And that story had actually begun a year after my parents disappeared. Back then I was making money in the only way that had occurred to me — theft. And since I was a terrible pickpocket, I took up burglarizing apartments. By that time, for the two years while my parents were still with me, I had already been restoring my abilities, and by the time they left, my physical skills had more or less returned to normal. Skills, not capabilities. Meaning, I could have scattered kids my own age easily enough, but that trick wouldn't have worked with adults. There simply isn't much strength in a ten-year-old body, though there is a fair amount of agility. So reaction speed, coordination, some degree of speed, and of course the knowledge and skills I had developed in another world — all of that made me optimistic about the path of thievery I had chosen. Though at first it was still difficult. My lack of practical knowledge nearly cost me a couple of times. And of course, my ignorance of the underworld — what, where, from whom, and for how much? — made stealing objects almost pointless, so I had to look for cash. In time, that problem resolved itself. After four months of roaming nighttime Tokyo and chronic sleep deprivation, I cautiously started selling stolen goods in small amounts.
A month later, people started recognizing me. Another month later, I was offered my first job stealing a specific item from a specific house. One month after that, someone tried to catch me — unsuccessfully, as you understand. To this day I still don't know why. There are no thieves' guilds in Tokyo, or in all of Japan for that matter, I couldn't have crossed anyone's path that quickly, and for criminal clans I was too insignificant. No, back then I understood nothing about any of this, and I had plenty of theories, but even now, understanding that mess much better, I still can't find the answer to why anyone needed me then, or who it was. I truly was nobody.
I should also add that when I went out on a job, as well as when I sold stolen goods, I wore a mask bought at one of Tokyo's Shinto shrines. Originally it was a wooden fox mask with narrow eye slits, smooth and oval, painted orange and white. But after I cut off the ears and covered it in black paint, it became a good match for the black clothes in which I showed myself in public and worked my trade. And since I never let anyone get hold of me, and communicated through a notepad, not a single person knew who I was or what I looked like.
By the age of eleven, I had become a fairly well-known figure. My height probably played no small part in that — a lot of people wanted to know who I really was and whether a child really could do such things, or whether I was actually just some kind of dwarf. In any case, curiosity was stirring people's minds. But regardless, by then I had built up a certain reputation, and I wasn't short on jobs. And even though they were simple enough, and therefore cheap, I had no choice but to take them, because reputation — and thus higher-paying jobs — doesn't appear out of nowhere. But my real fame and my name came after that very story.
The job was simple. At first glance and at second. I had to steal documents from a first-floor office belonging to a certain small firm in western Tokyo. For a couple of weeks I watched the firm. I monitored the entrances and exits, made inquiries, learned about the employees and management, and determined the building's level of security: cameras, alarms, locks. For a whole year I hadn't just been working — I had also been learning, and I was sure I would be able to bypass the building's security, and specifically the office's. What worried me a little was that I'd be stealing not from ordinary people, but from members of one of the criminal groups. It was entirely possible someone wanted to use me and then throw me away. In principle, it wouldn't have been hard to determine whether that was the case — all I had to do was find out what kind of documents I was supposed to steal. But finding that out was a problem for me. The order had come through an intermediary, and intermediaries make a point of not sticking their noses into other people's business, and certainly not revealing the client. Of course, in theory the intermediary might have known the details I needed and might even have told me who the other party was. But he still wouldn't have told me anything: my level wasn't high enough. No name, no reputation.
I decided to take the risk, but with reservations. Actually, that sort of thing isn't approved of. To be blunt, people get killed for it, but I intended to look into the folder titled Three Sakura Blossoms. Right there in the office, and if I didn't like something, I would put the documents back and quietly disappear. Then I would tell the intermediary that I was refusing the job. The only thing left was deciding when to go — by day or by night. Both options had their pros and cons. At night, the building was empty except for two guards, but the full security system was active — alarms on every door, every window. By day, accordingly, it was the opposite: more guards, less electronics. And if I had been older, there wouldn't even have been a question — dealing with people had always been easier for me. But right now I was nobody, and all I had were knowledge and skills. Which, thanks to instructors who had still managed to hammer them into me, were not limited to destruction alone. And even if I was a Destroyer, not a Shadow or even an Eraser, I probably still could have bypassed the local security system. Ah, if only I could restore "averting the eye" faster…
In the end, I chose night. At 3:14 after midnight, I stood at the door of the office of a small shell company.
