Chapter 9 - Choice
Avery stood frozen in place.
The small knife in his hand trembled ever so slightly.
And—
Beneath him, Billy Johnson.
Drenched in blood, wearing a faint smile.
He couldn't move.
That smile…
It was too familiar.
Even in this moment, drenched in blood and darkness,
That small smile felt painfully human.
At that moment.
A sigh came from behind.
"Haah—"
The man in the black suit let out a slow breath.
"Everyone, leave."
His voice was quiet, but the command within it was absolute.
Without hesitation.
The six men in the room vanished in an instant.
Now, only three remained.
Avery.
A dying Billy.
And the Cleaner.
Under the dim lighting, only the three of them stood.
The Cleaner took a step forward.
A short stride.
His polished shoes brushed against the floor.
And yet, there was almost no sound.
"You said you lost your memory."
He spoke calmly.
But his tone—
Was eerily light.
"Then let me help you remember. You are a contracted artist of 'Night Gallery. And I am a Cleaner."
He smiled, continuing his explanation slowly.
"We handle 'clean-up' for the organization. We remove the trash that pollutes society, and take care of things that need to be dealt with. Cleaners are ranked by level. From Level 10 to Level 1."
He snapped his fingers lightly.
"I am a Level 7 Cleaner. And the highest-ranked Cleaner in this region is a Level 5....But this place is so run-down, even that doesn't mean much."
He gestured around, his gaze carrying a hint of disdain.
"Still, it's easy to manage, so I don't mind."
His eyes gleamed dangerously.
"Our organization has the 'Whisperers.' They handle communication between different branches. And the 'Collectors.' They are more than just IT specialists. Even us Cleaners—fear getting tangled up with them. There are only a few of us in this region."
He folded his fingers one by one as he counted.
"Cleaners."
"Whisperers."
"Collectors."
"But in other regions, there are more."
"Butchers."
"Enforcers."
"Watchers."
"And those even beyond them. Each has their own role. They are far stronger than us."
His voice grew even colder.
"And someone like you— who claims to have just lost their memory—won't survive for long."
Avery's mind was in chaos.
Fragmented memories.
He struggled to force them into place.
But—
The truth that the Cleaner painted was far larger than he had imagined.
And it was rooted far deeper in the darkness.
And he—
He had already stepped into that darkness.
"Do you understand now, Avery?"
The Cleaner gave a chilling smile.
"You don't have a choice. If you don't complete your mission, the Whisperers will issue an 'execution order.'"
He took a step closer, lowering his voice.
"Do you think you can survive then?"
Avery instinctively tightened his grip on the knife.
His fingers turned stark white from the pressure.
The 'Avery' of the past was entangled in the organization far too deeply.
This wasn't a world he could simply run away from.
"…Is killing Billy the only way I can keep my normal life?"
His gaze dropped to Billy, collapsed on the floor.
Even soaked in blood,
Billy clung to that cigarette pack like a trace of fleeting hope.
At that moment, another possibility flickered in Avery's mind.
"Could I live a double life like Theodore?"
A convenience store worker by day—
And a killer for the organization by night.
Would that even be possible?
But.
The Cleaner's voice cut through his thoughts once more.
"Don't hesitate. These people are nothing but trash. Parasites that do nothing but leech off society. You think losing one of them changes anything? It's just one less useless mouth to feed. More money for the government."
So—
Was Billy just another existence to be erased?
But,
Avery saw something else in him.
A small ember of humanity still flickering.
Faint, but present.
He stood at a crossroads.
If he spared Billy, the organization would start hunting him down.
If he killed Billy, he would never escape a life drowned in blood.
And in that moment—
Avery made his decision.
A split-second movement.
A resolute choice.
He launched forward at full force, rushing toward the Cleaner.
BANG!
Avery's powerful kick shot toward the Cleaner's abdomen.
For a brief second, the Cleaner's eyes widened.
An unexpected reaction.
But he recovered instantly.
