Takashi Kouhei, a veteran detective with the First Investigative Division’s Third Unit, received the report of a discovered body at 4:13 AM on February 14th.
He’d likely never forget that night. Of all the rotten luck, it had to be his night shift. The case clung to him like a curse, upending what had been a smooth life.
It was an ordinary night. While most of his colleagues slept, the detectives on night duty were alerted.
Not by dispatch or radio, but by a female officer who came to deliver the news in person.
She was young, with a trendy purple bob—maybe a wig, or maybe she’d paid to alter her genes. Either way, it stood out starkly in the police force.
Takashi prided himself on his memory, but all he recalled were her striking figure and hair color. Her face was a blur.
Looking back, everything about it was suspicious.
In the late 21st century, with crimes happening every day, why did this one warrant a personal visit?
“Investigative Division—there’s, there’s a big case.”
The girl was out of breath, as if she’d jogged the whole way. Her police uniform—skirt and heels—wasn’t exactly practical. Probably from Public Relations or Media Relations.
Maybe Media Relations. An old colleague once mentioned how many cute girls worked there, with voices like spring breeze.
Takashi could only guess. Departments like theirs rarely interacted.
Maybe the comms were down, forcing someone to deliver the news in person.
“A—a male body was found… in Ryoukawa Ward, 31 Liberation South Road, a detached house.”
Despite her panting, her delivery was crisp and professional.
Takashi silently commended her.
“Just the body? Or is the suspect still there?”
“The mobile investigation team was nearby—they got there first…”
Takashi frowned at the sudden pause. “And?”
“They got a call from a neighbor reporting gunshots, so they rushed over.”
“They were shot, weren’t they.”
“Yeah…”
The girl hugged herself, clearly shaken.
“The local koban sent officers, but the suspect has a rifle. They’re in a standoff.”
“A rifle! Did you alert the Security Bureau?” Takashi’s voice rose in alarm.
“SAT was notified immediately. But since a body was found inside, I was sent to inform you.”
“Got it.” Takashi threw on his suit jacket. “Thanks. I’ll head over now.”
“Good luck.” The girl gave him an encouraging smile.
“Thanks.”
Her charm even made the wretched night feel a little warmer to a married man like him.
But it didn’t ease Takashi’s nerves. In Zhuxia, where public safety was generally good—especially in Japan, a developed province with few violent incidents—rifles were rare. Officers being shot was practically unheard of.
Still, with SAT deployed, it wasn’t like a small-time detective like him would be throwing himself into the line of fire. Just put on a vest, draw his pistol, and stay alive.
A Glock 20—one of the classic sidearms of the Federal Police. The Metropolitan PD had purchased a batch, but most detectives preferred domestic models or revolvers.
Takashi was among the few who stuck with the Glock 20. He’d gotten used to it early in his career and never saw a reason to switch.
He loaded a round, holstered the gun, and the ritual was complete.
Takashi couldn’t stop running his fingers over the Glock’s cold frame. Right now, it was his only comfort.
Crime scenes like this were easy to find. Nights in Ryoukawa were dull, with only a handful of bars and clubs still lit.
In such a quiet area, even a few stray dogs howling couldn’t drown out the wail of dozens of police sirens. Just follow the noise.
A few apartment dwellers, roused by the commotion, threw open their windows to curse—only to snap their mouths shut at the unprecedented police presence.
The last time the Metropolitan PD had mobilized like this was for the Iguchi-gumi drug bust.
“Remember Iguchi?”
By the time Takashi arrived, Unit Chief Aoshima was already there. Spotting his superior, Takashi quickly parked and stepped out.
“Yeah. I wasn’t even a detective back then, but they pulled me in. Felt like every cop in Tokyo descended on New Port City.”
“That brat—I held him as a baby. Never thought he’d turn out like this.” Aoshima scowled around his cigarette.
The Iguchi-gumi were legendary in Ryoukawa.
They were the ward’s de facto rulers. Starting with his grandfather, the family had entrenched itself in politics, growing unchecked in this newly developed area until it became a tangled web of influence, controlling politicians and bureaucrats alike.
But the grandson got hooked on drugs—sedatives used for cybernetic surgeries. He ended up modifying his body beyond recognition and got into drug trafficking.