Because the building was full of electronics, I decided to try to find a consultant. After a short but careful search, I found an old thief nicknamed Candy Wrapper who specialized in expensive apartments. Candy Wrapper himself had been in the business for fifty years and had only been caught once — because of a candy wrapper from a lollipop. Funny old man, really. At first he refused to help me outright, and it took me about two hours to wear him down. The actual conversation took no more than thirty minutes. Twenty at the beginning and ten at the end. The rest of the time I simply stood by his door, knocking on it with my foot. Funny old man, I repeat. To tell the truth, I hadn't expected to persuade him to help me so quickly — I thought it would take a couple of days. Most importantly, Candy Wrapper actually knew his stuff, and he wasn't opposed to helping me further. Why hadn't I found myself a teacher earlier?
The lock on the office door used a contact identifier, so it caused no problem: one burst from a stun gun, and the way was open. Carefully passing the desks with computers, I went up to the door of the local boss's office. This one was more serious: an electronic P&P lock with a contactless card. To solve that problem, I had a little device that was basically a mini-magnetron emitting electromagnetic oscillations in a narrowly directed beam. The magnetron itself looked like a twelve-centimeter tube and could vary its frequency and power. The main thing was to do the work smoothly, and the lock wouldn't hold. Which I proved a couple of minutes later.
I entered the office and closed the door behind me, then froze.
Something's not ri—
"Well then, hello, my… hm… little friend. And who might you be, if I may ask?"
The light came on at the same moment as the click of the lock, blinding me for a second. When I blinked the dazzle away, I saw a woman with dark-blue, almost black hair sitting on the edge of a desk, surrounded by five hulks positioned around the office. Yeaaah. Check to you, sir. Check.
"Well, why are you standing there like a stranger? Sit down, take off the mask, tell us all about the thief's life." I snorted inwardly. Where had this Japanese woman picked up expressions like that?
Oh, if only anyone knew what emotions were raging inside me then. A cosmic resentment toward the whole world. Toward the world itself, not the people living in it. Anger at myself and at the client. Regret that the Koyamas would never even know where I had vanished. It just wasn't fair, in the end. To hit those vanishingly small odds of surviving the transfer into this world, only to die at the hands of some petty criminals.
I tossed my backpack in front of me and, crouching down, took out my stun gun. The woman watched me with curiosity and smirked.
"A cute little toy. Good for fending off animals. Cats, rabbits… mice — if you hit them."
So what did I have? The only exit from the office was behind me, but to open the door I needed two minutes. The windows were bulletproof. The ventilation duct was too narrow, even if I could have reached it. And five bruisers against one eleven-year-old child. No advantages worth mentioning.
"Understand this, little one — we don't need you in and of yourself. Answer our questions, and you can get lost."
What means did I have at my disposal? Running through what I'd brought, I concluded that from my own things, only the stun gun was useful. Among the objects in the office, perhaps the poker leaning against a chair and somehow ending up here for unknown reasons. But it was behind one of the men, right by the wall.
"A mute dwarf. Life has really battered you around. Or are you silent for some other reason?"
A plan, plan, plan. There was no plan. With everything I knew, right now I could do nothing. I could beat one adult man, probably two, but three — highly doubtful. Let alone five trained fighters — there was no chance. None at all. And no way to run. I wouldn't open the door in time, I couldn't smash it open either, and as for the armored windows — not even worth mentioning… Then a thought pierced my mind, pushing all the others aside and dissolving into it, leaving it completely empty for a couple of moments except for understanding. An amusing state. Every person feels it at least once in life, though not everyone notices or pays attention. As if something clicks in your head and you understand what it was you forgot, what exactly needs to be done. And why not? The chance was tiny, but still.
I pointed toward the woman, then toward the door: open it, meaning. Then I clicked the stun gun at the blue-haired woman: like, I'll torture her. The faces of the men didn't change, but the woman's eyebrows slowly began to rise.
"Well, aren't you an insolent little thing. Maybe I should also apologize for being here?" the lady said with an ironic smile.
By the way, she looked pretty good. At first glance, about twenty-five to twenty-eight, but if you looked closely, you could add another five years. Still, the game went on.
I tilted my head slightly, pretending to think, and after a couple of seconds waved my hand uncertainly, making it clear that I could live without the apology. In response she merely raised an eyebrow and waved her hand in my direction. Immediately, two Terminators detached themselves from their spots and started toward me. I was practically flattered: two of them for me alone. Though to be fair, that suited me better.
