Something unexpected has happened

"What? What did you say, Brother Hua? Why can't you arrange it anymore?!"

Lin Yang stood up, clutching his phone with a stunned look on his face.

It was already 8 PM. He and the four-man crew—Steering Wheel, Wolf, Harvester, and Eagle Eye—had snuck to the vicinity of Zhuzhi Wharf, waiting for the cover of night to board a boat and flee. But now, Huang Tianhua's call had shattered their plan: the boat was no longer available.

From the other end of the line, Huang Tianhua's voice rose in pitch, slipping into Minnan dialect in his agitation. "Aiyo, Lin Yang—don't call me 'Brother Hua' anymore. I'm your 'Younger Brother Yang' now. How was I supposed to know you'd stir up such a storm?!"

Lin Yang froze. Had word spread this fast? He'd only acted under duress, after all. In his mind, he'd been little more than a minor player. But clearly, gossip in the underworld traveled faster than light.

"What've you heard, Brother Hua?"

"It's all over the streets. A minor branch of the Yonekawa-gumi, the Kitano-gumi—led by Boss Kitano Saburo—lost a dozen men last night. All of 'em gunned down in a hailstorm of bullets. The scene was a bloodbath, shells scattered everywhere. They made the Yonekawa-gumi lose face right on their own turf!"

Huang Tianhua's voice dropped to a whisper for the last part. "The Yonekawa-gumi's contacted every gang in Tokyo, throwing cash around to track down the killers. You know what a 'gangland hit order' is? Your name's on it, my Younger Brother Yang."

Lin Yang's heart sank. The underground networks were faster than the cops. He'd spent the afternoon monitoring the Tokyo Metropolitan Police, who'd found the crime scene but hadn't released a suspect list. Meanwhile, the Yonekawa-gumi had already pinned the massacre on him. This was a disaster.

A dozen low-level thugs? Was the Yonekawa-gumi really that ruthless?

"Brother Hua, I had no choice. Can't you make an exception? I'll pay more."

Lin Yang had no other leads. If Huang Tianhua wouldn't help for free, maybe money would change his mind.

"No can do. Even if I wanted to, I don't call the shots here. Tipping you off was already pushing my luck."

Huang Tianhua's tone hardened. "Word is, the Yonekawa chairman's favorite grandson was among the dead—clean headshot, no mess. That's why they're so furious."

Lin Yang's chest tightened. The chairman's grandson… What a stroke of bad luck. The kid had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, but Lin Yang didn't regret killing him. Still, escaping just got a lot harder.

"Good luck, then. My boss is on his way—I can't talk anymore. Oh, and I left a new phone and SIM card behind the mailbox at Shiba Park, east of Zhuzhi Wharf. That's the best I can do."

Lin Yang blinked. "Thanks, Brother Hua."

"Forget thanks. If I had the power, I'd have taken care of it myself," Huang Tianhua muttered, glancing around the room. He tiptoed to the door, checked for eavesdroppers, then added, "If you get the chance, take down a couple of those Yonekawa bastards for me."

"I will."

"Take care, Younger Brother Yang."

Huang Tianhua hung up, deleted all records of the call, and strolled out as if nothing had happened.

Lin Yang slumped, his face grave.

"What's wrong?" Steering Wheel asked quietly, noticing his expression.

As Lin Yang filled them in, the five men's faces darkened one by one.

"We need a safe house now. This is getting dangerous," Steering Wheel said, frowning.

"Can we trust that snakehead friend of yours? He won't sell us out, will he?" Wolf scoffed, already doubting Huang Tianhua.

Lin Yang shook his head. "No. If he wanted to betray us, he'd have let us go to the wharf at 9 PM like sitting ducks."

Huang Tianhua's greed had surprised Lin Yang, but in the end, loyalty to family and country had won out. Otherwise, Zhuzhi Wharf would've been their graveyard tonight.

"Let's find a hideout first, then retrieve our gear," Steering Wheel decided.

Under the cover of night, the five slipped into the shadows.

"Fuck, Old George's greedy—charges another five grand for this," Harvester grumbled, hauling two duffel bags into an abandoned apartment.

He unzipped them, revealing a cache of combat gear, some still stained with blood. "Rules are rules. Should've kept it instead of returning it—would've saved cash."

Steering Wheel sighed. The four men quickly strapped on the equipment. All Lin Yang got was a combat suit, a combat knife, and a Glock 17.

"Five grand for this? That's cheap," Lin Yang said, unfamiliar with black-market arms.

"Cheap? These are used. We bought 'em new for $20k!" Wolf snapped, buckling his tactical belt and shoving a dagger into his pocket.

He launched into a crash course for Lin Yang:

"Gun prices vary by region. In the Middle East or Africa, you can get an AK for a few hundred bucks—even less. But in places like Japan, the UK, or Germany with tight security? Prices skyrocket. New, unused weapons cost more because they leave no trace—harder to track, which pros prefer. We can take 'em or return 'em to the dealer after use. Used guns are cheaper, but…"

Wolf trailed off. "They've probably been used in crimes. Ballistics, gunpowder residue, rifling marks—all logged by police. If you're caught with one, all those past murders get pinned on you. Rob a bank with a 'used' Glock, and suddenly you're the prime suspect in a serial killing."

Lin Yang absorbed every word. The underworld was a labyrinth of hidden rules.

"Boss, should we contact… you know, the big guy?" Eagle Eye broke the silence.

Steering Wheel didn't answer immediately. He looked at Wolf and Harvester. "What do you think?"

"If there's no other way, call him," Wolf said. "I don't wanna go back to jail." Harvester nodded.

Steering Wheel pulled out a satellite phone and stepped onto the balcony.

"Boss? Aren't you a mercenary?" Lin Yang asked, confused. To him, such brutal killings reeked of mercenaries, not hitmen.

"No, we're PMC. Ever heard of Blackwater?" Wolf clarified.

"PMC—Private Military Contractor? Like Blackwater? Do you guys work like that? So… wild?" Lin Yang knew PMCs provided military services to clients; Blackwater was the most infamous.

Wolf flushed slightly. "Sort of. But we're small-time. This isn't a company job—it's a side gig."

"A side job? No wonder you needed approval to drag the boss into this," Lin Yang muttered.

Steering Wheel returned, face grim. "The boss chewed me out, but he'll pull strings with military contacts. We need cash, and we can't fall into Japanese hands for at least two days. After that… he can't help."

"So we're losing money either way. Hope it's not too steep," Wolf sighed, though relief softened his tone—at least there was a lifeline.

"Pack up. This is just a temporary spot. I'll contact an intel broker for a safe house. We need to lay low for now."

Steering Wheel dialed a number. "Baitouweng, it's me. Need a safe house."

"$50k."

"That's too much."

"You can walk away."

"Damn bloodsuckers. I'll take it."

Steering Wheel punched his thigh, wincing at the cost. "Account stays the same. Send the drop address."

Baitouweng hung up and turned to the middle-aged man across the room. "Chairman Yonekawa, we found them."

The man—Chairman Yonekawa—sat straight, arms crossed, his expression as sharp as a blade. "Good, Daikyu. Handle it. Whoever killed my son will learn the full wrath of the Yonekawa-gumi."