Kurz made it to the back of the hold, where the dim light picked up something glimmering on the floor. Some kind of viscous red fluid had been scattered forcefully across several meters. It hung on the walls, the girders, and even the containers across from him.
Is that... blood? Intestines...? Then, even further in, behind a crushed cardboard box, he could see the leg of someone standing there. Was that what had made the squishing sound before? “...Yang?”
It was almost as if a person had exploded—
Suddenly, Kurz found himself leaping to the side. A high-caliber bullet tore through the place he’d been standing a moment before, and hit the floor. It kicked up a cloud of dust as the low, muffled gunshot reached his ears.
He came out of a roll, then pointed his rifle in the direction of the shot. The mysterious attacker leaped at him immediately and swiped his gun aside. The power on display was incredible—it bent Kurz’s rifle in the middle and sent it flying into the wall. Kurz’s hand was stinging, with a dull pain running down his index finger.
He caught a glimpse of the attacker, a large man in a coat. Was this the passenger Yang had mentioned? No... this wasn’t a passenger. It wasn’t even human!
Kurz let out a grunt as he dodged. The fist scraped by him and hit the container beyond with an ear-rending screech. The burly figure’s blows had the power of a sledgehammer. There was nowhere left to run, and the man’s other hand seized Kurz by the neck.
“Gn...” Kurz gurgled. The man then began to lift, and Kurz’s feet left the floor. The stranger’s strength was overpowering, unrelenting and brutal. Kurz’s vision clouded. His struggles were in vain. He couldn’t breathe, and he could feel his spine creaking.
All Kurz could see in his blurring vision was the face of his enemy. It was a simple, blank mask, with a horizontal slit glowing red where the eyes should be. No mouth, no nose. Expressionless. Completely expressionless.
It could kill him and not feel a thing.
4: The Executors24 December, 2250 Hours (Japan Standard Time)Shopping Center, Pacific Chrysalis
“...So I feel like I’ve established a greater relationship of trust with my subordinates than I had before,” Tessa whispered, holding her knees in the darkness. “But because of that, lately, I feel like it’s compromising our work relationship. Before, everyone was very proper in calling me ‘Colonel’ and ‘Captain’ and such. But lately, it’s more like “Colone~l” and “Capta~in.” Can you imagine? It feels wrong.”
“Hmm. I don’t know who’d want to give nicknames like ‘Colonel’ and ‘Captain’ to a kid maid like you, but that does sound pretty rough,” Sailor threw back as he rooted through the indulgence item counters.
“Excuse me. Sailor-san? I hope you’ll forget what I said about the rank names, but I am still talking to you seriously,” Tessa pointed out. “I’m attempting to open my heart to you, as a kindred spirit.”
“Yeah. I get it, I get it.”
“Are you sure?” Tessa wasn’t talking like this simply because she wanted a sounding board for her complaints. There was intent behind it. Talking to Sailor might help her to buy time, which would allow Clouseau and the others to locate and surround them. And finding out more about the kind of man he was would help her to better influence his behavior. Of course, the content of their conversation had ended up deviating significantly from those strategic objectives...
“Hey! There we go!” Sailor proclaimed as he picked a small box from a kiosk shelf, and held it up to the minimal light he had available.
“What is it?” Tessa asked. “Are you going to craft more dangerous weapons?”
“They’re cigars, dummy,” Sailor scoffed. “Whoa, Cohiba Lanceros?! These are Cuban! They sell these here? I had this pegged as a shitty-ass ship with crap security, but I guess it ain’t all bad!” He swiftly broke the wrapping, pulled out a cigar, bit off the end, and spat it out on the floor. It was hideously uncouth.
“Excuse me, but you can’t really intend to smoke here, can you?” Tessa demanded politely. “I would appreciate it if you’d consider my health...”
“Shut up! It helps me think. Smoke ’em if you got ’em!” Sailor lit the cigar with a lighter, then let out a blissful plume of smoke. “Mm... Whew.”
Tessa turned away and started coughing, but she came to a sudden stop, and looked back curiously. A strange feeling began to come over her as she sniffed at the air. There was a slightly floral scent to the smoke from Sailor’s cigar. It was like when you pulled the stopper out of a bottle of potpourri... Something about it seemed to take her back to childhood. She wasn’t sure why.
“Well? Not bad, eh?” Sailor declared proudly. “That bastard Castro aside, there’s two things I’ll give Cuba—baseball players and cigars. Even Kennedy was all-in on importing Cuban cigars.”
“Ah-hah...”
“A superior I really admired once said: ‘Oh, hear us when we cry to Thee, for those in peril on the sea... and give us fine cigars!’ Now there was a man who loved a good smoke,” Sailor declared in a sonorous voice. Tiny sparks popped out from the cigar in the darkness.
“Is that a parody of the Navy Hymn?” Tessa wanted to know.
“Yeah... but hey, how’d you know that?!” Sailor demanded suspiciously. “Are you really just a maid?”
“Oh, of course... Anyway, could you tell me the name of that superior officer you—” Tessa’s request was interrupted by a tremor in the distance.
Exactly one hundred seconds earlier...
Even as he felt his neck muscles and bones reach their breaking point, Kurz reached a hand under his vest. His neck was going to snap. It would happen any second now...
“Ngh... hng...” he wheezed, pulling his automatic pistol from its holster. It was an FN Browning Hi-Power. Why did I have to pack a single action? he lamented. The