My target lay on the desk next to the woman. And I needed to get past those two — maybe one more, if he dashed to cut me off. And to make sure it would be only one and not all the others, I would have to shift while running toward either the right or left wall. Well then. Here we go.
I burst off the spot, ducked under the arm of the nearest man, and meanwhile treated his leg to the stun gun. After taking a couple of steps, I spun and slipped away from the hand of the second one, moving closer to the right wall. The third one almost flattened himself in midair in an attempt to knock me off my feet and, considering the difference in our builds, probably smear me across the floor. I escaped him with a roll. Out of the roll, two steps, and then, stretched to my full pitiful height, I flew toward the local boss — more precisely, toward her revolver lying beside her. Only much later, after learning her level of skill in hand-to-hand combat, and therefore her reaction speed, did I realize that only her surprise at my audacity — and the fact that I had actually gotten past three of her bruisers — had kept her from stopping me.
Somersaulting over the desk and snatching up the weapon, I bolted back toward the door. Given my build and the revolver's caliber, I was sure I could fire it only once. Even if I managed to hold on after the recoil, which was unlikely, I simply wouldn't have time to aim it a second time. And I needed to get as close to the door as possible, because the recoil could make me miss the lock even from three meters away.
The "third" one, who had flown over me the last time, now threw himself at my feet. And flew under me instead. I escaped the "second" with a roll forward and to the right, and from the "first," just as before, under his arm. The remaining two, apparently deciding not to create a dogpile, stayed where they were. At a distance of two meters I aimed that damned gun at the lock and, from a meter and a half away, fired. Not even trying to hold onto the revolver as it jumped up into my face, I let it go, jerking my head aside, and accelerated as much as I could, hurling all my thirty-eight kilograms at the door.
And I smashed my shoulder hard against that cursed plank damned by all the gods. Which hadn't even thought about opening. What can you say? Checkmate.
Lying on the floor, I noticed that no one was trying to pounce on me. The office was wrapped in piercing silence, which was then broken by applause.
"My applause, Mr. Dwarf," I heard the woman's voice. "That was a marvelous run. Perhaps you should have taken up rugby rather than theft? I'm sure even with your build you could have achieved decent results."
My shoulder ached — I had gathered a fair amount of speed. Getting up and theatrically brushing myself off, I turned to face the audience. The lady was twirling a remote in her hands, which she hadn't let go of since I appeared.
"As you have probably already guessed, there isn't just one lock in that door. There are two. An electromagnetic one and an electromechanical one — hidden. But it was a good attempt, truly a good one. And that reverse dash of yours — absolutely delightful. But now, I hope, you understand that you're not getting out of here? I'm still offering to settle this peacefully. I only need to know who you are and who sent you."
And what happens afterward, she still hasn't said. And I don't know who the client is, and it's not a fact she'd believe that. And telling her who I am… I'd be on her hook for the rest of my days. Her words are bullshit, basically. No — if I die, I die with music playing. She won't get a damned thing out of me. Those were more or less the thoughts turning in my head then.
Letting out a heavy sigh, I looked at the woman and raised a finger to her. Yes, yes, that finger.
"Well then, that's your choice. Take him the hard way."
Yeah, and now I didn't even have the stun gun anymore — it was lying somewhere by the desk of the local boss. If this had been some fantasy fairy tale, now would have been the moment when I activated hidden powers and, at the cost of future physical damage or something, tossed them all around like puppies. But alas, this was not a fairy tale. Hidden energy existed, and I even activated it, but the boost in strength and speed was slight. Because you can't get something from nothing. If you can lift, say, twenty kilos, and straining yourself thirty, then you are not going to lift one hundred fifty, no matter what. And if you exceed your threshold, then you won't even lift twenty — your muscles will tear first.
What "the hard way" meant, I felt from the very first seconds. Instead of grabbing me, the nearest man to me — the only European in the group — threw a punch. Apparently they intended to tie up an unconscious body. And the speed of those armored beasts, incidentally, doubled. A right hook sent me flying under the feet of another hulk, and only by some miracle did I manage to dodge his kick. Since the situation was highly convenient, while still on the floor I redirected the kicking leg with one hand, throwing him completely off balance, and kicked his supporting leg with both of mine. After a backward roll, I jumped forward, sailing over the body sprawled on the floor.
