Seeds of Chaos

Hime pushed the heavy manhole cover aside, the dim glow of streetlights filtering into the tunnel. The stench of waste clung to her, mixing with the metallic scent of blood from the wound in her thigh. She gritted her teeth and climbed out, pulling Berkeley with her.

They emerged in the middle of a quiet city alleyway, the hum of distant traffic and faint chatter from nearby streets their only company. Berkeley slumped against a brick wall, his breathing labored, blood smeared across his face. Hime, still in pain herself, leaned against the building and pulled him upright.

Her phone vibrated in her bag. The timing was absurd, but she answered it as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"Kazuki" she said, barely above a whisper

A pause. Then, Kazuki's sharp voice:"What's going on? Where are you?"

Berkeley groans in pain.

"I'll call you back," She hung up before he could respond.

Her attention shifted back to Berkeley. His legs wobbled as he tried to stand. He wouldn't make it far in his condition, but fortunately, the safehouse was nearby. She steadied him, her voice soft but firm. "The safehouse is two blocks east. I already told Doc to meet you there. Just get inside and wait."

Berkeley shook his head, his bloodshot eyes narrowing. "You're hurt too. I'm not leaving you to handle this alone."

"You don't have a choice," Hime said sharply. "Go. Lay low. I'll get in touch."

"But—"

"No," she interrupted, her tone brooking no argument. "This is non-negotiable. Go."

Berkeley hesitated, his frustration etched across his face, but he knew better than to push her when she used that voice. With a reluctant nod, he turned and hobbled toward the safehouse.

Hime watched until he disappeared around the corner, her hand clutching her thigh to slow the bleeding. Then she turned and headed deeper into the alleyways.

....

The route was familiar, her steps guided by muscle memory even as her vision blurred with exhaustion. She reached a nondescript food stall tucked into a shadowy corner of the street. The aroma of grilled skewers and simmering broth filled the air, mingling with the faint buzz of a neon sign overhead.

"How's the weather today?" Hime asked quietly, her voice steady despite the pain.

The stall owner glanced at her, nodding slightly before sliding a small box across the counter. She handed him a crumpled wad of cash and took the package, slipping back into the alleys without another word.

Finding a secluded corner, she opened the box to reveal a simple burner phone. Inside her bag, she retrieved a SIM card, slotting it into place with practiced efficiency. Once activated, she dialed a number and waited.

....

Hime leaned against the cold wall, her free hand gripping her bleeding thigh. The phone line clicked, and a gruff voice answered.

"You have something?" the voice asked.

Hime's lips curled into a faint smirk despite the agony coursing through her body. "Something you'll want to know," she said, her tone clipped and professional. "Your dear benefactors have been double-dealing. A shipment of arms meant for you? Redirected. They'll blame it on logistics, but you know better."

There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end. "Who—?"

"Follow the trail to Belcourt Pier," Hime interrupted smoothly. "You'll find all the answers you need. And the men responsible for your little... inconvenience."

She didn't wait for a response. Ending the call, she dropped the phone into a nearby trash can. The device emitted a faint spark before it exploded in a small burst of light and smoke.

As she shoved the phone into the trash can and walked away, a flicker of doubt wormed its way into her thoughts. Berkeley was hurt, vulnerable, and alone. Had she been too harsh in sending him off? And Kazuki's call—why had she picked up, only to brush him off? She shook her head, banishing the thoughts. This wasn't the time for second-guessing. But the nagging guilt lingered, whispering that she'd miscalculated more than just her timing.

Hime turned and walked away, her mind racing even as her body faltered. She had planted a seed, a small piece of misinformation that would sow distrust between the Venus Hunters and their benefactors. The delay might only buy her a few days, but a few days were all she needed to stay ahead.

....

Night had fallen, the alleyways cloaked in shadows. Hime's limp worsened with each step, the pain in her thigh a relentless throb. The coppery scent of her own blood filled her nostrils, mingling with the faint stench of refuse from the city's backstreets.

Every step sent sharp, hot pain searing through her thigh, the fabric of her jeans sticking to the wound with each movement. Blood trickled down her leg, pooling in her shoe, the metallic tang mixing with the alley's rancid stench. Her fingers pressed against the torn flesh, but it did little to stop the relentless throb.

Her vision swam, her legs growing weaker. She clung to the wall for support, every breath labored. Hime had never been one for physical endurance—her strength was in her mind, not her body. But she refused to stop, even as her muscles screamed for rest.

She sensed it before she saw it. A presence. The faint crunch of footsteps behind her, deliberate and measured. Her fingers brushed against the hilt of the dagger hidden beneath her clothes.

The hand on her shoulder made her flinch, adrenaline surging despite her exhaustion. She spun around, dagger poised to strike.

"Hey, it's me."

The familiar voice stopped her cold. Her gaze darted upward to meet sharp brown eyes, half-shrouded in shadows.

"Kazuki."

Her voice was barely a whisper, a mix of surprise, relief, and something she couldn't name.

For a moment, neither of them moved. Then, the tension in her shoulders eased, and her grip on the dagger slackened. She exhaled shakily, the weight of the night's events threatening to pull her under. But Kazuki's presence anchored her, his steady gaze grounding her in a way nothing else could.

"You're late," she muttered, her lips curving into a faint, tired smile.

Kazuki didn't respond immediately. His sharp eyes scanned her, lingering on the blood staining her jeans, the exhaustion shadowing her face. His jaw tightened, but he said nothing. The tension in his shoulders betrayed what his voice didn't. "You look like hell."

"Feel like it too," she quipped, her tone dry.

Without another word, Kazuki slipped an arm around her shoulders, steadying her as her knees buckled. "Let's get you out of here," he said, his voice low but firm.

Hime didn't protest. For once, she allowed herself to lean on someone else.