Chapter 2: Better Bruised Than Dead

Boom.

A shot rang out. Rei twisted to the side, barely dodging—but not fast enough.

"Ahh—" he grunted as the bullet grazed his shoulder. Pain flared, but he stayed standing.

The shooter—the tattooed guy—lowered his pistol in disbelief.

"What the hell? I'm sure that hit you. They don't call me Eagle Eye for nothing!"

He pulled the trigger again. Another shot—clang!—this time, the bullet bounced clean off Rei's chest.

Rei didn't flinch.

In a blur, he moved forward and slammed his fist across the man's jaw. The shooter stumbled, dazed. Rei closed the distance with a cold, steady pace.

"So what if the bullet touched me?" he said, his voice low and quiet—deadly.

"You think I'd die that easily?"

Then—crack!—a clean strike to the side of the head dropped the tattooed man to his knees.

Rei exhaled, flexing his shoulder. "Thank God I never take this thing off," he muttered, patting the bulletproof weight vest under his uniform.

But the tattooed man wasn't down yet. Groaning, he lifted his head, eyes wide as he saw movement beyond Rei.

Reinforcements.

Footsteps. Gunmetal glint. More men flooding in.

The tattooed man's voice rose in alarm.

"Forget what the boss said—he's too dangerous alive! Don't let him leave this place!"

The new arrivals raised their SMGs. Fingers tightened on triggers.

But Rei didn't move.

He'd planned for this.

A second earlier, when the chaos started through the first smoke, he'd planted a timed smoke grenade behind some barrels.

Tick.

Click.

Psssssshhh...

Smoke hissed out slowly, curling into the air at first, then rising fast, spreading like fog.

"What the hell—?"

The shooters flinched as the smoke thickened around them. Visibility dropped. They panicked and opened fire blindly.

RATATATATAT!

Muzzle flashes lit up the haze—but Rei was already gone from their line of fire, vanishing into the gray veil like a ghost.

I guess I'll have to lose the weight jacket if I'm going to escape.

Rei crouched behind a crate, breath steady despite the ringing chaos.

Two exits.

One — through the building, out the other end.

Two — the front gate, where the reinforcements had come in.

He stayed still, eyes narrowing through the smoke to the front gate as he weighed the options.

Inside? There would be too many variables.

He didn't know the layout, not fully. There were more men in there, and every one of them was armed. If he got pinned in a hallway, cornered... that could be it.

Front gate, though... he glanced toward the thick smoke still spilling out, blanketing the entrance in a gray wall.

It would settle soon. But for now, it gave him cover.

Out there, it'd be hand-to-hand. Close quarters.

Dangerous — but he preferred danger he could see. If he moved fast, he could cut through the chaos before they regrouped.

"I won't walk out of this clean," he muttered to himself, fingers brushing the edge of the vest, "but better bruised than dead."

In one motion, Rei slipped the weight vest off and set it gently on the floor. He felt the difference immediately—lighter, faster.

The smoke was already thinning.

No more time to think.

He chose the latter.

The smoke was fading.

Rei took one last breath, then launched forward—straight into the chaos.

Figures moved through the haze, half-visible shadows with weapons raised. One charged first, pipe swinging in a wide arc.

Rei ducked low, spun inside the man's reach, and drove his palm into his chest. The man flew back, colliding with another who had just pulled a knife.

The knife-wielder recovered fast, slashing toward Rei's ribs.

He caught the man's wrist mid-swing, twisted hard—disarming him—but not before the blade nicked his side.

A sharp sting. Warm blood.

Rei gritted his teeth, pivoted, and struck with his elbow. The man dropped.

No time to check the wound.

Another came from behind—gun raised, too close to shoot. Rei stepped sideways, letting the man overcommit, then slammed his heel down on the attacker's knee, breaking it with a clean crack.

A fist came from the right. Rei weaved under it, landed a short uppercut to the jaw, then swept the man's legs out from under him in a single fluid motion.

They kept coming.

Three now. No time for flair.

He moved like water—redirecting energy, turning panic into openings. One tried to grab him, but Rei turned with the grip, snapping the man's shoulder out of place before sending him crashing into a stack of crates.

Then—

Bang.

Another gunshot. A hot line tore past Rei's upper arm, slicing through skin. He stumbled—not from pain, but from force.

The gunman smirked. Mistake.

Rei turned sharply, feinted left, then dashed right and closed the gap in two strides. His fist crashed into the man's throat, dropping him in silence.

His breath was heavy now. The burn in his side pulsed, warm and wet.

"Tch..." He glanced down. The blood was flowing more than he'd like, but the cut wasn't deep. Not fatal.

Still—

Too many bodies. Too many variables.

He was a master of every fighting style there was. Grapples, strikes, counters, footwork—they were all instinct to him now. But even the best don't walk through fire without feeling the heat.

He grabbed a baton from a fallen enemy and spun it once in his palm.

"Alright..." he muttered to himself, eyes sharp, posture steady, even bleeding.

"Let's finish this fast."

The last guy didn't even get a chance to scream.

Rei moved in low, disarmed him with a twist of the wrist, and drove the baton into his ribs. The man dropped like a stone.

Rei's feet moved before his mind did—calculated steps through thinning smoke, slipping past bodies, blood, and broken crates.

The front gate was cracked open now. One of the reinforcements had tried to run. Big mistake.

He burst through the front gate, sprinted into a side alley, ducked behind a dumpster, crouched low, and pressed his back against the wall.

Then silence.

Not the real kind—just that moment right after chaos, when everything feels still but your ears are still ringing, lungs burning, body shaking just slightly from the adrenaline.

Rei exhaled slowly. His uniform clung to him, damp with sweat and blood—some of it his, some not. The gash on his arm throbbed with a dull heat. His side stung where the knife had caught him earlier.

He reached up, touched the bullet graze, then hissed through his teeth. It wasn't deep, but it was messy.

"Tch... figures," he muttered.

He didn't regret choosing the front.

If he'd gone inside, he might've bled out in a hallway or got cornered between locked doors and loaded rifles. Out here, at least he controlled the rhythm. The pace. The choke.

But control doesn't mean clean. He pulled a cloth from his belt pouch and pressed it to the wound. Not perfect, but it'd hold. He tore off a strip and tied it around his bicep—tight, fast, without hesitation.

He sat still for a second.

He scanned the perimeter for any sign of pursuit. No gunmen. No shouting. No footsteps. Just a light breeze, carrying the scent of smoke and blood into the night.

Rei pushed himself up with a small grunt, pain radiating from his side. His body wanted rest. His mind said move.

So he moved.

One step. Another. Silent, quick, low.

He finally reached his apartment. Circling to the back, he checked for prying eyes, then tapped a hidden panel. A rope ladder dropped down from above, swaying slightly. He climbed up to his window, pulled the ladder in after him, and headed straight to bed.