He raised his arms just in time to block the attack, yet the sheer impact sent him skidding back several meters.
The Cleaner tumbled across the floor, but with unsettling ease, he rose to his feet again.
Brushing the dust off his suit, he flashed a calm, amused smile.
"So this is your answer?"
Like someone who had just found an intriguing toy, his eyes gleamed with dangerous curiosity.
A predator's instinct.
There was no rage—
Only the sharp glint of a hunter testing its prey.
Avery clenched his teeth, forcing down his anger.
That kick just now—
"Too weak."
No one knew it better than he did.
If he were still the King of the Night from his past life, he could have ended this in one blow.
But—
The Cleaner didn't waver in the slightest.
On the contrary, his grin only widened.
Shff—
Slowly, he slid a hand into his pocket.
And then, he pulled out a sleek, polished pen.
"A pen?"
Avery's brow furrowed slightly.
Click.
With a casual flick of the Cleaner's wrist, the cap twisted—revealing a razor-sharp blade.
A sinister glint reflected in the dim light.
"Alright."
The Cleaner's voice was quiet.
But his gaze—
That was the gaze of a beast, starving for blood.
He had been waiting for this.
Avery lowered his stance.
His feet firmly planted, grounding himself against the worn warehouse floor.
"Here it comes."
He processed the situation instantly.
This fight wasn't something he could avoid.
Then there was only one option—
Victory.
Avery adjusted his grip on the knife.
He readied himself for a swift, lethal strike.
Everything else faded.
All distractions gone.
His focus narrowed to a single point—
The battle ahead.
In an instant.
The Cleaner launched himself forward like lightning.
"Swoosh—!"
The blade sliced through the air, driving straight for Avery's throat.
"Fast!"
But—
Avery was even faster.
Clang!
His knife clashed against the incoming strike.
Sparks erupted.
The sharp clang of metal striking metal rang through the warehouse.
The Cleaner didn't hesitate.
His attacks were relentless.
A seamless barrage—
leaving no room for gaps, no chance to breathe.
His strikes were heavy, swift, and precise.
But—
Avery didn't falter.
He held his ground, unwavering.
Sharp movements.
Perfect reactions.
Their blades collided again and again, filling the darkness with the ringing of steel.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Inside the warehouse, the metallic echoes repeated endlessly.
As the fight dragged on, the Cleaner's expression hardened.
At first, he thought this would be easy.
No way an "artist" could hold out against him.
After all,
"Artists kill to create."
That was what Night Gallery's artists were.
Most of them couldn't even maintain composure in the face of real combat.
But—
"This man is different."
Every single strike he threw.
Every psychological feint he attempted.
Avery countered it all.
Without hesitation.
Without a single step back.
This—
was a fight completely different from what he had expected.
The Cleaner's gaze wavered—
just slightly.
His eyes flicked past Avery's shoulder.
To Billy, collapsed behind him.
"…You're protecting that?"
Avery had shifted his body.
Positioning himself to shield Billy.
A stance of protection.
Even knowing it could put himself in danger.
The Cleaner couldn't understand it.
"Is that the kind of man you are?"
"A killer trying to protect a piece of trash?"
But—
at that moment, the Cleaner realized something.
"This is your weakness."
A thin smirk curled at the edge of his lips.
"Yeah. No reason not to use it."
He staggered back deliberately.
A wobbling step—
like he had been forced into retreat.
And as he moved, his eyes scanned the area.
"There."
A rusted metal rod leaned against the wall.
He didn't hesitate.
Not for a single second.
He grabbed it—
and threw it like a spear.
Whoosh—!
The iron bar whipped through the air, racing straight for Billy.
But—
Avery reacted instantly.
Swoosh!
A movement like a shadow passing.
Clang!
The iron rod slammed into his grip.
Just inches away—
from piercing Billy's body.
Avery's grip tightened.
His muscles tensed—
the iron rod trembled slightly in his hands.
His gaze locked onto the Cleaner once more.
And at that moment—
"Hahahahahaha!"
