Vs. Pacifist Destroyers II

The dimly lit warehouse buzzed with an undercurrent of tension. A single hanging bulb swayed faintly, casting flickering shadows across the rough, cracked concrete walls. Seated around a battered wooden table were the founders of the Pacifist Destroyers: Tomas, Rika, Yasuo, Mariko, and Mikado. The room carried an air of grim determination, the five of them united by their hatred of Kairi—the "Pacifist" whose name was now etched into their mission like a curse.

Mikado, the leader, sat at the head of the table, his sharp eyes scanning the group. A cigarette smoldered in his hand, smoke curling upward and adding to the oppressive atmosphere. His presence was magnetic yet ominous, the kind of figure you couldn't help but respect but feared crossing. The others watched him, waiting for his words, but first, Rika raised her hands.

Rika began signing in ASL, her movements deliberate and tense: "She's not just a target anymore. She's becoming a symbol. A legend. That makes her even more dangerous."

Tomas, who sat to her left, nodded in agreement, translating aloud for the others. "Rika says Kairi is becoming a legend. It's not just about killing her anymore—it's about breaking her spirit, crushing her myth."

"No es fácil matarla," Yasuo muttered, leaning back in his chair. His voice was low and gritty, his Spanish tinged with exhaustion. (It's not easy to kill her.)

Mariko, who was sharpening a blade with precise, almost meditative strokes, chimed in, her voice steady yet cold. "Kairi es un problema porque lucha como si no tuviera nada que perder." (Kairi is a problem because she fights like she has nothing to lose.)

Mikado finally leaned forward, crushing his cigarette into an ashtray with deliberate force. His voice was calm, but it carried the weight of authority. "Es porque no tiene nada que perder." (That's because she has nothing to lose.) He paused, letting the words sink in before continuing in Spanish, his tone growing sharper. "Y eso la hace más peligrosa que cualquiera de nosotros. Pero también la hace vulnerable." (And that makes her more dangerous than any of us. But it also makes her vulnerable.)

Rika signed again, her brow furrowed: "We need to exploit that. If she has nothing left, she'll be reckless. We just have to figure out what she's hiding underneath all that anger."

Tomas translated as he leaned forward, his fists clenched on the table. "Rika's right. She's hiding something. Maybe not something physical, but something emotional. Something that drives her."

Mikado smirked faintly, tapping the table with his knuckles. "Entonces encontramos ese algo." (Then we find that something.)

Yasuo scratched his chin, his expression thoughtful but dark. "Tenemos sus movimientos. Sabemos dónde está." (We know her movements. We know where she is.)

"Pero no sabemos quién es realmente," Mariko added, her eyes narrowing as her sharpener scraped against her blade. (But we don't know who she really is.)

Mikado's gaze swept across the table, his piercing eyes locking onto each member. Then he spoke, his tone measured but commanding. "Si no sabemos quién es, debemos obligarla a mostrárnoslo." (If we don't know who she is, we'll force her to show us.)

Tomas's lips curled into a bitter smile. "¿Cómo?" (How?)

Mikado leaned back in his chair, the faintest glimmer of a plan forming in his mind. "We'll start with the people around her. The ones she doesn't care about yet but might, if we push her far enough."

Rika's hands moved swiftly, signing with sharp precision: "That's a gamble. What if she doesn't care about anyone at all? What if we push and she doesn't break?"

Tomas translated quickly, adding his own skepticism. "She's right. What if she's completely detached? That kind of person doesn't crack under pressure."

Mikado stood suddenly, his movements calm yet commanding enough to silence the room. He switched to Spanish, his words cold and deliberate. "Eso significa que debemos ser el martillo que rompa todo lo que aún queda en pie." (That means we must be the hammer that breaks everything she has left standing.)

Mariko finally set down her blade, her voice laced with a quiet venom. "Entonces no debemos fallar. Porque si fallamos, ella no tendrá piedad." (Then we cannot fail. Because if we fail, she will show no mercy.)

The room fell silent, tension crackling like a live wire. For a moment, the air seemed to hold its breath.

Finally, Mikado turned to Tomas. "You've been closest to her so far. What do you know?"

Tomas frowned, leaning forward, his elbows on the table. "She's smart, but she's also reckless. She fights like someone who doesn't care about winning or losing, just about making the other person hurt. And she's fast—faster than any of us."

"¿Más rápida que yo?" Yasuo asked, arching a skeptical brow. (Faster than me?)

Tomas nodded solemnly. "Yeah. Even faster than you."

