.
The Boss: "This is proof of me getting older; I aimed to cut your whole leg off."
A pleasant smile. He raised a finger. Before it, a razor-edged soap bubble spun into being—clear, perfectly spherical, and humming with danger.
Daniel's jaw locked. He shoved the makeshift bandage into Emilia's hands.
Daniel: "Hold it."
He says to Emilia, telling her to press the blood-drained uniform on her wound.
With his free hand he drew a pistol from his waistband, leveling it at the boss.
Daniel: "I-C-D Special Agent Daniel Krueger, surrender now or I will shoot."
His shout cracked like thunder in the street.
(ICD: Imperial Crime Department—the Empire's blade against organized crime.)
The Boss: "I knew I should never hire a new guy."
Satisfaction glinted; suspicion finally settled.
Daniel: "You actually did hire me."
He smiled—just enough to needle. The Boss's eyes narrowed.
The Boss: "Then I guess I did get old."
He took a deliberate step forward. Daniel was fired.
Clink. Clink. Clink.
Every bullet ricocheted off thin air, sparks skittering, the impact revealing for a moment a massive translucent bubble surrounding the Boss like a second skin.
Emilia pushed up on one knee, blood soaking the cloth. She raised her arm—fog coalesced, thickened, and shaped into a colossal axe, nearly as long as the hall itself. She brought it down in a brutal arc.
The blade smashed onto the invisible sphere, pressing it flat. The Boss lifted both palms, serene, holding the impossible weight at bay without a tremor.
Emilia: "This is our chance."
She grabbed Daniel and pulled him close.
Daniel: "Yeah, time to finish this."
He started to surge forward—then blinked in confusion as Emilia's lower body dissolved into fog, lifting them both like smoke on a breeze. In a blink, they were airborne, streaking away over the quay. The axe vanished. The Boss stared upward, then started after them—on foot—and still gained.
Daniel: "What are you doing, Emilia? We could have ended him."
Emilia: "I don't know what you have been investigating until now, Special Agent, but by now you should have noticed that we don't stand a chance. As a matter of fact, I don't know how long it will take until he catches up to us."
Daniel glanced down—and swore under his breath. The Boss sprinted below with inhuman speed, closing the gap as if the world bent to his stride. No ordinary old man could do that.
Daniel: "What the fu—"
Emilia: "Argh."
A fresh slice opened across her stomach. The fog shattered. They plunged, crashing into the harbor water beside the street with a frigid splash.
Daniel surfaced, hauling Emilia with one arm to the ladder bolted into the quay wall. He dragged her up, lungs burning.
Emilia coughed, sputtering seawater.
Emilia: "T-thanks, Daniel."
Too breathless to speak, Daniel raised a shaky thumbs-up.
Footsteps. The Boss arrived, stopping barely ten feet away. Not a hair out of place.
The Boss: "This was a fun chase, Emilia."
His eyes wandered over their crumpled forms with idle interest.
He extended a hand. A bubble formed and stretched—becoming a sword with a gleaming, glassy edge.
The Boss: "But running is pointless now."
Daniel fired again in desperation. Bullets pinged off the air, the great bubble shimmering into view once more. The Boss flicked his wrist; a razor disc of water-thin bubble zipped out, slicing Daniel's pistol cleanly in two—and taking the outer edge of Daniel's left forearm with it. Pinkie and ring finger spun away into the wet grit.
Daniel screamed, clutching the ruin of his arm.
Emilia watched, helpless rage quaking through her.
Emilia: "I'm so sorry, Daniel, Mom, and Henry. It's over for me."
Her voice broke.
???: "Yo, old man."
The words cut in lazy and sharp at once.
Emilia's breath hitched. Relief and joy smashed through the terror; tears sprang anew.
Emilia: "H-Henryyy"
She sobbed the name like a prayer.
Henry: "What do you think you are doing?"
He adds to his sentence, standing a foot behind the boss.
Henry stood there—so close he could read the ripples in the old man's bubble. His fists were bare. His eyes were not. Deep within them, a faint blue shimmer stirred—like lightning waiting for thunder.