A manic burst of laughter echoed through the warehouse.
The Cleaner—
laughing like a madman.
"I almost couldn't believe my eyes!"
Excited, he ran a hand through his hair.
"An 'artist' protecting a life? Throwing himself into a fight for some worthless piece of trash? What a rare sight!"
But—
Avery didn't waver.
His gaze remained cold, steady.
"The most worthless thing here… is you."
A single, sharp sentence.
And in that instant—
The Cleaner's laughter stopped.
"..."
The smirk on his face slowly twisted.
"How long do you think you can keep up this act?"
He murmured.
And—
Avery lowered the iron rod.
Clang—
The metal struck the floor, its ringing impact filling the empty warehouse.
A hush fell over them.
The silence before the storm.
But then—
The Cleaner's attack changed.
This time, it wasn't aimed at Avery.
"Billy."
He moved with purpose.
His attack—targeting the collapsed Billy.
A blade aimed at someone who couldn't defend or evade.
At first glance, it seemed reckless—random swings without precision.
But Avery knew better.
This wasn't just intimidation.
'He's trying to shake me.'
His instincts—
forged through countless battles as the King of the Night—
warned him immediately.
This was a test.
The Cleaner's blade work—
it wasn't meant to kill outright.
It was meant to break his focus, wear him down, force a single fatal mistake.
Just one opening.
That was all it would take.
And the Cleaner wouldn't miss it.
Clang! Clang!
The sound of metal clashing against metal echoed through the space.
Avery controlled his breathing, blocking every relentless strike.
But—
He already knew.
This body had limits.
If it were his old self, this level of combat would be nothing.
But now—
his body wasn't holding up the same way.
"Haa… Haa…"
Sweat trickled down his forehead.
"How much longer can I last?"
His breaths grew heavier.
His reaction speed began to slow.
And then—
A moment.
Swish—!
The pen-knife sliced through the air, closing in.
Avery's defense wavered for a split second.
Shhk—!
The blade grazed his shoulder.
The pain?
Barely noticeable.
But—
The moment Avery saw his own blood—
"Heh."
The Cleaner smirked, satisfied.
"Finally landed a hit."
He raised his blade and slowly licked off the blood.
Manic satisfaction.
And a mocking whisper.
"Just leave that worthless bastard. If you still want to live, that is. Isn't that how you always did things?"
Avery flinched.
"…Why?"
The old him—
The mission always came first.
Gather intel.
Eliminate the target.
Execute as planned.
That was everything.
And yet, now—
He was risking his life.
For Billy.
All they had shared was a pack of cigarettes and a few words.
That was it.
So why?
Why was he holding on so desperately?
Why did Billy's life matter so much?
The questions remained.
But—
Avery no longer wavered.
Blood trickled down.
A crimson line traced from his shoulder,
dripping onto the floor.
Cold sweat dampened his forehead.
His breathing grew heavier.
The Cleaner didn't stop.
Relentless strikes.
An endless assault.
He pressed forward, mercilessly.
As time passed,
Avery's body grew sluggish.
His reactions slowed.
His movements felt heavy.
His body wouldn't keep up.
At this rate,
Billy and himself—
It would all end here.
But—
That couldn't happen.
"I don't want to lose this life."
Even if it was ordinary, monotonous,
nothing like the life he once lived—
"It was the first thing I ever truly had."
The old him was nothing but a weapon.
But now—
he was a person.
And he wasn't letting go of that.
"Haa—"
As he drew in a deep breath, something flickered in his vision.
The metal rod.
The rusted scrap the Cleaner had thrown earlier.
Avery's eyes glinted.
"This will do."
He moved.
In a flash, he grabbed the rod, his hands working swiftly.
"Sssk—"
He shortened it,
adjusting its length
until it matched the size of his dagger.
Then, he sharpened the tip.
An improvised spear.
And in that moment, his mind completed the final move.
No more defense.
Only one thing left.
"Put everything into this and end it."