Mikado rubbed his chin thoughtfully, then looked at the group. "Entonces necesitamos un plan que la iguale en fuerza y velocidad. Uno que no vea venir." (Then we need a plan that matches her strength and speed. One she won't see coming.)

The group exchanged glances, each of them silently calculating their next moves. The weight of their shared mission hung heavy in the air.

Finally, Mikado broke the silence, his voice quiet but resolute. "We'll start small. Test her patience. Test her resolve. Then, when she's worn down, we strike. No mercy."

The others nodded in agreement, their determination renewed. The Pacifist Destroyers were ready to move—and they wouldn't stop until Kairi Saigeru was nothing but a memory.

The flickering light in the warehouse cast deep shadows across the room as Mikado and the other founders of the Pacifist Destroyers sat in their makeshift throne-like seats. The atmosphere was tense but electric, a charged energy rippling through the gang like static before a storm.

The group's collective attention shifted as the large steel door groaned open. A lackey stumbled in, his face pale, a faint sheen of sweat glistening on his brow. His clothes were torn, and he was visibly shaking, both from the aftermath of his encounter with Kairi and, perhaps, the withdrawals creeping up on him. The gang members on either side of the room muttered amongst themselves as the lackey staggered forward, eventually collapsing to his knees in front of Mikado.

"I—I saw her," the lackey stammered, his voice cracking. "Kairi. The Pacifist. She… she toyed with me, like I was nothing." He gulped, trembling. "I barely got away."

Mikado leaned forward, resting his elbows on the edge of the table as he studied the pitiful figure before him. A sharp smirk pulled at his lips, and his piercing eyes gleamed with a sinister light. "¿Así que la viste, y viviste para contarlo?" (So you saw her and lived to tell the tale?) His voice was calm, smooth, almost amused, but it carried an edge that sent a chill through the room.

The lackey nodded frantically. "S-sí, jefe! But… she's not human. She moved so fast—dodged everything! And then… she just disappeared, like she was a ghost or something." His breathing grew heavier as he tried to recall the encounter, his eyes darting nervously between Mikado and the others.

Yasuo let out a derisive laugh, shaking his head. "Un fantasma, dices?" (A ghost, you say?) His voice was laced with mockery. "O tal vez simplemente eres demasiado lento y débil para seguirle el ritmo." (Or maybe you're just too slow and weak to keep up with her.)

The room erupted into chuckles and muttered insults aimed at the lackey, who hung his head in shame. Mikado, however, raised a hand, silencing the group with a single motion. The smirk on his face grew wider as he regarded the man before him.

"Vamos a tomarnos un momento para reflexionar sobre este sacrificio tan noble," Mikado began, his voice dripping with mock sincerity. (Let's take a moment to reflect on this man's noble sacrifice.) He stood from his chair, towering over the trembling lackey. "You faced her. Fought her. Survived her. That takes something… special. Or maybe, you were just lucky."

The lackey swallowed hard, unsure whether Mikado's words were praise or mockery. "I-I just—"

Mikado cut him off with a sharp laugh, his voice echoing through the room. "And yet here you are, groveling before us, a failure of a man." He circled the lackey slowly, his tone turning colder. "You, who needed chemicals to feel alive. You, who was too weak to fight without a crutch. And now, you think you can stand here and report your cowardice to me?"

The lackey froze, every muscle in his body locking up as Mikado's words struck deep. The other founders watched silently, their expressions unreadable, while the lackeys standing around the room exchanged uneasy glances.

Rika, who had been silently observing, signed something quickly, her sharp gestures cutting through the tension. "Let him be an example. A symbol of what happens when we fail."

Tomas translated immediately, his voice calm but firm. "She says he should be an example. A warning to all of us."

Mikado stopped in front of the lackey, crouching down so they were eye-level. His smirk returned, but there was no warmth behind it—only malice. "Un sacrificio glorioso, entonces," he said softly, reaching out to pat the man on the shoulder. (A glorious sacrifice, then.)

The lackey's eyes widened in terror as the room erupted into chants. "¡Para la gloria del Destructor!" (For the glory of the Destroyer!) The chant grew louder, echoing off the walls, as every member in the room joined in, their voices rising into a deafening roar. The lackey began to backpedal, his breaths coming in ragged gasps.

Mikado grabbed the man by the collar, yanking him forward as the chants reached a fever pitch. He leaned in close, his voice barely audible over the noise. "You wanted to be remembered, didn't you? To be more than a failure?" He gestured to the others with a wave of his hand. "Well, congratulations. You're a martyr now."

Before the man could react, Mikado slammed his head down onto the table with brutal force, the sickening crack silencing the room. The lackey crumpled to the floor, lifeless. Mikado straightened, brushing his hands off as if nothing had happened.

