Death

Death was a lot to take in.

Which must sound strange, coming from a man who had already died once.

As if I had no control over myself, my feet started carrying me closer to the room. Or at least they tried to—until a hand landed on my shoulder and yanked me back into the crowd.

I turned to find a Heartless member standing there, glaring at me with frustration.

"Are you stupid? You don't go near the room unless you're one of the Ten Pains," he snarled.

"You mean nine!" a voice cried from the sidelines. "Bleacher is dead..."

I turned my eyes back to the room, my jaw clenched.

Two people were already inspecting the scene.

One was a pale-skinned man with long grey hair, despite looking no older than forty. A red and white bandana blindfolded his eyes, which made me wonder how he could see at all.

He wore black trousers, polished shoes, and a plain white t-shirt—simple, but sharp. His presence was cold and unreadable, yet oddly refined.

Beside him stood a woman—one of the few I'd seen in the gang. Her blonde hair was tied into two buns like animal ears. Dressed in an all-black tracksuit, with two red Desert Eagles holstered at her hips, she chewed gum as if she didn't care a damn about the blood on the floor.

It was obvious these two held more weight than the rest of us.

Pains?

I wasn't close enough to hear their conversation, but even if I had been, I wouldn't have been listening.

My eyes were drawn to Bleacher.

His army knife hung loosely from his hand—no doubt the weapon he'd used to kill the three defenders that now lay sprawled around him.

His RPG had been tossed aside. Not that he could've used it in a place this tight.

The odds had been stacked against him. He should've died instantly.

And yet… he didn't go down alone.

"How did they even manage to get inside?" I muttered, more to myself than anyone else.

"They were probably of the Assassin subclass" someone beside me said bitterly. "Used stealth skills to mask themselves."

It made sense. But still—why Bleacher?

Why him?

Then I noticed it. The two Pains were looking at something on the wall beside Bleacher's body. I shifted slightly, craning my neck until I could see it too.

Something had been scratched into the wall.

At first, I couldn't make it out. The carving was jagged—rushed. Barely legible.

But then… I saw it.

One letter.

Just one.

'G'

My breath caught.

The sloppiness made sense now. He hadn't finished writing it. His hand had failed him. His strength had drained. He'd died before he could finish the name.

But I knew what he meant to write.

Gray.

The realisation hit harder than a bullet to the chest.

Bleacher knew. He knew he'd been set up—and the one who had done it was Gray. His little brother's best friend. The same man I'd been sent on patrol with. The one I'd spoken to yesterday.

My heart pounded violently. My limbs felt stiff and cold like they didn't belong to me. But beneath that cold was heat—rising, boiling heat.

I felt my blood temperature spike. My jaw locked. My fingers twitched with the urge to grab something. Anything.

Sending me on the patrol... Was that his way of confirming a suspicion? Did he know Gray would try something?

Regardless, it wasn't right. It wasn't fair. And despite only knowing the man for a single day, grief twisted deep into my chest like a blade.

Something about Bleacher… he didn't deserve this.

I glanced back at the two Pains. Were they putting it together too? Did they see the letter for what it really was?

Maybe. Maybe not.

But I couldn't rely on them. Couldn't wait around, hoping they'd act.

Because if no one else would stop Gray—

Then I would have to take matters into my own hands. I could have brought my information to them, but I knew that Tier 1s were not respected enough to carry any weight in their words.

A silent decision locked into place in my mind.

Without a word, I slipped through the crowd and began heading back the way I came. My footsteps were steady, but my heartbeat was wild.

I pressed a hand to my pocket. The shard of glass was still there. I felt its sharp comforting edge against my skin.

I could only hope it would be enough for what I planned to do.

Trying to keep the intentions from my face, I searched the headquarters. It was mostly empty, as the members of the heartless had all been drawn to the scene.

But not Gray. There was a chance that the man was escaping at that very moment, which meant that I had to find him fast.

I asked anyone that I saw if they had seen Gray anywhere, and at first, it seemed no one had spotted sight of him that entire morning.

It was the medic Sealer that managed to give me a clue.

"He left before the sun had even fully risen. I saw him later on heading to the rooftop with a bag slung over his back." He said as he tended to a patient with a missing hand.

I swiftly thanked the man before leaving the room and making my way to the roof.

To get there, I had to climb the ladder on the second floor of the mall. I had never been up there before, but as I burst through the door, I was met with a cold breeze washing over me.

The morning had just begun, so I knew there was still a chance that Gray would still be up there.

Perhaps he wished to wait and see what sort of commotion his betrayal would bring, before escaping from the gang.

However, I did not realise just how wrong I was.

As I made my way onto the large moss-covered rooftop of the mall, I rose to my feet to find a man standing in the distance ahead of me.

He stood on the edge of the building, looking down at the poverty-stricken streets below. In his hand was a cigarette, which he smoked idly.

He wore a white vest, and a pair of baggy black shorts, and a white bandage was wrapped around his head to cover his eye.

I noticed that he wore no red colours, besides the katana strapped to his back.

The man was Gray, and he seemed unphased about what he had done.

My fists clenched as my gaze landed on him.

"Gray." I snarled quietly beneath my breath.

He turned around to face me, his eyebrows raised as he puffed on his cigarette.

"Red?" He questioned, without a care in the world. His black hair was no longer braided and was now a puffy afro. "What you doing up here?"

The way that he asked the question triggered something primal inside of me.

What are you doing here?

He wanted to act as though it was a normal morning. As though he hadn't killed the only other man I had come to know in this foreign world!

I drew my glass shard from my pocket and took a step towards him.

His hands glared down at my weapon, and his face suddenly lost the false confusion.

He knew why I was there.

"Draw your weapon, Gray," I said as I imbued the glass shard with Touch Of Blood. The red essence formed around it, embedding the blade with its ability to create an endlessly bleeding wound.

"Draw your weapon, or be executed."