That was more or less how I spent the next seven minutes — twisting like an eel among the bodies, arms, and legs of men cursing through their teeth. The lady didn't stay uninvolved either. The whole time they were trying to catch me by beating me into submission, she encouraged her people while commenting and giving advice:
"That's no way to hit someone — even a child would get up after that!" Which I promptly demonstrated.
"Drive him toward Seryoga." Oh, to hell with that. Could he really be a countryman from my old life? "Li, damn you, come at him from the right!" Hmm, Chinese maybe?
"Mouse, you bastard, you're a menace for real!"
This same Mouse, hoping to greet me with a chair, missed, with the result that the chair and the glass doors of one of the bookcases could be sent to the dump.
"Hey, hey, idiots — if he dies too early, I'll brick you into that wall myself!"
That was after one of her boys hurled me into a wall.
"Come on, boys, push harder, he's already running out of steam! Ah, no, not yet."
A crafty pass between three bodies, after which two of them crashed into each other, proved I was still in the game.
"In the name of the Heavenly Consorts, are you really… Mouse, you again!"
After taking a left-handed punch, I ran straight into a right-footed kick. Somehow getting back up from the floor, I leaned against the second bookcase standing behind me. That was exactly when Mouse hurled yet another chair at me. I dodged, but the glass doors once again were out of luck.
For another minute after that, I still managed to avoid punches and kicks and dodge pieces of furniture. But nothing lasts forever, and eventually another blow sent me fully into the dark.
I came to handcuffed to a chair standing by the desk. The very same desk from which I had swiped the local boss's revolver at the beginning of this story. The lady was sitting in her place — on top of that desk. All five men were once again spread around the office, paying no attention to me at all.
"Well? Sleep well?" The damned bitch. "Perhaps now we can begin communicating?"
I looked around. My mask lay on the desk, next to the revolver, by the way. My little backpack was still lying where I had left it — by the door. The men still paid no attention to me, all busy with their own things. Seryoga, for instance, was turning an impressive knife over in his hands. If my eyes didn't deceive me, it was a Katran-45. Knives of the Katran series were developed in Tula for combat divers, but became famous precisely in the ground forces. The Katran-45 is an airborne-troops modification and a symbolic item in this world. This knife is issued once during service and never taken back. And if you see such a weapon on a civilian, there's a ninety-percent chance it means he served in some kind of special forces. Which made me wonder what an elite fighter of the Russian Imperial Army was doing in the service of some backwater criminal woman. At this point I wasn't even surprised anymore that they had taken me down so quickly. That guy was at least of Veteran rank; it was strange I had wriggled around for so long.
"I can't understand why you're staying silent. Even if I assume you are terribly loyal to your master…" Was she trying to step on my pride or what? "What will change if you tell me why exactly you came here?" For example, you might suggest who my employer is. "And if your master"—damn, she was getting on my nerves with this master business—"is merely an intermediary, then I have even less reason to be angry with him." Um… I had no words. Did she really take me for a complete idiot? "Tell me the purpose of your visit and who the client is, and you're free to go." And she said all that in such a heartfelt tone that if I really had been a child, I might have started talking. But alas and alack, I didn't believe her, and that was that.
No, there was certainly a chance they would leave me alive. The only question was: what would I be afterward? Exactly. A dog. Or a fish on a hook. I could, of course, wait five or six years, then restore my abilities as a Destroyer and tear everyone here apart. Or, for example, promise her all sorts of things, tell her stories, and then, once the chance arose, run to the neighbors. By then I already knew that Koyama Akeno, Shina's father, was a Master. But that was an even worse option. And besides, there was still a chance they'd kill me anyway. On top of everything else, I really hate obeying. And if I started talking, then obeying would be unavoidable one way or another.
"Still silent? It seems that because of your very young age, you don't fully understand what awaits you. By the way, we were quite amazed when we realized we had been chasing a child all this time. You certainly know how to surprise people, no question. But you see, the fact that you're a child will not save you from… our desire to get answers."
She walked away from me toward one of the paintings. As I had expected, there was a safe behind it. She worked the lock, opened it, and took out… a stun gun. Sitting down on a chair next to me, the woman looked into my eyes.