Now, the head of the Iguchi household was the old boss’s younger brother. The original heir had taken his own life, along with his parents.
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Even without the political seat, the Iguchi name still carried weight locally.
“All units, maintain order. D Team, prepare to move.”
Before they could talk further, a broadcast from the command van cut them off. Takashi quickly retreated to his car, watching the house with Aoshima.
“Everyone’s been on edge lately. Too much pressure,” Takashi said, lighting a cigarette.
“Yeah. Can’t blame ’em. Knowing there’s a serial killer in your jurisdiction’ll do that.”
“You think today’s…”
Aoshima’s frown deepened. “Don’t jinx it. We don’t know anything yet.”
“But this is where Iguchi Hachirou lives.”
Takashi had voiced what everyone was thinking but avoiding.
This unassuming house was home to the once-great Iguchi patriarch, his wife, and their twin sons.
Though no longer a lawmaker, everyone in Ryoukawa saw him as a shoo-in for the next election. He was also a member of the Japan National Front, whose rising poll numbers made them a force to be reckoned with in the Diet.
And as everyone knew, the serial killer who’d emerged months ago had already claimed dozens of men like him.
Adult males. Politicians or activists. Mostly Japan National Front members. Public figures. Some with shady pasts, others outright connected to organized crime.
At first, they’d been treated as isolated incidents—murders. But as the body count grew, the police merged the cases and formed a task force.
Since the Shibuya sniper incident last October, they’d made zero progress. The entire Japanese police force was under fire.
But this time, even without political pressure, the Metropolitan PD would throw everything they had at catching the killer. Two officers were in the hospital. Unforgivable!
“Move in.”
Boom!
The SAT breach team fired a specialized shotgun round, obliterating the front door’s lock.
At the same time, another squad fast-roped from the roof, smashing through a second-floor window.
“Blue Team, entering.” “Red Team, entering.”
The team leader, Satou, took point, stepping into the narrow hallway.
“Left clear. Right clear.”
Two Red Team members swept left and right, night vision confirming the living room and kitchen were empty.
“Left secure. Right secure.”
Satou nodded, signaling them forward.
“Two, hold. One, move.”
The next room’s door was shut. Given that it was a former lawmaker’s home, they couldn’t just kick it down. But time was critical, so they used their numbers to breach quickly.
The first officer slid the door open and stepped inside.
“Entering. Door clear.”
Past the folding screen was a cramped room.
Only the sound of their boots on the tatami broke the silence. A miniature waterfall trickled down a decorative rock. Quite the refined taste.
After a brief scan, the three exited.
The moment Satou stepped out, a dull thud came from behind. Officer Yamamoto—fully kitted with ceramic armor, night vision, helmet, rifle, spare mags, and assorted gear—collapsed like a marionette with its strings cut.
Thirty kilograms of equipment and a hardened officer—gone in an instant.
Satou saw the thin red line across his neck. Even reinforced skeletal implants couldn’t compensate for the body’s fragility.
With over a decade in special ops, Satou had faced countless violent criminals. He pieced it together instantly.
Optical camouflage. That speed.
A cybernetic enhanced human.
“Three hostages located. Awaiting instructions!”
Good news from Blue Team—but terrible timing.
“Contact!”
Satou’s shout was a desperate warning, mostly for Red Team’s point man.
The officer was still turning, his bulky armor slowing him down.
“Support! One, open fire!”
Satou raised his rifle, but his line of sight was blocked by his teammate’s frame.
“Blue Team copies. En route.”
The point man finally turned, seeing his fallen comrade—but no enemy.
“One, target has optical camo.”
His helmet automatically switched to thermal. Still nothing. The killer had used those precious seconds to escape.
“No visual. Target has fled. Repeat, target has fled.”
Satou urgently warned Blue Team to stay alert.
“HQ, one officer down. Request medics.”
“HQ copies. Dispatching medics.”
“All units, target is a cybernetic enhanced human. Request backup!”
Takashi, watching from behind a car, instinctively reached for his holster.
But the moment he heard “cybernetic enhanced human,” he relaxed. Against something like that, resistance was futile. If it came for him, he’d die with dignity.
“Excuse me, officer.”
A hurried voice behind him made Takashi step aside.