The gang members erupted into cheers, their voices filled with fervor. The founders remained stoic, their eyes fixed on Mikado as he turned to address the group. "Kairi no nos teme porque somos débiles. Ella teme lo que podemos llegar a ser." (Kairi doesn't fear us because we're weak. She fears what we can become.)

He raised a hand, silencing the room once more. "Y vamos a demostrarle que está en lo correcto." (And we're going to prove her right.)

The room buzzed with renewed energy, the bloodlust palpable. The Pacifist Destroyers weren't just a gang anymore—they were a movement, and they were ready to bring the fight to Kairi Saigeru.

The walk back to her hotel room was unusually quiet, even for the late hour. Kairi moved through the hallways with her hands tucked in her jacket pockets, her eyes scanning the dimly lit corridors out of instinct. Something about the silence felt off. Normally, the faint buzz of old fluorescent lights or muffled conversations from other rooms filled the air, but tonight, the stillness pressed down like a suffocating weight.

As she slipped her key into the door and pushed it open, Kairi sighed in relief at the sight of her room. The bed was still unmade from earlier, the tangled sheets almost inviting her to just collapse and forget about everything. She locked the door behind her, turning the bolt slowly before leaning her back against it. Her body ached from the events of the day, a dull reminder of how reckless she'd been in the past 24 hours.

She tossed her jacket onto a nearby chair and kicked off her boots, savoring the small freedom of shedding the day's weight. "I swear, if one more idiot tries to ambush me in this hotel, I'm billing them for my time," she muttered to herself, her tone light but her voice low.

Kairi crawled into bed, pulling the thin hotel blanket over herself. She stared at the ceiling, her sharp instincts dulled slightly by exhaustion. Her muscles loosened, her breaths steadied, and the faint hum of the air conditioning unit in the corner finally broke the eerie silence of the room.

But then... it stopped.

The hum of the air conditioner cut off abruptly, leaving the room in absolute silence. Kairi's eyes opened instantly. Her body tensed, her fingers curling around the edge of the blanket. She listened intently, her heightened senses picking up every creak, every distant sound.

She told herself it was nothing. The AC was probably just broken—this was an old building, after all. It wasn't a big deal. But the stillness felt heavier now, like the air itself had thickened.

"Relax," she whispered to herself. "You've been through worse. It's probably just your imagination." She rolled onto her side, trying to will herself back to sleep.

A faint noise broke the silence. A soft creak, like the sound of weight pressing down on old wood.

Kairi froze. Her eyes darted toward the source of the noise—the far corner of the room, just beyond the small table and chair. The shadows there seemed darker than before, pooling unnaturally in the faint glow from the window.

"Okay," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's definitely not my imagination."

She slowly slid her hand under her pillow, fingers brushing against the handle of the knife she kept hidden there. Gripping it tightly, she sat up, her movements slow and deliberate. Her eyes stayed fixed on the shadowy corner as her other hand reached for the bedside lamp.

The light flickered to life, illuminating the room. The corner was empty.

Kairi exhaled, her grip on the knife loosening slightly. "I'm losing it," she muttered, running a hand through her hair. "All this paranoia's finally catching up to me."

But the unease didn't fade. The room was too quiet. Even the faint hum of city life outside seemed distant, muffled. Her gut screamed at her that something was wrong.

Sliding out of bed, she moved cautiously to the door, checking the lock. It was still secure. She moved to the window, peering out at the street below. Nothing unusual. Just the dim glow of streetlights and the occasional car passing by.

And yet, she couldn't shake the feeling.

Kairi paced the room, her steps silent on the carpeted floor. Her mind raced, replaying every encounter from the past few days. Tomas, the lackeys, Aiko, the maid. Every moment felt like a thread leading back to this suffocating silence.

She stopped, her knife still in hand, and stared at her reflection in the cracked mirror above the dresser. Her own tired eyes stared back at her, but there was something else—a flicker of movement, just behind her reflection.

She spun around, knife raised, but there was nothing there.

Her chest tightened, her breaths coming faster now. She wasn't sure if it was exhaustion, paranoia, or something else entirely, but the room felt wrong. She backed up slowly, her gaze darting to every corner, every shadow.

And then, faintly, she heard it—a sound so soft it could've been mistaken for the wind. A low, almost imperceptible laugh.

"Alright," Kairi said aloud, her voice steady despite the pounding in her chest. "Whoever you are, let's get this over with."