"You see, electricity is a very good way of loosening a tongue — effective and clean. No blood, no shattered teeth, no bits of flesh. In my opinion, that method has only two drawbacks — wires and an outlet. Sometimes you don't have one or the other at hand, or both at once. An ordinary stun gun doesn't work either; it knocks the target right out. That's why an acquaintance of mine made me this little thing." On the last words, she tossed a plain black rectangular stun gun in her hand. "I won't go into details about how it works. I'll just say that you're going to feel very, very bad. You'll feel everything, and you won't lose consciousness."
Heh. I'm just sooo scared, sooo scared. I was so scared I completely forgot to turn off pain. Incidentally, turning off pain was the first thing I restored upon arriving in this world.
"So. To begin with, let's introduce ourselves after all. My name is Nakata Akemi."
I stayed silent. What was there to say? May I never meet you again as long as I live.
"Kid, you're asking for it. Your silence is meaningless for the simple reason that there is no person in the world who doesn't break under torture. You only see things like that in books and movies."
Yeah, and in my home world. Though I strongly doubted there weren't people here too who could turn pain off.
"Boy, don't ruin your life. I promise that if you answer my questions, I'll let you go. I'll keep you with me for a couple of days and then let you go."
That was when it hit me. She just didn't want to torture me! And judging by everything, neither did her lackeys. They, incidentally, still hadn't looked at me even once. Yeah… where the hell had I ended up? Judging by the special stun gun in Akemi's hand, she had definitely had to torture people before. And her men probably had too. I'm not even mentioning killing. But they didn't want to torment a child. It even made me curious: would they be able to kill me now? While I had the mask on, I had counted as an adult, though a dwarf. They could beat me, and kill me if necessary. But now? Something told me the Russian wouldn't do it, though I couldn't logically explain why. As for the others, I didn't know what to think.
"So why are you staying silent like a partisan?" I couldn't stop myself from snorting at those words. "Say something at least, idiot. Maybe you don't believe I'll let you go? Then you're a fool. After what you showed here, you know, I wouldn't mind having you work for me. It's a sin to waste talent like that."
That, by the way, I could believe. The question was whether I wanted it. I needed to decide what to do. Staying silent any longer was simply becoming dangerous. Whether I wanted to or not, nobody was going to release me just like that. Which meant it was better to give her a reason to continue the conversation. But showing too much interest would drastically shorten the time I had. And if you don't know what to do, and you have the chance — drag things out. So I could afford a little showing off, as long as I didn't get too rude.
"My apologies, madam. I am, of course, flattered by your attention and favor, but would you perhaps be so kind as to go on foot to a very specific set of coordinates?"
"And what coordinates might those be?" she snorted.
"Fourteen degrees twenty-four minutes south latitude, seventy-one degrees seventeen minutes west longitude," I answered with an indifferent expression. "Have a pleasant journey."
"Boy, I strongly suspect you just sent me very, very far away."
Unexpectedly for everyone, something started beeping on Akemi's desk. Dashing over there and swearing under her breath, she addressed her Terminators:
"We've got visitors incoming." A pause. Either she was gathering her thoughts or assessing the wreckage in the office. "And even though things didn't go entirely as I wanted, we proceed according to plan. Ishiatama"—a funny nickname—"throw the brat in the corner."
The man she had called Blockhead grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and hauled me into the corner of the office farthest from the door. And even handcuffed, I couldn't help my lifted spirits. Because once again, for the umpteenth time, I had gotten seriously lucky.
"Lie there and don't move. Make a sound, and I'll cut your tongue out," he said threateningly.
The corner of the bookcase and Akemi's desk made it hard for me to properly understand what was happening. A few seconds later the lights were switched off, and the office plunged into darkness. After wriggling around a bit, I found a more comfortable position and peered out from behind the corner of the bookcase to look around.
"Shh, child. Stop rustling around back there," the woman said softly.
Nothing happened in the next ten minutes. No movement, no sound. A perfect atmosphere for meditation. Which is exactly what I had been doing for nine minutes already — accelerating regeneration and tidying up my body. Actually, I hadn't taken many blows, but how many does an eleven-year-old body really need?
The sound of the door opening, though well oiled, was perfectly audible, as were footsteps. Judging by the sounds, about five people entered the office. The newcomers clearly had no intention of going farther, settling near the door. Once Akemi understood that, she turned on the lights, and the silence, already complete, suddenly became absolute.
"Well, well, well. So the whore Nakata couldn't find a better place for her little games?" a man's voice sounded out. "And pretty aggressive games, too." He was apparently referring to the wrecked office.
"Very witty, Bolt…"
"Don't call me that, bitch!"