A team of medics, escorted by another SAT squad, rushed inside. The narrow hallway was soon packed.
Minutes later, they carried someone out. The lead medic shook his head at the commanding officer.
The message was clear.
“Damn it…” Takashi muttered.
“HQ to C Team, proceed to escort hostages. D Team, continue sweep.”
The house wasn’t large. The first and second floors were quickly cleared.
Only the garage remained—a sprawling underground space compared to the modest house above. Command suspected the killer would make his last stand there.
“Might as well notify Public Security Section 9. This involves cybernetic crime now.”
The SAT commander sounded resigned.
“Tch… fine.”
The on-scene commander, a regular cop, clearly hated the idea. But he knew it was unavoidable.
“What about the op?”
“The killer’s here. We can’t wait for them.”
Protocol demanded they inform Public Security, but the Metropolitan PD still had its pride.
A wooden door connected the house to the garage. D Team lined up outside, holding their breath.
“Double column. On my mark. Deploy dye packs.”
The door creaked open. Number Four tossed in a dye grenade through the gap.
Boom.
The garage was instantly painted red. Even with optical camouflage, the killer would be visible now.
D Team stormed in.
“Garage secure.”
Satou scanned the dim space. The dusty clutter and a Toyota SUV were now splattered with crimson.
The cramped garage doubled as a workshop. Blueprints and tools covered a workbench. A hose, likely for washing cars, had been left running, water pooling on the floor before draining away.
The entire D Team felt it—a sense of wrongness. Satou’s face paled.
The moment they’d stepped inside, that foreboding had solidified.
Only now did he realize—their dye packs weren’t red.
The liquid coating the garage was—
—blood.
From a body so mutilated it was barely human. Limbs and head severed. A human stump.
The head still bore the victim’s features, frozen in terror—a snapshot of his final moments, mounted on the wall.
The limbs were missing. Only the torso remained, curled into a C-shape beneath the head.
“HQ, I’ve located Iguchi Hachirou. Confirmed deceased.”
Satou forced the words out.
“C… C Team…” HQ’s transmission crackled, as if the underground signal was failing.
Then—a noise from the clutter.
D Team spun, guns trained on the source.
“Tokyo Metropolitan Police! On your knees, hands up!”
“Drop your weapons!”
After a tense silence, Number Four cautiously stepped forward, shoving aside a cardboard box.
A blood-soaked boy silently raised his hands and knelt.
“HQ, we’ve got a civilian.”
Satou lowered his rifle, exhaling in relief.
“C Team… run… get out!”
The radio spat static. Before Satou could process it, a figure materialized in front of him.
For the first time, he saw the killer clearly—a scruffy young man with an androgynous, almost pretty face marred by stubble and wild hair tied into a ponytail.
Age, gender—impossible to pin down.
He wore an old-fashioned green military coat, a gun in one hand, a knife in the other, charging straight at Satou.
Satou fired. A full magazine emptied in seconds. But the killer had activated optical camouflage before the first shot.
One second, gone. The next, behind an officer.
Four seconds. Four dead.
A single slash per throat. Clean. Efficient.
When Satou turned, only four fresh corpses remained.
His head throbbed. Grief and terror overwhelmed him. The sheer brutality left him paralyzed.
He was broken. Mentally.
SAT operatives weren’t ordinary humans. Yet they’d been slaughtered like livestock.
Nothing he did mattered. He was at the killer’s mercy.
The man emerged from the shadows, advancing slowly. The pressure was suffocating.
Satou’s legs gave out. He collapsed to his knees, just like the boy earlier.
He couldn’t even look up.
The killer grabbed his helmet and kneed it. The reinforced material shattered.
Darkness.
Takashi and a few officers with riot shields entered. With both SAT teams down, the local cops had to step in.
The house was pitch black. They cleared the first and second floors, finding C Team’s bodies. Little blood. All killed with joint locks or blunt force.
At least Iguchi’s wife and twins were alive, huddled together and sobbing when Takashi found them.
Their screams at his sudden appearance were ear-splitting.
Then, the garage. Four or five SAT members down. Only Team Leader Satou survived, concussed.
A boy knelt silently beside him, covered in blood but unharmed.
There, Takashi met the boy—
—for the first time.