The silence returned. Kairi tightened her grip on the knife, her body coiled like a spring, ready to strike. Whatever was coming, she wasn't about to be caught off guard. Not tonight.

The silence of the room stretched on, but nothing else stirred. Kairi's knuckles relaxed, her knife lowering slightly. The feeling of dread still clung to her like a second skin, but she was too exhausted to stay locked in a state of high alert. "I'm losing it," she muttered again. "I need some air."

Slipping her knife into its sheath and strapping it to her thigh, she grabbed her jacket, tugged it on, and quietly slipped out of the hotel room. The hallways were just as silent as before, and a shiver ran up her spine as she moved toward the stairwell.

Once outside, the cold night air greeted her. The streets were deserted, the moon casting long shadows across the cobblestones. Kairi inhaled deeply, filling her lungs with the crisp air. Despite the eerie stillness, she couldn't deny the small sense of peace she felt being out here.

Kairi started to run, her feet hitting the pavement in a rhythmic pattern. As the adrenaline from earlier encounters simmered in her veins, her legs carried her faster, leaping over low railings and vaulting effortlessly across ledges. The city was her playground, and each obstacle she conquered brought a small wave of satisfaction.

She darted up a stack of crates, launching herself onto the rooftop of a nearby building with the kind of precision only years of practice could hone. The city sprawled beneath her, a patchwork of dim lights and shadows.

For a moment, she paused, perched at the edge of the roof. Her breaths came in steady, even rhythms, her eyes scanning the sleeping city. She allowed herself a moment of calm, whispering under her breath, "This is the only time it feels quiet up here… like the whole world finally shuts up."

But even as she said it, something felt off. A nagging sensation clawed at her subconscious. Her eyes darted to the rooftops across from her, the alleys below, but all she saw was empty space. Shaking her head, she smirked faintly. "Get it together, Kairi. You're paranoid."

She jumped to the next roof, landing softly on her feet before scaling down the side of the building. The ground met her quickly as she slid down a rusted drainpipe, finally deciding to head back toward the streets. The air felt denser now, heavier, but she brushed the thought aside.

That was when she noticed it.

Her instincts screamed at her, every fiber of her being telling her she wasn't alone. As she turned onto an open street, figures began emerging from the shadows, one by one. Kairi stopped mid-step, her eyes narrowing as she scanned the figures surrounding her.

They came out of every corner: from alleyways, behind parked cars, even perched on low rooftops. Some of them had their hands shoved into jacket pockets, others held pipes, chains, or knives gleaming under the faint moonlight.

Kairi's jaw tightened. She slowly rotated, taking in the sight of each figure. The way they moved, the way they held their weapons—it was calculated. This wasn't a group of random thugs.

"Well, this is cozy," she muttered, her voice cutting through the tense silence like a blade.

One figure stepped forward, slightly taller than the others, and Kairi recognized him immediately: Tomas. His face was bruised from their earlier encounter, but the cocky smirk he wore now told her he had come back with a vengeance.

"You look surprised, Pacifist," Tomas sneered, spitting the nickname like venom. "Thought you could just knock me out and walk away like it was nothing?"

Kairi tilted her head, raising a brow. "Didn't think I'd have to, but here we are."

Tomas laughed, a hollow sound. "You're cocky, I'll give you that. But not for long. Tonight, you're outnumbered."

As if on cue, the figures around her all stepped closer, their circle tightening. Kairi remained calm, scanning her surroundings and gauging her options. "This is cute," she quipped, rolling her neck. "You bring your little fan club to handle what you couldn't?"

Tomas's face darkened. "They're more than enough to deal with you. You're nothing but a nuisance—a little ant that needs to be crushed."

Kairi's smirk faded. Her hand slowly moved to the blade strapped to her thigh. "You should've brought more people."

Tomas scoffed, raising a hand as a signal to his men. "Get her."

The silence shattered as the group surged forward all at once. Kairi moved before the first blow could land, her body a blur as she ducked under a swinging chain and drove her knee into the gut of the first lackey. The man crumpled to the ground, wheezing, but Kairi was already spinning to dodge a pipe aimed at her ribs.

Her blade flashed in the moonlight, catching the arm of the next attacker. He howled in pain, stumbling back as blood dripped onto the pavement.

Kairi's mind raced as she fought, calculating every move, every dodge. She could feel the walls closing in as more attackers pressed forward, their weapons cutting through the air dangerously close to her.

This wasn't just a fight—it was a test. Tomas had brought reinforcements to break her spirit, to show her she wasn't untouchable.

But Kairi was no stranger to impossible odds.

"You're gonna need a better plan than this," she taunted, kicking one of the lackeys into another and sending them both sprawling to the ground.