He had no self-control at all. If this was the leader of the newcomers, I was amazed he had become one in the first place. Though if he was just some petty gang boss, why not?
"Well, I'm sorry, I don't know any of your other names." A strike below the belt, judging by how he reacted to the nickname.
"Slut." I'd have called her a bitch, personally. "Give me what I came for, and I promise you'll die quickly."
"Well, well, at least say what exactly you came fo—"
"Shut up!" Holy Mother, he was completely insane. "Give me the documents, bitch!"
"Ahh,"—ohoho, what suffering in that sigh—"it's always like this. You come, you leave a mess, you're rude."
"Shut up!"
"Yes, yes, I understand. Boys, would you be so kind…"
A second later, the air filled with gunfire and people's screams. Peeking around the bookcase for a moment, I saw an empty office and my backpack, with which I had come here, kicked almost right up to me. Akemi was still sitting on the desk, swinging one leg, her face thoughtful. Apparently deciding something, the woman headed for the exit, not forgetting to pick up the monstrously large .44-caliber revolver.
Well then, gotta move fast, I thought, and dislocated my thumb, freeing my right hand from the handcuffs. Unpleasant procedure, by the way — I still couldn't feel pain, but… the general sensation was something else. Popping my thumb back into place, I darted on all fours to the backpack, fortunately it was close. Turning around, I crawled toward the desk where my mask lay, grabbing my stun gun on the way — it was still lying by the leg of the desk. And just as I stretched out my hand toward the mask, my gaze landed on the safe.
O-la-la!
The safe was open. Or rather, not fully closed. That stupid cow, in her overconfidence, hadn't shut the door properly. So what would you have done in my place? Exactly. The same thing I did.
At last taking the mask from the desk and putting it on, I made a full-speed, four-limbed dash to the safe. Looking inside, I immediately saw what I was after — a thick folder titled Three Sakura Blossoms. In addition to it, there were three more folders, some metal box, and seven bundles of money. There was no time or sense in checking what exactly I was stealing anymore, so after quickly stuffing the papers into the backpack, I paused for a split second. Then, with the thought Why not? I threw the money in there too.
And now came the most interesting part — getting out of the building. All this time, the sounds of battle had been growing louder and moving deeper inside. The symphony of pistol shots had been joined by the famous creation of Count Kalashnikov and even something offensively explosive in the role of percussion. Most likely an analogue of the RGD-5, judging by the sound. The office exit led into the main room, which in turn opened into a fairly large area filled with crates and some kind of bales. The office windows, incidentally, were bulletproof too; I had no idea why.
A quick glance through the doorway showed that no one was in the next room. Bent low, I ran along the wall toward the exit. Peeking out carefully, I saw a scene of fierce combat. Mouse — and it seemed to be him — was charging head-on at three gangsters who were hosing him down at point-blank range with bursts from automatic weapons. Seryoga, knife in hand, was dancing among a group of men, all while trying not to get caught by the pistol shots of other thugs who had taken cover not far from the men with the rifles. A real soldier. I was sure he was of Veteran rank, which meant that, like Mouse, he could withstand bursts from assault rifles, and yet he still tried to avoid getting hit. Even then I knew what "spirit armor" was and how it differed among fighters of different ranks. I knew nothing at all about Virtuosos at the time. Thanks to Shina's father, I had at least a rough idea of what Veterans and also the two lower and two higher ranks were capable of. Even so, it was wild to see something like that with my own eyes. Because even in my home world, at the peak of my power, officially the most dangerous fighter on Earth, I would not have survived a bullet to the head. And here some… civilian was charging three Kalashnikovs and didn't care in the slightest.
But enough of the depressing stuff. Ishiatama and an unnamed partner were whirling around in a crowd of opponents, taking one man out after another. Akemi and the Chinese guy weren't visible, but they were audible. I couldn't have identified it for sure on the spot, but somewhere deeper inside the building gunshots were sounding… and yes, explosions too.