Tomas growled, frustration flashing in his eyes. "Take her down! She's just one woman!"

Kairi grinned, blood pounding in her ears as she flipped backward onto a low ledge. Her heart raced, but her movements were precise, calculated. She thrived in chaos, and right now, she was in her element.

"You guys always make the same mistake," she said, her voice carrying over the noise. "You underestimate me."

Her smirk widened as she launched herself off the ledge, landing amidst the group with a feral grace. The fight was far from over, and Kairi was just getting started.

Kairi landed in the center of the group, her boots hitting the pavement with a hard thud. The sound echoed briefly before it was swallowed by the tense atmosphere. She straightened, blood still dripping from the tip of her blade. Her smirk lingered, but there was a subtle shift in her expression—a flicker of unease that she quickly buried behind a hardened glare.

The lackeys regrouped around her, forming an even tighter circle. She glanced around, her sharp eyes counting the bodies. A dozen. No—closer to fifteen. The odds had shifted, and she knew it. Some of the attackers had stayed back in the shadows, waiting for an opening. Others had recovered from her initial strikes, their weapons now raised with renewed determination.

Tomas stood just outside the circle, his arms crossed, a smug look on his battered face. "What's wrong, Pacifist?" he jeered. "Starting to realize you're not invincible after all?"

Kairi's fingers tightened around the hilt of her blade. She took a step back, her boots scraping against the ground as she adjusted her footing. Her breathing was still steady, but there was a flicker of tension in her chest. She hated to admit it, even to herself, but Tomas wasn't entirely wrong.

The lackeys advanced slowly, their footsteps echoing ominously in the quiet night. Kairi could feel the heat radiating off their bodies, could see the determination in their eyes. These weren't just random street thugs—they were disciplined, coordinated. And they weren't afraid of her.

For the first time in a while, she felt the faint twinge of nerves creeping up her spine. She was good—no, she was damn good—but even she had limits. And right now, she wasn't sure if she could take all of them without getting seriously hurt.

"You all just don't know when to quit," she muttered under her breath, her voice low and sharp.

One of the lackeys, a wiry man with a scar running down his cheek, stepped forward, brandishing a knife. His movements were calculated, almost professional. He wasn't lunging recklessly like the others had—he was testing her, waiting for her to make a mistake.

Kairi's eyes darted to him, then back to the others. They were closing in, their formation tightening. Her mind raced, calculating every possible angle, every escape route. But no matter how she sliced it, the odds weren't in her favor.

"Alright," she muttered, rolling her shoulders. "Guess I'm doing this the hard way."

She lunged forward, her blade cutting through the air with deadly precision. The man with the scar dodged, barely, and countered with a swipe of his knife. Kairi ducked, her movements fluid, but as she pivoted to strike him again, another lackey came at her from the side.

She twisted away just in time, but the narrow miss rattled her. For the first time, her rhythm faltered.

The circle tightened even more, the lackeys moving as one. Kairi's breathing grew heavier, her movements sharper but more desperate. She could feel the walls closing in, the weight of the fight pressing down on her.

Tomas laughed, his voice cutting through the chaos like a blade. "What's wrong, Kairi? You're looking a little… nervous."

She didn't answer, her focus entirely on the fight. But her mind was racing, her confidence cracking under the pressure. She had fought tougher opponents, faced worse odds—but something about this felt different.

For the first time in years, Kairi felt vulnerable.

The lackeys surged forward, and she lashed out, her blade catching one across the arm. But as she spun to block another attack, she felt a sharp sting across her side—a shallow cut, but a cut nonetheless.

Her teeth clenched, and she stumbled back, her free hand pressing against the wound. The sight of her own blood made her heart skip a beat. She wasn't invincible.

And they knew it.

The lackeys moved in again, their confidence growing. Tomas stepped closer, his grin widening. "Not so cocky now, huh?"

Kairi glared at him, her chest rising and falling as she tried to steady her breathing. Her grip on the blade tightened, but for the first time, her hand trembled slightly.

She glanced around, her sharp mind desperately searching for a way out. The rooftops were too high, the alleyways too narrow. She was surrounded, outnumbered, and slowly but surely being worn down.

Her smirk faltered, replaced by a cold, steely determination. "Alright," she muttered, more to herself than anyone else. "Let's see how long I can keep this up."

The lackeys surged forward again, and Kairi braced herself, her blade flashing in the dim light. But as the chaos unfolded around her, she couldn't shake the gnawing feeling in her chest—that this might be the fight where her luck finally ran out.

{Episode End}