So, first I had to decide how to leave. The windows here weren't armored, but they were too high up for me. To get to the emergency exit, I would have to slip past the whole mass of fighting people and remain unnoticed by the shooters crouched literally two meters from the corridor door. And then there was, of course, the main exit. The path there was relatively clear, but Akemi was fighting somewhere in that direction right now. And that was exactly where I would have to go. I might meet the woman and the psycho, or I might not. But getting to the emergency exit was unlikely. So — forward, along the wall, along the wall…
About halfway to the exit, a screeching body was hurled out of the knot of fighting people. It hit the crates behind which I was crouching at that moment and slammed into the wall right beside me. The broken arms, legs, and, judging by the look of him, spine as well made me briefly want to finish off the still-living wretch. Only briefly. In the end, they'd do it without me. And when I was right by the doors, another body almost bowled me over, literally smashing the doors off their hinges. Freezing for a moment, I turned and managed to see the Russian launching another flyer in my direction. Waiting for the body to complete its docking maneuver with the wall, I showed the living catapult my middle finger, then dived through the doorway and ran at full speed toward the main exit.
Corridor. Door. Corridor. Turn. Another turn. Door. Another office. Door. Fork, right. Another door. Fork. Gunshot.
Shoulder roll, spin toward where the shot had come from.
You… little freak! What kind of damned night is this?
About ten meters away stood the very same psycho, leader of the rapidly dwindling flock of flyers. In his hands he held a Glock 17 pointed at me. One of those things copied down to the last screw from the equivalent in my old world. And right now this excellent pistol was in the hands of a man whose face suggested he was in the final stage of rabid fury. He had gotten roughed up badly too. His right cheek was scratched bloody, the left sleeve torn off, the right pant leg hanging by a couple of threads, his left thigh bloody. All in all, he'd had quite a fight.
Behind me, twenty meters away, were doors leading into the hall. And from there — a pair of corridors into other parts of the building, the locked front door, and most importantly, what I needed: ordinary, non-armored windows. Ahead of me, ten meters away, stood a man with a pistol and a thirst for blood. And my former speed and strength were somewhere in the area of someday I'll have them again. Ah well. Time to recall the old days and work the pendulum. And not just any pendulum — one with a backward step.
So then. Jerk my head left, step right, shot. Slight twitch of the right wrist, barely visible movement of the right knee, step left, shot. Shift the shoulders right, another step left, shot. Swinging the pendulum isn't just rocking the body back and forth — it's reading the opponent, his motorics, and the surrounding space. Perfect control of your own body. The pendulum is, if you like, bodily hypnosis. You don't just know where your opponent will shoot — you practically fire the gun with his hands yourself. Movement of the right foot, right hand, slight bend of the left leg, step right, shot. Shot. Shot.
Baaam. A .44-caliber shot from behind me blew off part of the psycho's skull and dropped the now former psycho on the spot.
"Well, finally. He made me work for it." Akemi, blast her. Who else. "And you just keep surprising me, little one. I've never seen anything like that before. It was as if you knew where he was going to shoot." To hell with this, do people in this world not work the pendulum? "Will you teach me?"
I honestly didn't know what to say to that.
"Oh, come on, don't be stingy. Let's finish off the rest and then discuss everything calmly."
What the hell was this now? Was it my fate to perish this night? That… mare was standing in the passageway, blocking the only available exit. Running back… there was nowhere to run, really. And she wouldn't let me anyway.
"All right, friend, surrender. You have nowhere to run. My boys have probably finished already and are coming this way. So turning around is not an option, and I'm in front of you. I won't even shoot — I'll catch you by hand. I'm Veteran rank, after all. Ever heard of that?" she asked with a smirk.
Yeah… things were bad.
"Won't shoot?" I rolled my neck, cracking the vertebrae. "Then catch me."
I started backing away to get a running start. Stopping opposite the door, I bent my knees slightly and spread my arms, ready to spring. Another instant, and I was off — shouldering the door open and running back deeper into the building. Why back? Well, how exactly do you imagine a child getting past a Veteran? It was impossible. Even if by some miracle I managed to slip around her, I simply wouldn't be able to outrun her — Akemi would catch me five meters later. This way, there was a chance she simply wouldn't bother chasing me, since I was, after all, running straight into the arms of her men.
After running almost the full length of the corridor behind the door, I confirmed that I'd been right: the woman had only just stepped into the corridor. Pushing through the door in front of me, I found myself on a stair landing. Taking the stairs two at a time, I went up to the second floor. Using the stun gun, already in my hand, I opened the nearest door — fortunately most of the locks in the building were identical. I got lucky: the very first office contained an air vent grille. And since my plan did not involve stealth, I simply tore the grille off, and I had enough strength for that. Instantly screwing myself into the ventilation shaft, I wormed my way deeper into the building. And after just five minutes I could be sure that nobody was getting me out of there anytime soon. The dimensions of the ducts wouldn't allow it.
The plan was simple — get to the nearest ventilation outlet leading outside. The outlets themselves ended in fans, which I might have been able to stop, but I wouldn't have been able to squeeze between the blades. But my pursuers were unlikely to know that for certain. Given the distance between the blades, it really wasn't entirely obvious. I had checked everything at Candy Wrapper's place and knew that I'd get stuck, but Akemi didn't know that. So I needed to reach the external vent and use the crowbar I always carried to jam the fan. Then lie low deeper inside the ducts for a couple of days, waiting for the excitement to die down and everything to calm down. After that, at night, calmly crawl back out and leave the empty building. The only problem now was finding that damned outlet. I had not planned anything like this, and I had not memorized the building's ventilation system. I barely knew it at all.
And it worked! With a couple of caveats.
First, it took me three hours to get to the outlet I needed. Three hours of crawling in an intestinal tract like that! Let me remind you again: in my former life, I was a Destroyer. Not a spy or recon specialist like a Shadow, not an assassin like an Eraser, but, however unusual, still a fairly straightforward fighter. And movement like that in a place like that was new to me. A couple of times I even understood how claustrophobics must feel. In short, three very unpleasant hours.
Second, the waiting. After blocking the fan, I crawled deeper in, pulled out a bottle of water from my backpack, put the backpack under my head, stretched out in the duct, and prepared to wait for a couple of days. But whether Akemi and her boys had very good eyes or were simply that stubborn, I could only leave the building on the fifth night, when the crowds had finally gone. And let me tell you — it was not easy. Four days without food is a lot even for an adult. And the bottle of water was only 0.33 liters.
Carefully creeping toward the nearest ventilation exit, I spent a couple of hours listening for the slightest rustle beyond the grille. Hearing nothing serious, I somehow climbed out of the duct and, swaying a little, headed for the rear entrance of the building. That was how I had entered this cursed place, and, I hoped, the easiest way to get out. Corridors, offices, turns, forks, doors. A wide corridor, and then I was on the loading platform. I went down a small staircase and sighed. Those bastards had put not only the usual lock on the side door to the right of the gate, but also a huge barn padlock. A pity. I had wanted to get out of there unnoticed, but apparently fate had other plans. Taking it off was no problem; putting it back on from the other side, alas, was. Ah, to hell with them — I'd take it with me, let them scratch their heads over what that meant.
It took me eight minutes to remove the lock, open the door, and close it behind me. Once outside, I breathed with relief and even relaxed for a couple of moments. Then I pulled myself together and headed for the nearest stash, not forgetting to keep an eye on my surroundings. The stash itself was mediocre, located on some abandoned construction site and not meant for people. It wasn't really meant for anything at all; just a name, basically. But I had lots of those hideouts, and in each one, among other things, there were ordinary clothes, a couple of cans of food, and a bottle of water hidden away. After changing, killing the worm in my stomach, and finally quenching my thirst, I was able to relax and rest for the first time in several days. Though not for long — two cans of rice porridge somehow just weren't enough. I decided to leave the documents and my things right there; no point carrying around such incriminating evidence. The time was 7:23. I'd get home in about an hour and a half, maybe two; one day of rest, and then in the evening I could go get the stuff, turn in the documents, and collect the fee I had earned through hard labor.
The whole way home, I was in an excellent mood. And understandably so. A task that had seemed simple and well thought out had turned into a chain of failures. But I had passed all the trials with honor and gotten those damned documents after all. And as a bonus, I had taken a certain amount of money from Mrs. Nakata's safe. Seen the look on her face? Ah, to hell with it, let them now try to do something with what they know. Find a child in a city of millions like Tokyo from nothing but a portrait? Yeah, right. As for catching a dwarf in a mask, I had already expected that. I could simply change my image or come up with something else. After getting paid, I'd have time to think. And it wasn't even guaranteed they'd come after me; after all, I was only the contractor, and one who worked through intermediaries at that. But right now, the important thing was that I, damn all of them to hell, had made it out! And I had every right to be in a splendid mood.
Only when I stepped into the house and shut the door behind me did I feel the tension, which had never quite left me, finally begin to drain away.
Home, sweet home. How glad I am to see yo—when will all of this finally end?
In the living room, settled on the sofa and in an armchair, sat Kagami and Akeno Koyama. And the looks on their faces said that somebody was in big trouble.
Guess who.